“So, who else should I be talking to?” Kyle asked.
The agent shook his head. “Nobody.”
“Not DEA? Anyone in DC?”
“There’s no one, Siegel. You were out there on your own.” He looked up suddenly. “Why don’t you know that?”
“Give me a break, man. I’m all messed up. Look at me.” Kyle took a step closer to where Malinowski was leaning back against the range. “Seriously, really look at me. What do you see?”
Malinowski smiled sympathetically. “You definitely need some rest, Max. It’s good you’re here.”
The guy didn’t have a clue, did he? This was just too much fun to stop.
“I’ve seen Kyle Craig, Steve.”
“What? Hang on — the Kyle Craig?”
Kyle spread his arms and smiled. “The Kyle Craig. In the flesh.”
“I don’t understand. How the hell does that figure in…?”
It was like watching numbers add up across Malinowski’s face. And just when he seemed to come up with the right answer, Kyle made his move. His Beretta was out and pressing into Malinowski’s chin before the guy even saw it coming.
“Amazing what they can do with plastic surgery these days,” he said.
Malinowski’s half-finished beer clunked to the floor. “What are you talking about? That’s… impossible!”
“I’m 99.99 percent sure that it’s not,” Kyle told him. “Unless I’m imagining all this. Consider it in an honor, Steve. You’re the first and last to know what I look like now. Are you honored?” Malinowski didn’t move, so he pushed the Beretta a little deeper into his face. “Are you?”
Now he nodded.
“Say it, please.”
“I’m… honored.”
“Good. Now here’s what’s going to happen. We’ll be moving to the back of the house, and you’ll be getting inside that filthy bathtub you never clean.” Kyle patted the duffel on his back again. “Then I’m going to unpack, and you and I are going to talk some more. I need to know some things about Max Siegel.”
Chapter 14
HE WAITED TWO MORE DAYS, spent a few nights around DC, got himself laid at the Princess Hotel. Then Kyle brought Max Siegel in from out of the cold once and for all.
It was an unbelievable thrill, driving Siegel’s newly leased BMW past the familiar guard booth and down into the Hoover Building parking garage. Every security measure in the world, and here they were, waving Mr. Most Wanted himself right into FBI headquarters.
Sweet.
Siegel’s ID got Kyle right up to the fifth floor. They met with him in one of the Strategic Information Operations Center (SIOC) conference rooms overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue — two reps from the Gang and Criminal Enterprise Section, one from the Directorate of Intelligence, and two assistant directors from the main and field offices in DC.
AD Patty Li seemed to be in charge of the meeting. “I know this is a stressful time, Agent Siegel, but there’s something you need to know. Your original handler, Steven Malinowski, died two days ago.”
Kyle kept up his professional composure, with just the right amount of emotion. “Oh my God. What happened to Steve?”
“Apparently he dropped dead of a heart attack in the shower at his home.”
“This is unbelievable. I was at his house yesterday. I knocked on his door.” He stopped and ran a hand over his million-dollar face — the master performer in action.
“You were right to contact us directly,” Li said. “Once you’ve made your report and received a full debriefing, I’m putting you on administrative leave —”
“No.” Kyle sat up and looked Li straight in the eye. “Excuse me, but that’s the last thing I need right now. I’m ready to go back to work.”
“You need to acclimate. Sleep in, go to a game, whatever. You’ve been someone else for years, Max. That takes a toll.”
The whole thing was like great food, great sex, and driving 120 with the headlights off all at the same time. Best of all, these Friendly But Ignorant pinheads were eating it up like free doughnuts.
“With all due respect,” he told everyone in the room, “I’d like my record to speak for itself. Give me a fitness-for-duty eval, if that’s what you need to do. Just don’t sideline me. I want to work. Trust me, it’s what I need.”
There were some open glances around the table. One of the drug-squad guys shrugged and closed the personnel file in front of him. This was Li’s call.
“Just for the sake of argument,” she said, “what did you have in mind?”
“I believe I’m up for SSA,” he told her, which was true. “That’s what I want.”
“Supervisory special agent? I see you haven’t lost any of your ambition.”
“I’d also like to stay right here in Washington, ultimately in the field office. I think that’s where I can do the most damage,” he said — just a touch of self-deprecation to keep them on the line.
There would be no promises today, but Kyle could tell he’d pretty much cinched it. And the field-office placement, while not strictly necessary, was a nice bit of gravy.
That facility was over in Judiciary Square, maybe a stone’s throw from the Daly Building. He and Alex could practically string up a couple of tin cans between their offices and play catch-up. How much fun would that be?
Now it was just a matter of time until they met again.
Chapter 15
I OFFERED UP a couple of Washington Nationals tickets to the Fingerprint Examination Section for a fast turnaround with the sniper hits. They got me some results that morning.
A single print had been found on an otherwise freshly cleaned area of glass where the shots had been taken. And, as it turned out, it was a match for two other prints found on-site — one on a stair rail between the building’s eighth and ninth floors, and another on the crash bar of a ground-level steel door that had almost certainly been the shooter’s exit point.
