The Maze

FBI AcademyQuantico, VirginiaShe was in Hogan’s Alley, the highest crime rate city inthe United States. She knew just about every inch of everybuilding in this town, certainly better than the actors whowere paid eight dollars an hour to play bad guys, and betterthan many of the bureau employees who were witnesses,robbers and cops every day in Hogan’s Alley.Today she and three other trainees were going to catch abank robber. She hoped. They were told to keep their eyesopen, nothing else. It was a parade day in Hogan’s Alley.There was a crowd of people around, drinking sodas andeating hot dogs. It wasn’t going to be easy. Chances werethat the suspect was going to be one of the people trying toblend in with the crowd, trying to look as innocent as aneveryday guy, she’d stake a claim on that. She would havegiven anything if they’d gotten just a brief glance at therobber, but they hadn’t. It was a critical situation, lots ofinnocent civilians milling about and a bank robber whowould probably run out of the bank, a bank robber who waspossibly dangerous.She saw Buzz Alport, an all-night waiter at a truck stopoff I-95. He was whistling, looking as if he didn’t have acare in the world. No, Buzz wasn’t the bad guy today. Sheknew him too well. She tried to memorize every face, soshe’d be able to spot the robber if he suddenly appeared. Sheslowly worked the crowd, trying to look calm and unhurried.She saw some visitors from the Hill, standing on the sidelines,watching the agents role-play crimes and catch criminals.She couldn’t kill a visiting congressman. It wouldn’tlook good for the Bureau.It began. She and Porter Forge, a Southerner from Birminghamwho spoke beautiful French without a hint of adrawl, saw a man dash from behind a side door of the bank,followed by a bank employee frantically waving and yellingat the top of his lungs at the fleeing man. She and Forge gotno more than a brief glimpse. They went after the robber.He dove into the crowd of people and disappeared. Becausethere were civilians around, they kept their guns holstered.If any of them hurt a civilian, there’d be hell to pay. It didn’tmatter. Three minutes later they’d lost him.It was then that she saw Dillon Savich, an FBI agent andcomputer genius who taught occasional classes here at Quantico,standing next to a man she’d never seen before. Bothwere wearing sunglasses, blue suits and blue-gray ties.She’d know Savich anywhere. She wondered what he wasdoing here at this particular time. Had he just taught a class?She’d never heard of him being at Hogan’s Alley. She staredat him. Was it possible that he was the suspect to whom thebank employee had been waving? Maybe. Only thing wasthat he didn’t look at all out of breath and the bank robberhad run out of the bank like a bat out of hell. Savich lookedcool and disinterested.Nah, it couldn’t be Savich. Savich wouldn’t join in theexercise, would he? Suddenly, she saw a man some distanceaway from her slowly slip his hand into his jacket. Dear God,he was going for a gun. She yelled to Porter.While the other trainees were distracted, Savich suddenlymoved away from the man he’d been talking to and duckedbehind three civilians. Three other civilians who were closeto the other guy were yelling and shoving, trying to get outof the way.What was going on here?‘‘Sherlock! Where’d he go?’’She began to smile even as agents were pushing and shoving,trying desperately to sort out who was who. She neverlost sight of Savich. She slipped into the crowd. It took herunder a minute to come around him from behind.There was a woman next to him. It was a very possiblehostage situation. She saw him slowly reach out his handtoward the woman. She couldn’t take the chance. She drewher gun, came right up behind him and whispered in his earas she pressed the nose of the 9mm SIG pistol into the smallof his back, ‘‘Freeze. FBI.’’‘‘Ms. Sherlock, I presume?’’She felt a moment of uncertainty, then quashed it. She hadthe robber. He was just trying to rattle her. ‘‘Listen to me,that’s not part of the script. You’re not supposed to knowme. Now, get your hands behind your back, buddy, or you’regoing to be in big trouble.’’‘‘I don’t think so,’’ he said, and began to turn.The woman next to them saw the gun and screamed at thetop of her lungs. ‘‘Oh my God, the robber’s a woman! Hereshe is! She’s going to kill a man. She’s got a gun! Help!’’‘‘Damn you, get your hands behind your back!’’ But howwas she going to get cuffs on him? The woman was stillyelling. Other people were looking now, not knowing whatto do. She didn’t have much time.