Patterson, James - Alex Cross 1 - Along Came A Spider

Mick Fescoe got up close to the door. He could hear the nut case shouting inside.

There was something funny, though, as if the creep were operating by remote. His movements were very staccato. His voice was high-pitched, like a young boy's.

“I'm Gary Soneji. You all got that? I'm The Man himself. You folks have found me, so to speak. You're all big heroes.”

Was it possible? Fescoe wondered as he listened near the door. The kidnapper Soneji, here in Wilkinsburg? Whoever it was, he definitely had a gun. One person had been shot. A man was spread-eagled on the floor. He wasn't moving.

Fescoe heard another shot. Piercing screams of terror echoed from inside the packed McDonald's restaurant.

“You have to do something!” a man in a light green Dolphins parka yelled at the state trooper.

You're telling me, Officer Mick Fescoe muttered to himself. People were always real brave with cops, lives. You first, officer. You're the one getting twenty-five hundred a month for this.

Mick Fescoe tried to control his breathing. When he succeeded, he moved up to the glass doorway. He said a silent prayer and spun through the glass door.

He saw the gunman immediately. A white guy, already turned toward hirfi. As if he'd been expecting him. As if he'd planned on this.

“Boom!” Gary Soneji yelled. At the same time, he pulled the trigger.

Along Came A Spider

CHAPTER 43

NE OF us had more than a couple of hours of slee@, some less than that. We were groggy and out of it as we cruised down U.S. Highway 22.

Gary Soneji/Murphy had been “sighted” several times in the area south of us. He had become the bogey man for half the people in America. I knew that he relished the role. iezzie Flanagan, Jeb Klepner, Sampson, and I traveled in a blue Lincoln sedan. Sampson tried to sleep. I was the designated driver for the first shift. We were passing through Murrysville, Pennsylvania, when an emergency call came over the radio at ten past noon. “All units, we have a multiple shooting!” the dispatcher said with a flurry of radio static. "A man claiming to be Gary Soneji has shot at least two people inside a McDonald's in Wilkinsburg. He has at least sixty hostages trapped inside the restaurant at this time.

Less than thirty minutes later we arrived at the scene

Wilkinsburg, Pennsylvania. Sampson shook his head disgust and amazement. “Does this asshole know how to throw a party or what?” “Is he trying to kill himself? Is this suicide time?” Jezzie Flanagan wanted to know.

“I'm not surprised by anything he does, but McDonaid's fits. Look at all the children. It's like the school, like Disney World,” I said to them. Across the street from the restaurant, on the roof of a Kmart, I could see police or army snipers. They had high-powered rifles aimed in the direction of the golden arches on the front window.

“It seems just like the McDonald's massacre a few years back. The one in southern California,” I said to Sampson and Jezzie.

“Don't say that,” Jezzie whispered, “not even as a joke. ”

“I'm saying it, and it isn't any joke.”

We started to hurry toward the McDonald's. After all this, we didn't want Soneji shot dead.

We were being filmed. Television vans were doubleparked everywhere, affiliates from all three networks. They were shooting film of everything that moved or talked. The whole mess was as bad a deal as I'd seen. It certainly reminded me of the McDonald's shootings in California; a man named James Huberty had killed twenty-one people there. Was that what Soneji/Murphy wanted us to think?

An FBI section chief came running up to us. It was Kyle Craig, who'd been at the Murphy house in Wilmington.

“We don't know if it's him for sure,” he said. “This guy's dressed like a farrner. Dark hair, beard. Claims to be Soneji. But it could be some other nut.”

“Let me get a look,” I said to Craig. “He asked for me down in Florida. He knows I'm a psychologist. Maybe I can talk to him now.”

Before Craig could answer, I had moved past him toward the restaurant. I inched my way up beside a trooper and a couple of local cops crouched near the side entrance. I flashed my badge case at them. Said I was from Washington. No sound was coming from inside the McDonald's. I had to talk him back to earth. No suicide. No big flame-out at Mickey D's.

“Is he making any sense?” I asked the trooper. “Is he coherent?”

The trooper was young and his eyes were glazed. “He shot my partner. I think my partner's dead,” the trooper said. “Dear God in this world.”

“We'll get in there and help your partner,” I told the trooper. “Is the man with the gun making sense when he talks? Is he coherent?”

“He's talking about being the kidnapper from D.C. You can follow what he says. He's bragging about it. Says he wants to be somebody important.”

The gunman had control of the sixty or more people inside the McDonald's. It was silent in there. Was it Soneji/Murphy? It sure fit. The kids and their mothers. The hostage situation. I remembered all the pictures on his bathroom wall. He wanted to be the picture other lonely boys hung up.

“Soneji!” I called out. “Are you Gary Soneji?”

“Who the hell are you?” a shout came right back from inside. “Who wants to know?”

“I'm Detective Alex Cross. From Washington. I a feeling you know all about the latest hostage-. rescue decision. We won't negotiate with you. So you know what happens from here on.”

“I know all the rules, Detective Cross. It's all public information, isn't it. The rules don't always apply,” Gary Soneji shouted back. “Not to me, they don't. Never have.”

“They do here,” I said firmly. “You can bet your life on it.” “Are you willing to bet all these lives, Detective? I know another rule. Women and children go first! You follow me? Women and children have a special place with me.”

I didn't like the sound of his voice. I didn't like what he was saying.

I needed Soneji to understand that under no circumstances was he getting away. There would be no negotiations. If he started shooting again, we would take him down. I remembered other siege situations like this that I'd been involved in. Soneji was more complicated, smarter. He sounded as if he had nothing to lose.

“I don't want anyone else hurt! I don't want you hurt,” I told him in a clear, strong voice. I was beginning to sweat. I could feel it inside my jacket, all over my body.

“That's very touching. I am moved by what you just said. My heart just skipped a beat. Really,” he said. Our talk had sure become conversational in a hurry “You know what I mean, Gary.” I softened my voice. I spoke as if he were a frightened, anxious patient.

“Certainly I do, Alex.”

“There are a lot of people out here with guns. No one can control them if this escalates. I can't. Even you can't. There could be an accident. That, we don't want. ”

It was silent inside again. The thought pounding in my head was that if Soneji was suicidal, he'd end it here. He'd have his final shoot-out right now, his final blaze of celebrity. We'd never know what had set him off. We would never know what had happened to Maggie Rose Dunne.

“Hello, Detective Cross.”

Suddenly, he was in the doorway, about five feet away from me. He was right there. A gunshot rang from one of the rooftops. Soneji spun and grabbed his shoulder. He'd been hit by one of the snipers.

I leaped forward and grabbed Soneji in both arms. My right shoulder crunched into his chest. Lawrence Taylor never made a surer tackle.

We fell hard to the concrete. I didn't want anyone shooting him dead now. I had to talk to him. We had to find out about Maggie Rose.