Kill Alex Cross (Alex Cross 18)

AVA WAS STILL sulking when we got up stairs. She walked right by Mahoney, who was waiting in the front hall. Ned pointed at the kids as they went by, counting on his fingers. “Three?” he mouthed at me.

“Don’t ask,” I said. “Also known as Ava.”

“Good night, Also Known as Ava,” he called up the stairs.

“G’night,” Ava said without turning around. But at least she talked.

“Good night, Mr. Mahoney!”

“Good night, Jannie. Good night, John-Boy. Good night, everyone!”

Jannie and Ali liked Ned just as much as I did. Once they were gone, though, he dropped the “Uncle Ned” act and his face turned serious again. I hadn’t spoken with him since the raid at the motel, three nights earlier. I think this was the first time I ever saw him when he wasn’t clean shaven and raring to go.

“How are your guys doing?” I asked.

“They’ve been better. Totten’s already home, but Behrenberg’s going to be in the burn unit for at least two more weeks,” he told me, shaking his head.

“How about you?” I said. “You holding up?”

Ned shrugged. “I’ve been spending most of my forced time off at the hospital with Behr’s wife. But they’re putting me back on tomorrow,” he said.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Sure. Nothing worse than sitting on the sidelines. I need to be in on this, or I’m going to go crazy.”

I could have guessed Ned would feel responsible for what happened. I’d probably feel the same way, for better or worse.

“Listen, Ned, if you ever need to talk about —”

“Thanks,” he said, “but I’m already seeing one of the Bureau shrinks. She’s pretty good, actually. A lot better-looking than you, too.”

I was glad to see the trademark sense of humor wasn’t dead, anyway.

“Well, how about I pour you a drink, then? I’ve got some good Scotch I think even you could appreciate,” I said.

“Actually —” Ned took a step toward the door. His keys were still hooked on his finger, and he had that look in his eye. The one that said he’d never really left work behind.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go for a ride,” he said. “I’ve got something you might be interested in seeing. This is good. You want to see it.”

I nodded. “Of course I do.”

HALF AN HOUR later, Mahoney and I showed up at a four-story, red-brick building on the corner of Sixth and P streets, across from Masjid Al-Qasim mosque. We parked in the back and took the stairs to a third-floor. railroad apartment.

Inside, it was mostly empty. Just a few lawn chairs and long folding tables, loaded up with listening equipment. Two agents sat in the chairs, both of them with headphones on. Another was at the kitchen counter with two laptops in front of her.

I didn’t know any of these agents, but Mahoney’s kind of a rock star with the surveillance crews. He introduced me to Cheryl Kravetz in the kitchen, and pointed out Howard Green and Andrew Landry with the headphones.

“Thanks for calling,” Mahoney told Kravetz. “We’ll try to stay out of the way.”

“No problem.” Kravetz worked while they talked. She had half a dozen different camera views up on two screens and scrolled through them with an external keyboard hooked up to both computers.

Most of what I saw didn’t look like much — an empty hallway, a classroom of some kind, a dark alley.

“Isha prayers let out about an hour ago,” she told us. “I’m not sure what the holdup is.”

“And nobody’s going in after them?” Ned asked.

“When was the last time you took someone down in a mosque?” Kravetz said. “Or any church, for that matter. It’s too damn complicated. Besides, we’ve got this covered.”