Read Online Step on a Crack by James Patterson, Michael Ledwidge - Free Book Online
Authors: James Patterson, Michael Ledwidge
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in the air, he looked like he was trying to make himself invisible.
“Ned. Tell me,” I said, “why do you think they let all those people go when they could have held on to them? Make any sense to you?”
Mason looked up, maybe surprised that anyone was still talking to him.
“Well, let’s see,” he said, standing and rejoining the group. “Logistics, for one thing. If you don’t need those extra hostages, why keep them around? They could get sick or hurt, and it would be your fault. Or worse, they could resist. Dispersing a crowd is one thing. Controlling one over a long period of time would be tricky. Plus, it follows a pattern that I’m seeing. They ejected the law enforcement people immediately because they knew they might try to fight back.”
Martelli nodded and said, “Also, maybe they thought letting out most of the people would look good for the cameras. You know, let the real people go. Only hold on to the rich. Like a Robin Hood thing. They’re playing to the crowd.”
“Bastards have the angles covered so far, don’t they?” Mason said. “The locale, Midtown Manhattan. How they punched holes through the security. They must have been planning this for months. Maybe years. One monster hit.”
Our coffee cups jumped as my fist hit the counter.
That was it
. What had been bothering me. I couldn’t believe it. The conclusion I’d come to sent a chill through me.
“This whole takedown was choreographed, right? No detail was overlooked. But how the hell can you plan to take over a state funeral without a body. Somehow, they killed Caroline Hopkins.”
Chapter 26
GAZING THROUGH the frosted crystalline web of a giant snowflake on the fourth-floor picture window of Saks Fifth Avenue, the Neat Man chuckled down at the street.
Look at all the little assholes scurry, he thought. Replace the piped-in fa-la-la-la- la Christmas crap with some old-timey piano music, and you’d have a live-action version of the Keystone Kops down on Fifth.
Christ, this felt good, he thought. He held a mildly shaking hand out in front of his smiling face. He wouldn’t deny it anymore. He lived for this.
He scrolled through his ready store of violent fantasies. His all-time favorite was the one where he was standing in the middle of Grand Central Station during rush hour. All of a sudden, he would remove something from his jacket. Sometimes it was a samurai sword. Sometimes a chain saw. In his favorite, it was a flamethrower. Talk about shock and awe.
But the real thing was so much better than fantasy, he decided, peering down at the “authorities” and “crisis experts” trying to get up to speed in a hurry.
Now he had real power over real people.
The music suddenly stopped in the perfumed air of the department store. Now what?
“Due to a police emergency, Saks Fifth Avenue is closing. Please make your way to the nearest exit and please remain calm. You are in no danger.”
The Neat Man couldn’t hold back a smile.
Now
they were playing his song.
He’d refined his dark urges, hadn’t he? Transformed them, made them work in his favor.
He was a master.
He removed a Wet-Nap from his pocket. His hands were still shaking a bit as he tore it open, but by the time he was done with his face, he was steady as a rock.
Then he called home-talked to his wife and kids. “I’m fine, Helen. I’m in no danger.”
Chapter 27
STEPHEN HOPKINS SAT by himself in a pew in a small chapel behind the main altar. His head was buried in his hands. He was almost glad Caroline wasn’t around to see what had happened on account of her death. She was such a good soul, it would have hurt her deeply, and it wouldn’t have been an act with Caroline.
There were maybe thirty hostages scattered in the pews around him. He recognized a lot of the faces, well-known folks for the most part, the generous ones whom Caroline had gotten to do charity work and other good deeds.
He looked up at the three masked gunmen standing at the
“Ned. Tell me,” I said, “why do you think they let all those people go when they could have held on to them? Make any sense to you?”
Mason looked up, maybe surprised that anyone was still talking to him.
“Well, let’s see,” he said, standing and rejoining the group. “Logistics, for one thing. If you don’t need those extra hostages, why keep them around? They could get sick or hurt, and it would be your fault. Or worse, they could resist. Dispersing a crowd is one thing. Controlling one over a long period of time would be tricky. Plus, it follows a pattern that I’m seeing. They ejected the law enforcement people immediately because they knew they might try to fight back.”
Martelli nodded and said, “Also, maybe they thought letting out most of the people would look good for the cameras. You know, let the real people go. Only hold on to the rich. Like a Robin Hood thing. They’re playing to the crowd.”
“Bastards have the angles covered so far, don’t they?” Mason said. “The locale, Midtown Manhattan. How they punched holes through the security. They must have been planning this for months. Maybe years. One monster hit.”
Our coffee cups jumped as my fist hit the counter.
That was it
. What had been bothering me. I couldn’t believe it. The conclusion I’d come to sent a chill through me.
“This whole takedown was choreographed, right? No detail was overlooked. But how the hell can you plan to take over a state funeral without a body. Somehow, they killed Caroline Hopkins.”
Chapter 26
GAZING THROUGH the frosted crystalline web of a giant snowflake on the fourth-floor picture window of Saks Fifth Avenue, the Neat Man chuckled down at the street.
Look at all the little assholes scurry, he thought. Replace the piped-in fa-la-la-la- la Christmas crap with some old-timey piano music, and you’d have a live-action version of the Keystone Kops down on Fifth.
Christ, this felt good, he thought. He held a mildly shaking hand out in front of his smiling face. He wouldn’t deny it anymore. He lived for this.
He scrolled through his ready store of violent fantasies. His all-time favorite was the one where he was standing in the middle of Grand Central Station during rush hour. All of a sudden, he would remove something from his jacket. Sometimes it was a samurai sword. Sometimes a chain saw. In his favorite, it was a flamethrower. Talk about shock and awe.
But the real thing was so much better than fantasy, he decided, peering down at the “authorities” and “crisis experts” trying to get up to speed in a hurry.
Now he had real power over real people.
The music suddenly stopped in the perfumed air of the department store. Now what?
“Due to a police emergency, Saks Fifth Avenue is closing. Please make your way to the nearest exit and please remain calm. You are in no danger.”
The Neat Man couldn’t hold back a smile.
Now
they were playing his song.
He’d refined his dark urges, hadn’t he? Transformed them, made them work in his favor.
He was a master.
He removed a Wet-Nap from his pocket. His hands were still shaking a bit as he tore it open, but by the time he was done with his face, he was steady as a rock.
Then he called home-talked to his wife and kids. “I’m fine, Helen. I’m in no danger.”
Chapter 27
STEPHEN HOPKINS SAT by himself in a pew in a small chapel behind the main altar. His head was buried in his hands. He was almost glad Caroline wasn’t around to see what had happened on account of her death. She was such a good soul, it would have hurt her deeply, and it wouldn’t have been an act with Caroline.
There were maybe thirty hostages scattered in the pews around him. He recognized a lot of the faces, well-known folks for the most part, the generous ones whom Caroline had gotten to do charity work and other good deeds.
He looked up at the three masked gunmen standing at the
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