Cat & Mouse - James Patterson [10]
Another burst of gunfire suddenly came from the anteroom.
I counted. There were six shots—just like the last time.
Like a lot of psychos, Soneji was into codes, magical words, numbers. I wondered about sixes. Six, six, six? The number hadn’t come up in the past with him.
The shooting abruptly stopped again. Once more it was quiet in the station. My nerves were on edge, badly strained. There were too many people at risk here, too many to protect.
Sampson and I moved ahead. We were less than twenty feet from the anteroom where he was shooting. We pressed against the wall, Glocks out.
“You okay?” I whispered. We had been here before, similar bad situation, but that didn’t make it any better.
“This is fun shit, huh, Alex? First thing in the morning too. Haven’t even had my coffee and doughnut.”
“Next time he fires,” I said, “we go get him. He’s been firing six shots each time.”
“I noticed,” Sampson said without looking at me. He patted my leg. We took in big sips of air.
We didn’t have to wait long. Soneji began another volley of shots. Six shots. Why six shots each time?
He knew we’d be coming for him. Hell, he’d invited me to his shooting spree.
“Here we go,” I said.
We ran across the marble-and-stone corridor. I took out the key to the anteroom, squeezed it between my index finger and thumb.
I turned the key.
Click!
The door wouldn’t open! I jiggled the handle. Nothing.
“What the hell?” Sampson said behind me, anger in his voice. “What’s wrong with the door?”
“I just locked it,” I told him. “Soneji left it open for us.”
CHAPTER 12
DOWNSTAIRS, a couple and two small children started to run. They rushed toward the glass doors and possible freedom. One of the kids tripped and went down hard on his knee. The mother dragged him forward. It was terrifying to watch, but they made it.
The firing started again!
Sampson and I burst into the anteroom, both of us crouched low, our guns drawn.
I caught a glimpse of a dark gray tarp straight ahead.
A sniper rifle pointed out from the cover and camouflage of the tarp. Soneji was underneath, hidden from view.
Sampson and I fired. Half a dozen gunshots thundered in the close quarters. Holes opened in the tarp. The rifle was silent.
I rushed across the small anteroom and ripped away the tarp. I groaned—a deep, gut-wrenching sound.
No one was underneath the tarp. No Gary Soneji!
A Browning automatic rifle was strapped on a metal tripod. A timing device was attached to a rod and the trigger. The whole thing was customized. The rifle would fire at a programmed interval. Six shots, then a pause, then six more shots. No Gary Soneji.
I was already moving again. There were metal doors on the north and south walls of the small room. I yanked open the one closest to me. I expected a trap.
But the connecting space was empty. There was another gray metal door on the opposing wall. The door was shut. Gary Soneji still loved to play games. His favorite trick: He was the only one with the rules.
I rushed across the second room and opened door number two. Was that the game? A surprise? A booby prize behind either door one, two, or three?
I found myself peering inside another small space, another empty chamber. No Soneji. Not a sign of him anywhere.
The room had a metal stairway—it looked as if it went to another floor. Or maybe a crawl space above us.
I climbed the stairs, stopping and starting so he wouldn’t get a clear shot from above. My heart was pounding, my legs trembling. I hoped that Sampson was close behind. I needed cover.
At the top of the stairway, a hatchway was open. No Gary Soneji here either. I had been lured deeper and deeper into some kind of trap, into his web.
My stomach was rolling. I felt a sharp pain building up behind my eyes. Soneji was still somewhere in Union Station. He had to be. He’d said he wanted to see me.
CHAPTER 13
SONEJI SAT as calm as a small-town banker, pretending to read the Washington