Ali Cross

by James Patterson

  “Does everyone need to regenerate?” I asked.

  “I do,” Ruby said.

  “Yep,” Cedric said. “My bad. Sorry about that.”

  “No worries,” I said. “If anything, it just tells us that Gabe didn’t want anyone in there. And you know what that means, right?”

  “Yup,” Mateo said. “Now I want to get into that place more than ever.”

  “Exactly,” I answered.

  It was just like they say, how still waters run deep. Gabe was like this quiet kid who only ever showed off when he was inside this game and hiding behind an avatar. In a weird way, it made sense. He may have been shy, and maybe even kind of weird, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have mad skills. In other words, Gabe Qualls was a stealth genius. I just hoped that wherever he was, all those skills might translate into the real world when he really needed them.

  “I knew getting in there wouldn’t be so easy,” Ruby said.

  “He must have set this all up at least a week ago,” I said. “Gabe hasn’t even logged in since he disappeared.”

  “Well, maybe,” Mateo said. “That’s the other thing, right? All we know for sure is that QUB hasn’t logged in.”

  “Exactly,” Ruby said. “He could use any screen name he wants in there. Any avatar, too. It doesn’t have to be QUB.”

  “For all we know, we drove right by him,” Mateo said.

  “For all we really know, he could have been sitting inside that bunker watching us the whole time,” Ruby said.

  A chill went snaking down my spine. I hadn’t even thought about that, but of course they were right. Just because I knew Gabe Qualls better than anyone else at school didn’t mean I really knew him. Maybe nobody did.

  And now, I was starting to wonder just how many secrets Gabe might have been sitting on, long before he ever disappeared.

  THE NEXT DAY, I went with Dad and Bree to Jannie’s indoor track meet at the Johns Hopkins University Field House in Baltimore. Damon was already back at college, and Nana stayed home to rest. It was just the three of us representing for Team Cross in the stands.

  The regular indoor season was on holiday break. This was an invitational with college scouts from Morehouse, Lincoln University, Penn State, and I don’t even know where else. Jannie was running the 400 meter, her best event, so it was a huge opportunity for her and for Eastern High.

  My sister and brother are definitely the jocks in our family. I’ll run with Jannie sometimes, or shoot hoops with Damon, but I’m not exactly the athletic scholarship type. Bree says I’m a mental jock, and I’ll take it.

  So while we were waiting for Jannie’s race to start, I kept working out my brain, thinking about all the Gabe stuff. I figured he never got a day off from being missing, so I wasn’t going to take a day off from looking for him.

  “Hey, Dad?” I asked. “Do you know anything about Mr. Qualls?”

  “Gabe’s father?”

  “Yeah. Or his mom,” I said.

  “I’ve spoken with his mom a few times,” Dad told me. “And I know his dad was out of the picture until September or so. I’m pretty sure he was incarcerated.”

  Gabe had never said a word about that.

  “What was he in jail for?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dad said.

  “Do you know if he’s a person of interest in Gabe’s case?” I asked. “Like a suspect, or whatever?”

  “Ali.” I could already hear that big red stop sign in Dad’s voice. “You need to be careful about sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Got it?”

  I wanted to say, “yeah, too late for that,” but I couldn’t admit I’d already gone over to Gabe’s house. What I really wanted was for Dad to go there, too, but now wasn’t the time to push it.

  “Here we go!” Bree said. “Come on, Jannie! You got this!”

  I looked over at the track and saw Jannie coming out of the tunnel with the other sprinters in her heat.

  “She looks nervous,” Dad said.

  “She’ll be great,” Bree said.

  Jannie had pulled the fourth lane for her starting position. That put her next to Claire Wilson from Anacostia High School. Claire was Jannie’s number one rival. Her best time in the 400 was half a second better than Jannie’s, which was actually a good thing. Jannie always worked a little harder when Claire was in the mix. Both of them were shaking out their feet now, rolling their heads, and eyeing the track ahead.

