Hunter's Games

by James P. Sumner

  “Who is?” she asks.

  He looks at me momentarily.

  “The terrorist, ma’am.”

  Chambers looks at me and I smile.

  “What are we waiting for?” I ask. “Let’s go and say Hi.”

  5.

  15:26

  CHAMBERS WALKS OUT of the room in a hurry, leaving Johnson in the doorway.

  “Follow me,” he says.

  He disappears, so Josh and I head out of the door and down the corridor after him. Halfway down on the right, it branches out into an open plan area full of desks and phones and FBI agents busying themselves with their work. We carry on as the corridor doglegs to the left. We come out into another office space, slightly smaller than the one we just past. On the left hand side of the room are a couple of desks with chairs either side. On each desk are laptops and telephones. The furniture looks like an IKEA clearance sale. It’s all standard with a beech wood finish. The carpet is a navy blue and the fluorescent lights on the tiled ceiling overhead are buzzing away happily. The FBI agents in here stop and stare at us as we walk in.

  Have you ever seen those old western movies, where the hero walks into a bar and the music stops and everyone turns to look at them? The hustle and bustle, the chatter, and the piano all goes quiet to the point where you can hear a mouse fart. And they all take a simultaneous breath in…

  It’s like that.

  Josh looks at me and smiles. I simply shake my head and continue across the floor, toward a conference room in the far right corner that I can see Chambers entering.

  Inside, there’s a large table in the middle with several chairs along both sides. Agent Wallis is standing over by a large television screen on the back wall with a phone to his ear and his hand over the mouthpiece. In the center of the table is a black speakerphone system used for teleconferences. Chambers is standing near it on the opposite side of the table to the door, leaning over it and resting on both hands.

  She looks at me as I walk in. Johnson stays at the door, turning to face the other agents and giving them instructions. I guess they’ll be recording and tracing the call.

  She points to the chairs then puts her finger to her lips. Josh and I sit down and observe. She looks over at Agent Wallis, who gives her the thumbs-up.

  “This is Agent Chambers,” she says out loud. “Who am I speaking to?”

  After a few moments of silence, the same low, distorted voice I heard a few minutes ago comes on the line.

  “Have you done as I asked?” the voice says.

  “If you mean, have we managed to apprehend Adrian Hell, then yes, I have. I guess I should thank you for the tip-off?”

  “Put him on the phone.”

  “I can’t do that until you give me something. I want to work with you to resolve this, not against you. Can you tell me your name?”

  There’s silence again. Everyone in the room exchanges tense and worried looks.

  “Call me… The Shark. Now put him on the phone. I know he’s listening.”

  Agent Chambers looks at me and shrugs, gesturing with her hand, giving me the go-ahead to talk. I look at Josh for any last words of wisdom before I open my mouth and cause mayhem. He holds his hands up in resignation.

  I officially have total freedom to talk to a terrorist, who’s already attacked the city twice, all in the name of playing a game with me. I have to handle this delicately.

  “Hey, Nutsack, it’s Adrian,” I say. “What kind of a name is ‘The Shark’ anyway? You sound like a really shit comic book character. The kind of expendable doodle that doesn’t make it past the first issue because they’re killed off in spectacularly fashion by our well-drawn hero. Which, in this instance, I guess would be me.”

  Have you not been paying attention? I don’t do delicate.

  There’s more silence on the line, which I rightly or wrongly take as I sign to continue antagonizing them.

  “Oh, have I offended you? I’m sorry, Jaws, I didn’t realize you were such a sensitive soul.”

  On the other side of the table, Agent Chambers rests her head in her hands. In the corner, Agent Wallis is trying to hold back a smile.

  “I’d heard you had a mouth on you,” replies The Shark, finally. “You should really learn some manners, Adrian.”

  “Tell you what, you stop randomly killing people and I’ll address you as… Mr. Shark. How’s that?”

  “My killings aren’t random, Adrian. I’m sure you and your friend have figured that out by now.”

