The Prophecy

19

While driving his Cadillac Escalade toward the Payne Industries building, Jones noticed several police cars parked on the street. Their lights were flashing, and tension seemed high. Two officers stood in the middle of Grandview Avenue, stopping all traffic and checking IDs. A dozen more established a perimeter round one of the scenic lookouts.

Jones rolled down his window. ‘What happened?’

‘Someone fell,’ said the cop as Jones flashed his licence.

‘A jumper?’

The cop shook his head. ‘I wish.’

Jones wasn’t sure what that meant, but before he could ask, the cop waved him through and approached the vehicle behind him. Jones continued towards his building, unconcerned, until he saw half Payne’s security staff standing on the sidewalk instead of inside the warm lobby. The elderly guard manning the garage recognized the black Escalade and opened the gate with a friendly wave. Jones nodded back and parked just inside the mechanical arm.

‘Morning, Clyde,’ he said as he climbed out of his vehicle and slammed the door shut. Jones was dressed for the Steelers game, wearing a blackand-gold Troy Polamalu jersey and a black Pittsburgh ski cap. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Don’t worry, sir. He’s fine. Just fine.’

Jones furrowed his brow. ‘Who’s fine?’

The guard stared at him, confused. ‘You don’t know?’

‘Know what?’

‘Someone tried to kill Mr Payne.’

‘What?’ he asked, incredulous.

The guard nodded. ‘Pulled a gun on him down the street.’

‘Where’s he now?’ Jones asked.

‘Inside, I think. Not really sure, though.’

‘Thanks,’ he said as he hurried to find Payne.

Jones pushed his way through one of the revolving doors that opened into the atrium. Other than the spectacular view of the city, the building’s most prominent feature was the glass-lined lobby. It had been designed by Ieoh Ming Pei, the Chinese-born American architect who was later selected to build the Louvre pyramid. Normally, Jones took his time as he walked across the marble floor, admiring the way the sunlight danced through the glass ceiling like a prism, but today he had more important things to worry about. Particularly the health of his best friend, who he spotted across the lobby.

Payne was holding a cardboard box as he talked to two detectives near the security desk. As soon as he noticed Jones, he excused himself and walked over.

‘What happened?’ Jones demanded.

‘It was the strangest thing. I bought a dozen doughnuts and all these cops showed up.’

‘Come on, man, I’m serious.’

‘So am I.’ He opened the box as proof. The only thing left was some powered sugar on the bottom of the cardboard. ‘I hope you ate already.’

‘Jon,’ he said, annoyed, ‘what the hell happened?’

‘Not here,’ Payne whispered. ‘Meet me upstairs.’

Ten minutes later, the two of them had a chance to speak in the privacy of Jones’s office — the same place they had discussed Ashley’s criminal record the night before. Now they knew something more complicated was going on. Something more dangerous.

Payne filled him in on the basics before Jones peppered him with questions.

‘The gunman knew about the letter?’

‘Not only did he know about it, that’s all he cared about. When I told him I didn’t have it, he started shooting.’

Jones grimaced. ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Sense or no sense, that’s what happened.’

‘Did you recognize him?’

Payne shook his head. ‘Middle-aged white guy. Slicked back hair and a fancy suit. He looked European but didn’t have an accent.’

‘Did you get his prints?’

‘I tried to as he plummeted past me, but he didn’t cooperate.’

Jones shrugged. ‘Shit happens.’

Payne reached into his pocket and pulled out a wadded tissue. He carefully unwrapped it, then dumped a shell casing on Jones’s desk. ‘You might get something from this.’

‘You took this from the crime scene? I’m so proud of you.’

‘I learned from the best.’

‘Next time, just let the guy shoot you. It’s much easier to ID a bullet.’

Payne laughed. ‘I’ll remember that.’

Jones used the tip of his pen to pick up the casing. As he studied it under a desk lamp, he asked, ‘What’s our next move?’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking about that, and you’re not going to like my answer.’

Jones glanced across his desk. ‘Go on.’

‘Just to be safe, I think we should skip the Steelers game.’

‘Come on, Jon! It’s not like the guy shot you. I mean, that I could understand. But the bastard missed.’

‘Maybe so, but two shooters in twelve hours makes a guy rethink his priorities. In the grand scheme of things, how important is the game?’

‘You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding. Because if you force me to answer that question, you’re going to be crushed by my response.’

Payne smiled. He knew Jones was teasing. ‘Normally I wouldn’t skip a game, but let’s be honest. We’re playing Cleveland. When was the last time we lost to Cleveland?’

He shrugged. ‘Probably before we were born.’

‘Exactly! So if we have to miss one game, this is definitely the one.’

Jones growled softly. ‘Last night it was Pitt hoops, now it’s the Steelers. Next thing you know, you’ll be buying tickets to the ballet. I’m warning you, Jon, if that happens, I’ll shoot you myself.’

‘If that ever happens, I’ll beg you to do it.’

Jones nodded. ‘You can count on me.’

‘Good,’ said Payne and changed the subject. ‘Anyway, as I mentioned earlier, I’ve been giving this some thought, and I think we have two different issues to worry about.’

‘The letter and the gunmen.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Last night I didn’t have a chance to track down the shooter. Let me call the cops and see if they came up with something.’

Payne shook his head. ‘That’s one of the things I asked the detectives in the lobby. The shooter is still a John Doe. No ID on him, no prints in the system.’

‘Which is weird. Most hired guns would have some kind of record.’

‘Unless…’

‘Unless, what?’

Payne rubbed his chin. ‘Unless he was a soldier.’

‘Trust me, I considered that. Unfortunately, my computer doesn’t have access to everything. Certain databases are beyond my clearance.’

‘And…’

‘And, what?’

‘And what do we do when something is above our pay grade?’

Jones grinned. ‘We call Randy.’

As a computer researcher at the Pentagon, Randy Raskin was privy to many of the government’s top secrets, a mountain of classified data that was just there for the taking if someone knew how to access it. His job was to make sure the latest information got into the right hands at the most appropriate time. Over the years, Payne and Jones had used his services on so many occasions they had developed a friendship.

‘Is it my turn to call, or yours?’ Payne won dered.

Jones laughed. ‘It doesn’t matter. He’ll give us shit no matter what.’

Raskin was known to get cranky, especially when they asked him to break the law and track down data they weren’t supposed to have. It never stopped him from helping, though. Raskin was a hacker at heart, always looking to circumvent the rules.

‘Actually, before we call, there’s something else we need to discuss. Something that will take longer than a computer search.’

‘The letter.’

Payne nodded. ‘Prior to last night’s shooting, I was more than willing to ask some Pitt professors for help, but not now. Not if it’s going to put them in danger.’

Jones agreed. ‘Do you have someone else in mind?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do. Someone far away from here.’

‘How far?’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘I was thinking Switzerland.’