Along Came a Spider (Alex Cross #1)(30)

The two of us were silent for the first minutes of flight. I settled back and watched him work, trying to remember every detail of the flight so far. He was efficient and relaxed at the controls. There were still no signs of stress. A professional all the way.

A strange possible connection entered my mind. We were in Florida now, heading farther south. A Colombian drug cartel had originally threatened Secretary Goldberg’s family. Was that a coincidence? I didn’t believe in coincidences anymore.

A rule of police work, especially police work in my experience, was passing back and forth through my mind. An important rule. Fully ninety-five percent of crimes were solved because somebody made a mistake. Soneji hadn’t made any mistakes so far. He hadn’t left us any openings. Now was the time for mistakes. The exchange would be the dangerous time for him.

“This has all been planned with a lot of precision,” I said to Brimmed Hat. The plane was gliding farther and farther out over the Atlantic now. Toward what destination? To make the final exchange for Maggie Rose?

“You’re so right. Everything’s tight-assed as can be. You wouldn’t believe how buttoned-up things are.”

“Is the little girl really all right?” I asked him again.

“I told you, I saw her this morning. She hasn’t been harmed,” he said. “Not a hair on her chinny-chin-chin.”

“That’s real hard for me to believe,” I said. I remembered the way we’d found Michael Goldberg.

The pilot shrugged his broad shoulders. “Believe what the hell you want.” He didn’t really care what I thought.

“Michael Goldberg was sexually abused. Why should we believe the girl’s unharmed?” I said.

He looked at me. I had a gut feeling he hadn’t known about the Goldberg boy’s condition. It seemed to me that he wasn’t a partner of Soneji’s, that Gary Soneji wouldn’t have any real partners. The pilot had to be hired help, which meant we had a chance of getting Maggie Rose.

“Michael Goldberg was beaten after he was dead,” I told him. “He was sodomized. Just so you know what you’re involved in. Who your partner is.”

For some reason, that caused the contact man to grin. “Okay. No more helpful hints or annoying questions. Much as I appreciate your concern. Enjoy the ride. The girl hasn’t been beaten, or sexually abused. You have my word as a gentleman.”

“Is that what you are? Anyway, you can’t know that,” I said. “You haven’t seen her since this morning. You don’t know what Soneji’s been up to, off by himself. Whatever his real name is.”

“Yeah, well, we all have to trust our partners. You just sit back now and button up. Trust me. Due to a shortage of crew, there will be no complimentary beverage or snack on this flight.”

Why was he so goddamn calm? He was too sure of himself.

Could there have been other kidnappings before this one? Maybe there had been a trial run somewhere? At least it was something to check. If I was going to be able to check anything after this was over.

I leaned back for a moment and let my eyes wander down below. We were way out over the ocean. I looked at my watch—a little more than thirty minutes from Orlando so far. The sea looked choppy, even with the bright, sunny weather. An occasional cloud cast its shadow down on the stony-looking water surface. The wavering outline of the plane appeared and disappeared. The Bureau had to be tracking us on radar, but the pilot would know that, too. He didn’t seem concerned. It was a terrifying game of cat and mouse. How would the contact man react? Where were Soneji and Maggie Rose? Where were we going to make the exchange?

“Where’d you learn to fly?” I asked. “In Vietnam?” I’d been wondering about that. He seemed the right age, mid-to late-forties, though badly gone to seed. I’d treated some Viet vets who would be cynical enough to get involved in a kidnapping.

He wasn’t bothered by the question, but he didn’t answer me, either.

It was peculiar. He still didn’t seem nervous or concerned. One of the kidnapped children was already dead. Why was he so smug and relaxed? What did he know that I didn’t? Who was Gary Soneji? Who was he? What was their connection?

About half an hour later, the Cessna started to descend toward a small island that was ringed by white sand beaches. I had no idea where we were. Somewhere in the Bahamas, maybe? Was the FBI still with us? Tracking us from the sky? Or had he lost them somehow?

“What’s the name of the island down there? Where are we? Nothing I can do about it at this point.”

“This is Little Abaco,” he finally answered. “Is anyone tracking us? The Fibbers? Electronic tracking? Bug on you somewhere?”

“No,” I said. “No bugs. Nothing up my sleeve.”

“Something they put on the money, maybe?” He seemed to know all the possibilities. “Fluorescent dust?”

“Not that I know of,” I said. That much was true. I couldn’t be certain, though. The FBI might not have told me everything.

“I sure hope not. Hard to really trust you people after what went on at Disney World. Place was crawling with cops and FBI. After we told you not to. Can’t trust anybody nowadays.”

He was trying to be humorous. He didn’t care whether I reacted or not. He seemed like a man who’d been desperately down and out, but had been given a last chance at some money. The dirtiest money in the world.