  “Yeah, we got your messages. Not very subtle. The shootings were particularly amateurish, if I was honest. But nevertheless, we’re here. So what do you want?”

  “I want you, Adrian. I want your head on a spike, for the world to see.”

  “Mom, is that you?”

  Josh laughs out loud involuntarily before clasping his hand over his mouth to suppress any further outburst.

  “You think this is a game, Adrian?” says the voice, clearly losing its patience.

  “Oh, sorry—was I supposed to be taking you seriously?” I ask. “I figured you’re just a nut-job with a grudge that’s been dying to find an excuse to squeeze off a few rounds and get their fifteen minutes of fame, and I’ve seen no evidence to the contrary.”

  “You took everything from me, you sonofabitch! I will have my vengeance.”

  “So tell me who you are, and I’ll come and apologize to you, all nice and civilized.”

  “You’ll find out soon enough, Adrian. In the meantime, I have another message for you. And I want to give you this one in person.”

  “Great—we’re at the FBI Field Office, just come on over and we can talk about it.”

  “I think not. You have one hour to come and get the message, or there will be penalties. You want to treat this like a game? Fine, let’s play a game, Adrian.”

  “Great, so, where do you want me?”

  “In the car park of the California Academy of Sciences, there is a school bus. On that bus are forty-three schoolchildren and three teachers. Underneath the bus is a brick of C4. Do the math, Adrian. Be there in sixty minutes, or there’ll be a large hole filled with small body parts.”

  The line clicks dead and there’s a split-second where everyone in the room holds their breath and looks at each other, the panic clear on their faces. But we soon get over it and Chambers strides purposefully out of the room, barking orders at everyone outside. All around there’s organized chaos, the likes of which I’ve never seen.

  The room quickly empties and everyone dashes to their respective desks, shouting to each other as they go. Chambers walks into the center of the open plan office as she takes her firearm out of her holster to check the magazine is full; the standard FBI issue Glock 22 pistol, with a clip that holds seventeen .40 caliber Smith and Wesson rounds. Everyone quickly huddles around Chambers’ desk as she outlines the plan. Josh and I stay at the back, just outside the conference room, out of the way. I figure it’s best to let them get on with it.

  I turn to Josh. “I don’t suppose...” I start, but he cuts me off.

  “…I went to your hotel and retrieved your bag and guns?” he offers. “Yes, they’re in my Winnebago.”

  I smile. “You’re so pretty,” I say.

  “Ah, shucks—you sure know how to make a gal blush!” he replies.

  We chuckle to ourselves, but a voice bellows across the room, interrupting us.

  “If you two have finished blowing each other, maybe you could join us and try to look like you give a shit about what’s going on here?”

  It’s Agent Johnson, trying to exert some authority over the two people most likely to rebel against such things. We look at each other, and Josh gestures for me to go on ahead. We approach the group of agents, who have fallen silent following Johnson’s outburst. I can’t tell whether they’re simply embarrassed on his behalf, or they’re genuinely interested to see how I’ll react, given my reputation, which everyone is now clearly aware of. I ignore Johnson completely, making
a point of turning my back to him as I look directly at Agent Chambers.

  “What are your plans?” I ask.

  She seems reluctant to answer, knowing that telling me probably violates too many rules to list.

  “Hey, regardless of what you say, I’m free to go whenever I want,” I say when she doesn't reply. “I’m here because I want to help. This guy’s after me, and I’m going to sort my own shit out, alright? But believe it or not, I don’t want anyone to get caught in the crossfire that doesn’t deserve to, so if there’s anything I can do to help you guys out, tell me.”

  “Well, regardless of what you think, Adrian,” she begins. “You’re in an FBI Field Office. Which means the FBI are in charge, not you. I know you’ll help out, because I’m telling you to. But if you think you’re walking in there and doing everything the way you want, you can forget it. Around here, we focus on saving lives, not settling scores.”

  I like her.

