There was one time we caught wind that Snevets was haunting some old industrial complex out off Back road. We took three cars of agents, twelve men in all. I warned the men about Snevets and split them into six teams. No use in having solo agents trying to track. Snevets is not your ordinary hunt and detain, and besides not one of them had more than 4 years on the force. We’d be lucky if we even sighted him. Everyone was miked and told to radio in their position. I sent them through the complex in teams, as I said. I kept watch by the gate, coordinating. It was dusk and the light was failing. The hangars around the place looked like great shadows, and the sky was assuming a darker and darker blue. I could see nothing, but the silhouette of a chain and the outline of buildings. Snevets could be anywhere. Ten minutes had passed and no one had radioed in. I went to the car to get a thermos. Snevets! He was in one of the cars. I rushed towards the door, but heard the automatic locks engage. The keys were with one of the other agents. I spoke into my lapel. Snevets had the time it took the keys to return to effect his escape. The cabin overhead went on. I saw him comb through the elbow rest and glove compartment looking for paper, anything. He found the back of an unfinished report. My jaw tightened. His hand went into his sport coat and brought out a pen. I rested my body against one on the other cars. The keys would never make it back in time. All I could do was watch him write. I was too disappointed to yell anything through the window. By the time the man arrived with the keys, Snevets was no more than warm upholstery. I thought to myself how can he do all that with only a pen? I got the men back in the cars and headed back to the agency, to the cracks that awaited. Was Snevets trying to humiliate me?

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Snevets went around the house. We followed close, but not conspicuous. He was looking for a window, no doubt. Something to make it into the house by. “Make it into by” pay attention to the phrase. Snevets was wicked with phrases. My team came around the corner in time to see his feet disappearing into the house. I said watch out, this is not like Snevets. Something must be up. At least we know he’s in the house. Spread out. Circle the place. You know the signal if he tries to break our perimeter. No mistakes on this one, we might not get this chance again. We waited for a long time. Snevets was going to make it hurt.

Dark came. I was circling, checking team’s endurance. It was failing. Desperate, I snuck on to the porch. The house was lit inside–nobody in the front room. I decided to scale the porch to look into the second story windows. I’m old and tired. I swore at Snevets under my breath. His name was perfect to curse, and its language took over making it hard to climb. Looking in the second story window, I saw Snevets standing over a desk in a study. Under him was a small girl, no more than thirteen, writing. I saw Snevets’ mouth move. He was dictating to her. The pencil looked enormous in her small hand. How long could they keep this up? We had been waiting for hours. What were they writing? Neither of them looked tired. Snevets hadn’t even loosened his tie. He spoke slowly, and was spelling some of the words. I could see him mouth them a letter at a time. Knowing Snevets, this could go on a while. I was going to have to relieve the men.

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A Snevets story: any story in which the point of view is an investigating officer, and the protagonist, Snevets, is committing sinister crimes of composition. Peculiar to these pursuer/pursued stories is that the investigating officer never catches Snevets. At each cornering Snevets manages to write his way out of trouble. Also Snevets’ crimes of language are never made concrete–the exact nature of each transgression remains mysterious.

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