Page 91 of Alex Cross Must Die

The plaza was crowded with media vehicles, makeshift camera platforms, and portable light rigs. Poe led the way across the plaza through a maze of TV cables and equipment boxes. He’d left his shiny Pontiac Trans Am parked between a News12 van and a CNN satellite truck.

Poe was driving the ’77 Pontiac everywhere while his other vehicles were being detailed by an expert in Hoboken. As he and his partners came around the back of a van, Poe saw two muscular camera techs admiring the Pontiac’s rakish front end.

“Thisyours?” asked the larger of the techs, looking Poe and his partners up and down. He wore a Dish Network T-shirt that stretched over his bulbous belly.

“Why?” said Poe. “Don’t I look the type?”

“Sweet little chariot,” said the second tech. He leaned over the hood until his grizzly-man beard brushed the gleaming black finish. “What’s the horsepower—180?”

“For insurance purposes, 185,” said Poe. “Between us, 220.”

“Awesome,” said the bearded tech, adding a low whistle.

Poe slipped behind the wheel and fired up the engine as Marple climbed into the back seat.

“Four hundred cc displacement!” Holmes called out as he took his place in front. The techs stepped aside as Poe pulled slowly outof the tight space. Holmes leaned out his window. “Three hundred twenty-five foot-pounds of torque at twenty-four hundred rpm.”

Poe smiled. He was glad to see that a bullet to the head hadn’t affected his partner’s penchant for esoteric trivia, no matter the topic. Holmes’s mind, as his namesake would say, rebelled at stagnation.

CHAPTER 105

IN MIDDAY TRAFFIC,the drive from the west side of the city across the Manhattan Bridge to Bushwick took almost an hour. Marple was stiff and achy from riding in the back seat. By the time Poe pulled up to the curb in front of their building, she was more than ready for a stretch.

“Release me!” she groaned.

Holmes stepped out, folded the passenger seat forward, then offered his hand to help Marple pry herself out.

Poe exited from the driver’s side. “Built for speed, Margaret, not for comfort.”

“All in all,” said Marple, “I’d rather ride a bike.”

As she reached the front steps of their building, Marple heard a roar from the street, followed by a pair of loud screeches. She turned a split second before her partners did. Two black Suburbans jumped the curb and stopped abruptly halfway across the sidewalk. The rear doors on the lead vehicle burst open. A man and a woman in full tactical gear and face masks jumped out, pistols raised. No badges. No markings.

“Stop right there!” the male shouted.

“Turn around and put your arms out to your sides!” the woman called out.

“What the hell is this?” Holmes whispered to his partners.

“Luka Franke’s revenge?” asked Poe.

Marple lifted her arms as the two masked figures approached. She wouldn’t put anything past the foiled art thief. But this didn’t feel like his style. Too in-your-face. The female in black had her hands on Marple now, running her gloves over her body. Quick but thorough. “Clean!” the female shouted, yanking Marple’s phone out of her pocket and her purse out of her hands.

“Gun!” her companion shouted, pulling the Glock from inside Poe’s jacket. The female pointed her pistol at Holmes. “What about you?”

“Yes,” Holmes said crisply. “I’m armed. Belt holster, behind my back.”

The man reached in and plucked out a pistol. The woman patted Poe’s pockets and took his phone, then did the same with Holmes. Marple considered making a move, but she could see that the operatives were too well trained. And the last thing she wanted was for Holmes to get reinjured in a street fight. A second later, the option disappeared. The female in black whipped out a zip tie and fastened Marple’s wrists behind her back. The man did the same to Poe and Holmes.

“Let’s go,” said the female.

She shoved Marple across the sidewalk and into the back seat of the rear vehicle. Holmes and Poe got pressed in right alongside her on the bench seat. A solid metal divider separated the back seat from the front. Marple heard heavy door locks snap shut and then the slamming of the two front doors in quick succession.

The SUV lurched off the curb and made a hard U-turn. Through the side window, Marple saw the other vehicle take the lead. In seconds, both cars were zooming through the streets of Brooklyn.

Poe kicked his foot against the partition.

“Who are you? Who sent you? What do you want?”

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