  She’s by the book for sure, but she has a little twinkle in her eyes when she speaks that makes me think she’ll come through for you when it counts, rulebook or no rulebook.

  Still, it’s ultimately my fight and consequently, I consider myself responsible for those kids. And unlike all the desk jockeys that are standing around watching me, I’m not restricted by procedures and regulations, which means I’m able to do what’s necessary, not what’s appropriate.

  “How far away is this place from where we are?” I ask.

  “In traffic, about twenty minutes,” she says. “It’s near Golden Gate Park. Our Hostage Rescue Team won’t make it in time, so we’re liaising with the San Francisco PD and mobilizing our SWAT team as we speak.” She checks her watch. “They'll be on site in fifteen minutes,” she adds.

  I look at one of the clocks on the wall.

  “We’ve got just over three-quarters of an hour until his deadline, so we better get moving, eh?”

  “You two aren’t going anywhere on your own.”

  “You’ll only slow us down, and I’m better equipped to handle this than you are.”

  “How do you figure that?” asks Johnson.

  “I think we’re all done flirting around the subject of who I am and what I do. Under the circumstances, I suspect you’ll overlook all the things you know you can’t prove and let me help you any way I can. If this Shark guy is anywhere nearby, he’ll be shooting at me pretty much on sight. Which means his focus won’t be on you guys, so you’ll then be in a better position to save those kids. Whereas if you try to confront him directly, you’ll have to stand there beating yourselves off waiting for all kinds of authority to give you the green light to even think about pulling a trigger. I have the luxury of doing what I want if I need to. You guys don’t.”

  I turn to Josh. “Come on, we’re going.”

  We both head for the main corridor but Chambers runs over and blocks our path. She stands in front of us, arms folded, thinking about the best move.

  She sighs reluctantly. “If you screw up, it’s my ass that gets fried, so watch your step, okay?”

  I smile. “I will do what I can to make sure your ass remains intact,” I say.

  She almost succeeds in holding back the smile, but it slips out a little. She looks over at the huddle of agents.

  “Wallis. Johnson. You’re with the Two Stooges here.” She smiles at us both. “Play nice boys. We’ll be right behind you.”

  We walk out of the office, back down the corridor, down the elevator, through the entrance hall, and outside to the small plaza in front of the building. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is shining brightly, reflecting all around off the windows of the surrounding buildings. Josh checks his watch.

  “We’ve got just about forty minutes,” he says. “We best get a move on.”

  Special Agents Wallis and Johnson appear behind us.

  “You’re riding with us,” says Johnson. Wallis moves past us, taking his car keys out of his pocket.

  “Dream on,” I say. “We’ll go in Josh’s car and meet you there.”

  “Agent Chambers said—”

  “Agent Chambers isn’t here,” I say, interrupting. “Why don’t you boys live a little?”

  “Come on,” shouts Wallis from over by his car, which he's parked close by to the entrance. “We’re wasting time.”

  “Fine,” Johnson says to us, with resignation. “But don’t be skipping town or anything.”

  He walks off toward the car. Josh looks at me.

  “What a dick.”

  “Aren’t they all?” I reply. “So where’s your ride?”

  I scan the street, seeing nothing but government-issue sedans, with the occasional civilian vehicle thrown in for good measure, parked along the sidewalk. Then my eyes rest on a dull, dirty, cream-colored Winnebago with a huge aerial sticking up from the roof and a windscreen that’s so filthy, I’d be surprised if you could see anything through it.

  I look at Josh, who’s standing smiling like a proud father.

  “Really?” I ask.

  “What?” he says.

  “The money we make and you have that piece of shit?”

  “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.”

  “I wouldn’t want to knock it at all—it might fall apart.”

  We walk over and get in. Josh starts it up, on the third attempt, and we set off toward Golden Gate Park.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” I ask.

  “Yup.”

  “Is my stuff in the back?”

  “Yup.”

