The Trinity Game

his finger at the building at the back of the lot.
    Daniel and Pat tore into the courtyard, drawing their guns.
    Daniel nodded his thanks as they ran past the men, and he caught a newscaster’s voice from the portable radio: “…It’s very slow going, but Reverend Tim Trinity has now entered the French Quarter, and police are clearing a path along Rue Chartres for him…”
    He’s gonna make it...
    Daniel surged even faster, cutting around the corner of the building. Drapeau was dead ahead, running straight at the apartment building, with nowhere to go. Daniel could hear Pat just behind him and to his right. He angled to his left, Pat to the right, boxing Drapeau in. But Drapeau ran right up the front steps, opened the door, and disappeared into the building.
    As they came together at the door, Pat picked up the padlock from the ground. It had been cut through with a hacksaw.
    “He set it up ahead of time,” said Daniel.
“He could have a rifle waiting on the roof.”
    Pat put out an arm to stop him. “Take a breath. We go quickly but carefully. He knows the layout, we don’t.” He lifted his arm. “Sunglasses off.”
    They entered the darkened hallway with their guns out, keeping their footfalls quiet as they went. The hallway was dank, and Daniel’s nostrils filled with the smell of mold and rot. They paused just long enough for their eyes to adjust, then moved forward.
    The hallway had a staircase at either end. Pat pointed one way, then went the other. Daniel took the stairs two at a time, stopping on the landing to listen. He heard the echo of distant footfalls—Pat on the other stairwell. Then nothing.
    He ran up the next flight of stairs, entered the second-floor hallway, listened. Footfalls, directly above. He turned back toward the stairwell, pushing the talk button. “Third floor,” he said.
    “Already there,” said Pat’s voice in his ear.
    But as Daniel ran up the stairs, he heard a mighty crash and splintering of wood and scuffling in his earpiece, the smack of a fist against skin, and more grappling. He ran faster, pounding up the stairs.
    Then a single gunshot—
bam!
—and a heavy thud. Pat yelled, “Fuck!” in Daniel’s ear. Daniel flew up the remaining stairs, reached the third floor, and found Pat down in the hallway.
    “Goddamnit,” said Pat, pulling his belt from his pants. There was a hole in his upper thigh and the blood was coming fast. “Motherfucker had a pistol stashed behind the radiator.”
    Daniel knelt down, “Let me help—”
    “I got this,” Pat snapped as he struggled to tie the belt around his leg. He gave a sharp nod toward the roof. “Go.” Daniel didn’t move. Pat said, “Go. I’ll take care of me.”
    Daniel tore up the next two flights, gun in hand. At the top of the stairs was a landing and a metal door leading out to the roof. It was open a crack. Drapeau was probably on the other side, aiming at the door. Or maybe he was at the edge of the roof, aiming at Trinity.
    Time to find out which.
    Daniel took a few steps back on the landing. He got a running start and launched himself into the air, crashing the door open with his shoulder.
    A burst of gunfire—four rounds—ricocheted off metal and brick as Daniel flew through the air, tucked and rolled onto the rooftop, cutting his elbows on the gravel, rolling to a stop behind a rust-colored exhaust vent.
    Another shot. The bullet from Drapeau’s gun careened off the vent.
    Daniel peeked around and returned fire twice—and pulled back just as fast as Drapeau unloaded another round off the vent.
    He took a deep breath, and took stock. He wasn’t hit, yet. The quick glimpse he’d gotten told him Drapeau had superior cover, behind the elevator maintenance shed.
    He flattened out on the hot gravel and chanced another peek around the vent.
    Nothing. Just the maintenance shed and empty rooftop. No Drapeau. And behind the shed was the edge of the building facing the French Quarter, facing Jackson Square, seven blocks away.
    About one thousand meters.
    Fuck.
Drapeau might be setting up the rifle to shoot Trinity right now, or he might be standing with his pistol up waiting to shoot Daniel as soon as he came around the corner of the shed.
    No way to know.
    Daniel got up into a crouch, moved to the edge of the building, and looked to his left. Just past the maintenance shed, around the corner of the building, a metal pole extended straight out, horizontally from the roof. A flagpole or a lightning