Internal Threat Read Free Page A

starting to shut down.”
    “What do you mean?”
“Call Helms!” Matt shouted.
    Dockett suddenly cursed loudly beside him. Outside the windshield, Matt saw Helms stumbling toward the car. The agent clutched at his stomach, blood streaming between his fingers.
    Dockett was out before Matt could stop him, fumbling with the sidearm holstered beneath his shoulder. Behind Helms, a scruffy-bearded man in a hooded green sweatshirt ran out the front door of the building, gun clutched in his right hand. He paused in his rush, hearing Dockett scream at him to halt and let loose a quick succession of shots. Matt dove down into the front seat as the windshield shattered. He heard a scream and saw Dockett fall to the ground, a bloody hole scarring his shoulder. Matt stayed down, pulling with his elbows to get to the young agent.
    Bullets pinged against the open driver door, then stopped as Matt heard footsteps beating a hasty retreat. He looked down at Dockett whose mouth was working like a fish, nothing but gasps coming out.
    “You got hit in the shoulder,” Matt quickly assessed the wound. “You need to keep pressure on it.” He moved Dockett’s other hand to the point of entry and pushed down, staunching the blood slightly. He yanked the radio from the car’s dashboard and toggled the switch. “Agent down. Send backup.”
    Confusion and static came back through the speaker. “What? Who is this?”
    Dockett moaned. “Helms,” he croaked.
    Matt moved towards the elder agent, who had slumped down against the grill of the car. His eyes were half shut, his breathing labored. At Matt’s touch, the man’s eyelids shot up. “I’m fine. My vest took most of it.”
    Matt stood up, spotting the small form of the shooter round the corner at the end of the block. He looked back to Helms who gave him the slightest of nods.
    Instinct kicked into gear as Matt’s legs sprinted down the street.
    He reached the same corner in less than ten seconds and scanned for the shooter. A sea of bicycle riders and rollerbladers eddied and flowed in front of him. He was on the ocean boardwalk that stretched for miles down the coastline of the Pacific. Moving forward, he craned his neck, trying to spot his quarry. Having no luck, he pulled himself up on to the base of a nearby streetlamp. The green sweatshirt presented itself as the man turned in profile fifty yards away. Matt hopped down and ran towards the area.
    The shooter whirled, no doubt hearing Matt’s pounding feet, and withdrew his gun. Screams echoed out across the beach as several people next to him saw it. He hesitated and planted himself in front of a young woman on a bicycle coming from the opposite direction. She braked hard and he stepped forward, shoving her roughly off the bike’s seat. Tucking the gun in the front of his pants, his feet hit the pedals and churned.
    Matt gave chase but quickly saw that there was no way he would catch up on foot. He spotted a teenage boy on a silver BMX bicycle lounging nearby. Stepping up to him, he pulled out his wallet and counted out crisp hundred dollar bills. “I’ll give you five hundred dollars for that bike,” he said, holding out the money.
    “Seven hundred,” the kid countered.
    “I’ve only got the five on me.”
    “Your loss,” the boy shrugged.
    Matt angrily threw the cash at him and grabbed the bike, ignoring the protests and hitting the pedals furiously. He weaved through the oncoming foot traffic as best he could, accidentally clipping a pedestrian’s elbow in his pursuit. At last, the hooded shooter swung back into view, turning into a shadowed alley. Matt followed and plunged into the mouth of the small street.
    Bullets smacked the wall next to his head.
    He slammed the brakes and flung his body down, cursing himself for falling into a trap. Hearing the shooter’s bike wheels start again, he glanced up. The man had disappeared from the alley. Matt rode forward, more cautious this time, and exited the narrow