Alonzo said, “Let’s go outside, where we can hear ourselves think.”
We walked to the edge of the school and then through a gate onto the sidewalk outside. It was a beautiful day, and I enjoyed strolling under the trees that hung over the sidewalk.
We ambled past the administration building, where my grandfather was probably sleeping soundly again.
Alonzo said, “I really respect how much effort you put into your family even with such a high-profile job. Your grandfather is rightly proud of you.”
The thought of Seamus telling people he was proud of me made me smile. Even if he never would say it directly to me.
“I appreciate how you take care of him. God knows it’s not always easy.”
He smiled. “It works both ways with Seamus. The Church has been a big adjustment for me. Seamus understands that better than most. You’re lucky to have had him in your life so long.”
I let out a laugh. “I never thought of it as luck. But I have him in my life just the same. All over my life.” I didn’t say it out loud, but I thought, And thank God for it.
Chapter 41
I couldn’t remember hearing anyone talk about sports at Holy Name with such enthusiasm. If we could bottle Father Alonzo’s positive attitude, all the world’s problems would be solved.
We walked almost to the next block, then as we were about to turn around and head back to the administration building, I noticed two men turn the corner toward us on the sidewalk. Nothing seemed out of place. The calm atmosphere around the church and the cool breeze were too serene to pose a threat.
Now the two men were directly in front of us on the sidewalk, about fifteen feet away. One of the men, about forty-five, with sleeves of tattoos on both arms, casually reached under his shirt as the other man, younger and thinner, reached behind him.
It was a classic gesture of pulling a gun. I was embarrassed I let them get so close to us. I just hadn’t noticed the danger.
The men kept moving and were almost in front of us. I only had time to deal with one of them. It was a dangerous choice to make in a split second. My hope was that the other one would be scared into running away.
I closed the distance on the tattooed man just as his blue steel revolver came up in front of him. I blocked his arm with both hands quickly, then lowered my shoulder and hit him with everything I had.
I don’t know if he planned it or if it was just luck, but at almost the same moment, the man swung the gun wildly to get enough room to fire. The butt of the gun grazed me across the temple. I literally saw stars, like I was a cartoon character.
Now I had both men right next to me. Someone was either going to beat me again with the revolver or shoot me. Either way I was in deep shit.
I was dizzy from the blow to the head and backing away, trying to buy time. That’s when I saw a movement to my right. It took me a moment to realize it was the graceful form of Father Alonzo as he stepped into the fray.
He took out the younger man with a hard right cross, knocking the gun out of his hand as he did it. The young man bounced off a tree and fell onto the sidewalk.
That stole the attention of the tattooed man right in front of me. Now that I was already leaning down, I followed through by throwing my entire body weight into him. He stumbled over his friend.
Alonzo faced off against the man with the tattoos, but I yelled, “Gun!” The single common police command whenever a cop sees someone with a gun. It was like a smack in the face to Alonzo, who, realizing the man was still armed, darted to the other edge of the sidewalk.
Now my head was clear, and I reached back for the pistol on my hip. Both men were on their feet and running toward the next block. They realized this was not going to be their day.
A green Chevy came around the corner. I focused on the man with the gun running from me.
The driver of the Chevy opened fire with a small-caliber machine gun. As a bullet pinged off a car and broke a window behind me, I ducked behind a parked Lincoln. Alonzo managed to leap over the wall at the edge of a courtyard between two buildings. I was shocked at how quickly he could move. Automatic gunfire tended to have that effect on people.
I did a quick survey of the area to make sure there were no civilians in the crossfire. Two women across the street were scurrying away, and some young men walking near the avenue knew it was time to lie flat on the ground. That came from experience.
I fired one round from behind the Lincoln, then the Chevy sped up. When it was parallel to me, and the man with the machine gun had taken a break, I sprang out of my position and popped off two more rounds.
The men who had attacked us piled into the car.
All I could do was stare as the green Chevy Cruze with no license plate navigated the street.
I was panting from the excitement and exertion. My head was pounding from the blow. I was wondering at what point I needed to start worrying about repeated blows to my head causing some kind of serious trauma.
Then I realized I might have a chance. The car was slowing as it approached the nearest intersection. I knew this neighborhood. Even on foot I might be able to at least get into a position to identify them later. Right now I didn’t relish the idea of explaining to a detective that I couldn’t get a license number or a decent description.
With great effort, I stood up, but as I started to run, I felt a hand on my arm. My head snapped to my left, and I saw Father Alonzo.
“Don’t be stupid, my friend. You’ll get them later.”
I looked at the priest who had just beaten back a couple of armed men and dived for cover like he was one of the X-Men, and said to him, “Who are you?” My voice cracked from my confusion. He was like no priest I had ever met.
The tall Colombian smiled and did a theatrical bow.
“Alonzo Garcia, at your service.”
