James Patterson Alex Cross 09 The Big Bad Wolf

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really interested in sports but had learned about basketball and football
because she wanted to be able to talk with her male counterparts about
something.
Men talk about other things, I said as I scouted the Fens through night
glasses.
I know that. I can talk about money and cars too. But I refuse to talk to
you horny bastards about sex.
I coughed out a laugh. Katz could deliver her lines. She was often wry, with
a twinkle, and she seemed to be laughing with you, even if you happened to be
the butt of her jokes. But I also knew that she was very tough, a real
hard-liner.
Why did you join the Bureau? she asked as we continued to wait for Agent
Gautier to appear. You were doing well with the Washington PD, right?
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I was doing just fine.
I lowered my voice and pointed toward a clearing up ahead. Here comes
Gautier now.
Agent Gautier had just left Boylston Street. He was walking slowly across the
Fens toward the Muddy River. I knew the area pretty well from an earlier
scouting trip. During the day this same section of the park was called the
victory gardens. Area residents raised flowers and vegetables, and there were
signs pleading with night visitors not to trample them.
The team leader, Roger Nielsen, spoke in a whisper that seeped into my
earphones. Male in the watch cap, Alex. Stout guy. You see him?
I ve got him. Watch cap was talking into a microphone on the collar of his
sport shirt. He wasn t one of ours, so he must have been one of theirs _ the
Wolf s.
I began to scour the area for a partner or two. The kidnapping crew?
Probably. Who the hell else could they be?
Nielsen said, I think he has a mike on. You see it?
He s definitely miked. I see another suspicious male. Near the gardens to
the left of us, I said. Talking into his collar too. They re moving on
Gautier.
Chapter 86
THERE WERE THREE of them, bulky males, and they began to converge on Paul
Gautier. At the same time, we moved on them. I had my Glock out, but was I
really ready for what might happen in this small dark park?
The kidnappers were keeping close to Park Drive, and I figured they had a van
or truck out on the street. They looked confident and unafraid. They d done
this before: grabbed purchased men and women. They were professional
kidnappers.
Take them now, I told Senior Agent Nielsen. Gautier is at risk.
Wait until they grab him, the response came back. We want to do this
right. Wait.
I didn t agree with Nielsen and I didn t like what was happening. Why wait?
Gautier was hanging out there too much, and the park was dark.
Gautier is at risk, I repeated.
One of the men, blond, wearing a Boston Bruins windbreaker, waved to
him.
Gautier watched the man approach, nodded his head, smiled. The blond had some
kind of small flashlight in his hand. He lit up Paul Gautier s face.
I could hear them talking. Nice night for a walk, Gautier said, then
laughed. He sounded nervous.
The things we do for love, the blond said. He spoke with a Russian
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accent.
The two of them were only a few feet apart. The other abductors held back,
but not far.
Then the blond whipped a gun out of his jacket pocket. He pushed it against
Gautier s face. You re coming with me. No one will hurt you. Just walk with
me. Make it easy on yourself.
The two others joined them.
You re making a mistake, said Gautier.
Oh, and why is that? asked the blond. I ve got the gun, not
you.
Take them. Now, came the order from Senior Agent Nielsen.
"FBI! Hands up. Back away from him! Nielsen shouted as we ran forward.
FBI! came a second shout. "Everybody, hands up!
Then everything went crazy. The other two abductors pulled out guns. The
blond still held his to Agent Gautier s skull.
Back off! he screamed. I ll shoot him dead! Drop your guns. I ll shoot him,
I promise you! I don t bluff.
Our agents continued to move forward _ slowly.
Then the worst thing happened _ the heavyset blond shot Agent Paul Gautier in
the face.
Chapter 87
BEFORE THE SHOCK of the gun blast had faded, the three men took off running
very fast. Two of them galloped toward Park Drive, but the blond who d shot
Paul Gautier sprinted out onto Boylston Street.
He was a big man, but he was motoring. I remembered hearing from Monnie
Donnelley that great Russian athletes, even former Olympians, were sometimes
recruited into the Mafia. Was blondie a former jock? He moved like it. The
confrontation, the shooting and everything else, reminded me of how little we
knew about the Russian mobsters. How did they work? How did they
think?
I took off after him, an overload of adrenaline rocketing through my body. I
still couldn t believe what had happened. It could have been avoided. Now
Gautier was possibly dead, probably dead.
I ran as I shouted, Take them alive! It should have been obvious, but the
other agents had just seen Paul Gautier gunned down. I didn t know how much
street action, or combat, any of them had seen before. And we desperately
needed to question the kidnappers once we caught them.
I was getting winded. Maybe I needed more time in the physical-training
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