That was all the good news, or at least the interesting news. The bad part was that our print didn’t match any of the tens of millions of samples in the IAFIS database. Our presumed killer had no criminal record to help point the way to his arrest.
So I widened my net. Recently I’d been to Africa and back, chasing down a mass murderer who called himself the Tiger. As part of the fallout from that case, I’d struck up a pretty good rapport with a guy named Carl Freelander. He was Army CID, embedded with the FBI in Lagos, Nigeria, as part of a Joint Terrorism Task Force. I was hoping Carl could help me cut a few corners with the investigation.
It was late afternoon in Lagos when I caught Carl on his cell.
“Carl, it’s Alex Cross calling from Washington. How about if I ask you my favor first, and we do the chitchat later?”
“Sounds good, Alex, minus the chitchat, if you don’t mind. What can I do for you?” This was one of the reasons I liked Carl; he worked the way I did.
“I’ve got a print on a homicide, two kill shots from two hundred sixty-two yards. The guy obviously had some training, not to mention good equipment, and I’m wondering if maybe there’s a military connection.”
“Let me guess, Alex. You want a red phone into the civil database.”
“Something like that,” I said.
“Yeah, okay. I can run it by CJIS,” he said. “Shouldn’t take too long.”
CJIS stands for Criminal Justice Information Services, a part of the FBI that’s based in Clarksburg, West Virginia. This was one of those loopy situations — calling halfway around the world to access something so close to home, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
Less than two hours later, Carl was back with some discouraging news.
“Your boy’s not U.S. military, Alex. Not FBI or Secret Service either. And I hope you don’t mind, but I ran it through ABIS at Defense while I was at it. He’s never been detained by U.S. forces, and he’s not a foreign national who’s ever had access to one of our bases. I don’t know if that helps or not.”
“It gets rid of some
of the obvious possibilities anyway. Thanks, Carl. Next time you’re in DC —”
“Drinks and all that, sure thing. I look forward to it. Take care, Alex.”
My next call was to Sampson, to share the news, such as it was.
“Don’t worry, sugar, we’re just getting started,” he told me. “Maybe this print didn’t even come from our guy. That crime scene was crawling with our people the other night — and you can bet not everyone was wearing gloves.”
“Yeah,” I said, but a different possibility had already wormed its way to the front of my mind. “John, what if it is the shooter’s print, and he wanted us to find it? Maybe it gets him off, knowing we’re going to waste our time chasing it down —”
“Oh man, no. No, no, no.” Sampson knew just where I was headed.
“And maybe that gives him exactly the confidence he’s looking for — when it comes time to do it all over again.”
Chapter 16
I WAS THERE for Bree outside of Penn Branch when she got off that afternoon. I couldn’t wait to see her, and when she finally came out of the building, it brought a big smile to my face.
“This is a nice surprise,” she said, and gave me a kiss. We’d stopped trying to draw a line around that stuff at work anymore. “To what do I owe the pleasure? This is a treat.”
“No questions,” I said, and opened the car door for her. “I want to show you something.”
I’d been planning this for a while now, and even though work was starting to pile up again, I was too stubborn to give up on my scheme. I drove us along North Capitol Street, over to Michigan, and then to the edge of the Catholic University campus, where I parked.
“Um, Alex?” Bree looked out the windshield — and almost straight up. “When we talked about a small wedding, I think I should have been a little more specific.”
The Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception is one of the ten biggest churches in the world and, for my money, the most beautiful in Washington, maybe in the whole country.
“Not to worry,” I told her. “We’re just passing through. Come on.”
“Okay, Alex. I guess.”
The Romanesque-Byzantine architecture inside those walls is almost overwhelming, but it’s unbelievably peaceful in there, too. The soaring arches make you feel tiny, while the million little gold mosaic tiles in the artwork fill every corner with a kind of amber light I’ve never seen anywhere else.
I took Bree’s hand and walked her up one of the side aisles, through the transept, and into the wide area at the back. It’s enclosed from behind with a row of arched stained-glass windows, and open to the whole length of the cathedral at the front.
“Bree, can I see your ring?” I asked her.
“My ring?”
She smiled, a little puzzled, but gave it to me anyway. Then I got down on one knee, and I took her hand again.
“Is this a proposal?” she asked me. “Because I’ve got a little news for you, sweetie. I’m already there.”
“In front of God, then,” I said, and took a breath because I realized suddenly I was a little nervous.
“Bree, I didn’t need you before we met. I thought I was doing okay — I was doing okay. But now… here you are, and I have to think that’s for a reason.” I hadn’t rehearsed any speech, and it felt like I was stumbling over my words, not to mention the lump in my throat. “You make me believe, Bree. I don’t know if I can explain what that means for someone like me, but I hope you’ll let me spend the rest of my life trying. Brianna Leigh Stone, will you marry me?”
She was still smiling, but I could see her fighting back tears now. Even here, Bree was trying to stay tough.
“You know you’re a little crazy, right?” she said. “You know that?”
“If lovin’ you is wrong,” I whisper-crooned to her, “I don’t want to be right.”
