The Hunted

20

The wall of ventilation fans roared loudly as Jonathan Waller pressed a button to the left of shooting booth number 13 at the FBI Academy’s indoor range. Harper Payne — now operating under the cover of Special Agent Richard Thompson until the start of the Scarponi trial — pressed the magazine release button on his Glock, then watched as the cardboard bottle target rolled toward them.

“Nice shooting,” Waller said as he unhooked the target. “Nearly every round in the kill zone. Only two strays outside the bottle.”

“I thought I nailed every shot.”

“You shot fifty rounds and missed two, Harp. That’s a ninety-six. You only need eighty to qualify. Combined with what you did this morning on the pistol qualification course, you’re shooting for top-of-the-class honors.”

“Mind if I shoot another few magazines?”

Waller smiled. “Get this through your thick head: you did great. A whole lot better than I expected. It’s not like riding a bicycle. I mean, you never forget the skills, but unless you shoot regularly, you get rusty, lose your edge. But you’re as sharp as you were six years ago. It doesn’t look like you missed a beat.”

They proceeded into the firearms cleaning room, which was lined with wall posters displaying exploded schematics of guns in the FBI arsenal. Squeeze bottles with solvents and lightweight lubricating oil sat on metal tables beside stacks of gauze pads, wire brushes, and cotton swabs. After the instructor reviewed the Glock’s cleaning protocol with them, Payne checked his weapon in the gun vault across the hall.

“What’s on the agenda now, coach?”

“Now,” Waller said, “we take a stroll into town.”

“Town?”

They walked outside and followed Hogan’s Alley Street, a paved walkway that cut through the densely wooded Academy grounds. Up a hill was a blue phosphorescent posting that read

They continued walking and passed another series of signs that were nailed into one of the trees on the left side of the path. They read:

“Part of the physical training course for new agents,” Waller explained.

They followed the winding path until it widened into a roadway at the edge of “town,” where a large wooden gazebo stood surrounded by flowers and shrubs.

“Hogan’s Alley,” Waller said as they headed toward one of the buildings. “A five-million-dollar mock-up town where new agents train in a role-playing type environment. You never know what’s going to happen when you get the call to report here. Anything goes.”

Ahead of them were buildings with facades that read DOGWOOD INN RESTAURANT, BANK OF HOGAN, and ALL-MED DRUGSTORE. As they walked up behind a blue Ford that was parked at the curb with its front doors open, they noticed an agent crouched behind the hood of the vehicle, shotgun trained ahead on some unseen danger emanating from the bank.

“If I hadn’t told them we were coming, it would automatically be assumed we were part of the exercise,” Waller explained. The agent with the rifle glanced at them, recognized Waller, and turned his attention back to the developing drama.

“So this is like a movie set?”

“No, these buildings are real. Even though the facades are fake, the bureau maintains offices inside each of the buildings. Our photo and graphics labs are in the real estate office, the video lab is in the movie theater, and so on.”

“I’d like to get in on a few of these training exercises.”

“Already on the agenda for next week. Meantime, tomorrow morning we’re scheduled to review HRT procedures—”

“HRT?”

“Hostage Rescue Team.”

Payne nodded. “Shouldn’t that agent wait for backup before going in?” Payne asked as he observed the man leave the cover of his unit and begin making his way toward the bank.

“Yup. He’ll get clipped in a minute.”

“Bad decision.”

Waller nodded to the agent-in-charge, and they turned left on North Broad Street to head back toward Jefferson Hall, the main Academy building, which included a portion of the dorms. After walking for a moment in silence, Waller turned to Payne. “You okay with all this so far?”

“Seems like second nature.”

“That’s the point,” Waller said with a smile. “It is.”