When Gibbons and Jones returned with the letter, the first thing they did was take it to Captain McManus to show him what they were dealing with. They stood in front of his desk as he read the letter, taking all precautions not to taint it. The captain sat there, brooding over the letter and even turned a new shade of red, obviously not liking what it implicated.

     "This isn't good," he finally said.

     "No, it's not." Pete concurred. "This prick was even arrogant enough to pick his own name, which means he's a media whore. He'll kill everyone on Wall Street if it will give him twenty-four-hour coverage from CNN."

     "That's what I'm afraid of," the captain said as he sat back. "Is the Times going to run this?"

     "They have no choice," Jones answered.

     "That's risky, but understandable." the captain observed.

     "Another body is going to drop anyway," Pete reminded him. "Let's not make another fall over at the Times if we can help it."

     "Security firms are going be busy for the next few weeks until we get this person." McManus gave the letter back to Pete. "We need to get ahead of this. Get a short list of people we think might be the Prophet's next target."

     "I'll have David work on it." Pete handed it to Jones. "Take this down to forensics. Hopefully we'll get lucky since the Times was very careful with it."

     "Will do," Jones said as she took the bag and left.

     "This is going to get ugly," Gibbons said once she was gone.

     "How ugly?" McManus asked.

     "Bowling shoe ugly," Pete replied.

     "Son of a fucking bitch!" McManus said, looking as though he were fighting an urge to get a strong drink. "Do what you can to find this person."

     "I'll do my best," Pete said, taking the hint and left the room. He strolled back to his desk where David was again on the phones. Pete made a motion that basically asked what he was doing.

     David put his hand over the receiver. "I'm calling every paper and network in the city. So far three other papers and one network station also received those letters from our suspect. We have people going out to get those as well."

     Pete sat down at his desk and sighed. "This is a nightmare. This guy is guaranteed to strike again. If just one of them refuses, he's going to use that as his excuse to strike again."

     "Not seriously enough to do anything to change what this guy is protesting," David agreed. "The one percent might increase security, but I'm not sure how that would work."

     "He's been planning this for months, possibly longer," Pete said. "I'm sure he's anticipated all of this, which means even a small army wouldn't make a difference."

     "I agree," David said as he hung up the phone. "This guy wouldn't go this far unless he was prepared for all scenarios. These are not random victims."

     "That may be, but without a second victim to compare the first with, there's no way to look for a pattern," Pete said as he thought about it. "For now, we'll have to look into our first victim's history. Let's look over any threats that might have been made against him and his company. Anyone this angry at him had to speak his mind about it at some point."

     "Well, our perp has a thing for letter writing," David added. "It's likely he sent a few more to try to scare them into doing the right thing. He probably sent letters to every person he intends to attack."

     A few hours later, Pete was working on a lead when the phone rang and he quickly picked it up. "Detective Gibbons."

     "Pete, it's Gabby."

     Pete sighed. "What can I do for you?"

     "There's no school tomorrow," Gabby replied. "I was wondering if you could pick up the boys tonight instead of tomorrow."

     "I'm afraid I can't," Pete replied regretfully. "I'm working a big case right now, but I'll be there tomorrow at the usual time."

     "Really, Pete?" she said with an air of doubt in her voice. "You're going to put your job in front of the kids again?"

     "Watch the news at six tonight, the first story is mine," Pete answered as he hung up the phone. He turned to David. "That bitch really gets on my nerves."

     "Says the man who married the cunt and had two sons with her," David replied with a chuckle. "Second time really wasn't the charm, eh?"

     "I doubt the third will be either, so I'm going to quit while I'm ahead," Pete added as he started sorting through some paperwork that had been delivered to his desk. They had asked the company owned by Eugene Steinbach to forward any threatening letters to them to look through. The request was standard procedure and had been made this morning before they learned about the Prophet's passion for the handwritten letter. With the letter sent to the Times in their possession, it would be much easier to find what they were looking for. A letter that not only contained threats but one that referenced the ninety-nine and was also signed by the Prophet. Pete was halfway through the pile when he hit pay dirt.

     "He sent a letter to Steinbach!" Pete took the letter out of the pile and immediately took it to the copier to make a few copies and bag the original for forensics. "He ordered Steinbach to do the right thing and bring jobs that he had sent overseas back to America and to the people who made him the billionaire he was. It said refusal to comply would result in catastrophic penalties. Blah, blah, blah... Remember the ninety-nine, signed, the Prophet. What an arrogant piece of shit!"

     "If he sent a letter to Steinbach," David said as he picked up on where Pete was going, "Chances are he sent a similar warning to everyone else he intends to target."

     "Keep working on narrowing down fat cats who have done things that would make them targets of our suspect. We'll call their companies and tell them to look for letters sent by the Prophet." Pete said as started to walk away. "If we can get ahead of him, we might be able to set a trap!"

     Pete did a light jog to get to McManus as soon as he could. "The Prophet has a knack for letting people know their doom is pending." He waved the letter. "He sent Steinbach a letter prior to his killing. We're thinking he's done the same thing to every other potential victim as well."