  “On your marks!” came a voice over the loudspeaker, and everyone settled in for the start. Jannie didn’t use blocks, but she leaned in, ready to take off.

  “Get set,” the voice said.

  Then a starter pistol fired, and all eight runners took off flying.

  “That was a hot start!” Bree said.

  “She’s gonna burn out!” I said.

  “Pace yourself, Jannie!” Dad shouted.

  Usually, Jannie saved her big kick for the last hundred meters, but she’d started this race running full-out from the get-go. I think those college scouts might have had something to do with that.

  It was a staggered start, so everyone had to stick to their lanes for the first lap. That made it hard to know who was ahead until they came out of the second curve. Then everyone shifted to the inside. And right there at the front of the pack was Jannie. Her shoulders were down, her head was up, and her stride was long and even.

  “That’s some nice form!” Dad yelled.

  “You got this!” Bree shouted.

  But it wasn’t over yet. On the next half lap, Claire picked up some steam and took over the lead. Another girl was coming up on Jannie fast, too. I saw Jannie check over her shoulder, which she never does.

  “Focus, Jannie, focus!” Dad yelled. I think everyone in the field house was yelling now. I could feel the noise on my arms like goose bumps.

  Jannie held on to second place through the next curve and into the last straightaway, with about a hundred yards to go. But she still hadn’t caught up to Claire.

  “She’s doing great,” Bree said. “Even if she snags second place, she might still…”

  But then Bree stopped talking and grabbed Dad’s arm instead. Because it looked like that big kick of Jannie’s—the one we thought wasn’t coming—had just kicked in. She was making Claire work for it now, and you could tell Claire knew it. Both of them were sprinting it out toward the finish.

  “Come on, Jannie!”

  “Dig! Dig! Dig!”

  “Go, J.C.!”

  With maybe thirty yards left, Jannie got right alongside Claire. Then she was up. Then back again.

  “You’ve got this!” Dad boomed out.

  Jannie leaned in at the line. So did Claire. It was too close to call on a visual, and I think every head in that place whipped over to look at the board for the final standings.

  1. JCROSS 58.05

  2. CWILSON 58.59

  Everyone from Jannie’s school went crazy in the stands. So did we. A bunch of people started chanting her name. I could see some of those college scouts scribbling in their notebooks, too.

  So it was a pretty great day for the Cross family. I mean, yeah, Jannie can be a pain in the butt as my older sister. But when she’s on the track, I’m always proud of her. I only wish I could run like that.

  Other than with my brain, I mean.

  LATER THAT NIGHT, I was up in bed reading my new Spy School book, when the doorbell rang downstairs.

  I sat up fast. The clock by my bed said 11:51.

  Then the bell rang again. And again. And again.

  What the heck was going on? It felt like Christmas Eve in reverse, with us inside the house and someone on the outside, trying to get in.

  A second later, I was on my feet. When I opened the door to the hall, Bree and Dad were already there. Jannie was standing in her own doorway, and we were all looking at one another. The bell had stopped ringing, but that didn’t mean we were in the clear.

  “What was that?” Jannie asked.

  �
��Stay here,” Bree said. “I’ve got it.”

  Dad had his phone out, ready to call 911, but he waited with his hand on it, like a weapon at his side. Bree went down the stairs and stopped at the door to look through the glass. Then she opened it and stuck her head outside. I could see her looking up and down 5th Street.

  “Anything?” Dad called to her.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. But then, “Actually, hang on.”

  She bent over to pick something up from the stoop. For a couple of silent seconds, all I heard was my own breathing, a little faster than before.

  When Bree closed the door and turned around again, she was holding a white plastic garbage bag. There was something heavy inside, poking at the plastic. Or maybe a bunch of stuff, I couldn’t tell.

  “What is it?” Dad asked.

  Bree looked down into the bag, then up at all of us standing there. “It looks like we’ve been un-robbed.”

  “We’ve been what?” Dad asked.