Chapter 42
After I got quizzed about the attack by a precinct detective named Toby Reed and his partner, Brian Wong, and after I had answered a few questions from Harry Grissom, I knew exactly what I had to do. I tried not to broadcast my next move. I always like playing my cards close to my vest. So I eased away from my lieutenant and the detectives, who were now badgering Father Alonzo, and made a beeline for one of the places I least liked to go in New York.
I headed south to lower Manhattan, past Little Italy. The FBI office was in Federal Plaza, on the corner of Broadway and Worth Street. The towering glass-and-metal building was a typical federal structure without much flair or imagination. Subtle two-foot-high decorative metal barriers surrounded it to thwart any potential suicide bomber in a vehicle.
Three NYPD Suburbans carrying armed SWAT team members sat outside the building as an off-duty security detail. They were there twenty-four hours a day.
I needed to keep my visit as quiet as possible, so I had made a phone call first. I never did a favor for someone and expected it to be repaid. But in this case, I had to at least ask.
Three years ago, when Marion Wan’s estranged husband kidnapped their five-year-old son, she did what any smart FBI analyst would do and went to the NYPD immediately. I happened to be speaking with one of my old friends in the 105th Precinct, near Floral Park, in Queens, when Marion came in, nearly hysterical.
I was able to short-circuit some of the paperwork and figure out that her estranged husband, who worked for the New York City fire department, listed an emergency address on Long Island. It was the girlfriend he had left Marion for.
An hour after Marion had come into the NYPD, I was honored to see a tearful reunion between Marion and her son.
That’s why she came out the front door of the office building and walked with me to the McDonald’s across the street. After we had coffee and caught up for a few minutes, Marion read my anxious glances at her notes.
She gave me a sly smile and said, “Okay, I guess you want to talk about your best friend, Alonzo Garcia.”
I said, “You may think you’re being sarcastic, but right about now he is my
best friend. The son of a gun saved my life. But he did it with skill and experience. I’m just worried about where he might have gotten that skill.”
Marion pulled open her notes and said, “I did all the usual stuff. Public records. Searched media databases in Colombia and New York. No arrests, and he’s here on a work visa through the Catholic Church.”
“Huh. Never even occurred to me that he’d have to have an immigration status. I guess I assumed the Catholic Church could fix anything.”
Marion said, “I had to go an extra couple of steps. I called our legat office in Bogotá. The FBI has more than a dozen agents there. One of their senior people knows Garcia personally.”
“You have my complete attention.”
“The agent in Bogotá knew Alonzo because he was a captain in the Colombian national police. Early in his career, he fought the FARC rebels—some people call them the People’s Army. Then he focused his attention on narcotics. He worked closely with our DEA and has a ton of commendations.”
“How does a guy like that end up in the Catholic Church?”
“He was engaged. They were the power couple of the Bogotá social scene. Then she dumped him. She dumped him for a bigwig in the Medellín cartel.
“The agent in Bogotá said it shattered Alonzo. He sort of disappeared, then a year later turned up as a priest. Apparently the Catholic Church was worried about someone taking revenge on him, so they transferred him out of the country.”
“So he really was trained in self-defense and tactics.”
Marion looked at me and said, “He is a certified badass.”
I chuckled. “And he saved my ass.”
“From what I hear, it’s not the first time he’s saved someone’s ass.”
“Thanks. I owe you big-time.”
Marion reached across and held my hand as she shook her head. “No. We’ll never be even. I owe you my whole life. And this didn’t even violate policy.”
I felt my face flush as she leaned across the table and kissed me on the cheek.
Chapter 43
I stopped by the administrative office at Holy Name. For the first time ever, I wasn’t there to talk to my grandfather. I wasn’t even there to check on my kids. I was there to speak with Alonzo Garcia, former captain in the Colombian national police, recipient of countless commendations for bravery and hard work.
I led Alonzo out into the courtyard between the church and the school, knowing we would get some privacy there. He wore his clerical collar with a whistle dangling from his neck.
Once we sat on the hard cement bench, I said, “I did some checking and know your history and what you did before the priesthood.”
Alonzo said, “I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I’m just trying to move on with my life. I’m glad I was in a position to help when it mattered.”
“It mattered, and you helped. And I appreciate it. All I’m looking for now is some insight into who I’m dealing with. How can I stop these killings?”
“I wish I could help you, Michael. It’s not that I’m purposely trying to ignore the issue. But I’ve seen this so many times before. I know that the killings will stop whenever the contracts are fulfilled. I may even know who the killer is. If they came from Bogotá and they were active when I was working, I might know who they are. But the fact is there are just too many possibilities. The cartels train kids to become killers. They hire contract killers who have a talent. They just have too many people willing to kill for money.”
I let out a heavy sigh. I was hoping he might have some detail that could help me.
Alonzo said, “I do know who likely trained this killer.”
“How?”
“Many of the sophisticated killers, the ones who went to college and were bored with their former profession or just liked the challenge and the money, trained with a martial-arts instructor in the Chapinero section of Bogotá. He was a legitimate, hardworking karate instructor, and everyone who wanted to make a career as an assassin trained with him. He was known simply as Sensei Don.