     The captain took the letter from him. "When was this sent to him?"

     "Four months ago," Pete answered.

     "Damn," McManus said, taking a copy of the letter to inspect it. "That's a long time to be planning someone's murder."

     "He could have been planning it a lot longer than that," Pete guessed. "We have to assume there are more letters."

     "Alright," McManus said, already a step ahead of him. "Give me the names of any companies that are refusing to cooperate, and I'll give them a call myself. The more letters we find, the better chance we have of protecting these people from this nutcase."

     "I agree." Pete walked out and made a beeline over to forensics. Bobby Gabriel was one of the best nerds in the field, and there was no one Pete would trust more when it came to finding trace or the smallest detail that would help them catch a killer.

     "Mr. Gabriel, I have something for you," Pete said as he waved the letter around.

     "And it's not even my birthday!" Gabriel called back as he removed his headphones and held out a hand. "Pleased to be working with you again, Detective Gibbons."

     "The Prophet sent a letter to his victim," Pete said as he handed over the original. "I doubt you'll find anything but give it a go anyway."

     "Thank you, Detective Gibbons," Gabriel said as he took the letter. "And thanks for picking me for the assignment. I'm touched that you respect my work enough to select me for a task force."

     "I know you'll work hard on this," Pete said as he started to back away. "I'll be back if I need anything else from you. If anyone here finds anything that will help, do not hesitate to call me."

     "Will do, boss," Gabriel said as he took the new letter and got back to work. He was a dedicated worker, one who didn't hesitate to clock some OT.

     Pete was afraid that was exactly what everyone on his task force needed to do if they were going to get their hands on this Prophet. As Pete was strolling back into Homicide, he noticed a group of people standing in one spot watching something.

     David saw Pete stroll in, waved to him and called out, "It's our suspect... he sent a video to one of the twenty-four-hour news networks!"

     Pete ran over to the big screen television to see what was airing. There was the Prophet, covered in black and reading from a prepared statement. It was nothing new, just the same words he had sent the newspapers, but this time he was speaking the words with a tone of voice that would no doubt strike more fear than a letter printed in the paper ever would. They couldn't even see his eyes, as the Prophet was wearing glasses that prevented you from seeing them. Pete watched carefully as the Prophet read the letters they already had word for word, until the very end when he went off script.

     "I have already dispatched of one of the traitors but believe me when I say Eugene Steinbach was only the first of many. I will not hesitate to kill again and again until my message is heard. If the one percent are unable to respect the people who made their companies great and finally give them what they deserve, then I hope your fear of me might lead you to the right path. This is your final warning: change your crooked ways or prepare to meet your maker. I will strike again within twenty-four hours of the airing of this video."

     Pete looked back at his captain, who was at the door of his office. He could see the concern in the captain's eyes.

     "Remember the ninety-nine."

     Pete was beside himself as he quickly checked his watch. It was five minutes before half past two. He turned to David. "We're on the clock."

     "That's if the crime hasn't already been committed," David replied.

     "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," McManus countered.

     "He wants to give the fat cats a chance to change their ways." Gibbons said, thinking about it. "As much as he doesn't believe they'll do a damn thing, he's holding out a sliver of hope. Whoever he's targeting, that person is still alive for now."

     McManus wasn't impressed as he strolled over to Pete. "Find out if this was the first airing or a repeat showing. We need to know how much time we really have left!"

     Jones was watching the video with the crowd and she walked up to Pete. "We probably have even less time than that."

     "What do you mean?" Pete quickly asked.

     "He didn't say he would kill someone in twenty-four hours," Jones replied. "The Prophet said within twenty-four hours. That means he could kill someone anytime between now and then."

     "That sneaky bugger," Pete walked back to his desk and picked up his coat. "This could also be part of his plan. The confusion and panic that this video is going to cause could present the perfect time to strike. He's going to nab someone as they try to find high ground."

     "What should we do?" Jones asked.

     "What can we do?" Pete countered. "We have no idea who the Prophet is targeting. And with the panic this video is going to cause, getting around town to protect anyone is going to be hell, not only for us but for any security detail trying to keep their assets safe."

     "Maybe that's what he wants," David said. "Mass panic during rush hour."

     "That's it," Pete said as he snapped his fingers. "Rush hour.... he's going to hit someone leaving town."

     "With added security, there's no way he'll be able to break into anyone's home and repeat what he did to Steinbach. He's got to get them out in the open," Jones said, on the same page as Gibbons. "It's like trying to kill a rat after pounding on the walls."

     "We're talking super wealthy elites here," Pete said as he thought about it. "What's the quickest way for them to haul ass out of town?"

     "They fly," Jones suggested. "So the airport?"

     "No way," David called from his desk. "These big wigs don't fly with the little people. They have their own planes."

     Pete pointed over at David. "You're on to something."

     "He is?" Jones asked, trying to catch up.

     "He is," Pete confirmed. "I'm willing to bet almost everyone on the Prophet's hit list has a private jet waiting at a private airfield. First one to make a run for it is likely his next target."

     "How do we find this airfield?" Jones asked.

     "Steinbach," Pete answered. "Did he have a private jet?"