  She held up the bag, without showing us what was inside. “I think we’ve got Ali’s stolen laptop here. Also, a few other things they took from our room. You’re going to want to call this in, Alex.”

  Her voice sounded weird, like there was something she didn’t want to say, but I was pretty sure I knew what that was. Besides my laptop, I was guessing, someone had just returned the two police weapons that had been stolen from Dad and Bree’s room. I didn’t think Jannie had ever found out about that part, so I didn’t mention it.

  To be honest, I was more excited about getting my laptop back, even if I wouldn’t get to touch it that night. It was going to have to go in for fingerprinting, and maybe digital forensics, too. Still, this was really good news for Dad and Bree.

  “Why would they just return a few things?” Nana said, coming into the downstairs hall from her room on the first floor. “How does that make sense?”

  “Maybe they figured out this was a cop house,” Bree said. “That’s another whole layer of trouble if you get caught.”

  “Or maybe they sold some of it before they changed their minds,” Jannie said.

  “That, too,” Bree said.

  But now, I was wondering about a third possibility. What if I was right about Gabe all along? What if he’d been the one to break into our house in the first place?

  Maybe he’d seen my name on that gift-wrapped laptop under the tree, so he’d know it was mine. Maybe this was just his way of saying he was sorry for what he’d done. Even if he had kept—and maybe sold—some of our other stuff.

  As for the guns, maybe Bree was exactly right. Maybe Gabe got sketched out about being responsible for a couple of stolen police weapons, so he’d returned them along with the laptop. I mean, yeah, it would have been super disturbing for my friend to do anything like this, especially to me. The only reason I could imagine him targeting our place was because he’d been inside before, and maybe knew how to sneak in and out pretty easily. But still, breaking and entering just wasn’t like Gabe. Or, at least, it wasn’t like the Gabe I knew.…

  He’d have to be pretty desperate to try something like this, and it cut me up inside, just thinking about it.

  Except then I realized something else. If Gabe was the one ringing our doorbell a minute ago, that meant he was still somewhere nearby. Maybe very nearby.

  In which case, every second I stood there was another second I’d wasted.

  Already, my feet were moving. I booked down the stairs, past Bree, and straight out the front door to the street.

  “Ali!” she shouted, but there was no stopping me now.

  The streetlamps on 5th Street threw a little light, but not much. Mostly it was dark, cold, and quiet out there.

  “Gabe!” I yelled. “Gabe, are you here?” I was looking back and forth, out of my mind, not really seeing anything. “Gabe! Come back! It’s okay—”

  Then I felt Dad’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Take a breath,” he told me. I thought he’d be mad, but it didn’t sound like he was.

  “But what if—”

  “Just stop,” Dad said. “Stop what you’re doing and take a breath. Let your mind come into focus.”

  So I did what he said. I took a breath.

  “And another,” Dad said. “Slower this time. Take control of the situation.”

  I didn’t know exactly what he meant, but by the time I’d taken another slow breath and let it out, I did feel different. More focused.

  “Now,” Dad said. “Look around. Take it in. If you were trying to get away from our house, which way would you go?”

  I looked up and down 5th Street again, and thought about it. G Street was way down to the left, but Virginia Avenue was only a few houses away, to the right.

  “That way,” I said, pointing right.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “It’s quicker to get out of sight,” I said. “And if I knew the neighborhood, I’d be going for the underpass on 6th Street. Then I’d get to the other side of the highway and disappear as fast as I could.”

  “Okay. Good,” Dad said. “Now you’re thinking like a detective. Anything else?”

  “Um…” I wasn’t sure.

  “Don’t ever forget to look up,” he said. “Not just left and right. Always think in three dimensions. That could mean a rooftop, or even up a tree. Believe me, it happens.”

  I looked up, but all I saw were empty trees and the tops of houses that seemed too high for anyone to reach that fast. Much less Gabe. I was just over five feet tall myself, and Gabe was smaller than me.

  “I don’t think anyone’s up there,” I said.

  “Probably not,” Dad said. “But this is about possibilities, got it? Don’t rule anything out without a good reason.”

