James PATTERSON - Cross Country

Her braids had been cut short; they stuck out at angles from her head. One of her eyes was swollen shut and colored blue-black. She saw me and nodded that she was okay. I didn’t believe it for a second.

“Now maybe there’s more that you can tell me,” the commander said. “Something I don’t already know about the Tiger. Why did you come here? Not to solve a murder case. Why would I believe that? How do you know Adanne Tansi?”

I began to shout at him. “What the hell is the matter with you? I’m a cop, just like you. I’m investigating a murder case. It’s that simple.”

The cuffs tore at my wrists. Then the pain in my shoulder turned to nausea. I thought I was going to throw up.

The commander nodded once at the cop who’d brought in Adanne. The underling threw a hard uppercut into her stomach. I felt the cruel blow in my own body.

Adanne groaned behind the tape and fell to her knees. The dirt on her face was streaked with tears, but she wasn’t crying now. She was watching me. Blood from her mouth was turning the tape red. Her eyes were pleading. But for what?

“Why are you doing this?” I spit between clenched teeth. I could imagine my hands around his throat. “My friend was killed in Washington. That’s why I’m here. That’s all there is. I’m not part of some conspiracy.”

“Take the tape off her mouth,” the commander ordered.

The guard ripped it away and Adanne said, “Alex, don’t worry about me.”

The commander turned to the cop. “Again. Hit her.” He turned back to me. “Alex! Worry about her.”

“Okay!” I cut him off. “The Tiger’s name is Abidemi Sowande. He disappeared in nineteen eighty-one, when he was nine years old, turned up in England at a university for two years, and hasn’t used that identity since.

“He’s murdered a lot of people, here and in America. He uses wild boys. He may control other Tigers. That’s all I know. That’s everything I have. You know about the diamonds, the gasoline, the illegal trading.”

The commander kept his hand in the air to hold off the next punch. “You’re sure that’s it?”

“I’m sure, goddammit! I’m just a cop from Washington, DC. Adanne has nothing to do with this.”

He squinted, thinking about it, and then seemed satisfied. His hand came down slowly. “I should kill you anyway,” he said. “But that’s not my choice.”

Then I heard another voice in the room. “No, that would be my choice, Detective Cross.”

A MAN STEPPED out of the shadows, a large man – the mercenary soldier known as the Tiger. The one I’d been chasing.

“No one seems to know much about me. That’s good, don’t you think? I want to keep it that way. She writes stories in newspapers, the London Times, maybe the New York Times. You get in the way a lot.”

He walked over to me. “Unbelievable,” he said. “Some people fear you, eh? Not me. I find you to be a funny man. Big joke. The joke is on you, Detective Cross.”

My body eased just a fraction. He didn’t seem angry, and he wasn’t concerned about me, but he was huge, and muscle-bound, as fierce as any man I’d ever seen.

Then, with his eyes still on me, he said, “Shoot her. Wait. No, no. Give me a gun.”

“NO!” I yelled.

That’s all I got out. Adanne’s good eye flew open and she found me in this unbelievable nightmare we were sharing.

The Tiger took a quick step forward. “Pretty girl,” he said. “Stupid bitch. Dead woman! You did this to her, Cross. You did this, not me.”

Blam.

Blam.

HE HAD FIRED a police service revolver close to her head. Twice. He missed on purpose, and he laughed merrily at the prank.

“People find it difficult to believe that a black man can be clever and intelligent. Have you found that to be true, Doctor Cross? How about you, Adanne?”

She didn’t answer, but she spit at him. “Murderer,” she said.

“One of the best and proud of my accomplishments.”

Then he fired a third shot, right between Adanne’s eyes. Her body lurched forward, and she landed facedown on the ground. Her arms spread out like wings. Adanne didn’t move.

As fast as that, as insane, she was gone. Adanne was dead in this horrid jail cell, murdered by the Tiger as the police looked on and did nothing to stop him.

Rage poured out of me. There were no words for what I was feeling. A cord tightened around my throat, another around my forehead.

Don’t worry about me, Adanne had said. She knew they were going to kill her; she knew it all the time.

Her killer stood over her and he watched me. Then he grinned. He dropped his trousers, went down on his knees, and committed his final outrage against Adanne.

“Pretty girl,” he growled. “You did this to her. Never forget that, Detective. Never.”

ALEX, DON’T WORRY about me.

Don’t worry about me.

Don’t worry.

Night had become morning somehow, and I was still alive. I could see that it was light through the black fabric of a hood they made me wear. What’s more, I was being moved.

The neck cord kept me oxygen hungry and weak as they dragged me outside. They threw me like cargo into the backseat of a truck or van, a vehicle with a high step and a diesel engine.

Then we drove for a long time. I kept my eyes open inside the hood. Still, all I could see in my mind was the last moment when Adanne was alive, and then…

The Tiger had killed her, and worse. He thought I was a joke. He said I was no threat to him. Just another policeman. We’d see.

If I lived through the next few hours or so.

As the ride continued, I prayed for Adanne and for her family. I told them, in my own way, that this wasn’t over yet. Not that it mattered to them. But it did to me. I wondered why I was still alive. It made no sense to me. Another mystery.

When we finally stopped, car doors opened on either side of me. Now what?

Somebody shoved my head down into the seat. The cuffs were roughly removed. Powerful hands pressed into the small of my back and pushed hard. “You go home now. Go.’”

I went flying through the air but only for a few seconds of uncertainty and terror.

Then I landed on stone or cement. By the time I’d gotten up and untied the hood, they were gone, out of sight, whoever had brought me here.

They had dropped me on a side street next to an official-looking building, the sort of white stone box you might find in downtown DC.

I could see through an iron fence and across a manicured front lawn to a gatehouse out front.

An American flag flew above it, flapping in a light breeze.

This was the American consulate. Had to be. The embassy was in Abuja. That must be where I was now.

But why?

SOMETHING WAS GOING on here at the consulate. Something big. And dangerous-looking. Hundreds of people were gathered in the streets outside the front gates. Actually, it looked like there were two separate crowds. Half of them were lined up like they were waiting to get in. The other half, on the opposite side of a concrete barrier, were demonstrating against the United States.

I saw hand-lettered placards that read US PAYS THE PRICE, and DELTA PEOPLE, DELTA RULE, and NO MORE AMERICANS.

Even from a distance, I could tell it was the kind of scene that could turn ugly, or violent, at any time. I didn’t wait around for that to happen.

I walked around the corner, and leading with my good shoulder, I started pushing through the crowd. People on both sides grabbed at me, either because I was cutting in line or, maybe, because I looked like an American. The shouting on the street side blocked out any other noise around me.