Cat and Mouse

the south balcony that ran above the long line of doorways at the front of Union Station. Nobody was using the doors now. Soneji was in full control.
    “Can’t see him from down here.” Sampson snorted at my side. “He might be moving around, changing position. That’s how a good sniper would work it.”
    “Has he said anything? Made any announcements? Any demands?” I asked the patrolman.
    “Nothing. He just started shooting people like he was having target practice. Four vics so far. Sucker can shoot.”
    I couldn’t see the fourth body. Maybe somebody, a father, mother, or friend, had pulled one of the victims in off the floor. I thought of my own family. Soneji had come to our house once. And he had called me here — invited me to his coming-out party at Union Station.
    Suddenly, from up on the balcony above us, a rifle barked! The flat crack of the weapon echoed off the train station’s thick walls. This was a shooting gallery with human targets.
    A woman screamed inside the America restaurant. I saw her go down hard as if she’d slipped on ice. Then there were lots of moans from inside the cafi
    The firing stopped again.
What the hell was he doing up there?
    “Let’s take him out before he goes off again,” I whispered to Sampson. “Let’s do it.”

Chapter 11

    O UR LEGS pumping in unison, our breath coming in harsh rasps, Sampson and I climbed a dark marble stairway to the overhanging balcony. Uniformed officers and a couple of detectives were crouched in shooting positions up there.
    I saw a detective from the train-station detail, which is normally a small-crimes unit. Nothing like this, nothing even close to dealing with a sharpshooting sniper.
    “What do you know so far?” I asked. I thought the detective’s name was Vincent Mazzeo, but I wasn’t sure. He was pushing fifty and this was supposed to be a soft detail for him. I vaguely remembered that Mazzeo was supposed to be a pretty good guy.
    “He’s inside one of those anterooms. See that door over there? The space he secured has no roof cover. Maybe we can get at him from above. What do you think?”
    I glanced up toward the high gilded ceiling. I remembered that Union Station was supposed to be the largest covered colonnade in the United States. It sure looked it. Gary Soneji had always liked a big canvas. He had another one now.
    The detective took something out of his shirt pocket. “I got a master key. This gets us into some of the antechambers. Maybe the room he’s in.”
    I took the key. He wasn’t going to use it. He wasn’t going to play the hero. He didn’t want to meet up with Gary Soneji and his sharpshooter’s rifle this morning.
    Another burst of gunfire suddenly came from the anteroom.
    I counted. There were six — 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

    D OWNSTAIRS, 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