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Chapman looked behind her. Two cop cars were cutting through the traffic heading their way. Stone saw this too and picked up his pace. He reached in his jacket for his gun. Chapman accelerated on the other side of the line of stalled traffic and mimicked his movements. They finally reached the obstacle in the road—two cars in a fender bender that Stone sensed was much more. An older man was leaning against the car in front looking very shaken and scared. As Stone looked down he could see the man had vomited on the street.
As he approached, Stone held up his badge and called out, “Sir, what’s wrong?”
The older man pointed at the car behind his, where the two bumpers were locked together. Stone checked the license plate of this car. Government issue. His spirits sank. He peered inside the car. “Damn.”
Chapman was looking in from the passenger window. “Good God.”
The two cop cars screeched to a stop and men in blue jumped out. They saw Stone and Chapman holding their weapons and pulled their own.
“Police!” they cried out, their guns aimed at the pair.
Stone and Chapman held up their badges high so the cops could see them.
Stone barked, “Federal agents. Got a homicide here. FBI just put a BOLO out on this guy. But somebody got to him first.”
The cops crept forward, checked Stone’s creds and looked in the car.
Sykes was lying
back against the driver’s seat. The windshield was cracked. There was a hole burned into his forehead from the shot. Blood and brain matter were splattered around the car’s interior from the exit wound.
It was no wonder the other driver had thrown up after seeing this, thought Stone.
Chapman saw the cell phone on the front seat. Using a handkerchief, she scooped it up and checked the call log. “He got a call ten minutes ago. From a blocked phone. Maybe the techs can dig it out.”
Stone nodded, looking around. “Right. Okay, he got the call, made a run for it.”
Chapman added, “They set him up. Knew somehow he’d have to take this route. Lined the shot up.”
Stone was now looking straight ahead, searching for where the shot had probably come from.
One of the cops said, “What do you need us to do?”
Stone kept looking while he talked. “Call in backup and secure the crime scene.”
He pulled his phone and called Ashburn, filling her in.
A string of expletives exploded over the phone. Having sufficiently vented, Ashburn said, “I’m sending reinforcements right now. We’ll coordinate with D.C. Metro.”
Stone clicked off. “Cavalry’s coming.”
“How do you want to break down the search?” Chapman asked.
A woman who’d been standing on the sidewalk came running up to them. She was about twenty, with kneeless jeans and an iPhone clutched in her right hand and a shopping bag in her left.
“Sir? Ma’am?”
They turned to her. She pointed to a building farther down the street. “I was looking up at that building as I was walking and I saw a flash of light. Then I heard the car crash. I think that’s where… where it came from.”
Stone said quickly, “Could you tell which floor?”
The woman looked at the building, silently counting. “Sixth. At least I think.”
They could hear other sirens coming as the backup flew toward them. Stone yelled to the two cops first on the scene to follow him and Chapman. As they ran toward the building he pulled out his phone and let Ashburn know about this development, giving her the address.
Stone put his gun away and ran as fast as he could, his gaze darting up to the sixth floor, waiting for another flash of light to appear.
CHAPTER 70
“YOU DON’T THINK THE SHOOTER is still in the building, do you?” said Chapman as they reached the entrance and ripped the doors open. Stone had ordered one cop to guard the front of the building and the other the rear.
Stone didn’t answer. He held up his badge to the security guard who approached them. “You have a possible sniper in this building. Did you see anyone come in today who looked suspicious or who was carrying an unusually shaped bag?”
The guard shook his head. “No one like that. But I just finished making my rounds, so someone might have slipped in then.”
Stone said, “The FBI is on the way. What other exits do you have here beside the lobby?”
“This way.” He led them to a door off the lobby. “Down that hall and to the right. Takes you to the loading dock in the rear.”
As they started off the man said, “You want me to go with you?”
“No, stay here. There’s a police officer posted out front. Anything happens you get to him.”
“Okay, good luck.”
Stone and Chapman darted through the door and down the hall. They had only gone about twenty feet when she grabbed his arm.
“What?” he said.
“That security guard?”
“What about him?”
“Do they normally wear gloves?”
Stone flinched, wheeled around and sprinted back the way they had come.
The door was locked now. Chapman shot the handle off and kicked it open. They rushed back into the lobby. There was no sign of the guard.
Outside the cop told them that the man had come out and headed into the alley.
“He said you told him to help secure the rear of the building and—”
Chapman and Stone ran off before he finished.
They found the security guard’s uniform next to a Dumpster. Stone and Chapman peered around.
“He can’t be more than a few seconds ahead of us,” she whispered.
“Thanks to you,” said Stone. “If you hadn’t figured out—”
She hit him hard, knocking him down an instant before the round slammed into the side of the Dumpster at the spot where Stone’s head had just been. Chapman rolled, took aim and fired. Her shots chipped concrete off the side of the building, but the shooter was already gone.
Stone had rolled over on his belly and had his gun aimed at the same spot.
“See anything?” he hissed.
She shook her head. “He’s gone.”
The cop from the front, obviously having heard the shots, came running.
“Stay down,” exclaimed Chapman, and the cop went to his knees and then scuttled forward until he was behind the Dumpster too.
“Backup’s here,” he said. “You guys okay?”
Stone sat up and looked at Chapman. “Thanks to her I am.”
Chapman shrugged. “More luck than skill, really.”
“I’ll take it. That slug was going right for my head.”
The three of them made their way cautiously down the alley. They picked up their pace when they heard the car race off. By the time they got to the next intersection, there was no sign of a vehicle or the shooter. Stone and Chapman ran down the alley and then slowly jogged back.
They both stopped when they reached the cop.
He was squatting over his partner, who was lying behind some trash cans with his throat slit, his eyes staring blankly up.
As they knelt over the body, Chapman said, “There must have been more than one guy. He wouldn’t have had time to shoot at us and then do this.”
“He had backup of his own,” said Stone quietly, as the cop sat on his haunches wiping tears from his eyes over the death of his partner.
“These guys are unbelievably organized,” said Chapman. “I mean, who the hell are they?”
Stone put a hand on the shoulder of the cop. “I’m sorry.”
The officer glanced up and nodded and then returned to staring at his dead colleague.
Stone straightened, turned and walked back down the alley as the wail of sirens reached fever pitch.
