Джеймс Паттерсон - Ambush

Excellent.

To Alex, finding something like this was nearly as important as the hit itself. Anyone could point a gun, but only a true professional delved deeper and figured out how to complete the hit and live to enjoy the rewards after it was all done.

On the IMDB database, Jules Baez was listed as “not represented” in the section showing agent and management. That was one weakness all actors had: they lusted for good representation.

Then she had a great idea.

Tomorrow could be the turning point on this contract from hell.

I didn’t know if it was the mounting stress of having someone trying to kill me, worrying about Brian in the hospital, or all the other little things a father has to keep track of, but I didn’t feel refreshed when I woke up. I’d tossed and turned all night, and now I really felt it.

I’d also hit some dead ends in my investigation. We still didn’t have a clear photograph of the killer or anything that might identify her. Roddy Huerta had proved to be a better detective than I had originally thought. He also hadn’t ratted me out to anyone about my using Julio Laza as a snitch before he was killed. That told me something about the man.

Cassie Max was her usual blur of activity, and I noticed that she sent me an e-mail every night around eleven o’clock, updating me on everything she had done. I was never that organized, even when I was her age.

I had a little time this morning and wanted to show my family some support. First I was going to go by Holy Name and talk to Sister Agnes about Trent. I thought I might work in a visit to my grandfather as well. If I had time I wanted to shoot down to Brooklyn and visit Juliana again — I knew she was still smarting from the breakup.

As I walked to my police car in the garage across the street from our apartment, I was paying a lot more attention to cars passing me on the street and other pedestrians. I don’t want to say that I was starting to get paranoid, but I definitely had my reasons.

I was trying to change up my regular routine in case anyone was watching. I gave Mitch, the homeless man who always sat near the entrance to the garage, two dollars before I went in instead of handing it to him from the window of my car, as I did on most days.

I engaged the sixty-five-year-old Vietnam veteran in some conversation.

“Mitch, have you seen anyone unusual hanging out around here?”

His voice was deep and raspy. “You gotta give me more than that. This is New York. Everyone is unusual.”

“Any women you don’t usually see?”

“It’s funny you ask. I see everyone, but only a few people see me. I appreciate that you even bothered to ask me. You always talk to me.”

I said, “What about it? Have you seen anyone?”

“Seen anyone do what?”

I patted him on the shoulder and said, “Keep up the good work.”

It was time to head over to Holy Name and make sure Trent never had an easy math assignment again. That thought made me chuckle like a villain in a Disney movie.

I entered the Holy Name school through the main door and quickly found Sister Agnes in her office. She was busy grading tests at a comfortable-looking desk while balancing herself on a blue yoga ball.

The NYPD had tried various chairs and desks in an effort to stop some of the back problems and health issues related to sedentary jobs, but I didn’t care for stand-up desks. Then again, my job involved a lot of activity — maybe too much.

Sister Agnes was dressed casually by nuns’ standards, in a simple black shirt and skirt. She was a young-looking forty and taught advanced math classes. She also coached the girls’ basketball team.

She was tougher than any cop I had ever met. Her brown eyes could make you wilt if you were in the wrong. She’d turned that look on me a couple of times over the years, the first time after I suggested a little less homework and a little more recess. More recently, there was a string of three days in a row with a late arrival by our entire family. I thought accepting full responsibility would save me. Instead she set those eyes on me and said, “Now I can tell how much influence Father Seamus has had on your life. We’ll see if we can fix that. Once a student at Holy Name, always a student.”

Now she glanced up from her tests when I stood in the doorway and simply said, “Ah, Mr. Bennett. I thought my little note on Trent’s algebra test might bring you in quickly for a chat.”

“You could have just asked me to come in for a parent conference.”

“Based on the way you sometimes sneak the kids in when they’re tardy, and based on the behavior of your grandfather, I thought it was best to use a little subterfuge. Call it a fun game on my part.”

I liked her.

She motioned me to the seat, then twisted on her ball so she was sitting up straight. I could see the muscles in her forearm and wondered how much she could bench-press.

She said, “I was hoping to talk to you about moving Trent forward quite quickly in some of the math classes. I also was wondering if perhaps we could pair him with Eddie in a special computer class we’re going to put together with Columbia University.”

I just stared at her as if I didn’t understand. Truthfully, the information and request were a little overwhelming. She wanted my boys to take a class with Columbia students? They were just little boys in my eyes.

Somehow I managed to mumble, “Yes, of course. Whatever you think is best.” After a moment, it all sank in, and I said, “I don’t think I realized Trent was so good with computers.”

“Eddie is clearly a whiz with anything related to Windows-based and Linux-based computers. We feel our computer lab is no longer sufficient to support his interests. But it’s Trent’s mathematical ability that we think this computer class could really enhance. Often we find that an ability to work with computers is tied directly to mathematical comprehension.”

“That all sounds great. What can I do to help?”

“There may be some financial issues and costs, but nothing too extreme. If you need any kind of financial assistance, we feel this is important enough for the Church to provide it.”

“Thank you. I think I’ll be able to come up with whatever we need. Is there anything else I could do to help?”

She hesitated. That was unusual for Sister Agnes. Finally she said, “Perhaps it would be best if your grandfather didn’t know exactly what was going on. Sometimes he tends to get overinvolved in your children’s studies. I don’t think he would ever admit that he may not be up-to-date on the latest technology. And I know he’d be afraid we’re pushing the boys too quickly. Sometimes I think he would have each of your children held back just so he could see them every day here at school.”

I smiled because it was true. I also smiled because apparently Trent wasn’t the only one hiding his abilities.

Sister Agnes was much more astute and understood the subtleties of family relationships better than I had ever imagined.

I said, “I’ll talk to Seamus.”

I cut through the tidy courtyard from the school to the church administration building. I was beaming, at least on the inside. What parent doesn’t want to hear that not one but two of his children are gifted? And gifted in an area that’s so difficult?

Clearly I hadn’t helped the boys with their computer or math skills as they grew up. I could go on about philosophers and their contributions to society, from the Greeks to the formation of the United States, but technology and math were not my strong suits.

Holy Name had been such a big part of my life that sometimes I took the church and school for granted. Not only were my children going to school here, where we attended services every Sunday, but the church was also essentially harboring my grandfather and giving him a strong purpose late in life. The idea of Seamus living with us as a retired bar owner with no purpose in life was the stuff of nightmares.