Gallery of the Dead

Ninety-Seven

Through one of his monitors, the man watched as Garcia suddenly appeared to Agent Fisher’s left and, quick as a flash, pulled the trigger on his sawn-off double-barreled shotgun.

‘NO!’ the man screamed, his voice resonating against empty walls, but it was already too late. The shot hit Agent Fisher with utmost precision, sending a crimson mist up in the air and the agent to the ground. Immediately, all the monitors that were broadcasting the images picked up by the camera buttons on Agent Fisher’s leather coat went blank. His audio feed also died instantly.

‘Shit!’

The man knew that the cellphone in her pocket had been hit.

He checked his other monitor for the images coming from the cameras inside the stables. Agent Fisher had fallen inside horse enclosure number four on the right, just by the door, but the camera for that enclosure was directly above that same door, which meant that she had fallen in a blind spot. With no eyes on her, the man couldn’t tell if she was still alive or not. All he could see, from one of the cameras on the corridor, was the edge of her feet, and they weren’t moving.

Then, all of a sudden he saw Garcia look up at the camera above the door and reach for it.

He’d been made. That was unfortunate, but instead of being angry, the man smiled at himself. It didn’t matter if they found the cameras, the phone, the leather coat, or anything else. He was already counting on that happening. Maybe not this soon, but he knew that they would eventually find them. Still, it didn’t matter because none of it was traceable. The cameras hadn’t been bought in a shop. He had put them together himself from parts bought from a variety of different outlets. The jacket he had purchased in a goodwill shop. There was nothing in that ranch that would give the FBI any clues to who he was or how to find him. He now knew that the FBI knew about his Optum platform breach, but he was a computer whiz, and he knew that there was no way they could trace any of those breaches back to him.

It was a pity that his little game had ended this way and so soon, but it had certainly been fun.

The man switched off all the monitors and sat back on his chair. He felt tired, exhausted even. He hadn’t slept in fifty-one hours, and now that his revenge against Special Agent Fisher was complete, the fatigue hit him like a plane crash. He decided that he would rest for a little before returning to the girl. He had no use for her anymore. The girl had no mother. Even if Special Agent Erica Fisher survived, she would spend the rest of her life in prison. He might as well end the little girl’s misery.

Maybe he would be merciful one more time.