Chapter 23
I T WAS IN HIS BLOOD.
The Butcher was in the habit of monitoring metro police communications whenever he was in DC, and it was hard to miss this baby. What a royal cluster-f*ck, he couldn’t help thinking to himself. SWAT against Hostage Rescue. He loved it.
For the last few years he’d been cutting back on the kinds of jobs he did, “working less, charging more.” Three or four major hits a year, plus a few favors for the bosses. That was more than enough to pay the bills. Besides, the new don, Maggione Jr., wasn’t exactly a fan of his. The only real problem was that he missed the thrills, the adrenaline punch, the constant action. So here he was at the Policeman’s Ball!
He was laughing as he parked his Range Rover a dozen blocks from the potential firefight scene. Yes, indeedee, the neighborhood was sure jumping. Even on foot, he couldn’t get much closer than several blocks away on Kentucky Avenue. On his walk toward the crime scene, he’d already counted more than two dozen metro DC police department buses parked on the street. Plus dozens more squad cars.
Then he saw blue FBI Windbreakers ? probably the Hostage Rescue boys up here from Quantico. Damn! They were supposed to be hot shits, right up there with the best in the world. Just like him. This was good stuff, and he wouldn’t miss it for anything, even if it was a little dangerous for him to be here. He spotted several command-post vehicles next. And at the “frozen zone,” or inner perimeter, he thought he picked out the “incident commander.”
Then Michael Sullivan saw something that gave him pause and made his heart race a little. A dude in street clothes talking to one of the FBI agents.
Sullivan knew this guy, the one in civvies. His name was Alex Cross, and well, he and Sullivan had something of a history. And then he remembered something else ? Marianne, Marianne. One of his favorite kills and photographs.
This was getting better and better by the minute.