The Mississippi Company

by Mark Kertzman

Chapter 19

Jon wondered how he had gotten to this juncture. Not how he had physically made it all the way up from Geneva to a station chasing the Moon in its orbit. His thoughts were more metaphysical than that. More along the lines of how he had ended up chasing down someone who was desperate, possibly even dangerous.

It was an interesting thought, but perhaps too late. It wasn’t really appropriate at this time, anyway. Panting with a little effort, Jon realized that he’d better get back to the task at hand. He skirted a large storage drum, ducking under a couple of overhanging beams.

A sound made him tense, bringing him entirely back to reality. He carefully surveyed his surroundings, but couldn’t see anything except support beams, storage drums and containers, and the sun coming in through the double-glass hull of the torus and the roof of the long, narrow storage shed.

Despite his instincts, he didn’t draw his weapon. Some altruistic streak made him give his quarry the benefit of the doubt; after all, he hadn’t committed any violent acts, at least not yet. Maybe he would come quietly, Jon reasoned.

At any rate, arms unencumbered for action, Jon stalked through the cluttered narrow area. He tried to make his movements as quiet as possible, hoping to surprise his target, if he was even in the shed.

About halfway down the length of the shed, he stopped again. Surveying the rest of the shed, he quickly became convinced that his quarry wasn’t in here. There just weren’t that many places left to hide. Besides, he should have heard something else; some movement, anything.

With more confidence, he strode through the shed, intent to get to the end and continue the pursuit. He ducked around a block of stacked plastic crates, and...

The shot rang out, even as he saw the muzzle flash. Both made him jump, and suddenly he was scrambling backwards. He hit the floor awkwardly, rolled onto his elbows, and scrambled behind some crates, then straight on to better cover around and behind a small cluster of heavier storage drums.

His heart was hammering in his chest. As he maneuvered himself into a crouch, he couldn’t help but replay the last few seconds in his mind. The muzzle flash had come from a tiny chromed pistol, clutched in a brown hand. The hand matched the face that had popped out from behind a roll of heavy fiber-optic cable, almost at the end of the shed. That face, brown too, was regular and slim in its features, topped by a long shock of jet-back hair. That face matched the recorded photos that Jon had downloaded, that identified the assailant as the suspect in one of the largest frauds Jon had ever investigated.

The shot had been fired from at least a dozen metres away. Jon knew that the long range, plus the execrable aiming characteristics of such a small pistol, had saved his life. The bullet must have just grazed past him.

He tensed suddenly. Another scraping noise. This time, Jon was not so foolish. He pulled his own weapon, ready to fire.

The door at the end banged open. Jon risked a quick glance out from his cover, just enough to see his quarry jump through the door and race off on foot, quickly to be lost from view. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and carefully stood.

Yup, Jon thought, he’s dangerous. Now he has crossed the line.

Setting his jaw, Jon set off down the length of the shed in pursuit. “This is getting serious,” he muttered.

Proceed to Chapter 20...