Black Friday (or Black Market) - James Patterson [96]
“I’ve heard they’re a party group.” Carroll smiled back at Agent Hawes.
“Listen,” she said. “There is something else you should know. One other person went through the 211 files. At least one other person in the past two weeks. On December fifth, actually.”
Carroll stopped packing up and stared at Samantha Hawes. “Who?” he asked.
“On the fifth of December, certain 211 files were ordered over to the White House. Vice-president Elliot wanted to see them. He kept the files for over six hours.”
Chapter 71
THE YOUNG CARROLL BOY had his marching orders, really strict orders, too.
Six-year-old Mickey Kevin Carroll had been allowed to walk the three blocks home from CYO basketball practice since the second month of the school year.
He had very precise orders for the walk, which his Aunt Mary K. actually made him write out inside his salt-and-pepper composition note pad. Mickey’s orders were:
Look both ways at Churchill Avenue.
Look both ways at Grand Street.
Don’t talk to strangers for any reason at all.
Don’t stop at the Fieldstone store before supper.
If you do, it’s instant death by torture.
Mickey Kevin was pondering the confusing mechanics of the basketball layup as he covered the long double block between Riverdale Avenue and Churchill Street. Brother Alexander Joseph had made it look kind of easy—the’ layup. Except when Mickey tried it himself, there were just too many things to remember to do, all practically at the same time. Somehow your leg, and your same arm, had to come up; then you had to throw the ball perfectly into the high, high hoop. All at the same time.
As he rehearsed the confusing sport’s primary action, Mickey Kevin gradually became aware of footsteps growing loudly behind him.
He finally turned and saw a man. The man was walking his way. Walking pretty fast.
Mickey Kevin’s body tightened. TV movies and stuff like that made you scared when you were alone by yourself. Somebody was always out to get the little kid, or the baby-sitter all alone at home. It was a pretty creepy world. Some of the people out there were unbelievably creepy.
The man walking behind him looked pretty normal, Mickey guessed, but he decided to hurry it up a little, anyway.
Without looking too obvious, he started to take longer steps, faster steps. He walked the way he always did when he was trying to keep up with his dad.
There weren’t any cars or anything at the corner of Grand Street. Mickey stopped according to his rules anyway. He looked both ways.
He looked back then—and the man was really close. Really, really close.
Mickey Kevin ran across Grand Street, and Aunt Mary K. would have killed him on the spot. His heart was pounding a little now. Really thumping out loud. Right down into his shoes, he could feel his heartbeat.
Then Mickey Kevin did the really, really dumb thing.
He knew it the second he did it. The instant!
He suddenly cut through the empty lot at the Riverdale Day School.
There were all these tricky bushes and stuff back there Everybody left empty beer cans and broken wine and liquor bottles. Mary K. had forgotten to put that on the list: don’t cut through the Riverdale Day School lot. It was too obvious for words.
Mickey pushed the prickly bushes out of his way, and he thought he heard the man coming through the lot behind him. Crashing through the lot.
He wasn’t completely sure. He’d have to stop walking, to listen close enough to tell. He decided to just keep running, to run like hell.
Full speed ahead running now. As fast as he could run with all the dark, thorny bushes, the hidden rocks and roots trying to trip him up.
Mickey Kevin stumbled forward, his feet seeming to catch in dirt holes. He glided over slippery leaves.
He nicked a rock and almost went over, head first. He was panting now, his breath was too loud in his own ears, his footsteps were echoing like gunshots.
The back of his house suddenly appeared: the glowing, amber porch lights, the familiar gray outline against the much darker blackness of the night.
He