Along Came a Spider (Alex Cross 1)

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 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 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 a

nd let my eyes wander down below. We were 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 have not told me everything.

“I sure hope not. Hard to 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 he had been given a last chance at some money. The dirtiest money in the world.

There was a narrow landing strip on the beach. The hard-packed sand ran for several hundred yards. The plane was set down easily and expertly. The pilot made a quick U-turn, then taxied straight for a stand of palm trees. It seemed like part of a plan. Every detail in its place. Perfect so far.

The was no quaint island shack here. No small reception area that I could make out. The hills beyond the beach were lush and thick with tropical vegetation.

There was no sign of anybody, anywhere. No Maggie Rose Dunne. No Soneji.

“Is the girl here?” I asked him.

“Good question,” he answered. “Let’s wait and see. I’ll take first lookout.”

He shut off the engine, and we waited in silence and suffocating heat. No more answers to my questions, anyway. I wanted to rip out the armrest and beat him with it. I’d been gritting my teeth so hard I had a headache.

He kept his eyes pinned on the cloudless sky over the landing strip. He watched through the windshield for several minutes. I was having trouble breathing in the heat.

Is the little girl here? Is Maggie Rose alive? Damn you!