Along Came a Spider (Alex Cross #1)(48)

“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 him. 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.





CHAPTER 43


NONE OF US had more than a couple of hours of sleep, 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 bogeyman for half the people in America. I knew that he relished the role.

Jezzie 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 in Wilkinsburg, Pennsylvania. Sampson shook his head in 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 McDonald’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 double-parked 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 farmer. 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 have 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.”