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away his mind switched gears, his training as a field operative taking over without conscious thought, quickly assessing what he knew so far and combining it with experience and intuition to decide on a course of action.
    It was no coincidence that such an attack should have happened at the same time and location he’d agreed to meet with Anya. For all he knew, the sniper might have been sent specifically to take her out. In which case, she could be injured or even dead already. He had no idea how they had learned of the meeting, and now wasn’t the time to ponder such questions. What mattered was what he did in the next few seconds.
    He himself was standing at an open crossroads, totally exposed and easy prey for a skilled sniper. He certainly couldn’t stay here, and fleeing would be an exercise in futility. Modern sniper rifles were accurate at up to 1,000 yards or more, and he had no desire to put that to the test. No, his best chance was to get to them and take them out.
    The only question was where they had located themselves.
    Urban environments with lots of high walls and sharp angles can do strange things to the acoustics of gunshots, deflecting the sound waves and making it difficult to pinpoint the origin of individual shots. In part, this is why snipers flourish in city fighting. The only way to find the shooter in this case was to consider his or her possible firing positions, pick one and hope it was right.
    In the space of a second or two, Drake quickly took in his surroundings, noting nearby buildings that would make good vantage points.
    The 395 was an elevated freeway, meaning most of the low-rise residential buildings and shops in the vicinity were beneath road level. To the north, an office building that he vaguely recognised as belonging to Michigan State University rose up into the night sky. Certainly it was tall enough to provide a good field of fire over the freeway, but buildings like that had cameras, armed security guards, alarms – all of which would have to be meticulously bypassed and neutralised. Not a good place for a sniper to set up.
    There was the church across the way. Its bell tower was certainly tall enough to overlook the freeway, but there was no way anyone could get a sniper rifle past a full congregation and make entry to it, no matter how hard they were banging their tambourines.
    Then at last he saw what he was looking for. The residential apartment block, easily five storeys high and overlooking the big interchange between the 395 and two other main drags heading north and south. Its flat roof offered a perfect field of fire for a skilled sniper, and security was likely to be light there.
    He was moving before he even had a chance to finish that thought, reaching for his cellphone and quickly dialling 911 as he sprinted across the road, ignoring the angry horn blasts that followed him.
    ‘911 emergency,’ came the crisp voice of a female operator a few moments later.
    ‘Shots fired on the corner of 1st Street and Delaware, the apartment building at the crossroads,’ Drake said, making a beeline for the nearest door. ‘Sniper, probably targeting the freeway. Send everything you’ve got in the area right now.’
    With that, he closed down the call. He had no time to give a detailed description of what he’d seen and heard. He had more important matters to attend to.
    Drawing the Sig, he shoved his way through the main doors and into the bland, clinical-looking communal stairwell beyond. To his left stood an elevator, with an
Out of Order
sign affixed to it.
    Good. One way in, one way out.
    Gripping the weapon tight, he sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time as he made for the roof. His breath was soon coming in deep gasps, his heart pounding, but his pace showed no signs of slowing. Adrenaline was doing a good job of maintaining his energy.
    On the top floor he spotted a teenage girl in a black hoodie emerging from one of the apartments, earphones on and head