I hid behind a tile as the Hunter blasted another ferocious shot with his Dragunov. The CSI team had left. It was just me and the hunter. Crack! Another blast from the Dragunov ripped through the air, smashing through the tile and missing me by an inch. This was going to be one of those days.
"Well Max, aren't you gonna shoot once in a while? I'm getting bored of hunting an inanimate prey," The hunter arrogantly laughed. "Why don't you try shooting?"
I fired a single blind shot, through the hole that the Hunter's Dragunov had left. It was a clear miss. Max could hear the bastard laughing about the absurdity of the shot.
"That coke's really gotten to ya, eh Max?"
Wait. That was wrong. How would a typical hitman, even a really good one, know I had a coke problem? It couldn't be. No one was that good. And if I had been surveyed by this hunter, why wouldn't the bastard have iced me then?
As I pondered this behind the tile, a familiar sound rang out- sirens. They were heading towards the Chrysler, I knew it. So did he.
"Son of a bitch," I heard him call out as the sirens drew closer. I heard the elevator open, but by the time I had peered out from behind the tile, he was gone.
"Max, what the hell is going on?" It was the voice of Waters. I still remember the look on his face when he saw Clarke's dead body. I've haven't seen such shock since I found my wife and daughter murdered. "Jesus Christ," Waters exclaimed. "Who the fuck did this?"
"Sir, it was a hitman named the hunter," I replied. "I think he was after me. Bastard shot Waters just for the fun of it."
"Holy fucking shit," Waters exclaimed. "You fucking KILL that asshole, you hear me Payne! Fucking KILL HIM!
"Sir, he's tough sir. I've never seen someone so quick. But I think I can nab him."
"Waters, what the hell is going on?" I asked as 20 SWAT, the CSI squad, and an FBI agent entered the building.
"The building's been hijacked," Waters replied. "The shit that killed Clarke's obviously one of them. Can you identify him, Payne?"
"No. I didn't get a clear look at him. But I could identify his voice."
"Good. SWAT's gonna clear the building while you and I sag behind. Once they clear a floor, we investigate. See if we can find that Hunter shit."
"What's the FBI agent doing here?" I asked Waters.
"He'll be tagging along with us. Says there's some files on a computer he needs to access. I'll make sure he doesn't fuck up our hunt," Waters almost maniacally laughed.
SWAT went in and cleaned the first couple of floors with relative ease. I went along with them, and we didn't encounter that many men. A routine clean. That was all it was.
Jon Jensen was a regular, middle of the road SWAT officer. He missed a few days of work here and there, but he was generally healthy. He was also a very good shot. His marksmanship scores were the highest ever at his gun cage. The 25-year-old was treated well by the rest of the squad; some said he would one day be team leader. Yet today he had been stationed on the fifth floor of the Chrysler to look after the two NYPD cops and the FBI agent who were snooping around. The other five members of his team had all been given watching jobs- making sure the criminals who had taken control of the building didn't try to take secure floors back. Jon saw the FBI agent go up to the next floor, and then he saw something strange. Two men in another room were talking, probably the NYPD cops. Then all of a sudden, a gunshot-like sound erupted.
Jon raced towards the room, clearing the hallway on the assumption that one of the criminals had tried something fancy. As he drew closer, he saw a man running down the hall, away from the room. The man fired a single shot at Jon, hitting his vest and knocking him down. By the time Jon got up, the man had vanished to the elevator. Jon rushed towards the room where the two men were talking, and found a terrible sight. There, lying dead, was Chief Kevin Waters.