“Okay, okay, anything but the singing,” she said, and we both laughed like a couple of kids cutting up in the library. But it was laughter through tears, for both of us.
Bree knelt down with me, put her hand gently over mine, and slid the engagement ring back onto her finger. When she kissed me lightly on the lips, I felt the warmth, and a quiver, all the way down my spine.
“Alexander Joseph Cross, as many times as you want to ask me, the answer is yes. Always has been, always will be.”
Chapter 17
ROMANTIC FOOL THAT I AM, I wasn’t done yet. From Immaculate Conception, I drove us back downtown, where we checked into the Park Hyatt for the night. I had told Nana we wouldn’t be home.
After the bellman left us to our suite, Bree looked around and asked, “Alex, how much is this costing?”
I had a chilled bottle of Prosecco waiting, and handed her a glass. “Well, I’m not sure we can still swing college for Damon after this, but the view’s great, isn’t it?”
Then I sat down at the baby grand — absolutely the reason I’d chosen this place — and started to play. I stuck to old standard love songs, things like “Night and Day” and “Someone to Watch Over Me,” each one with a little message for Bree. And, by request, I mostly stayed away from the singing.
She sat next to me on the piano bench, listening and sipping the wine. “What did I do to deserve all this?” she asked finally.
“Oh, that part’s still coming up,” I said. “Something about taking off all your clothes. Slowly. Piece by piece.”
First, though, we had dinner sent up from Blue Duck Tavern and shared everything — orange and arugula salad, fresh ahi tuna, soft-shell crabs, and a warm-centered chocolate cake for two.
I opened a bottle of Cristal with dessert, and we finished it in the big limestone soaking tub afterward.
“I feel like we’re already on our honeymoon. First a church, and now this,” she said.
“Consider it a preview,” I told her, running a bar of lavender soap up and down her back, then her long legs. “Just a little taste of the future.”
“Mmm, I like the future.” She put her mouth on my shoulder and bit down softly when I abandoned the soap and started using my hands.
Eventually, we spilled right out of the tub and onto the floor. I made a makeshift bearskin rug out of two fluffy hotel robes, and we spent the next few hours trying to get enough of each other.
The first time I brought Bree to climax, her head tilted and her mouth opened soundlessly, while she held on to the small of my back with that amazing strength of hers.
“Closer, Alex. Oh God, closer. Closer!”
It was like nothing could come between us, literally or figuratively. I felt a million miles away from anything but her, and I never wanted that night to end.
But of course it would — and all too soon.
Chapter 18
THE HOTEL PHONE rang at almost exactly twelve o’clock. I’d realize later that it hadn’t been a coincidence. Midnight is also the start of a new day, and the caller meant that, literally.
“Alex Cross,” I answered.
“All this, and romance, too? Tell me, Detective Cross, how do you manage it?”
Kyle Craig’s voice registered like ice water — and just as fast as that, everything changed.
“Kyle,” I said for Bree’s benefit. “How long have you been in Washington?”
She was already sitting up, but as soon as she heard the name, she grabbed her cell out of the nightstand and took it into the bathroom.
“What makes you think I’m in Washington?” Kyle asked me. “You know I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere. I don’t have to be there, to be there.”
“True,” I said, trying hard to keep my voice calm. “But I’m one of your favorite subjects.”
He laughed softly. “I’d like to say you’re flattering yourself, but I can’t. So tell me about the family. How’s Nana Mama doing? The kids?”
They weren’t questions. They were threats, and we both knew it. Families were Kyle’s thing, maybe because his own had been so messed up. In fact, he’d killed both o
f his parents, on separate occasions. It was everything I could do not to rise to the bait, but I held back my temper.
“Kyle, why are you calling? You never do anything without a good reason.”
“I haven’t seen Damon around,” he went on. “He must still be up at Cushing Academy, yes? That’s due west of Worcester, correct? But Ali! Now there is the definition of a growing boy.”
I gripped the edge of the mattress with my free hand. Having my kids in Kyle Craig’s thoughts was almost more than I could take.
But if there was one thing I knew, it was that idle threats and warnings only added fuel to his fire. He’d always been insanely competitive with me, and I mean that literally. It had been nearly impossible to bring him down the first time.
How in the hell was I going to do it again?
“Kyle,” I said as evenly as I could manage, “I’m not going to have this conversation if I don’t know where it’s going. So if you have something to tell me —”
“Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,” he said. “It’s no big secret, Alex.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You asked where this is going. Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust — the same place everything goes. Of course, some of us get there faster than others, isn’t that right? Your first wife, for example, but I can’t take credit for that one.”
And then he got his wish — I snapped, lost it.
“Listen to me, you piece of shit! Stay away from us. I swear to God, if you ever —”
“If I what?” he fired back just as forcefully. “Hurt your ridiculous family? Take away your precious fiancée?” His tone had changed on a dime to pure rage. “How dare you talk to me about what’s been taken away. What you get to keep! Just how many lives have you taken, Alex? How many families have you shattered with that nine millimeter of yours? You don’t even know the meaning of loss — not yet, you fucking hypocrite!”