“He taught the use of the blade. He advocated only two strikes. One to the brain and one to the heart. I’ve seen it over and over.
“I never trained with him, but other police have. This killer you face today has trained with him.”
“If we went to this karate instructor, do you think he’d talk to us?”
“He died some years ago. But there are many of his students still working today.”
I thought about it and said, “That still doesn’t explain the ambush and the three men who tried to shoot us on the street. That wasn’t a single assassin. They weren’t using some kind of stiletto.”
“But that falls in line with their profession. Many of the hit men from Colombia use local thugs on some of their hits. It makes sense. They’re just subcontracting out the job for a fraction of their pay.”
“So now I have an idea of what I’m up against. I just don’t know who it is, how they’ll try again, or how to stop them.”
Alonzo chuckled. “Just like police work everywhere in the world.”
Chapter 44
I knew it was time to take this investigation to a new level. Harry Grissom listened as I explained everything, and considering that someone tried to shoot me in front of Holy Name, he agreed that I wasn’t being dramatic. There was a conspiracy. But I had my own gang to help me stop it.
It didn’t take long for me to put together a task force of detectives and NYPD forensics people who were familiar with the case. I just needed some input for now.
I made the trip across town to the office of the chief medical examiner on East 26th Street, across from the City University of New York.
I spoke to an assistant medical examiner who had worked on Cassie Max’s double homicide in Madison Square Park. He had worked in the ME’s office for more than a dozen years and had given me insight on homicides I never would’ve gotten anywhere else.
He said, “I’ve made some calculations, and I think whoever delivered the strike stands between five foot seven and five foot ten. They have some understanding of anatomy and are fairly powerful.
“I also looked at the other homicide you showed me, and I would have to say that the alignment of the bullet wound on the body confirms my estimate of the killer’s size. What else do you have?”
I said, “Basically, the killer is someone with enough resources to hire gunmen, enough guts to come after a cop, and enough skill to commit a double homicide in a park right in the middle of the city. The killer appears to be very professional by the way they’ve disabled security video systems and tracked their victims. I need all the help I can get.”
The assistant medical examiner laughed. “If you have Cassie Max working on this with you, I think you’ve got a lot of help. She never seems to wear out. You know what we call her?”
I shook my head.
“The Terminator. Once she has you in her program, she never stops. Plus she’s not too bad to look at.”
“You getting lonely locked away in here with all the dead people?”
“I prefer it to wandering around a city filled with loud, obnoxious people. I went to Johns Hopkins. I could be a pediatrician in Baltimore if I wanted. I prefer the quiet, comfortable stillness of the morgue.”
I looked at him and said, “I can never tell if you’re pulling my leg or just plain crazy.”
“Do they have to be mutually exclusive?”
That made me laugh out loud. “You got any ideas about my case?”
“I told you how tall the killer probably is. That they’re professional because of the precision of their strikes. My guess is that they’re very bright as well. I make that assumption based on their knowledge of anatomy. But I also know that detectives like you and Cassie don’t let this shit slide. I figure you’ll have this asshole in cuffs sometime in the next few days.”
I liked his confidence. I was trying to form a picture in my head of how calm a killer has to stay to use a weapon like that, ge
tting in close to deliver such a precise blow to the victim.
I also hadn’t forgotten that a woman was probably involved in the murder of one of the gunmen who killed Antrole Martens. There was no telling if she was a local killer or perhaps someone who worked for the cartel.
Once I had a puzzle like this in my head, I tended to shut out almost everything else. This time I had to solve the puzzle before the killer figured out the puzzle of how to kill me.
Chapter 45
Alex Martinez smiled broadly as she walked along Park Avenue South. She was coming from a lovely dinner with the mounted police officer Tom McLaughlin. He was charming, sweet, and a full eighteen months younger than she was. Not that it made a difference. She wasn’t looking for someone she could raise her daughters with. She also wasn’t interested in telling him where she was staying just yet. It was their first date.
He had taken her for drinks at a sports bar called the Hill. It was a younger crowd, but she appreciated his showing her new places. Then they strolled down Third Avenue to a little Italian place named Bistango, and she tried not slurp down clams marinara in an unladylike manner.
After dinner, Tom calmly accepted Alex’s decision to catch a cab back to her hotel. A quick kiss good night turned into just a little more. Enough to make Alex wonder if she was making the right choice, leaving this handsome, horse-loving man for the evening. But it was for the best.
After they parted, she wanted to walk instead of ride in a cab. That’s when it happened. She realized she was getting sloppy. Someone was following her. She knew it wasn’t the police. This was a pretty young woman with short dark hair, wearing a skirt no cop would wear, even undercover.
This was something Alex had dealt with once before. In Madrid, two years ago, some members of a local gang started to follow her. They were subtle, but not nearly as subtle as this young woman now. In Madrid, Alex simply kept walking until she found a police officer and chatted with him. It only took about twenty minutes for the gang to lose interest and wander away.
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