Chris Kuzneski - The Prophecy

‘Don’t play dumb with me. I know you have it. You got it from the girl.’

‘What girl?’

Payne inched backward until he felt the cold metal railing against the small of his back. Now there was nothing behind him but a great view and a drop of several hundred feet.

‘Don’t move again!’ the man ordered.

‘Where can I go?’ Payne replied.

The man stepped forward, closing the distance to ten feet. Close enough so he wouldn’t miss, but far enough away so Payne couldn’t charge him. ‘Where’s the letter?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

The man sneered and pulled his trigger. His silencer flashed, and the bullet pinged loudly as it struck the railing less than six inches from Payne’s waist. It hit so close that he could feel the vibrations in the metal.

‘What did you do that for?’

He ignored the question. ‘We already killed the girl. What’s one more?’

‘Wait a second!’ Payne demanded. ‘Who’s we ?’

The gunman sneered again. ‘I’ll ask you one last time. Where is the letter?’

Payne lowered his hands, grasping the rail behind him. ‘Honestly,’ he lied, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

‘That’s a shame, Mr Payne. Then you must die.’

And this gunman had that talent.

With that in mind, Payne did the only rational thing he could think of.

He leaned back and flipped over the railing.

18

Stunned by the development, the shooter rushed forward with gun in hand, hoping to see a body splattered on the hillside below. From the edge of the platform to the icy ground was a distance of over 200 feet. Several bare trees lined the slope, as did a thick blanket of snow, but neither could save a life from this height. Even a physical specimen like Payne was subject to the laws of gravity. Death would be very likely.

That is, if he had fallen into the valley. But in fact that wasn’t what happened.

Payne had spent enough time on the concrete platforms to understand how they were built. His grandfather had even taken him underneath one when it was being repaired, so he could teach Payne the basic principles of cantilevers and stress-bearing beams. From the sidewalk, the

Of course, it was more difficult than it sounded.

If not for his leather gloves, he couldn’t have pulled off the move without tearing the skin from his hands, but the gloves allowed him to keep hold of the vertical bars in the railing while he slid down the wrong side of the guardrail. Instead of plummeting wildly, his hands never left the metal. At the bottom of the rail, his fingers got pinched in between the support brackets and the concrete, sending a shockwave of pain to his brain that compelled him to let go. Thankfully, his adrenaline dulled the sensation, and he managed to hold on long enough to survive.

With legs dangling freely, he swung both feet underneath the platform, hoping to make contact with one of the support beams. On his second attempt, his right foot hit steel and he managed to wedge his heel above the lip of the cold metal. Then, before the shooter had a chance

As Payne ducked his head beneath the platform, the shooter spotted him from above and fired. The bullet hit the lower corner of the column and sent a small shower of debris towards the trees below. The gunman cursed, realizing that his target was now underneath him, and the only way to get a clean shot was to go after him.

It wasn’t an appealing proposition.

Wasting no time, Payne shimmied along the steel beam, crawling upside-down towards the anchor point of the concrete. He had learned the technique in the military, using a single cable to cross a ravine or to breach a nearby building. Heels locked above, hips hanging down, then hand over hand until he reached his destination. It took him less than a minute to reach solid ground — a small ledge underneath the platform that had been installed for workers — but when he did, he gasped for breath and considered his predicament.

No weapon. No phone. No help on the way.

And somewhere above was a man with a silencer.

No way he’d let that happen. Not if he could help it.

Because of his height, Payne was forced to crouch as he moved along the ledge. Slowly, he crept his way towards the right side of the platform, always holding onto the overhead beam to help steady his stride. One misstep on the frozen concrete and he would fall a long way. Not only would death be certain, but cleaning up would be a bitch. At the end of the ledge, he stopped and inched his head away from the platform, leaning back as far as he could to improve his view of above. The shooter must have sensed Payne’s presence because a split-second later he was hovering over him, ready to pull the trigger.

‘Shit!’ Payne yelled as he yanked himself underneath the platform. As he did, the bullet whizzed past him, missing his head by inches and slamming into the rocks below.

‘So will your ammo!’ he shouted back.

‘I wouldn’t count on it.’

Payne nodded to himself, realizing the shooter was right. If he had an extra clip or two, he could stand up there half the day, taking shot after shot until he got lucky or a hostage strolled by. Neither scenario appealed to Payne. In the MANIACs, he had always been the aggressor, looking to exploit his enemy, trying to catch him with his guard down. For him, sitting under a ledge and playing peek-a-boo with a gunman wasn’t an option. To survive, he knew he had to spot the guy’s weakness and use it against him. But what was it?

After a moment of thought, he figured it out.

‘Hey asshole,’ Payne shouted. ‘What’s your name? You owe me that much.’

‘I don’t owe you shit!’

‘Sure you do,’ he replied as he listened to the creaking above him. ‘You snuck up behind me like a bitch. That’s a punk move.’

The gunman crept to the left side of the platform. ‘But it worked.’

Payne turned his head and shouted to the right. ‘No, it didn’t. I’m still alive.’

‘Come and get me!’

The gunman paused, then doubled back to his right. Without saying a word, he climbed up on the railing and leaned out as far as possible, hoping he had guessed right. Ironically, he had, but it proved to be his downfall.

Instead of peeking out from under the platform, Payne leapt out with only one intention: to grab the gunman’s tie. He had spotted it earlier when he had narrowly avoided the last shot. It had been hanging there, taunting him, like a leash on a lost dog. Payne knew if he got hold of it, he would control the gunman and he would control the situation.

But he hadn’t expected what happened next.

Stretching as high as he could, Payne snagged the tie with his right hand and gave it a mighty yank. The gunman, who had already been leaning over the edge, was unable to maintain his balance. Less than a second later, his feet shot skyward, and he flipped over the railing.

In a perfect world, Payne would have held onto him and saved his life, if for no other reason than to question him about his mission. Unfortunately, Payne knew his footing and grip

As Payne grabbed the bar, the gunman whizzed past, screaming and flailing the entire way until his life ended with a muffled thud on the icy rocks below.

19

Jones rolled down his window. ‘What happened?’

‘Someone fell,’ said the cop as Jones flashed his licence.

‘A jumper?’

The cop shook his head. ‘I wish.’

Jones wasn’t sure what that meant, but before he could ask, the cop waved him through and approached the vehicle behind him. Jones continued towards his building, unconcerned, until he saw half Payne’s security staff standing on the sidewalk instead of inside the warm lobby. The elderly guard manning the garage recognized