Ambush Read online

  Someone at the other end of the hallway popped out of an apartment and started to run. A young man in a white T-shirt disappeared down the stairwell. It distracted the shooter in the apartment, too. For an instant, everything went quiet.

  When I had dragged Antrole a few feet down the hallway, his collar gave way and ripped completely from his coat. I tumbled backward onto the floor and felt a sting of pain, a finger on my left hand turned awkwardly. I desperately reached out to grab my partner again. It felt like I had dropped him down a well. I shouted something, but by now my ears were ringing so badly I don’t even know what I said.

  That’s when it happened. The grenade detonated.

  A giant wave of light and heat. I don’t know that I’d ever experienced anything close to it. I couldn’t even say it made a sound, my ears shut down so fast.

  I felt pain on my forehead, but only for a moment.

  Then everything went cloudy.

  Then it went dark.

  Chapter 6

  Alex stood with the nearly naked men on the edge of the building, looking toward the sound of the gunfire. She casually raised her camera and focused it. She knew exactly which building the sound was coming from.

  She knew which building it was because she had chosen it. Just as she’d set up this photo shoot.

  It was one of several contracts she had taken here in New York City for a Mexican drug cartel. Fashion photography provided her with a cover for the way she made her real income.

  Alex snapped photo after photo, watching the flash of the explosion through her lens almost a second before the sound of it reached her ears. It was a low, hollow thump. But first she saw the windows blow out and a burst of flame shoot into the air. It was spectacular.

  She heard Chaz say, “Damn, did you see that?” A smile crept across her face again. An explosion like that would solve a lot of problems. No loose ends. In her business, there was nothing worse than a loose end.

  Chapter 7

  Things were hazy, as if I’d walked into fog. I felt like I was in a tunnel, with sound echoing everywhere. Then I heard voices. They sounded distant, until I saw a face right above me.

  It was a uniformed patrol officer, a woman with short brown hair. She was helping someone near me, a paramedic. I couldn’t follow what they were doing.

  The paramedic had sweat dripping from his long nose as he looked down at me. I felt pressure on my forehead. He looked down and said something comforting, or at least I thought so.

  I tried to ask about Antrole and warn them about the shooters, but when I attempted to speak, nothing came out.

  The paramedic patted my chest. It looked like he said, “Relax—it will be fine.”

  The young patrol officer couldn’t mask her emotions as well. She looked worried. Even scared.

  Then I faded out again.

  The second time I opened my eyes, things were much sharper. There was a bright light above my head, and I was lying flat on my back. I heard the sounds of normal life around me. Someone walking in a hallway. A quiet discussion in the corner. Nothing frightening, like screaming or angels singing.

  Before I could say anything or ask any more questions, I saw Mary Catherine’s face above me. She looked like an angel. She was so beautiful. Immediately I felt better.

  When I saw my grandfather Seamus, I knew I was still alive. He was too mean to die. He was in the official uniform of the Catholic Church. As a priest at Holy Name, he had access to any hospital in the city.

  I didn’t like the look of concern on Mary Catherine’s face. I knew I was the cause of it, and that was the last thing I wanted to do to the woman I loved.

  I took a breath and tried my voice. It cracked, but I said, “How is Antrole?”

  I knew the answer, but I had to ask anyway. I saw the hand grenade and felt the blast. I remembered his collar tearing away and the feeling of losing him down a well.

  Mary Catherine shook her head and leaned away from me.

  Seamus stepped up and said, “I’m afraid your partner was killed in the blast. The doctors say you were incredibly lucky.”

  I lifted my right hand and flexed, just to make sure I could. I wiggled my toes and felt the blanket on them.

  Seamus said, “Everything’s there—don’t worry. You have a concussion, a bunch of stitches in your head, a broken finger on your left hand. They want to look at your back and spine more closely tomorrow.”

  Suddenly I felt the pain in my left hand when I tried to move my index finger. My back was sore, but I didn’t say anything.

  Mary Catherine took my hand and kissed me on the forehead. I had so many painkillers running through me that I barely felt her lips.

  I looked up and said, “Do the kids know?”

  “Yes. We knew it would be on the news. We made arrangements for the kids to be driven home. Juliana and Jane are making dinner and ensuring that everyone does their homework. There’s nothing you need to worry about.”

  But that’s what I did. I was a father. I worried.

  Then I remembered Juliana’s phone call. “What was Juliana’s big news? Please tell me it has nothing to do with a wedding dress or falling in love with a boy across the country.”

  Mary Catherine gave me a smile. That’s what I needed. “No, nothing like that. My guess is that Jane will be the first one to give us that kind of news.”

  “Please don’t tell me she’s decided not to go to college and wants to travel the world alone.”

  Seamus said, “Don’t be an ass. That girl is saddled with your practical nature. She has big news, and you’re going to be happy no matter what it is. Your job is to just be proud.”

  “I’m always proud, but I can be worried, too. I’m a father.”

  “And I’m your grandfather, and I never worried that much about you.”

  It didn’t matter how old I got—my grandfather still treated me like I was an eighth grader. And somehow, though I would not admit it openly, I liked it.

