Chris Kuzneski - The Prophecy

From his position near the elevator, Jones saw a gun pointing at Megan, who was cowering away from the weapon. Considering everything that had transpired during the past couple of minutes, Jones wasted no time before he sprang into action. Sprinting across the lobby, he jumped head first over the couch and tackled the man who was threatening her.

No warnings. No threats. Just a forearm and his opponent’s head.

One moment Paul was questioning Megan, the next he was on the floor with a set of handcuffs wrapped around his neck like a hangman’s noose. Kneeling on the cop’s back, Jones applied

‘Drop the gun,’ Jones hissed, ‘or die!’

Paul did as he was told, and it clanked to the floor.

‘Don’t kill him,’ Megan said as she scrambled forward. ‘He saved my life.’

‘That doesn’t give him the right to take it.’

She touched Jones’s shoulder. ‘Ease up. Please, ease up.’

Begrudgingly, Jones let him breathe. ‘Why’d you pull a gun on her?’

‘Someone killed Vinnie,’ he gasped, fighting for air.

‘What’s your point? We didn’t do it. You were with us the whole time.’

‘I thought you might have a partner.’

Jones considered the cop’s answer. It was a valid point. If their roles had been reversed, he would have assumed the same thing. ‘We’re the good guys. We don’t kill cops.’

Megan nodded. ‘That’s what I was telling him when you kicked his ass.’

‘Come here,’ Jones said to her. ‘Get his keys, and unlock my cuffs. Once my hands are free, I’ll let him go. I’ve got no beef with him.’

‘Left hip,’ Paul mumbled as he tasted the floor.

‘Point it away from us,’ Jones said as he climbed off the cop and turned him over. Ironically, Paul had the same look in his eye as Megan. ‘Listen to me. I am a licensed investigator from Pittsburgh. I did not kill your partner. My partner did not kill your partner. In fact, none of us killed your partner. Do you understand?’

Paul nodded his head, still catching his breath.

‘Whoever killed your partner wants us dead. They already killed her neighbour, and they’ve been gunning for us all weekend. Do you believe me?’

Paul nodded again.

‘Good,’ Jones said as he snatched the gun from Megan and handed it to Paul, ‘because we need all the firepower we can get. My partner’s name is Jon, and he’s a big white dude.’

The colour returned to Paul’s face once his Glock was back in his hand. ‘I called for backup. They should be here soon—’

Just then they heard a loud rumble, followed by a deafening crash as the back end of the Chevy

Payne stared at them from the driver’s seat. ‘Need a lift?’

Jones grinned at the stunned cop. ‘Feel free to stick around, but my backup just arrived.’

42

Interpol Headquarters

Lyon, France

Toulon, the Assistant Director of the Homicide Division, was a wine-loving Frenchman who practically lived at headquarters yet spent half his time avoiding the tasks of the day. In some ways, he was a great employee, able to speak at length on every subject under the sun whether it was history, sports, politics, or pop culture. But sometimes he got lost in his own thoughts, and when that happened, he could usually be found outside the building, smoking a cigarette and preaching to

Dial unlocked his office door, looking forward to a few minutes of peace and quiet before he responded to a handful of messages. Unfortunately, he was greeted by the sound of snoring.

‘You’ve got to be shitting me,’ he mumbled to himself.

Wasting no time, Dial walked across the room and tipped the couch forward, dumping the unsuspecting Frenchman on the floor. Toulon awoke on impact, and launched into a string of profanity that Dial couldn’t understand. Eventually, Toulon shifted to English.

‘Why did you do that? I have done nothing wrong.’

‘Say that again.’

‘I have done nothing—’

‘Stop!’ Dial growled, cutting him off. ‘That’s the problem right there. I’ve been busting my ass all day, and you have done nothing !’

Toulon ran his fingers over his grey hair, which was pulled back in his trademark ponytail. He certainly didn’t look the part of an Interpol officer, but his brilliance usually made up for his you need a siesta?’

‘Henri, I’m telling you right now: do not mess with me.’

Toulon ignored the warning. ‘Why are you so cranky? Are you mad you are not French? I know if I was an American, I would be tempted to slit my wrists.’

Dial stared at him, fuming.

‘ Excusez-moi ,’ Toulon apologized. ‘I did not know you were serious.’

‘Do I sound like I’m joking around?’

He shook his head. ‘On reflection, you do not.’

‘And do you know why I’m so pissed?’

‘Several jokes come to mind, but I shall keep them to myself.’

‘I’m pissed because I gave you an important task this morning, and as far as I can tell, you haven’t taken care of it.’

Toulon fiddled with his ponytail. ‘And what task was that?’

‘You were supposed to identify the second gunman who tried to kill Jonathon Payne in Pittsburgh, and then talk to our contacts in antiquities about that mysterious letter.’

‘Have you no faith in me? I completed those tasks long ago.’

supposed to send the information to my cell phone, so I could forward it to my friend.’

Toulon groaned. ‘That, I did not do. But two out of three is pretty good, no?’

‘Not good enough.’

‘If you’d like, I can send it to your phone right now.’

Dial growled. ‘How does that make any sense at all? You’re standing in front of me. Just tell me what you learned, and I’ll call Jon myself.’

‘In my defence, it makes perfect sense because I do not remember all the details. If you give me a moment, I can run to my desk and get my notebook.’

Dial waved him off. ‘Go!’

Toulon nodded and walked away. He returned a few minutes later and sat in one of the chairs across from Dial, who was on the phone. Normally, Toulon would have cleared his throat and pointed to his watch, just to piss Dial off, but he realized if he did either, there was a decent chance that Dial would shoot him.

‘So,’ Dial said as he hung up, ‘what did you learn?’

‘The Pittsburgh police have identified the second shooter. He is an American named Chad

‘What about below the surface?’

Toulon scrunched his face. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Your notebook says there isn’t a connection, but sometimes detective work isn’t about paperwork. Sometimes it’s about hunches and gut feelings.’

‘Do you know where the term gut feeling originated? Soothsayers from ancient civilizations, particularly those near the Mediterranean Sea, used to read animal entrails in order to prophesy the future. They literally used to feel an animal’s guts in order to work their magic.’

Dial rolled his eyes. He didn’t give a damn about the term’s origins, but he knew if he had interrupted Toulon, they would’ve wasted more time than the explanation itself. ‘Are you done?’

‘ Oui , I am done. I kept my story short because you are angry.’

‘I’ll be a lot happier if you answered my original question.’

‘Your original question? Ah, yes, you wanted to know if I had a theory.’

Toulon smiled. ‘What if shooter number two was a last-second substitute?’

‘How so?’

‘The first shooter was from Belgium, but he was killed before the job was done. Whoever hired him refused to wait for a replacement to be flown in from Europe, possibly afraid that the letter might be taken out of the city. So he hired a substitute, someone who lived near Pittsburgh. According to our files, the American was from a small town in Pennsylvania. Obviously he would be more familiar with the region, and he would not have to worry about smuggling a weapon on board a flight.’