  Inside the vehicle is open plan, meaning you can get out of your seat in the front and walk into the back area. There’s a worktop fitted against the left hand side with a ridiculous amount of tech on it. There’s a bar stool just in front of it. Adjacent to that on the right, separated in the middle by the door, is another worktop, also brimming over with equipment, printouts, and maps and God knows what else. Against the back window is a battered sofa with my bag on it.

  Bingo.

  I open it up and retrieve my babies. My custom twin Beretta 92A1 pistols. Each one is metallic silver with an ebony plate fitted either side of the butt. On it, embossed in silver, is an upside-down pentagram. Helpful in keeping the ‘Adrian Hell’ persona alive and well. I take out my back holster and fit it around my waist, sliding the Berettas into place. I make my way back to the front cab and sit beside Josh.

  I check the clock on the dashboard. We’ve got just under twenty-five minutes left before The Shark’s deadline expires.

  “You got a plan for when we get there?” asks Josh.

  “Not really,” I say. “Figured I’ll try to stop the kids from getting blown up. That’s about as far as I got.”

  “A good a place as any to start.”

  I look out the window as Josh threads through the traffic as fast as he can. Wallis and Johnson are just ahead of us. The same SWAT team that apprehended me earlier will be on site by the time we get there. I imagine Agent Chambers is en route behind us as well.

  I sit back and close my eyes, trying to push everything else aside in my mind, so I can focus on what I’m walking into.

  Who the hell is The Shark? And what have I done to piss them off so much?

  6.

  16:21

  JOSH IS A pretty good driver and seems to know exactly where he’s going despite, as far as I’m aware, having never been to San Francisco before. He’s very reliable and frighteningly resourceful, which is why he’s been by my side in some capacity for over half my life.

  We turned right on Fell Street after leaving the Field Office and followed it until we merged on JFK Drive. We’ve been lucky so far that we’ve not hit any major traffic. We follow the road round and turn onto Kazar Drive. I look out the window and watch the skyline of the city flash past me. Under any other circumstances, I’d probably enjoy seeing more of the place, but right now, there’s no time for sight-seeing.

  “It’s good to see you, Josh,” I say, looking over at him as he drives.

>   And it really is. I’ve seen him twice in the last twelve months. I speak to him probably fifteen times a day, but when you’re out and about in the world on your own, the solitude does get you down from time to time. I’ve always enjoyed the lifestyle of moving around from place to place, remaining anonymous and seeing the world. But every once in a while, it’s nice to have some company.

  He smiles as he focuses on navigating the slow but steadily moving traffic.

  “You too, man,” he says. “Shame it’s under these circumstances though. Can you please just have a normal contract for once?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who finds me these jobs, remember?”

  “Don’t start blaming the logistics—things only ever seem to turn to shit when you arrive in town. I’m just saying…”

  “It’s not my fault bad people tend not to wanna roll over and die willingly with no fuss!”

  We both laugh. That’s another reason we work so well together. We understand that, regardless of how enormous the task at hand is, it’s always best to approach it instinctively. Don’t think about it—do it. It’s too easy to over-think things, which inevitably leads to indecisiveness and hesitation. And those things can cost you your life. To an outsider, it might look like I don’t care, or that I’m not taking things seriously. But in reality, I’m simply keeping detached so I can rely on my instincts.

  Believe me; I’m taking the current predicament very seriously indeed.

  “I don’t think this is Clara,” says Josh. “The voice is too masculine, even through the distortion. And from what we know of her, this isn’t her style. She wouldn’t have the patience or subtly to pull something like this off.”

  “No, I know. I think that was wishful thinking on my part,” I say, regretfully. “But it’s definitely someone who knows the truth about what happened in Heaven’s Valley.”

  “I think most people know what happened though. You almost created a second Grand Canyon in the middle of the desert...”

  “Very true. But if you’re right about the Pellaggio reference, this has gotta be someone who knows I was responsible for wiping out his organization, which was a separate thing entirely. Even the news reports at the time said it was likely a gang-related hit carried about by a large group of people.”