James PATTERSON - Cross Country

But the thing I hadn’t told them was the real subject of Adanne’s story: The Americans, the French, the Dutch, the English, and several very important corporations were working with the Chinese in the Delta. China needed oil even more than we did. China was cutting corners. They were ready to pay top dollar for oil and willing to make deals, whatever it took. And because of these business ventures, thousands of Africans had died – men, women, and children. That was the one thing that I knew for certain. It was what Adanne had been researching and writing about.

It was what she had contacted Ellie Cox about; she had talked to Ellie about her research. That was what got her family murdered in Georgetown.

Adanne had told me horror stories during our time together, especially about life and death in Sudan. Rape was the weapon of war there, and girls of age five and up were abused, sometimes by “peacekeepers.” Hundreds and hundreds of mass graves had been discovered but were rarely reported on. Police corruption and brutality, some of which I’d witnessed myself, were rampant – an epidemic, really, and kidnappers were working in the Delta area, especially around Port Harcourt.

On the couch that had been in Nana’s living room since I was a boy, I slept, finally. But not like a baby. That kind of sleep would never come to me again. The truth was, I had accepted that my family was gone, just like so many other families that had been murdered before them. Nothing would ever be the same for me again.

I WAS WOKEN up early in the morning. Somebody was coming into the house!

I could tell that it was more than one person.

I jumped up from the couch, trying to collect my thoughts in a hurry, to focus on how to get to my gun in the den, when two men burst into the living room!

I was surprised – no, I was shocked – to see Steven Millard and Merrill Snyder from the CIA. Millard spoke first.

“Detective Cross, we didn’t know you were here. We–”

Someone else walked into the living room behind Millard and Snyder. My God, it was Ali.

And he looked all right to me – unharmed.

He looked just incredible-safe, alive, home.

“Ali!” I called and went forward to him. “Ali”

“Daddy! Daddy!” he shrieked as he ran and threw himself into my outstretched arms. My little boy was crying and shaking uncontrollably.

No, no – I was the one crying and shaking. Ali was just holding on to me incredibly tightly. He kept repeating, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” I couldn’t hear the words enough times.

What was happening here? I wondered, looking to the CIA men for answers. Now I saw that Eric Dana and my friend Al Tunney had come to the house as well.

Then I heard, “Alex? Is that you in there? Alex, is that you?”

The voice was Nana’s, but the next person entering the living room was Jannie.

She had her arms stretched out, and she was sobbing as she ran and crashed into my chest. “Oh, my sweet girl, my darling girl,” I whispered as she pressed into me. “Oh, Jannie, sweetheart. Oh, my baby, my baby.”

’I’m okay, we’re okay,“Jannie said.”They kept us in a room. They asked us so many questions. We didn’t know why, Daddy, we didn’t know anything.”

“No, of course you didn’t.”

Then Nana slouched into the living room, and she looked terrible and wonderful all at the same time. She came to us, and then we were all group hugging. The CIA agents just looked on, warmly, it seemed to me, but they said nothing.

“They didn’t harm us,” said Nana. “Thank God, we’re all here together. We’re all safe.”

That was enough for this unbelievable moment, the most emotional one of my life – we were all together, and we were safe.

THE GOOD MOOD was broken by Steven Millard from the CIA. “Detective Cross, can we have a moment? Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

I went out with Millard, who I took to be the highest-ranking of the CIA representatives at the house. He was the group chief, right? There were four of their vehicles parked outside. Three agents, two of them women, stood around on the sidewalk. I wondered if they had been picked to make it easier for my family when they were brought home.

“Where were they? Where did you find them?” I asked Millard. “Who took them?”

He walked ramrod straight and I decided he had probably been military before he came to the CIA. He seemed very sure of himself, confident about who he was and his role here. So what was it? Who the hell was Steven Millard? What was his role?

“I told you before, Detective, we’re the good guys – we’re still the good guys. Most of us are busting our asses to do a good job and help keep this country safe. Ian Flaherty wasn’t. He sold us out, maybe a couple of times. The last time, it was to the Chinese. Maybe to a bad apple from their basket.”

“My family,” I said, reminding Millard of my question.

“We had Flaherty under surveillance from the moment he reached Washington. Trust me on that one. He led us to your family. I don’t know if they would’ve been released. A couple of mercenaries were with them – they were working with Flaherty. Flaherty was working for the Chinese. Your family was questioned, but mostly they were just insurance, in case it was needed. Flaherty was afraid you might have found out about him in Lagos.”

I shook my head. “Bribery has become a way of life there. Adanne Tansi knew the Chinese were involved with oil trading in the Delta. Thousands of Nigerians have been murdered down there, as you know.”

“Yes, we know,” said Millard.

“And you knew the civil war was coming, but you did nothing to stop it.”

“There was nothing we could do. We don’t need another Iraq, do we?”

I stared into his eyes. “Where’s Flaherty now?”

Millard didn’t flinch as he answered. “We have him. We’re talking to him now. Eventually he’ll talk to us. We know that Mr. Sowande, your Tiger, worked for him.”

“That’s all you can tell me?”

Millard shook his head. “No. I can tell you this. Go home to your family, Detective Cross. They’re special. You’ve been away from them too much.”

I nodded at Millard. He wasn’t going to level with me, so there was nothing else to say. I turned around and began to walk back to my house.

He was right about one thing: My family was special.

They were waiting for me on the porch, and as I got close, another dark sedan pulled up in front. Damon stepped out, and he looked my way. He half waved, half saluted.

But then Damon came running, and so did I.

The Cross family was back together again. Maybe that was all that mattered.

I COULDN’T LET it end like that – it just wasn’t in me. One night a couple of weeks later, I arrived at the house in Great Falls, Virginia, at a little past three in the morning. Interesting to me, and more than a little creepy, I had received a call from the psychopath Kyle Craig earlier in the week. Cool as ever, Kyle said he was glad I had gotten my family back, and then he hung up before I could say a word to him.

I focused and walked to the front door of a redbrick colonial that was obsessively well kept. I rang the bell a couple of times and waited. I looked at my watch. 3:11. After a few minutes, the overhead porch light flicked on. Then the door slowly opened.

The CIA’s Steven Millard stood there wearing a dark blue terrycloth robe, his legs and feet bare. He didn’t look so impressive without a suit and tie. I heard a woman’s voice call from upstairs, “Steve, is everything all right down there?”