     Jones took a file off of his desk and quickly scanned it. "He did; a four-million-dollar Cessna that's parked at a private airfield just south of the city. It's very easy to hit from the highway."

     "That's where we'll start." Pete and Jones raced to the car and this time Pete didn't hesitate to jump into the driver's seat. Pete had a bit of a heavy foot and the situation called for sirens and all that jazz as they needed to haul ass to this private airport. "If someone on the Prophet's hit list is already on his way there, chances are he's somewhere on that path, waiting to strike."

     "Or she?" Jones added.

     "That's not necessary anymore," Pete said as he pulled out and kicked the lights and the siren on. "His posture, the way he seemed to brood when speaking about the one percent. He didn't even bother to change the pitch of his voice. Our suspect is a man and a very angry one at that."

     "Fair enough," Jones said as she thought more about it. "So what are we looking for exactly?"

     "An easy target," Pete answered. "Something that screams I'm richer than you and I don't care who knows it."

     "A limo?" Jones quickly guessed.

     "Exactly." Pete swerved around the cars that were getting out of his way. "Keep an eye out for any that might be heading our way, especially for ones that are breaking the speed limit. The guy just announced himself to the city. The ones breaking the speed limit are likely the people who already received a threat from him."

     It took next to no time for them to hit the highway. While they were speeding toward the airfield, Jones kept a lookout for possible targets.

     "There!" she called out. "Big ass limo at one o'clock!"

     "Look up the plate," Pete instructed. "Let's see how fat this cat is."

     Jones accessed the NCIC database from the car computer and looked up the limo's plate. "Shit, that's Daniel Cooper!"

     "Founder and CEO of Cooper Industries," Pete replied. "And look at him go; someone's eager to get the fuck out of Dodge."

     "He must have gotten a letter from the Prophet," Jones said as she started to look around. "If he's the target, our guy could be anywhere."

     "That's what I'm afraid of." Pete took out his cell and handed it to Jones. "Call David and put it on speaker."

     Seconds later, the line was picked up. "Pete, what's up?"

     "We're on our way to the airfield and so is Daniel Cooper," Pete answered as he kept a close watch on the limo. "Look at a map and tell me in your own personal opinion where the perfect place to ambush someone on the way to this airfield is."

     "That's easy," David said without hesitation. "The exit off the highway."

     "Are you sure?" Pete asked.

     "He has to make a big turn to get off, which means he has to slow down," David added. "Makes it easier to hit the mark when they do that. I'm willing to bet the farm that's where your guy is going to hit Cooper if he's the target."

     "We're almost there." Jones pointed to a sign that whizzed right by. "What are we going to do?"

     "Hang on." Pete sped up to catch up with the limo. It was less than a kilometer from the exit when Pete did something drastic. He took his car and used it to knock the limo off the road. Pete nudged the side of the car, in a PIT maneuver used to end high speed chases, forcing it to spin and come to a stop just seconds from the turn to get off the highway.

     "What now?" Jones quickly asked.

     "Follow me." Pete hopped out of the car. Both of them ran up to the limo, guns drawn, looking at the overpasses above to see if there was anyone up there, looking down on them. David was right, this was the perfect place to ambush someone. Staring down at the exit made it like shooting fish in a barrel.

     As he walked up to the limo, a guard had already stepped out of the car and drew his gun as well. Pete held up his badge. "We're the good guys! Get that thing out of my face!"

     "What the hell is going on?" the guard quickly asked.

     "Cooper, where is he?" Pete replied with a question of his own.

     "Right here," a man said as he stepped out of the back of the limo. "Can you explain why it was necessary for you to knock our car out of commission like that?"

     "Can you explain why the hell you're running out of here so quickly on a Thursday afternoon, Mr. Cooper?" Pete asked still looking around.

     "I don't have to explain myself or my travel habits with you," Cooper replied with an air of arrogance.

     "You got a letter from the Prophet, didn't you?" Jones asked.

     Cooper's silence answered the question. He was running from the Prophet. Pete suddenly spotted someone on the overpass, close to two hundred feet away. A small puff of smoke exploded from that location and the trail that started to get closer and closer. Gibbons' eyes opened wide with shock.

     "Incoming!" he roared.

     Pete grabbed Jones, the guard grabbed Cooper, and they both ran from the limo and launched into a ditch on the side of the exit. The limo exploded mere seconds later, killing the driver and whoever else was still inside the large luxury car.

     "What the hell was that?" Jones called out.

     "Rocket-propelled grenade." Pete quickly jumped back to his feet. His ears were ringing and his leg was sore but he needed to look around and try to find the shooter who'd just tried to kill Cooper. After a few seconds of looking around, he found a man dressed in black and a mask running down the overpass, likely toward a vehicle waiting to help him escape.

     "Suspect is fleeing on foot!" Pete called as he started to run toward the overpass. "Stay with Cooper and call for backup!"

     Jones got back to her feet and to their car as quickly as she could and called for backup while Pete raced down the road toward the overpass where the shot was made. Once she made the call, she started to run after Gibbons, unwilling to let him chase a suspect alone.