‘‘Do it or I’ll shoot you.’’Savich moved so quickly she didn’t have a chance. Heknocked the pistol out of her hand with a chop of his righthand, numbing her entire arm, bulled his head into her stomachand sent her flying, wheezing for breath into a mass ofpetunias in the flower bed beside the Hogan’s Alley PostOffice.He was laughing. The bastard was laughing at her. Shewas sucking in air as hard and fast as she could. Her stomachwas on fire. He stuck out his hand to pull her up.‘‘You’re under arrest,’’ she said, and slipped a small LadyColt .38 from her ankle holster. She gave him a big grin.‘‘Don’t move or I’ll do something mean to you.’’His laughter died. He looked at that gun, then at her, upon her elbows in the petunia bed. There were a half dozenmen and women standing there, watching, their breaths held.She yelled out, ‘‘Stay back, all of you. This man’s dangerous.He just robbed the bank. I didn’t do it, he did. I’m FBI.Stay back!’’‘‘That Colt isn’t bureau issue.’’‘‘Shut up. No, don’t twitch or I’ll shoot you.’’He’d made a very small movement toward her, but shewasn’t going to let him get her this time. Into martial arts,was he? She knew she was smashing the petunias, but shedidn’t see any hope for it. Mrs. Shaw would come after herbecause the flower beds were her pride and joy, but she wasonly doing her job. She couldn’t let him get the better of heragain.She kept inching away from him, that Colt steady on hischest. She came up slowly, keeping her distance. ‘‘Turnaround and put your hands behind you.’’‘‘I don’t think so,’’ he said again. She didn’t even see hisleg, but she did hear the rip of his pants. The Colt went flyingonto the sidewalk.‘‘How’d you do that?’’Where were her partners?Where was Mrs. Shaw, the postmistress? She’d oncecaught an alleged bank robber by hitting him over the headwith a frying pan.‘‘Damn,’’ she heard him say, then he was on her. Thistime, she moved as quickly as he did. She knew he wouldn’thurt her, just disable her, jerk her onto her face and humiliateher in front of everyone. She rolled to the side, came up,saw Porter Forge from the corner of her eye, caught the SIGfrom him, turned and fired. She got him in mid-leap.The red paint spread all over the front of his white shirt,his conservative tie, and his dark blue suit.He flailed about, managing to keep his balance. Hestraightened, stared down at her, stared down at his shirt,grunted, and fell onto his back into the flower bed, his armsflung out.‘‘Sherlock, you idiot, you just shot the new coach of Hogan’sAlley High School’s football team!’’ It was the mayorof Hogan’s Alley and he wasn’t happy. He stood over her,yelling. ‘‘Didn’t you read the paper? Didn’t you see his picture?You live here and you don’t know what’s going on?Coach Savich was hired just last week. My God, you killedan innocent man.’’‘‘She also made me rip my pants,’’ Savich said, comingup on a graceful motion. He shook himself, wiping dirt offhis hands onto his filthy pants.‘‘He tried to kill me,’’ she said, still pointing the SIG atSavich.‘‘I’m already dead, remember? Although you might aswell shoot me again; the clothes are ruined.’’‘‘He was only defending himself,’’ said the woman who’dyelled her head off. ‘‘He’s the new coach and you killedhim.’’She knew she wasn’t wrong.‘‘I don’t know about that,’’ Porter Forge said, that drawlof his so slow she could have said the same thing at leastthree times before he got it out. ‘‘Suh,’’ he continued to themayor who was standing at his elbow, ‘‘I believe I saw awanted poster on this big fella. He’s gone and robbed banksall over the South. Yep, that’s where I saw his picture, onone of the Atlanta PD posters, suh. Sherlock here did good.She brought down a real bad guy.’’It was an excellent lie, one to give her time to do something,anything, to save her hide.Then she realized what had bothered her about him. Hisclothes. They didn’t fit him quite right. She reached herhands into Savich’s pockets and pulled out wads of fake onehundred dollar bills.‘‘I believe ya’ll find the bank’s serial numbers on the bills,suh. Don’t you think so, Sherlock?’’ ‘‘Oh yes, I surely do, Agent Forge.’’‘‘Take me away, Ms. Sherlock,’’ Dillon Savich said andstuck out his hands.She handed Porter back his SIG. She faced Savich withher hands on her hips, a grin on her face. ‘‘Why would Ihandcuff you now, sir? You’re dead. I’ll get a body bag.’’Savich was still laughing when she walked away to thewaiting paramedic ambulance. He said to the mayor of Hogan’sAlley, ‘‘That was well done. She has a nose for crooks.She sniffed me out and came after me.’’Savich walked away, unaware that his royal blue boxershorts were on display to a crowd of a good fifty people.Then there was rolling laughter. Even a crook who washolding a hostage around the throat, a gun to his ear, at theother end of town looked over at the sudden noise to seewhat was going on. It was his downfall. Agent Wallaceconked him over the head and laid him flat.It was a good day for taking a bite out of crime in Hogan’sAlley.