Джеймс Паттерсон - Ambush

Before I could say anything or ask any more questions, I saw Mary Catherine’s face above me. She looked like an angel. She was so beautiful. Immediately I felt better.

When I saw my grandfather Seamus, I knew I was still alive. He was too mean to die. He was in the official uniform of the Catholic Church. As a priest at Holy Name, he had access to any hospital in the city.

I didn’t like the look of concern on Mary Catherine’s face. I knew I was the cause of it, and that was the last thing I wanted to do to the woman I loved.

I took a breath and tried my voice. It cracked, but I said, “How is Antrole?”

I knew the answer, but I had to ask anyway. I saw the hand grenade and felt the blast. I remembered his collar tearing away and the feeling of losing him down a well.

Mary Catherine shook her head and leaned away from me.

Seamus stepped up and said, “I’m afraid your partner was killed in the blast. The doctors say you were incredibly lucky.”

I lifted my right hand and flexed, just to make sure I could. I wiggled my toes and felt the blanket on them.

Seamus said, “Everything’s there — don’t worry. You have a concussion, a bunch of stitches in your head, a broken finger on your left hand. They want to look at your back and spine more closely tomorrow.”

Suddenly I felt the pain in my left hand when I tried to move my index finger. My back was sore, but I didn’t say anything.

Mary Catherine took my hand and kissed me on the forehead. I had so many painkillers running through me that I barely felt her lips.

I looked up and said, “Do the kids know?”

“Yes. We knew it would be on the news. We made arrangements for the kids to be driven home. Juliana and Jane are making dinner and ensuring that everyone does their homework. There’s nothing you need to worry about.”

But that’s what I did. I was a father. I worried.

Then I remembered Juliana’s phone call. “What was Juliana’s big news? Please tell me it has nothing to do with a wedding dress or falling in love with a boy across the country.”

Mary Catherine gave me a smile. That’s what I needed. “No, nothing like that. My guess is that Jane will be the first one to give us that kind of news.”

“Please don’t tell me she’s decided not to go to college and wants to travel the world alone.”

Seamus said, “Don’t be an ass. That girl is saddled with your practical nature. She has big news, and you’re going to be happy no matter what it is. Your job is to just be proud.”

“I’m always proud, but I can be worried, too. I’m a father.”

“And I’m your grandfather, and I never worried that much about you.”

It didn’t matter how old I got — my grandfather still treated me like I was an eighth grader. And somehow, though I would not admit it openly, I liked it.

Mary Catherine indulged me. “Juliana landed a TV role. It’s a locally produced drama. She’s very excited about it, so no matter what she says, don’t ask questions about who’s producing it or what she’s expected to do. Ease into it a little bit. It is a legit production company, even if it’s not very big.”

I supported my children in everything they did. I also tended to get involved in everything they did. This was no different. I looked up at Mary Catherine and said, “I’m happy for her and can’t wait to see her on set.”

After I talked to Mary Catherine and Seamus, Harry Grissom came into the room. The lanky lieutenant looked like he could’ve been a gunfighter in the Old West. His weather-beaten face gave no hint that he’d worked in New York City for the past twenty-five years, though his Brooklyn accent did. His droopy mustache hid a knife scar only longtime colleagues knew about.

I knew his presence meant that he was worried about me, but like the professional he was, he got right to the important questions.

“Who gave you the tip?”

I shook my head. “Antrole took the call.”

“Why didn’t you call for backup?”

I shrugged. What was I going to do? Throw my late partner under the bus? Finally I said, “It didn’t seem like a great tip at the time. You know how it is.”

Thank God he’d worked the street and really did know how things happened, what good cops had to do just to make a case. If you went by the book on everything, nothing would get done.

Harry shook his head. “This whole thing’s screwed up. Your suspect, Emmanuel Diaz, was dead hours before you got there. Two of the shooters are dead, and one is in the ICU with a couple of bullet wounds and shrapnel from the grenade.”

“So it was an ambush?”

“We’re not sure. Who knows what went on? You might have interrupted a rip-off, and they were searching the apartment. To be on the safe side, the NYPD is not releasing any details about you or Antrole. The hospital staff know to keep things quiet.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“It might keep the media circus away from you for a few days.”

Then the swinging door to my room opened, and I had a quick peek at an attractive young woman with a baby in her arms, holding the hand of a little boy in the hallway. I recognized Antrole Martens’s wife, a Wall Street banker, and their two young children from photos on his desk.

Antrole’s world revolved around his family. It hurt to know what they were going through right now.

I wanted to call out to her, but the door closed. All I could do was lie there in silence.

Alex Martinez was back in her comfortable hotel room after a quick drink with the crew and models from the shoot to show them how happy she was with their work. The drink also provided cover if anyone was to ask questions about the shooting that occurred just down the street.

She had gently fended off an awkward invitation from Chaz, the model, to come back to his loft in SoHo, as he downplayed the fact that he had two roommates in a tiny apartment. But Alex had far too much on her mind to be able to concentrate and enjoy an evening with an underwear model. He was a beautiful young man, but not that beautiful.

Now she sat on the edge of the bed reviewing the photos she’d taken earlier while the big flat-screen TV bolted into the wall played the local news. She had dozens of shots of underwear models, plenty of suitable material for her client. But she was more interested in the photos she took of the building where the explosion occurred. The shots of the explosion coming from the building on 161st Street were remarkable.

Her favorite caught the plume of flame at its apex. It was at least three meters out the window, with sparkles of glass around the flame catching the sun just right. She couldn’t have planned a better photo. It made her appreciate how hard wildlife photography would be. Patience was the key. Patience, and a lot of shots with a good lens.

The photos of the explosions were striking, but they didn’t provide her with any information she could use on her job. She needed to know if her target, Detective Michael Bennett, had been killed in the explosion in order to officially close out her contract.

When Alex heard the TV news anchor mention a shoot-out, she looked up. They were calling it the Battle in the Bronx. It might not have made the news if it were just gunfire, Alex thought. But add an explosion to the mix, and it caught their attention.

The anchor revealed that there were several fatalities, but there was no mention of police officers down or even injuries. That was frustrating. She did learn that one of the suspected gunmen was in critical condition at NewYork — Presbyterian Hospital in Washington Heights.

Alex had hired some local gunmen from a Dominican gang. They came highly recommended, and she liked to distance herself from some of the action. It confused local homicide detectives when there was evidence of a gang with multiple weapons. They didn’t think lone assassin in a case like that.