Chris Kuzneski - The Prophecy

Suddenly the playing field was a lot more even.

A shot rang out from the nearby street, followed by the crack of glass. Jones turned and glanced at the road but couldn’t see the gunman. He was definitely back there, but where? Realizing he was in a position of weakness — pinned down in the back of a squad car, unable to reach the ignition because of an iron partition between the seats — Jones knew he had to move before the shooter came any closer.

The front entrance to the building was roughly twenty feet away. A long distance to run with bound hands. He stared through the blood-streaked window, trying to gauge how long it would take to cover the ground and where he should go once he got inside. In his opinion, the entire lobby was a tactical nightmare. Furniture

‘Screw it,’ he mumbled as he got ready to run.

Taking a deep breath, Jones burst from the car like a sprinter from his starting block. A gunshot echoed behind him, followed by the screeching of tyres and the honking of horns, but his sole concern was getting indoors as quickly as possible. To hasten his entrance, Jones raised his gun and fired two shots at the front window of the building. The glass shattered on impact, sending tiny shards crashing to the lobby floor. They tinked and clanked in a melodic song, one he didn’t notice as he leapt through the empty window frame and scrambled for cover.

Originally he had planned on running left and hunkering down by the mailboxes, using its angled wall for protection. But out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the middle elevator had just arrived and its doors were sliding open. Taking that as an omen, he cut sharply to his right and dived inside before the gunman could clip him from behind.

Paul was ten feet behind his partner when Vinnie’s head erupted like a pink volcano.

The shot had come from their left, somewhere near the busy road, not from the suspect they had in handcuffs, although there was a chance he had an accomplice who had pulled the trigger. With that in mind, Paul did what he had been trained to do — he grabbed the nearest civilian and dragged her to safety in the opposite direction. Megan was thankful he did otherwise she would have remained standing in the middle of the sidewalk, too stunned by the graphic nature of the killshot to react rationally.

She had never seen someone murdered before; it took a moment for her to recover.

When she finally snapped out of her haze, she was already halfway across the lobby, running towards the sitting area beyond the bank of elevators. Paul pulled her arm and yanked her behind a faux-leather couch that would temporarily shield them from the gunman outside.

‘Stay down,’ he warned her as he pulled his Glock 21, a.45-calibre semiautomatic handgun, from his holster. ‘I’m calling for backup.’

With his free hand, Paul clicked the button on his transmitter and called in a ten-double-zero, police code for officer down, all patrols respond. A few seconds later, Jones fired two shots at the window and sprinted across the lobby.

Suddenly, Paul had more important things to worry about than backup.

He had an armed suspect to take out.

41

At least that had been the plan until Jones appeared in their elevator.

The two seniors shrieked with surprise and moved to the far corner of the car where they huddled against the wall. Jones spotted them while still on his back and assured them they were safe, despite the fact that he was pointing a loaded gun towards the lobby.

‘Don’t worry, I’m a cop,’ he lied.

Mary stared at him, confused. ‘No, you’re not. You can’t be a cop.’

Jones glanced up at her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? I’m black so I can’t be a cop?’

‘Hold up!’ he said, annoyed. ‘This is supposed to be the City of Brotherly Love. Well, I’m a brother, so show me some love. I can’t believe how racist everyone is!’

‘But…’

‘But, what ? Spit it out, Grandma.’

Ann finished her thought. ‘But you’re wearing handcuffs.’

‘Oh,’ he mumbled, suddenly realizing how he appeared to them. The meathead cop had pissed him off so much he was actively searching for racism, even in places it wasn’t present. ‘Ladies, the lobby isn’t safe right now. You should go upstairs for a while.’

Mary grumbled. ‘But we’re going to lunch.’

‘To get tacos,’ Ann added.

‘Not today,’ Jones said as he sprang to his feet. ‘What floor?’

Both women sighed and answered in unison. ‘Ten.’

Jones pushed the appropriate button. ‘Don’t come back down until dinner.’

Thinking things through, Paul realized there was a decent chance Jones had an accomplice who had killed Vinnie. It would certainly explain why

‘What’s your name?’ Paul demanded.

‘Megan Moore,’ she said, curled up on the floor.

‘Are they coming for you?’

‘Who?’

He pointed his gun at her. ‘Your friends.’

‘My friends?’ she shrieked, confused by the turn of events.

‘The ones who killed my partner.’

She backed away from him. ‘We didn’t kill your partner. They tried to kill us!’

‘Bullshit!’

‘I swear to God, someone is trying to kill us. They already killed my neighbour.’

The comment made him pause. ‘Who’s your neighbour?’

‘Ashley Henderson. She lived in 615.’

That was the same woman Paul and Vinnie had been sent to investigate. The one who had been killed on the Pitt campus for no apparent reason. ‘Who are your friends?’

‘Jonathon Payne and David Jones. They’re investigators from Pittsburgh.’

‘They’re here to protect me.’

‘Did you hire them?’ he demanded.

‘No, I didn’t hire them.’

‘Then that doesn’t make sense. They must be here for some other reason.’

‘I’m telling you, they’re here to protect me!’

A moment later, Paul found out that was true.

Slamming on the SUV’s brakes outside the lobby, Payne thought about his best course of action. Jones and Megan had dashed inside the building, which was temporarily the safest place for them. Unless, of course, there were more gunmen approaching from the rear. If that was the case, then everyone inside was going to get caught in the crossfire.

Not a pleasant thought.

Thinking quickly, he tapped on the driver’s side window, trying to figure out what kind of material had been used in its design. He knew that high-profile vehicles in war zones were now being fitted with one-way bullet-resistant glass because it allowed security details to fight back without leaving their vehicles. He had never used it during combat, but he had tested it during drills.

Based on what he knew about the Suburban and all the high-ranking officials who had used it before him, Payne decided the vehicle would be equipped with all the latest features.

Only one way to find out, he thought.

He twisted in the driver’s seat and stared out the back of the SUV. He put his finger in one ear while pressing his shoulder against the other to protect his ears from the noise of a gun firing in an enclosed space. Thirty seconds passed before the gunman inched around the corner. He swept his gun from side to side, searching for possible targets on the street and near the building. Due to the tint in the SUV’s windows, he had no idea Payne

Second after second ticked by as the gunman crept forward. Finally, when he was no more than five feet from the Suburban, Payne calmly pulled his trigger.

The shot ripped through the rear window like it was passing through paper. It struck the gunman just below his left ear and rattled around the interior of his skull before it settled in his temporal lobe. The bastard didn’t feel a thing. He was dead before he hit the sidewalk.