jackets, not trench coats.
Across the street was the William Pitt Union. At one time it had been the Schenley Hotel, a
If the shooter went in there, things could get ugly.
With no suspect in sight, Payne searched for a gap in the hedges. He found one near the bus shelter and squeezed his way onto the sidewalk. Not wanting to startle the students, he tucked his gun into his pocket and approached the shelter.
‘Excuse me,’ Payne said, ‘have you seen a guy in a trench coat?’
‘Why?’ said the smartass in the middle. ‘Are you hoping to get flashed?’
Payne wasn’t in the mood for jokes. He took a step closer and stared at the kid, half-tempted to pull out his gun in order to stress the urgency of the situation. But the last thing he wanted to do was to threaten them, especially with the news he was about to share.
‘Listen very carefully,’ he said calmly. ‘There was a shooting near Heinz Chapel. The suspect is wearing a trench coat and he fled this way.’
‘Do you have a phone?’
All three nodded their heads.
‘Contact the Pitt police and tell them what I said. Have them send a warning message on the campus system. The less people outdoors, the better.’
Ever since the Virginia Tech shooting in 2007, most American universities had implemented a text-message alert system that could notify students and faculty of impending danger. With the touch of a button, more than 30,000 phones would receive the warning.
‘Do you understand me?’
They nodded their heads in unison.
‘Make the call on your way to the Cathedral. Go right now and spread the word.’
‘Why the Cathedral?’ the smartass asked.
‘Because the shooter just passed the Cathedral and was headed this way. There’s no reason for him to backtrack.’
‘I think I saw him,’ said the girl on the right.
‘Where?’ Payne demanded.
‘He crossed the street towards the union a few minutes ago.’
‘Did he go inside?’
‘Did you see his face?’
‘I only saw his coat. It was long and dark brown.’
Payne thanked her, then jogged across the street towards the main entrance of the student union. Three sets of doors sat under a large portico on his left. Just beyond it was a split set of steps that led up to Schenley Quadrangle, a cluster of five residence halls that housed more than 1,000 students. On most nights, the quad would be swarming with foot traffic — students heading to class or hanging out with friends — but Payne knew the basketball game on the far side of campus would reduce those numbers, as would the cold.
He darted up the steps, hoping to find an empty quad.
Instead, he found himself in the middle of a war zone.
More than fifty students were in the midst of a massive snowball battle. Everywhere Payne looked, people were running, and throwing, and howling with laughter. Not only in the courtyard between the buildings but also in the windows above. Minutes earlier, a few devious students had dumped buckets of water on the participants
Little did they know, a killer was lurking nearby.
A female student, wearing a knit cap and matching mittens, spotted Payne in his tuxedo. She hustled over to warn him. ‘If I were you, I’d go another way. It’s not safe in here.’
Payne smirked at the irony of her statement. ‘Are you on guard duty?’
She smiled. ‘Something like that.’
‘Did you see a guy in a brown trench coat?’
She nodded. ‘He ignored me and kept on walking.’
‘How long ago?’
‘Thirty seconds. You can catch him if you hurry.’
‘Which way?’ Payne demanded.
She pointed to the right. ‘Just past Amos Hall, heading toward Fifth.’
‘Thanks,’ Payne said as he sprinted across the courtyard. Snowballs whizzed past him like enemy fire, but he wasn’t the least bit concerned. His sole focus was catching the man in the trench coat, stopping him before he killed again.
Payne didn’t flinch. He stood perfectly still, gun in hand, waiting to make his move. A moment later he poked his head into the alley a second time, and once again the shooter fired. This time the bullet was even closer, missing Payne’s head by less than six inches.
‘Shit,’ Payne mumbled, realizing he was at a tactical disadvantage.
As a right-handed shooter, Payne knew he would have to expose his entire right flank in order to get off a clean shot. Due to his opponent’s accuracy, he knew that was a dangerous proposition. With that in mind, he moved his
Payne took a deep breath and inched his gun round the corner. He calmly squeezed the trigger, and the passenger window exploded. Payne made a small adjustment to his aim and fired again. This time the bullet entered the front passenger window and exited the driver’s side. Shards of glass rained down on the killer, stinging him like a swarm of angry bees. The man howled in agony as a piece of window pierced the corner of his left eye.
It was the sound Payne had been hoping to hear.
With his shield destroyed and his vision blurred, the assailant ran towards Fifth Avenue, hoping to reach his vehicle on the other side of the street before Payne shot him from behind.
A few seconds later, his escape attempt ended in a puddle of blood.
12
The bus driver had always driven carefully through Pitt’s campus. She knew several students had died over the years walking into the bus lane that ran against the flow of traffic on Fifth Avenue. But in this case, her caution didn’t matter because the man darted in front of her like a deer on the highway. One second he wasn’t visible, the next he was splattered on her windshield.
The noise the body made was unlike any that Payne had heard before. It was a mixture of a meaty thud and the splash of a spilled drink, all rolled together with the crack of a wishbone. By the time the driver skidded to an icy stop, the surrounding snow looked like salsa.
‘Holy shit,’ Payne muttered as he moved forward to inspect the carnage.
Although he was thrilled that the drama had ended quickly, Payne was smart enough to realize that the man’s death had left several questions unanswered. Not only his identity — which would take a while to determine based on his current
During their careers, Payne and Jones had made a long list of enemies. Their time with the MANIACs guaranteed they would live the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders. Most of their missions had been classified, but rumours about their exploits were well known in the military community. Sure, some of the stories were untrue — nothing more than lies that had become a part of their legend — but enough facts were sprinkled in to put them in harm’s way.
‘Oh my God,’ the driver wailed as she stepped off the bus. She was white and pudgy, the female equivalent of
