James Patterson - Kill Alex Cross

“How am I supposed to learn anything if you won’t let me wear gloves?”

“You’ll get the gloves when you’re ready,” I said. “Now pick up that can again.”

I honestly wasn’t sure if boxing was a great idea for Ava, or a terrible one. But she’d expressed an interest, and that was enough for me to give it a try.

“How do you like your new school?” I asked, motioning her and Ali into the center of the floor. They knew the drill and turned to face each other.

Ava kept her elbows in as she put her hands up, left foot in front. Ali did the same.

“It’s a’ight. I like Ms. Hopkins,” she said.

It probably doesn’t sound like much, but this was about a thousand percent more than Ava had been giving me so far. Kids off the street can go one of two ways. It’s either no boundaries at all, and they share way too much, too fast. Or they clam up tight. That was Ava. So far, we had our good days and our bad days.

There were still plenty of questions I wanted to ask. Like what happened to you out there on the streets? Did you know your mom was going to die? What makes you feel safe, Ava? Who are you?

The questions would come, eventually. For now, I stuck to small, tangible stuff like school, meals, movies — and boxing.

I ran the kids through some balance drills, did some more mirroring, and then let them play at dodging the heavy bag. That one was Ava’s favorite. She gave up a few rare smiles while she and Ali swung the bag, feinting and weaving on the balls of their feet. At least the two of them were bonding.

After a while, Jannie came down the basement stairs and poked her head under the banister.

“Hey, Daddy? Mr. Mahoney’s here to see you. And Nana says enough with the roughhousing. It’s time for bed.”

I looked over at the clock radio on the windowsill. It was quarter to ten and a school night. Oops.

What was Ned Mahoney doing here at the house this late?

“All right, guys, that’s it. Gym’s closed for the night,” I said.

Ava stood holding the bag with both hands. “Just a little more,” she said.

“Nope. It’s already past your bedtime. Ali’s too. Let’s go.”

A nasty scowl came onto her face. “I don’t need no goddamn bedtime,” she said. She swung the bag hard and caught Ali off guard. It knocked him right to the floor. While he burst into tears, Ava started stomping up the stairs.

That was, until I made her come back and apologize — first to Ali, and then to me.

“No more boxing this week,” I said. “You need a break. This isn’t the way it’s going to work in this house.”

“Whatever,” she said, in that really charming way adolescents can have. Then she turned to go.

Like I said, good days and bad days. Sometimes all at the same time.

Ava was still sulking when we got up stairs. She walked right by Mahoney, who was waiting in the front hall. Ned pointed at the kids as they went by, counting on his fingers. “Three?” he mouthed at me.

“Don’t ask,” I said. “Also known as Ava.”

“Good night, Also Known as Ava,” he called up the stairs.

“G’night,” Ava said without turning around. But at least she talked.

“Good night, Mr. Mahoney!”

“Good night, Jannie. Good night, John-Boy. Good night, everyone!”

Jannie and Ali liked Ned just as much as I did. Once they were gone, though, he dropped the “Uncle Ned” act and his face turned serious again. I hadn’t spoken with him since the raid at the motel, three nights earlier. I think this was the first time I ever saw him when he wasn’t clean shaven and raring to go.

“How are your guys doing?” I asked.

“They’ve been better. Totten’s already home, but Behrenberg’s going to be in the burn unit for at least two more weeks,” he told me, shaking his head.

“How about you?” I said. “You holding up?”

Ned shrugged. “I’ve been spending most of my forced time off at the hospital with Behr’s wife. But they’re putting me back on tomorrow,” he said.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Sure. Nothing worse than sitting on the sidelines. I need to be in on this, or I’m going to go crazy.”

I could have guessed Ned would feel responsible for what happened. I’d probably feel the same way, for better or worse.

“Listen, Ned, if you ever need to talk about—”

“Thanks,” he said, “but I’m already seeing one of the Bureau shrinks. She’s pretty good, actually. A lot better-looking than you, too.”

I was glad to see the trademark sense of humor wasn’t dead, anyway.

“Well, how about I pour you a drink, then? I’ve got some good Scotch I think even you could appreciate,” I said.

“Actually—” Ned took a step toward the door. His keys were still hooked on his finger, and he had that look in his eye. The one that said he’d never really left work behind.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go for a ride,” he said. “I’ve got something you might be interested in seeing. This is good. You want to see it.”

I nodded. “Of course I do.”

Half an hour later, Mahoney and I showed up at a four-story, red-brick building on the corner of Sixth and P streets, across from Masjid Al-Qasim mosque. We parked in the back and took the stairs to a third-floor. railroad apartment.

Inside, it was mostly empty. Just a few lawn chairs and long folding tables, loaded up with listening equipment. Two agents sat in the chairs, both of them with headphones on. Another was at the kitchen counter with two laptops in front of her.

I didn’t know any of these agents, but Mahoney’s kind of a rock star with the surveillance crews. He introduced me to Cheryl Kravetz in the kitchen, and pointed out Howard Green and Andrew Landry with the headphones.

“Thanks for calling,” Mahoney told Kravetz. “We’ll try to stay out of the way.”

“No problem.” Kravetz worked while they talked. She had half a dozen different camera views up on two screens and scrolled through them with an external keyboard hooked up to both computers.

Most of what I saw didn’t look like much — an empty hallway, a classroom of some kind, a dark alley.

“Isha prayers let out about an hour ago,” she told us. “I’m not sure what the holdup is.”

“And nobody’s going in after them?” Ned asked.

“When was the last time you took someone down in a mosque?” Kravetz said. “Or any church, for that matter. It’s too damn complicated. Besides, we’ve got this covered.”

I listened but didn’t say anything. This wasn’t my op. All Mahoney had told me in the car was that intel from the Bureau’s Al Ayla informant had been coming in fast and furious. Tonight was supposed to be some kind of takedown. As for who they were going after, he had no idea.

It was another hour before anything significant happened. Ned and I were talking quietly in the corner when one of the listening agents put up a hand and snapped his fingers several times.

“Here we go,” Kravetz said. We went over and stood behind her, where we could see. She had pulled up two full-screen views. It looked like the front and back entrances of the mosque.

A second later, one of the double front doors opened from the inside, and a woman in a hijab and long coat started backing out onto the front walk.

“What the hell—?”

It took a second to see the man in the wheelchair. Once they’d cleared the door, the woman did a 180 and started pushing him down toward the street.

“That’s them? ” Mahoney said.

They looked to be in their sixties, both of them heavyset. The man had a thick, almost nonexistent neck and just a few wisps of hair. The woman walked with a slight limp. Actually, she hobbled more than walked.