Blake Pierce - Once Hunted

They all made their way back down the stairs. When they reached the foyer, McGill and Newton lifted their rifles, ready for action. The young gangbangers awaited them at the base of the stairs.

Riley looked them over. She realized they’d obviously been under orders to let Riley and her colleagues search the empty apartment. Now it seemed that they had something to say.

“Smokey said he thought you’d come,” one of the gangbangers said.

“He told us to give you a message,” another said.

“He said to look for him over at the old Bushnell Warehouse on Dolliver Street,” a third said.

Then, without another word, the young men stepped aside, leaving the agents plenty of room to leave.

“Was he alone?” Riley asked.

“Was when he left here,” one of the young men replied.

A sort of solemn foreboding hung in the air. Riley didn’t know what to make of it.

McGill and Newton kept their eyes on the young guys as the agents exited. When they got outside, Newton said, “I know where that warehouse is.”

“I do too,” McGill said. “It’s just a few blocks from here. It’s abandoned and up for sale, and there’s been talk of turning it into classy apartments. But I don’t like the sound of this. That place is perfect for an ambush.”

He got on his phone and requested more backup to meet them there.

“We’ll have to be careful,” Riley said. “Lead the way.”

Bill drove, following the local SUV. Both cars parked in front of a decrepit four-story brick building with a crumbling facade and broken windows. As they did, another FBI vehicle pulled up.

Looking over the building, Riley could see what McGill had meant and why he had wanted more backup. The place was huge and decrepit with three floors of dark and broken windows. Any of those windows could easily hide a shooter with a rifle.

All of the local team was armed with long guns, but she and Bill had only pistols. They might be sitting ducks in a firefight.

Still, an ambush didn’t make sense to her. After shrewdly evading arrest for some three decades, why would a guy as bright as Smokey Moran do something reckless like gun down FBI agents?

Riley called the other agents on her radio.

“You guys still wearing Kevlar?” she asked.

“Yeah,” came the reply.

“Good. Stay put in your car until I tell you to come out.”

Bill had already reached into the back of their well-stocked SUV, where he had found two Kevlar vests. He and Riley quickly slipped into them. Then Riley found a megaphone.

She rolled down the window and called out to the building.

“Smokey Moran, we’re FBI. We got your message. We came to see you. We don’t mean you any harm. Come out of the building with your hands up and let’s talk.”

She waited for a full minute. Nothing happened.

Riley got on the radio again to Newton and McGill.

“Agent Jeffreys and I are getting out of our vehicle. When we’re out, you get out too – with your weapons drawn. We’ll all meet at the front door. Keep your eyes high. If you see any movement anywhere in the building, take immediate cover.”

Riley and Bill got out of the SUV, and Newton and McGill got out of their car. Three more heavily armed FBI agents got out of the newly arrived vehicle and joined them.

The agents moved cautiously toward the building, eyeing the windows with their guns ready. Finally they reached the relative safety of the enormous front doorway.

“What’s the plan?” McGill asked, sounding distinctly nervous.

“To arrest Shane Harris, if he’s in there,” Riley said. “To kill him if necessary. And to find Smokey Moran.”

Bill added, “We’ll have to search the whole building.”

Riley could tell that the local agents didn’t much like this plan. She couldn’t blame them.

“McGill,” she said, “start on the ground floor, working your way up. Jeffreys and I will head to the top floor and work our way down. We’ll meet in the middle.”

McGill nodded. Riley could see a flash of relief on his face. They clearly knew that danger was much less likely in the lower part of the building. Bill and Riley would be putting themselves at considerably greater risk.

Newton said, “I’m going up with you.”

She saw that his expression was firm and made no objection.

Bill pushed the doors open, and all five agents went inside. Icy wind whistled through the windows of the bottom floor, which was mostly an empty space with posts and doors to several adjoining rooms. Leaving McGill and three others to start down here, Riley and Bill headed for the more threatening stairwell. Newton followed closely behind them.

Despite the cold, she could feel sweat in her gloves and on her forehead. She felt her heart pounding and worked hard to keep her breathing under control. No matter how many times she’d do this, she’d never get used to it. Nobody could.

At last they entered the vast, loft-like upper story.

The dead body was the first thing that caught Riley’s eye.

It was duct-taped upright to a post, so mangled that it hardly seemed human anymore. Tire chains were wrapped around its neck.

Hatcher’s weapon of choice, Riley remembered.

“That’s got to be Moran,” Newton said.

Riley and Bill exchanged glances. They knew not to holster their weapons – not yet. The body might well be Hatcher’s ruse to lure them into the open.

As they approached the dead man, Newton hung back, rifle ready.

Freezing pools of blood stuck to the soles of Riley’s shoes as she approached the body. The face was beaten beyond all possibility of recognition, and DNA or dental records would have to be used to identify it. But Riley had no doubt that Newton was right; it must be Smokey Moran. Grotesquely, his eyes were still wide open, and the head was taped to the post so that he seemed to be staring directly at Riley.

Riley looked around again.

“Hatcher’s not here,” she said, holstering her weapon.

Bill did the same and walked up to the body beside Riley. Newton remained watchful, holding his rifle ready and turning to keep check on all directions.

“What’s this?” Bill said, pointing to a folded piece of paper poking out of the victim’s jacket pocket.

Riley took out the piece of paper. Upon it was written:

“A horse is on a 24 foot chain and eats an apple that is 26 feet away. How did the horse get to the apple?”

Riley tensed. It came as no surprise at all that Shane Hatcher had left behind a riddle. She handed the paper to Bill. Bill read it, then looked at Riley with a puzzled expression.

“The chain isn’t attached to anything,” Riley said.

Bill nodded. Riley knew that he understood the riddle’s meaning:

Shane the Chain was now unbound.

And he was just starting to enjoy his freedom.

Sitting with Bill in the hotel bar that night, Riley couldn’t get the image of the mangled man out of her head. Neither she nor Bill had been able to make sense of what had happened. She couldn’t believe that Shane Hatcher had broken out of Sing Sing just to kill Smokey Moran. But there was no doubt that he had killed the man.

The bar’s holiday lights seemed garish rather than a sign of celebration.

She held her empty glass out to a passing bartender. “I’ll have another,” she told her, handing over the glass.

Riley saw that Bill was looking at her uneasily. She understood why. This was Riley’s second bourbon on the rocks. Bill knew that Riley’s history with booze wasn’t altogether pretty.

“Don’t worry,” she told him. “I’ll make this my last for tonight.”

She had no desire to get drunk tonight. All she wanted was to relax a little. The first glass hadn’t helped, and she doubted that the second would either.