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

“I'm sure you'll both be back before lunch,” Mr. Soneji added in support, though he didn't sound too convincing.

“What kind of threat?” Maggie Rose asked Mr. Soneji. “Against Michael's father? Or does it have to do with my morn?”

Mr. Soneji patted Maggie's arm. Time and again, the teachers at the private school were amazed at how grown-up most of these kids were.

"Oh, the usual kind we get now and then. Big talk, no action. Just some jerk looking for attention, I'm sure.

Some creep. " Mr. Soneji made an exaggerated face. He showed just the right amount of concern, but he made the kids feel secure.

“Then why do we have to go all the way home to Potomac, for crying out loud?” Michael Goldberg grimaced and gesticulated like a miniature courtroom lawyer. In many ways he was a cartoon version of his famous father, the secretary.

“Just to be on the safe side. Okay? Enough said. I'm not going to have a debate with you, Michael. Are we ready to travel?” Mr. Soneji was nice, but firm.

“Not really.” Michael continued to frown and shake his head. “No way, Josd Canseco. Seriously, Mr. Soneji. This isn't fair. It isn't right. Why can't the Secret Service come here and stay till school's over?”

“That's not the way they want to do it,” Mr. Soneji said. “I don't make up the rules.”

“I guess we're ready,” said Maggie. “C'mon, Michael. Stop arguing. This is a done deal.”

“ It's a done deal.” Ms. Kim offered a helpful smile. “I'll send over your homework assignments.” Both Maggie Rose and Michael started to laugh. “Thank you, Ms. Kim!” they said in unison. Leave it to Ms. Kim to have a good joke to fit the situation.

The halls outside the classroom were nearly empty, and very quiet. A porter, a black man named Emmett Everett, was the only person who saw the trio as they left the school building.

Leaning on his broom, Mr. Everett watched Mr. Soneji and the two children walk the length of the long hallway. He was the last person to see them all together.

Once outside, they hurried across the school's cobble stoned parking lot, which was framed by elegant birch trees and shrubbery. Michael's shoes made clicking noises against the stones.

“Dork shoes.” Maggie Rose leaned into him and made a joke. “Look like dork shoes, act like dork shoes, sound like dork shoes.”

Michael had no argument. What could he say? His mother and father still bought his clothes at freaking Brooks Brothers. “What am I supposed to be wearing, Miss Gloria Vanderbilt? Pink sneakers?” he offered lamely.

“Sure, pink sneakers.” Maggie beamed. "Or lime green Air-outs. But not shoes for a funeral, Shrimpster. Mr. Soneji led the children to a late-model blue van parked under elm and oak trees that went the length of the administration building and school gym. Nonsynchronous bouncing baskethalls echoed from inside the gym.

“The two of you can jump right in back here. Upsydaisy. There we go,” he said. The teacher helped boost them up and into the back of the van. His eyeglasses kept slipping down his nose. Finally, he just took them off.

“You're driving us home?” Michael asked.

“I know it's no Mercedes stretch, but it'll have to do, Sir Michael. I'm just following the instructions we got on the phone. I spoke to a Mr. Chakely. ”

“Jolly Chollie. ” Michael used his nickname for the Secret Service agent.

Mr. Soneji climbed inside the blue van himself. He pulled the sliding door shut with a bang.

"Just be a sec. Make a little room for you guys here.

He rummaged through cardboard boxes stacked toward the front of the van. The van was a mess. It was the antithesis of the orderly, almost compartmentalized, math teacher's style in school. “Sit anywhere, kids.” He kept talking while he looked for something When he turned again, Gary Soneji was wearing a scary, rubbery-looking black mask. He held some kind of metal implement in front of his chest. It looked like a miniature fire extinguisher, only it was more sci-fi than that.

“Mr. Soneji?” Maggie Rose asked, her voice rising in pitch. “Mr. Soneji! ” She threw her hands in front of her face. “You're frightening us. Stop kidding around! ”

Soneji was pointing the small metal nozzle right at Maggie Rose and Michael. He took a fast step toward them. He planted both of his rubber-soled black brogans firmly.

“What's that thing?” Michael said, not even sure why he said it.

“Hey, I give up. Take a whiff, boy genius. You tell me. ”

Soneji hit them with a blast of chloroform spray. He kept his finger on the trigger for a full ten seconds. Both children were covered with mist as they collapsed into the back seat of the van. “Out, out, bright lights,” Mr. Soneji said in the quietest, gentlest voice. “Now no one will ever know. ” That was the beauty of it. No one would ever know the truth.

Soneji climbed into the front and fired up the blue van. As he drove from the parking area, he sang “Magic Bus” by The Who. He was in an awfully good mood today. He was planning to be America's first serial kidnapper, among other things.

Along Came A Spider

CHAPTER 5

GOT an “emergency” call at the Sanders house at about quarter to eleven. I didn't want to talk to anybody with more emergencies.

I had just spent ten minutes with the news folks. At the time of the project murders, some of the newsies were my buddies. I was a press pet. I'd even been featured in the Washington Post's Sunday magazine section. I talked about the murder rate among black people in D.C. once again. This past year there@@ had been nearly five hundred killings in our capital. Only eighteen victims were white. A couple of reporters actually made a note of that. Progress.

I took the phone from a young, smart S. I. T. detective, Rakeem Powell. I was absently palming a biddy baskethall that must have belonged to Mustaf. The ball gave me a funny feeling. Why murder a beautiful little boy like that? I couldn't come up with an answer. Not so far, anyway.

It's The Jefe, the chief.“ Rakeem frowned. ” He's concerned. "

“This is Cross,” I said into the Sanders telephone. My head was still spinning. I wanted to get this conversation over with real fast.

The mouthpiece smelled of cheap musk perfume. Poo's or Suzette's fragrance, maybe both of theirs. On a table near the phone were photos of Mustaf in a heart-shaped frame. Made me think of my own two kids.

“This is Chief of Detectives Pittman. What's the situation over there?”

“I think we have a serial killer. Mother, daughter, a little boy. Second family in less than a week. Electricity was shut off in the house. He likes to work in the dark. ” I ticked off a few gory details for Pittman. That was usually enough for him. The chief would leave me alone with this one. Homicides in Southeast don't count for much in the greater scheme.

A beat or two of uneasy silence followed. I could see the Sanders family Christmas tree in the TV room. It had been decorated with obvious care: tinsel, shiny dime-store decorations, strings of cranberries and popcorn. There was a homemade tinfoil angel on top.

“I heard it was a dealer got hit. Dealer and two prostitutes,” The Jefe said.

“No, that's not true,” I said to Pittman. “They've got a nice Christmas tree up.”

“Sure it is. Don't bullshit me, Alex. Not today. Not right now.”

If he was trying to get a rise out of me, he got one.

“One victim is a three-year-old little boy in his pajamas. He may have been dealing. I'll check into it.”

I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't say a lot of things. Lately, I'd been feeling I was on the edge of exploding. Lately means for about three years or so.