  I was listening to everything he said, but I was still scanning the block, too, just in case.

  “So then, it’s possible that was Gabe at the door,” I said. “Right?”

  Dad pulled me closer and started steering me back toward the house now.

  “I’d say that’s a mighty long shot, Ali. I’m sorry,” he said. “But point taken. We can’t rule it out entirely.”

  “Maybe Gabe wanted me to have my laptop back,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Dad said.

  “And maybe he felt bad about taking your police weapons, too,” I said.

  Dad stopped and looked at me for a long time. I’m almost positive he was about to ask how I knew about the guns, but then it was like he changed his mind.

  “You really are in deep with this, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “For sure,” I said, “but that’s how I am with everything, right?”

  Dad laughed at that, in the good way. “True,” he said as we headed inside. “And I’ll tell you what else. It’s better to care too much than too little. Every single time.”

  EVEN AFTER EVERYONE had gone back to bed that night, and the house had gone quiet again, Alex Cross’s mind was as crowded as ever. Sleep was out of the question. There was too much to think about.

  Once he’d resigned himself to staying up, he retreated to the back porch to play a little piano. Playing always helped him relax, and he worked his way through a little Gershwin, a little Chopin, a little Secret Life of Plants. He liked changing it up.

  Eventually, thoughts about work drew him back up to his office. He left the piano behind and parked himself at the computer upstairs, trading one keyboard for another.

  The trial was coming up fast. There were meetings with the lawyers to be had, briefs to review, and conversations that still needed to happen with the kids. The press coverage was only going to get more intense when the actual trial got underway, and it was going to be impossible to shield the family from all of it. Life was most definitely going to get harder for everyone before it ever got easier.

  Then, just after one thirty in the morning, a ding on Alex’s phone signaled an incoming text. It was from Isaac Olayinka, the lead investigator on the Christmas Eve robberies.

  OLA
YINKA: Hey Alex, I know you’re probably asleep, but I heard from the desk sergeant that you’d called in the return of those two stolen weapons. Excellent news!

  Alex texted right back.

  CROSS: I’m awake. Still working, but yeah.

  CROSS: Happy to have those in hand again, for sure.

  OLAYINKA: Can you tell me what time that happened?

  ALEX: Just before midnight, why?

  OLAYINKA: We’ve had another run of robberies in your neighborhood tonight. Three houses within a six-block radius. Same basic pattern.

  Alex sat back and reread that last text. Three more houses? That was seven in all.

  CROSS: And we’re the only ones who had anything returned?

  OLAYINKA: So far, yeah. Weird, right? And hey, I know you’re on admin leave, so you didn’t hear this from me, but we’re at 406 4th Street, if you’re curious. The homeowner’s in Florida. We’ll be covering this place all night.

  Alex appreciated the heads-up more than Olayinka might have known. Being stuck with desk duty for the past six months had left him feeling like a benchwarmer in the playoffs. Here was a chance to get back into the game. Unofficially, of course.

  CROSS: I’ll be right there.

  FIVE MINUTES AFTER his text conversation with Detective Olayinka, Alex was showing his badge to a uniformed officer at the yellow tape line outside 406 4th Street, where the latest robbery investigation was underway.

  “I’m looking for Olayinka?” he asked.

  The officer pointed him through the front door and straight back toward the kitchen, where the lead detective was already motioning him over.

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” Alex said as they shook hands. “I’ll try to be quick. What have you got?”

  “We’re not even sure what was stolen yet,” Olayinka said. “But there are a few obvious gaps. Home electronics, a little jewelry from the bedroom.”

  “Déjà vu,” Alex said.

  “It’s all very similar to what we’ve already seen, with one small exception,” Olayinka told him. “Emphasis on the ‘small.’”

  Now he pointed to a swinging dog flap built into the outside kitchen door. A heavy plastic panel, usually meant to slide up and down to close off the opening, had been punched out. Several blue plastic shards lay on the kitchen floor.