Джеймс Паттерсон - Detective Cross

I palmed my phone and rested my hands on my thighs. “Your game, Mickey.”

Gordon Light yelled, “Almost to Union Station.”

“Keep going,” Mickey directed. “Take a left on Mass Ave.”

He looked back at me. I said, “Pretty difficult to get old Yugoslavian C-4, Mickey.”

He smiled. “Sometimes you just get lucky, Dr. Cross.”

We reached Mass Ave, and Light took the left. Kate was studying Mickey intently. I looked out the windows, searching for the flashing lights and sirens I hoped would somehow appear. If Bree or Mahoney got the text, they knew we were on the Hospital Center Line heading south. Metrobus had GPS trackers on them, didn’t they?

But other than the rain and the nearly deserted sidewalks, it looked like any other evening in the District of Columbia.

Mickey stepped over onto the seat in front of him, then jumped down in the aisle with his back to me. “Take a right!”

I punched 911 into my phone.

“I can’t!” Gordon yelled. “It’s one way there!”

“Do it, or your bus blows up!”

“911, what is your emergency?” I heard the woman say.

The driver slammed on his brakes and cut right through a small parking area off Mass Ave. The bus hit a curb with a jolt. People screamed. My chin hit the back of Kate’s seat and I dropped my phone, which went skittering across the floor before the bus smashed down onto Northwest Drive along the boundary of the Capitol’s grounds.

I was dazed for a moment, hearing cars honking and swerving to get out of the way of the bus, which went careening uphill. As I shook off the daze, Mickey moved forward toward Gordon Light, his cell phone held high.

Passengers shrank from him as he advanced, yelling, “Turn on the lights in here. Open your window. And take the next right, Driver. Go right on up to the barrier!”

“The next right? I can’t! It’s—”

“Do it!”

Mickey ran up beside the driver. Light glanced at the cell phone Mickey held before pressing a button that opened his window, and another that lit up the interior of the bus. He downshifted and swung the bus right, following the curve of a short spur road that led to a bunker-like guard shack and a solid-steel gate.

Ahead, through the windshield, I could see the lights of satellite media trucks blazing across the small plaza in front of the steps of the Senate. A Capitol Hill Police officer armed with an H&K submachine gun stepped out of the shack.

“What the hell are you doing!” she shouted at Gordon. “Back the hell up! This is a restricted—”

“I’m wearing a bomb!” Mickey Hawkes yelled. “And I’m going to explode it and kill you and all these people unless I get to talk to those senators. Right here. Right now.”

I recognized the officer — her last name was Larson. She hesitated until Mickey exposed the bomb vest again.

“Do it,” Mickey said. “Call in there. And don’t even think of trying to shoot me.

“I drop this phone, the IED goes off.”

Officer Larson blinked and said, “Let’s calm down a second here, son. I can’t just call into the Senate. I wouldn’t even know how.”

“Bullshit.”

“She’s right, Mickey Hawkes,” I called loudly, and got up.

He looked at me as I started past Kate. “Sit down, man.”

I hesitated. Kate tugged on my pants leg. I looked down at her, and saw she wanted to tell me something.

“What?”

She glanced at Mickey and said, “Nothing.”

Mickey had turned to the Capitol Hill cop. “Call your boss, lady. Or call his boss. I’m sure one of them knows how to contact the senators blocking the vets’ bill.”

“Is that what this is about?” I said, moving up the aisle.

“Sit down, or I blow this now!” he shouted at me.

I sat down seven rows from the front with my hands up.

Mickey looked back at Officer Larson, who hadn’t moved.

“Call now!” he yelled. “Or do you want to explain how you could have stopped the bloodbath that’s about to happen?”

Larson held up a hand, said, “Calm down, and I’ll try to make the call.”

I said, “Mickey, how about letting some of these people go while she tries?”

He glared at me. “Why would I do that?”

“To show your goodwill.”

“There’s no such thing as goodwill,” Mickey said. “Why do you think I’m here?”

Larson backed through the door into the guard shack.

I said, “Mickey, why are you here?”

“I’ll tell those senators.”

“You could start with us,” I said. “Convince us, maybe you convince them.”

The teenager didn’t look at me, but I could see him struggle. He said, “I’m saying this once, my way.”

“You could—”

“Shut up, Dr. Cross!” he shouted. “I know what you’re trying to do! I’ve seen what all you goddamned shrinks try to do!”

Officer Larson emerged from the security bunker. I looked out the windows and saw the silhouettes of armed officers racing from all directions to surround the bus.

She said, “Mickey, I can’t call the senators.”

“You can’t?” he screamed. “Or you won’t?”

Larson said, “I don’t make these kinds of calls, Mickey. But there’s no way we’re going to let a senator anywhere near you and your bomb.”

His jaw clenched. He looked out the windshield, and back at the cop.

“Get them on the Senate steps then. And give me a bullhorn.”

Larson started to shake her head, but I yelled, “Call, Officer. See if it’s possible.”

I was standing again. Larson could see me through the windows. She hesitated, but then nodded. “I’ll ask, Dr. Cross.”

When she disappeared back inside the bunker, I said, “If you get your chance to talk to them, Mickey, you’ll let us go?”

He shook his head and said, “I want to see some action.”

Before I could reply, Larson exited the bunker again. “I’m sorry, Mickey, but they won’t allow it.”

His jaw tensed again as he struggled for another option. But then he straightened and gave Larson a sorry look. “I guess I have to make a different kind of statement then, don’t I?”

He held up the cell phone, and looked back at me. “Sorry I had to hack into Jannie’s phone, Dr. Cross. I always liked her.”

I saw flickers of anger, fear, and despair in his face. I’d seen the same in Kate Williams’s face when we first met. I understood he was suicidal.

“Don’t, Mickey!” I said.

“Too late,” Mickey said. He moved his thumb to the screen.

There was a flash of brilliant light, and I started to duck — but then I saw it was behind Mickey. For a moment the kid was silhouetted there.

I felt sure there would be a blast. We were going to die.

Then Kate Williams stood and yelled, “The bullhorn’s behind you, Mickey!”

The teen looked confused, then glanced over his shoulder through the windshield. There were news cameramen running toward the bus, klieg lights flaring in the rain, and satellite trucks following.

“Go, Mickey!” Kate shouted. “Before they figure it out!”

Mickey stared at her as they shared an understanding that eluded me, then addressed Gordon Light. “Open the door!”

The driver pushed a button. The front and rear doors whooshed open. Mickey looked at us. “Sorry it had to come to this.”

He climbed out.

I waited two seconds before I ran forward, saying, “Everyone out the back, and move away. Now.”

The other passengers lunged for the rear exit. I went out the front door, and watched Mickey Hawkes go toward the barrier that blocked access to the Capitol, his jacket open, exposing the vest.

Officer Larson was aiming her rifle at him. “Not a step further, Mickey.”