  Mary Catherine indulged me. “Juliana landed a TV role. It’s a locally produced drama. She’s very excited about it, so no matter what she says, don’t ask questions about who’s producing it or what she’s expected to do. Ease into it a little bit. It is a legit production company, even if it’s not very big.”

  I supported my children in everything they did. I also tended to get involved in everything they did. This was no different. I looked up at Mary Catherine and said, “I’m happy for her and can’t wait to see her on set.”

  Chapter 8

  After I talked to Mary Catherine and Seamus, Harry Grissom came into the room. The lanky lieutenant looked like he could’ve been a gunfighter in the Old West. His weather-beaten face gave no hint that he’d worked in New York City for the past twenty-five years, though his Brooklyn accent did. His droopy mustache hid a knife scar only longtime colleagues knew about.

  I knew his presence meant that he was worried about me, but like the professional he was, he got right to the important questions.

  “Who gave you the tip?”

  I shook my head. “Antrole took the call.”

  “Why didn’t you call for backup?”

  I shrugged. What was I going to do? Throw my late partner under the bus? Finally I said, “It didn’t seem like a great tip at the time. You know how it is.”

  Thank God he’d worked the street and really did know how things happened, what good cops had to do just to make a case. If you went by the book on everything, nothing would get done.

  Harry shook his head. “This whole thing’s screwed up. Your suspect, Emmanuel Diaz, was dead hours before you got there. Two of the shooters are dead, and one is in the ICU with a couple of bullet wounds and shrapnel from the grenade.”

  “So it was an ambush?”

  “We’re not sure. Who knows what went on? You might have interrupted a rip-off, and they were searching the apartment. To be on the safe side, the NYPD is not releasing any details about you or Antrole. The hospital staff know to keep things
quiet.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “It might keep the media circus away from you for a few days.”

  Then the swinging door to my room opened, and I had a quick peek at an attractive young woman with a baby in her arms, holding the hand of a little boy in the hallway. I recognized Antrole Martens’s wife, a Wall Street banker, and their two young children from photos on his desk.

  Antrole’s world revolved around his family. It hurt to know what they were going through right now.

  I wanted to call out to her, but the door closed. All I could do was lie there in silence.

  Chapter 9

  Alex Martinez was back in her comfortable hotel room after a quick drink with the crew and models from the shoot to show them how happy she was with their work. The drink also provided cover if anyone was to ask questions about the shooting that occurred just down the street.

  She had gently fended off an awkward invitation from Chaz, the model, to come back to his loft in SoHo, as he downplayed the fact that he had two roommates in a tiny apartment. But Alex had far too much on her mind to be able to concentrate and enjoy an evening with an underwear model. He was a beautiful young man, but not that beautiful.

  Now she sat on the edge of the bed reviewing the photos she’d taken earlier while the big flat-screen TV bolted into the wall played the local news. She had dozens of shots of underwear models, plenty of suitable material for her client. But she was more interested in the photos she took of the building where the explosion occurred. The shots of the explosion coming from the building on 161st Street were remarkable.

  Her favorite caught the plume of flame at its apex. It was at least three meters out the window, with sparkles of glass around the flame catching the sun just right. She couldn’t have planned a better photo. It made her appreciate how hard wildlife photography would be. Patience was the key. Patience, and a lot of shots with a good lens.

  The photos of the explosions were striking, but they didn’t provide her with any information she could use on her job. She needed to know if her target, Detective Michael Bennett, had been killed in the explosion in order to officially close out her contract.

  When Alex heard the TV news anchor mention a shoot-out, she looked up. They were calling it the Battle in the Bronx. It might not have made the news if it were just gunfire, Alex thought. But add an explosion to the mix, and it caught their attention.

  The anchor revealed that there were several fatalities, but there was no mention of police officers down or even injuries. That was frustrating. She did learn that one of the suspected gunmen was in critical condition at NewYork–Presbyterian Hospital in Washington Heights.

  Alex had hired some local gunmen from a Dominican gang. They came highly recommended, and she liked to distance herself from some of the action. It confused local homicide detectives when there was evidence of a gang with multiple weapons. They didn’t think lone assassin in a case like that.

  All she wanted to do now was close out the contract and return to her ranch, in Colombia. At least for a little while, until she had to come back to New York and finish her other business.

  Her stomach growled, and she realized she had forgotten to eat. She needed to get out, relax a little bit, and wait for the information she needed to become public.

  Alex stepped into the bathroom and combed out her long, dark hair. At five feet six, with muscular shoulders and other curves, she knew she’d never be a model, but she appreciated what God had given her to work with.

  Her version of self-reliance would terrify most people. It required constant physical fitness and mental sharpness, without slipping. And right now, self-preservation meant she had to get the hell out of New York as soon as possible.

  Chapter 10

  Despite my arguments, the doctors wouldn’t release me from the hospital that night, and it was too late to let the kids visit me. A day without seeing my kids was torture. When I told the doctor that, all she said was, “Then this is our version of waterboarding.”

