The Target

PrologueHE SAW THE man clearly: tall, with dark clothes, astark figure against the misty gray sky. He was walking intothe big granite building, ugly and flat-looking, with scoresof windows that didn’t look out over much except if youwere up high. Then, suddenly, he was behind the man, justover his shoulder, keeping pace with him, watching himtake the elevator to the nineteenth floor. He was nearlybeside him as he walked down the long corridor and openedthe door to a large office. A smiling receptionist greetedhim, laughing at something he said. He watched the mangreet two other people, a young man and a young woman,both well dressed, both obviously subordinate to him. Hewent into a large office with the man, saw a United Statesflag, a huge desk with its computer on top, the built-inbookshelves behind him, the windows beside him. Hepunched up the computer. Then, he was right behindthe man; he could have reached out and helped him put onthe long black robe. He watched him fasten the two clipsclosed. The man opened a door and walked into a big room,the look on his face somber, becoming cold, all the earlierhumor wiped clean. There was a buzz. It stopped abruptly1when he came into the room. Then the place went deathlysilent.Suddenly the room began to spin, faces blurred into oneanother, the very air of the room turned dark and darkerstill, and then the great main doors burst open and threemen slammed into the room. They were carrying guns,assault guns like Russian AK47s. They were shooting, peoplewere screaming, blood was spewing everywhere. Hesaw the man’s face tighten with horror and fury. He saw theman suddenly leap over the railing that had separated himfrom the rest of that roomful of people, his black robeswirling. His leg was up, he was turning, striking out, hismotion so fast it was hard to see it clearly. Someonescreamed loudly.He was right behind the man now, heard him breathe,could feel the controlled rage in him, the vicious tensionand determination, and wondered.Suddenly, the man whirled about again, turning this timeto face him. He stared at himself, looked deeply into theeyes of a man who had just killed and would kill again. Hefelt the spit pool in his mouth, the coiled muscles, and felthis arm fly out, striking a man’s throat.He jerked up, flailing at the single sheet that was woundtightly around him like a mummy’s shroud, a yell dying onhis lips. He was soaked with sweat, his hair plastered to hishead. His heart was pounding so fast and hard he thoughthe’d explode. Again, he thought, that bloody dream yetagain. He didn’t think he could stand it.An hour later, he let himself out of his house, carefullylocking the door behind him. He was on the way to his carwhen a man jumped out of the bushes and blinded him witha good half dozen photo flashes. It was too much.He grabbed the photographer, hauled him up by his shirtfront,and yelled right in his face, “You’ve gone over theline, you little bastard.” He grabbed his camera, pulled thefilm out, and threw him aside. He tossed the camera tothe man, who was lying on his back, gaping at him. “You can’t do that!”“I just did. Get off my property.”The man scrambled to his feet, holding his camera to hischest. “I’ll sue you! The public has a right to know!”He wanted to beat the guy senseless. The urge was sostrong he was shaking with it. It was then he knew he had toleave. Otherwise it might not stop before he went nuts andreally hurt one of the jerks. Or he simply just went nuts.