James Patterson - Roses Are Red

"I don't have any confession for you to hear. I'm all right. I'm fine. I'm at peace with the world. I couldn't be happier."

Damon gave me the same look of exasperation that Adele had. Then he shook his head and turned away. He didn't believe me either. When the collection basket came, I put in a hundred dollars.

The Mastermind was keeping everything on a tight schedule. The clock inside his head was ticking loudly, always ticking.

The best of the bank-robbing crews, the creme de la creme, was scheduled to meet with him in his suite at a Holiday Inn near Colonial Village in Washington. They were on time of course. He had made it a formal condition of the meeting.

Brian Macdougall swaggered into the suite ahead of the others. The Mastermind smiled at the absurdly cocksure way Macdougall carried himself. He knew that Macdougall would lead the way into the room. He was followed by his subordinates, B J Stringer and Robert Shaw. The three of them look like anything but high-level thieves, he thought. Two of the three wore royal-blue-and-white T-shirts from the same Long Island softball league.

"Mr. O'Malley and Mr. Crews?" the Mastermind asked from behind the screen of lights that prohibited them from seeing him. "Where are they, might I ask?"

Macdougall spoke for the group," They have to work today. You gave us kind of short notice, partner. Three of us took off this morning. It'd look suspicious, if we all called in sick."

The Mastermind continued to observe the three New York men sitting beyond the lights. Each looked like your average Joe. In truth, they were the most dangerous of the bank-robbing crews he'd used. They were exactly what he needed for the next test.

"So this is what, an audition?" Macdougall asked. He had on a black silk shirt, black trousers and loafers. He had slicked-back black hair and a goatee.

"An audition? No, not at all. The job is yours, if you want it. I know how you work. Know all about you. I know your track record."

Macdougall stared ahead at the bright lights, almost as if his gaze could penetrate them. "This needs to be a face-to-face meeting, "he said stonily. "That's the only way we'll do the job."

The Mastermind rose quickly. He was stunned and angry. The legs of his chair made a loud scraping noise against the floor. "You were told from the beginning that wasn't possible. This meeting is over."

A heavy silence filled the hotel room. Macdougall looked over at Stringer and Shaw. He scratched his goatee a few times, then he laughed out loud. "I was just testing, partner. I guess we can live without seeing your face. If you have our payment with you?"

"I have the money, gentlemen. Fifty thousand dollars. Just for meeting with me. I always keep my promises."

And we walk away with the payment if we don't like your plan for the job?"

Now it was the Mastermind's turn to smile. "You'll like the plan," he said "You'll especially like the part about your share. It's fifteen million dollars."

"Did he say fifteen million?"

"That's what the man said. What the hell are we supposed to rob?"

Vincent O'Malley and Jimmy Crews weren't at work that day. They were waiting inside a Toyota Canary and a Honda Acura, respectively. They were in contact with each other by headphone. Their cars were parked on opposite sides of the Holiday Inn in Washington. They were watching for the Mastermind to appear outside, so that maybe they could follow him, find out who the hell he was.

O'Malley and Crews listened to the meeting through Brian Macdougall, who was wired for sound. They heard fifteen million mentioned and they wondered what the hell the job could be? The guy who called himself Mastermind was something else. He talked, or rather, lectured, and he made the mind boggling job sound like a walk in the park. Six to eight hours of work; thirty million to split. The most impressive thing was that he answered all of Brian Macdougall's tough questions.

O'Malley stayed in contact with Crews in the other car. "You listening to this shit, Jimmy? You believe it?"

"He has my rapt attention. I'd love to see the tricking look on Macdougall's face right about now. This asshole has his number. It's like he knows everything about Brian. Hey, I think the meeting's breaking up."

O'Malley and Crews remained silent for the next few minutes. Then O'Malley spoke. "He's outside the hotel. I see him, Jimmy. He's on foot. He's walking south on Sixteenth Street. Doesn't seem concerned about being followed. I got him!"

"Maybe he's not so fucking smart, after all," Crews said.

O'Malley laughed. "Shit. I was kind of hoping he was that smart."

Crews said, "I'll go parallel down Fourteenth. What's he look like? What's he wearing?"

Tall, over six feet. White guy. Beard, maybe a fake one. Long hair. Pretty nondescript clothes: Dark sports coat and slacks, blue shirt… He's picking up the pace. He's starting to jog now. He's going off the main street, Jimmy. He's headed back through a yard. He's running! Son of a bitch is on the run! Here we go!"

Vincent O'Malley jumped out of his car and followed the Mastermind. He ran close to the maple and oak trees that lined most of the apartment buildings on the street. He continued to report in to Crews. "He's going into the woods off Shepherd Park. Motherhumper is trying to get away from us. Imagine that."

O'Malley followed the Mastermind as best he could, but he couldn't keep up. The guy was a runner. He didn't look like it, but he could move real well.

Then O'Malley lost him! "He's gone. Fuck me in the heinie. I lost him, Jimmy. I don't see him anywhere. This is not good."

Crews picked him up again. "I got him. I'm on foot too. He's still running like some pickpocket with my wallet."

"You keep up with him?"

"Hope so. We'll see. For fifteen million dollars I'll keep up with him somehow."

The Mastermind finally came out of the woods and on to a side street filled with brick townhouses. Crews was panting as he spoke into the mike on his headphones. "Thank God I run every day. He runs too. He's out on Morningside Drive … Awhh shit, he's heading back into the goddamn woods. He's picking up the pace again. The bastard must train on the Appalachian Trail."

It became an incredible game of cat and mouse. Even though they were good at it, O'Malley and Crews lost their prey twice more in the next twenty minutes. They were miles from the Holiday Inn, somewhere south of Walter Reed Army Medical Center.

Then Crews spotted him on a narrow side street called Powhaten Place. The Mastermind had turned into a back driveway or something. Crews followed. He saw a metal sign, and he almost couldn't believe what it said.

Crews reported back to O'Malley. Then he talked to Brian Macdougall who'd joined the merry chase.

Crews couldn't keep the irony out of his voice. "I know where the hell he is, fellas. Get this he's inside a nuthouse. He's on the grounds of a mental institution called Hazelwood. And now I've lost him again!"

Monday morning, I got a call to meet Kyle Craig and Betsey Cavalierre at the Hoover Building on Tenth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. They wanted me to be at the director's office at eight o'clock. An 'emergency7 meeting had been called.

The Hoover Building is sometimes called the "Puzzle Palace," and for obvious reasons. Kyle and Betsey were waiting when I arrived in the FBI director's conference room. Betsey looked tense for her. Her small hands were clenched into fists, the knuckles white.

I pretended to be annoyed that Director Burns wasn't there yet," He's late," I muttered. "Let's get out of here. We've got better things to do."

Just then, one of two polished oak doors into the room opened. I knew both of the men who walked inside. Neither of them looked very happy. One was FBI Director Ronald Burns, whom I'd met during the Casanova killings in Durham and Chapel Hill, North Carolina. The second man was Secretary of Justice, Richard Pollett. I had met him when I'd worked on a case involving the President.