I Am Death

Seventy-eight

Whatever result it was that Hunter had first imagined he’d get from his search, it sure as hell wasn’t what appeared on his screen. As pages and pages of material began loading, he leaned forward, placed both elbows on his desk and rested his chin on his knuckles.

Hunter was a fast reader. Actually, he was a very fast reader and as soon as he began devouring the chunks and chunks of information he knew he had stumbled upon a complete minefield.

And then the first bomb went off.

He reread the paragraph twice over before he was certain he had it right. And it staggered him.

The second bomb followed almost immediately.

Hunter had to pause and take a deep breath. He could practically hear adrenalin dripping into his veins — and then he found the images. They came at him like an angry heavyweight champion and hidden among them was the knockout punch.

As the final image loaded on to his screen, he felt a sickening shiver kiss the nape of his neck.

‘This can’t be.’

And then that was it.

No more information.

With the same speed with which it had all appeared, it all stopped.

Hunter tried something else. Being a Special LAPD Detective had its perks but the words that came up on his screen made him jerk back.

RESTRICTED ACCESS.

‘What the fuck?’

He tried again.

RESTRICTED ACCESS.

One more time.

RESTRICTED ACCESS.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

He backtracked and reread some of the information he’d gotten from his initial search.

And then it dawned on him.

Just like the killer’s note to Mayor Bailey, the information had mentioned the FBI.

Hunter checked his watch — 11:58 p.m. In Virginia it would be 02:58 a.m. It didn’t matter.

Hunter reached for his phone.