The Executioner's Game by Gary Hardwick

inner city?” asked Luther, trying to hurry this conclusion.
    â€œFive, but only one that wasn’t in Baltimore or D.C. It was in Philadelphia.”
    â€œThat’s him,” said Luther. “Let’s get out of here.”
    â€œBut don’t you think it’s…?” Hampton paused and thought a second about what he wanted to say. “The car, it’s a solid clue, but it’s too solid, too clean. I might even say it’s sloppy.”
    Luther had to agree. Alex could have destroyed the plates and the vehicle’s VIN number, switched it or used any number of other methods to throw them off the track. It was like he wanted them to follow.
    â€œI see your point,” said Luther, “but all we can do is go after him and anticipate that he knows we’re coming. Since we know he’s baiting us, we now have the upper hand.”
    â€œNot necessarily,” said Hampton. “If he knows we’re coming, then he’ll anticipate that we know and that we’ll try to counter him. He’ll have a plan.”
    â€œBut it won’t be as good as ours…I hope,” said Luther.
    Luther and Hampton went to Veterans’ Hall in Baltimore first. Hampton confirmed that the building had been a former CIA drop point in the seventies and eighties. After accessing old data files, Luther found what he was looking for. In a basement utility room, he discovered a lockbox built in to a wall. It was plastered over but had been recently uncovered. The box was empty. Alex had taken something from it and gone.
    â€œWhy leave Kraemer and the recording?” Luther said.
    â€œFor you, it would seem,” said Hampton.
    â€œI don’t know how to feel about that.”
    â€œHe’s not going down easy,” said Hampton. “I think we should consider getting some help on this.”
    Luther thought about Frank and Sharon and their offer. “No, we can do this,” he said.
    â€œI hate it when you use that tone,” said Hampton.
    â€œWhat tone?” asked Luther.
    â€œThe black-Clint Eastwood tone.”
    â€œIf I were the sensitive type, I’d object to the use of my ethnicity as an adjective.” Luther smiled a little at his own joke. “And if I’m a black anything, it would be Charles Bronson.”
    â€œBronson?” said Hampton. “Gimme a break.”
    â€œHe was an assassin, no false sense of nobility, a stone-cold killer. That’s me.” Luther smiled broadly.
    â€œSick, sick, man,” said Hampton, laughing softly.
    Luther and Hampton set off for Philadelphia, which was a quick drive away on 1-95. They headed straight for South Philly, where the stolen car had been found. Luther was again reminded of his days on the streets in Detroit. The neighborhood around Seventh Street was run-down, filled with the usual devastation. But it was the faces that really got to Luther, scarred with the plague of hopelessness, haunting.
    Luther and Hampton parked on a side street in a very dangerous-looking neighborhood.
    â€œOkay,” said Hampton. “This is where the stolen car was found.”
    â€œAlex wouldn’t be here,” said Luther. “He’s too smart for that.”
    â€œUnless he wants us to think that and stayed here to hit us.”
    It was a troubling proposition to try to predict the actions of a wolf, Luther thought, especially when he might be functionally insane.
    â€œSo you ready?” asked Hampton.
    Instead of reading the tea leaves an E-1 agent left behind, theywould use some of the tactics the wolf himself had used. Luther was going to hit the streets in order to find him directly.
    â€œI think Alex is on a mission,” said Luther. “Whether or not it’s inspired by insanity, he has an agenda, and that’s how we’re going to catch him. We just have to figure out what he’s up to.”
    â€œWell, we know he took something out of Baltimore,” said