Along Came a Spider (Alex Cross #1)(110)

This big African antelope was about ready to fall over. Beads of sweat slipped across my eyebrows, dripping down my nose. I was trying to think like Gary Soneji/Murphy. Was he downtown now? Or had he already escaped from Washington?

A call came over the car radio at 7:58.

“Suspect spotted on Pennsylvania Avenue, near Lafayette Park. Suspect has an automatic weapon in his possession. Suspect is approaching the White House. All cars move in!”

One more big play. At least I finally had him figured out a little. He was less than two blocks from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue when they’d found him. That was two blocks from the White House.

I Want to Be Somebody.

They had him pinned down between a shoe-repair shop and a brownstone building full of law offices. He was using a parked Jeep Cherokee for cover.

There was another complication. He had hostages. He’d taken two young kids who had been on their way to school early that morning. The children looked to be eleven or twelve, about the same age Gary had been when his stepmother started locking him up. There was a boy and a girl. Shades of Maggie Rose and Michael Goldberg, almost two years before.

“I’m Divisional Chief Cross,” I said and got through the police barricades that were already set up across Pennsylvania Avenue.

The White House was clearly visible down the street. I wondered if the president was watching us on TV. At least one CNN news truck was already on the scene.

A couple of news-station helicopters moved in overhead. This was restricted air space near the White House, so they couldn’t get too close. Somebody said Mayor Monroe was on his way. Gary had bigger prey in mind. He had demanded to see the president. Otherwise, he’d kill the two children.

Traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue and the intersecting streets was already backed up as far as I could see. Several drivers and other passengers were deserting their vehicles, leaving them on the street. Scores of them stayed to watch the spectacle, though. Millions now watched on television.

“You think he’s heading for the White House?” Sampson asked.

“I know a few states he’d probably carry,” I said.

I talked to the police SWAT team leader behind the barricades. I told him I thought Gary Soneji/Murphy was ready to go down in flames. He offered to light the match.

A negotiator was already at the scene. He was more than willing to hand over the honor to me. I was finally going to negotiate a settlement with Soneji/Murphy.

“We get the chance”—Sampson grabbed me and spoke very directly—”we’re going to pop him. Nothing tricky, Alex.”

“Tell that to him,” I said to Sampson. “But if you get the chance, hit him. Do him.”

I wiped my face several times on my sleeve. I was sweating bullets. I was also nauseated and dizzy. I had an electric bullhorn and I flicked the power on.

The power was in my hands. I want to be somebody, too. Was that true? Was that what it had finally come to?

“This is Alex Cross,” I called out. A few wiseguys in the crowd cheered. Mostly, it got very quiet on the downtown D.C. street.

A burst of wild gunfire suddenly erupted across the street. Loud noise. Car windows blew out all over Pennsylvania Avenue. He did an amazing amount of damage in just a few seconds. Nobody was hurt that I could see. The two children were unharmed. Hi back at ya, Gary.

Then a voice came from across the street. Gary’s voice.

He was shouting at me. It was just the two of us. Was that what he wanted? His own High Noon in the middle of the capital. Live national TV coverage.

“Let me see you, Dr. Cross. Come on out, Alex. Show your pretty face to everybody.”

“Why should I?” I spoke over the bullhorn to Soneji.

“Don’t even think about it,” Sampson whispered from behind me. “You do, I’ll shoot you myself.”

There was another explosion of gunfire from across the avenue. This one went on even longer than the first burst. Washington was starting to look like downtown Beirut. Cameras whirred and clicked everywhere I stood up suddenly and came out from behind a police sedan. Not too far, just enough to get killed. Some more assholes at the scene cheered me on.

“The TV stations are here, Gary,” I shouted. “They’re filming this now. They’re filming me as I stand here. I’m gonna wind up as the big star. Slow start, but a hell of a finish for me.”

Soneji/Murphy started to laugh. His laughter went on for a while. Was he manic? Depressive?

“You finally got me figured out?” he shouted at me. “Have you? Do you know who I am now? Do you know what I want?”

“I doubt it. I know that you’re hurt. I know you think you’re dying. Otherwise”—I stopped to make this sound as dramatic as it would be to him—”otherwise, you wouldn’t have let us catch you again.”

Directly across Pennsylvania Avenue, Soneji/Murphy stood up behind the bright red Jeep. Both children lay on the sidewalk behind him. Neither seemed to be hurt so far.

Gary took a theatrical bow in my direction. He looked like the all-American boy, just as he did in court.

I was walking toward him now. Getting closer and closer.

“Nice touch,” he called to me. “Well said. But I’m the star.” He suddenly shifted his gun in my direction.

A shot rang out behind me.

Gary Soneji/Murphy flew back in the direction of the shoe-repair shop. He landed on the sidewalk, then rolled over. Both young hostages started to scream. They scrambled up and ran away.