lungs burning instantaneously as he fought the urge to pass out and stars danced in front of his eyes. Then something burned in his right buttock, and he heard the third pop; the pain grew to excruciating proportions.
Flashing lights from the approaching BearCat were the last things Sergeant Mick Brett saw.
* * *
Just before six o’clock on the following morning, Chicago Fire Engine Company 9 and Rescue Truck 3 were dispatched to a two-story house nestled among houses of similar construction along the historic West Jackson Boulevard District. Several reports had been called in regarding smoke coming from the first story.
They would later discover the home belonged to twenty-eight-year-old Kendra James, a second-shift dispatcher for the Chicago Police Department.
Firefighters entered the structure with a two-inch attack line, knocked down the blaze in the living room and adjoining kitchen, then rescue crews scoured the house. They found James in a second-story bedroom, unresponsive after having succumbed to natural gas exposure. They rushed her to the hospital but she couldn’t be revived. The young woman was pronounced dead at 0704 hours.
For 99 percent of residents, it was just another crazy twenty-four-hour period in the circle of life on the mean streets of the Windy City. But it did capture the attention of one man. Mack Bolan was convinced the events were related, that someone had gone on a killing spree to eliminate Chicago’s finest. The man known as the Executioner was determined to learn the truth about these incidents.
Whatever the cost.
Johnny Gray—born Johnny Bolan—shouldered his way through one of the glass doors of the Chicago PD headquarters building on Michigan Avenue.
The blustery cold of the early morning swirled in behind him, biting at his skin even through his cotton slacks. It made a striking difference from home in Southern California. When his brother called and asked for his help, Johnny dropped everything and hopped aboard the first flight to O’Hare.
Mack was convinced the recent murders of the police weren’t a coincidence. He needed Johnny to check things out on the ground. With the help of Hal Brognola, the director of the Sensitive Operations Group—and the rest of the team at Stony Man Farm in Virginia—Mack arranged for it to look as if his brother and Detective Rich Walburn had been longtime friends. Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman, Stony Man’s computer ace, had used his skills to fake the dossier beyond reproach, complete with photos of Johnny and Walburn together at various ages. It should get Johnny inside the cop shop, after which the rest was up to him.
Johnny welcomed the assignment. He so rarely got a chance to work in concert with his older brother—or to see him off the job for that matter—it was worth the risk.
When Mack called, Johnny knew action was in the wind.
After getting cleared through security, a desk sergeant showed Johnny to the offices of the Internal Affairs Division, which was attached to Intelligence. Within a few minutes, he found himself seated in a cramped office that was too hot and narrow because it was apparently occupied by two detectives. The magnetic plate against the side of one desk had HILLMAN, C. DET. SGT., and the other read RUSCH, L. DET. SGT. in the same block letters.
Johnny got out his laptop and began to boot it. Within ten seconds it had powered up, signed him in and begun communicating securely with a satellite tied directly to the computer uplink at Stony Man Farm in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Within a minute, a black man with close-cropped hair and about Johnny’s height entered the office followed by a petite female. “Mr. Gray?”
Johnny cradled his laptop in one arm as he stood and shook the man’s hand. “Johnny, please.”
“Very good. I’m Sergeant Hillman.” He jerked a thumb toward the woman and said, “This is my partner, Sergeant Rusch.”
He shook hands with the cute young black woman, whose dark eyes seemed to sparkle in the lights. She had a nice smile, more than cordial, and an electric personality that seemed almost palpable.
“My pleasure,” Johnny told her.
“Have a seat, please,” Hillman said.
When they were comfortable, Johnny said, “I appreciate you agreeing to see me on such short notice. As I explained over the phone, and in my follow-up email, Rich Walburn was a close friend. I want to help find the bastard who killed him and his family. Maybe there’s a connection to the other officers’ deaths.”
“Well, I hope you haven’t wasted a trip,” Hillman replied. “We’ve already looked at this from every angle, and we don’t see how there could be any tie to the particular incidents that came to your attention. In fact, we’ve already gone around and around with inspectors at both the Illinois State Police and the FBI.”
“Understood. But frankly, Sergeant, when you have no less than four police personnel murdered within a short period of time, you can begin to understand why it looks more than a little curious.”
“Um, who was it you said you were again?” Rusch asked.
Johnny pulled a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “I’m a private investigator, now based in California. Rich and I grew up together. I sent Sergeant Hillman the photos of us in my email. Rich was one of my closest friends. I owe it to him to look into this. I’m extremely good at my job and can find out things others can’t. I also have powerful connections in the right places. I’d be an asset to your team.”
Rusch looked at the card, gave Johnny the once-over, then turned to Hillman. “I think we ought to read him in, Chuck.”
Hillman produce a deep sigh. “Damn it, Lakea, we talked about this—”
“He only wants to help.” Rusch slapped her hand on her desk. “Jeez, Chuck, you’re acting like he’s one of the bad guys. Rich was his friend. These bastards killed Taylor and Brett. They were our friends, damn it!”
Hillman’s voice took an edge. “I know who they were, Lakea. Mick and I joined the force together.”
“Uh, did I strike a nerve?” Johnny asked.
Hillman’s eyes had visibly reddened, and his expression gave him the persona of a man who’d been beaten down and was utterly exhausted. “You’ll have to just cut me a little slack, I’m afraid. It’s been long hours around here.” His chair creaked as Hillman leaned back in it before continuing. “I only just came over to IA. I used to be strictly Intelligence.”
“Why the transfer?”
“Happened after two of the guys on the warrant squad were killed.”
Johnny nodded and then referred to his laptop. “That would have been Sergeant Mick Brett and Detective Reggie Taylor. Correct? They were gunned down by someone with a sniper rifle, but the perpetrator was never apprehended.”
Rusch looked at Hillman, who just nodded, and said, “Chuck was on the detail that was first to arrive less than a minute after the warrant officers were gunned down.”
“They were on standby