  Dr. Carole Fredrick looked like she was fifteen, but I could tell by the way she handled me that she was a veteran of emergency-room medicine and experienced at dealing with stubborn patients. Even patients who were with the NYPD and had an army of children to back them up if they needed it.

  Dr. Fredrick said, “And please don’t think you can change my mind. I have a three-year-old at home, and I can assure you that if she can’t make me budge on a decision, neither can you.”

  I believed her.

  They set me up in a semiprivate room where my obese roommate was unconscious when I arrived. I didn’t know if that was a permanent state or one that just occurred nightly, but it was clear that the man wasn’t stirring for the rest of the night.

  Mary Catherine tucked the blankets around my chin like I was a child. She began updating me about the kids, speaking so softly it was hard for me to hear.

  Seamus said, “You don’t need to keep it down on account of his roommate. That guy is sawing wood.” He chuckled as he looked over at the man.

  I said, “Is that any way for a priest to talk?”

  “What? I’m not hurting his feelings. I’m not even saying anything bad. It’s just that we don’t have to worry about disturbing him.”

  I looked at the thin, eighty-one-year-old man who’d been a pillar for me throughout my life. After my grandmother died, he sold his bar and, to everyone’s surprise, was admitted to the seminary. He became a priest with life experiences unlike anyone else in the Catholic Church, but his new vocation had not changed the man he was one bit. All it did was alter his clothing. He was still obnoxious and opinionated. He was also loyal, caring, and more devout than any man I knew. He loved each one of my ten adopted children as if he had been there at their births, and he cared for my first wife like she was his daughter. When she died of cancer, he was as lost as I was. And now, years later, he had accepted Mary Catherine into the family wholly and unconditionally.

  I said, “It’s getting late. Why don’t you guys get some sleep? I’ll be home sometime tomorrow.”

  Mary Catherine said, “I’m staying here tonight.”

  “In that chair? I don’t think so. Get a good night’s sleep, and I promise it will be better for all of us tomorrow.”

  Mary Catherine took a sharp tone, which always brought out her Irish accent more acutely. “I won’t sleep a wink tonight, whether I’m lying in our bed or sitting in that chair. So please stop arguing with me.”

  I knew when I was beaten. I had to be satisfied that at least Seamus was going to go home and rest.

  Mary Catherine moved to the edge of my bed and carefully brushed hair away from the stitches in my forehead. I liked the feeling of her fingers playing with my hair and the warmth of her body close to mine.

  After a few minutes, I said, “Thank you for staying. This is nice.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m sorry you have to get blown to smithereens just so I can have a few quiet moments with you.”

  “You know that’s not true. I always have time for you.”

  She smiled and said, “I know you do. It’s just that with the kids and everything else, alone time is a precious commodity.”

  “You know, if we went on a honeymoon, we’d have plenty of time alone together.” I said it casually but was afraid I was crossing a line. We had discussed dates for our wedding, but I kept getting the feeling Mary Catherine wasn’t quite ready.

  She said, “If we went on a honeymoon while you were in this kind of condition, I’m afraid you wouldn’t survive.”

  Somehow I managed to chuckle. The movement hurt my back.

  She said, “Let’s not talk about a date just yet. We’ve got plenty to work out before we take on the planning of the wedding.”

  It was hard to argue with logic like that. I was about to suggest she climb under the covers with me when the door to my room burst open.

  A tall African American nurse with stylish glasses and a somewhat severe expres
sion stared at us.

  The middle-aged nurse said, “I know I’m not seeing a visitor in a semiprivate room more than an hour after visiting hours are over. Tell me that’s not what I’m seeing.”

  Mary Catherine stammered, “You don’t understand—”

  The nurse didn’t let her finish. “No, sugar, you don’t understand. I can’t show any favorites. Even if this young man is a hero and risked his life for the city today, it’s my job to make sure pretty young things like you don’t throw off his schedule. Now, you need to head out of here, get a good night’s rest, and come back at 10:00 a.m. Not before. Wait until at least ten o’clock.”

  I had to smile. That was how you handled someone. She could’ve been a cop or a priest or a teacher. Thank God she was a nurse.

  Chapter 11

  Alex slipped into Aretsky’s Patroon well after the usual dinner crowd had gotten settled. The popular steak house near 46th Street and Third Avenue was one of her favorite stops in the city. There was no denying her South American heritage. She was a meat eater.

  Deciding that a seat at the cozy bar was her best bet, Alex slid onto an empty stool at the end of the bar with no one near her. She ordered a glass of 2010 Carmignano from the thin bartender, whom she recognized. He gave her a quick smile and even managed to wink his drooping right eye.

  After she ordered her favorite dish, the roasted veal chop with fennel and vegetables, she relaxed for the first time all day. She liked the comfortable atmosphere of the bar. Sports memorabilia hung high on the walls. A bat from Derek Jeter over the door. One of Wayne Gretzky’s hockey sticks from his last game as a New York Ranger behind the bar.

  She sipped her wine and thought about her life back in Colombia. That was where she wanted to be. In the open spaces, with people who loved her. Not in a crowded, dirty city with people she was paid to kill.