James Patterson - I, Alex Cross

"No, it doesn't," Reese told him. There was more than enough precedent for this kind of request, even from Reese himself. Once Reese and the vice president were in the car, Cormorant got in. Then he radioed the go-ahead, and the motorcade pulled out toward 15th Street.

WITH THE PARTITION up and tinted bullet- and soundproof glass on all sides, this was as private a meeting as they were going to get today, given the vice president's busy schedule.

Reese took a quick breath, then he started right in on what he'd found out. For one thing, the FBI and Metro police were both pursuing the case – at least as a murder investigation. Apparently prostitutes were involved, male and female. Zeus hadn't been indentified yet. If there actually was a Zeus.

"I just heard that we've got another problem." He turned to face the Secret Service agent on the jump seat. "Dan, do you know who Alex Cross is?"

"MPD detective, specializes in major cases – homicides, serials. He's working on a certain murder in question?" Cormorant hadn't missed a beat. "We're aware of Cross's involvement. We're watching him."

"And I'm finding out about this on my own, why? "

Cormorant ticked off the vice president's wishes on two fingers. "No phone, no e-mail, remember? I'll get information to you when I can get it to you, Gabe. We're talking about one homicide detective here."

"Hang on," the vice president cut in. "Where are we on Zeus, Dan?"

"Quickly, please," Reese added. They were already coming up on K Street, which was less crowded than usual – unfortunately.

"It's complicated. There are a lot of avenues to go down. We've had some SIGINT on a private club out in Virginia. Very discreet place for meetings. It's a sex club, sir. It's possible that Zeus has been there. It's likely he has. The White House, actually the Cabinet, keeps coming up, but that might be because of the code name, Zeus . I hope it's no more than that."

Tillman's expression darkened as he leaned in toward the Secret Service man. "And that's it? That's all you have?"

"This is a murder investigation. They usually don't solve themselves. The club is called Blacksmith Farms. We have the names of several clients. The owners are mob."

Tillman snapped. "Why can't we find out who Zeus is?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't turn over too many rocks without attracting more attention than we want. We're not even sure if Zeus actually used the club in question. There are all these swirling rumors but nothing solid."

Reese didn't like Cormorant's tone with the vice president any more than he did with himself. "Swirling rumors. Who else knows about this?" he asked.

"Two senior agents in the Joint Operations Center, one intelligence officer, but it's all being contained. No links to the OVP at all."

Cormorant gave Reese another one of his squints. "You need to calm down. It's not helping. We're moving as fast as we can and there's lots to check. The circumstances couldn't be worse."

The words fuck you ran through Reese's mind, but he was too savvy to lose it in front of Tillman. Still, this situation had the makings of one of the biggest bombshells to hit Washington in years. A serial killer involved with the Cabinet – or attached to the White House?

"Sir, I'm going to recommend you designate all Secret Service logs from your detail as sensitive compartmented information – until further notice."

"Sir, any SCI order puts your thumbprint right where you don't want it," Cormorant interjected.

"But simultaneously puts that information completely out of reach," Reese answered back. Tillman had the authority to bypass not just the White House Security Office on this one, but the Freedom of Information Act.

"Okay." Tillman nodded agreement with the chief of staff. It was done. Then he asked, "What about this detective, Cross? How worried do we need to be about him?"

Cormorant thought for a moment. "It's hard to know until he turns something up. If he does. I'm keeping my eye on it, and if anything changes at all, I'll update you -"

"Not me." Tillman said firmly. "Go through Gabe. Everything goes through Gabe from now on."

"Of course."

Reese found he was repeatedly running a hand through his hair without even realizing it. They were just arriving at the Convention Center; the pressure was on to wrap this discussion up somehow.

Quickly he said, "Anything else I should know? Anything else that you've been keeping to yourself? Like who the hell Zeus is? "

Cormorant's face reddened, but all he said was "We're here, sir."

NANA WAS ALIVE. That's what mattered; it was all I cared about right now. But I did wonder why it was that when you lose someone, or are about to lose someone important to you, they become more precious than ever.

It was hell waiting for her to come back from tests at the hospital. I had to sit for hours in a sterile, fluorescent-lit corridor, while my mind ran through every possible worst-case scenario, a bad habit of mine from work. I tried to fill my head with memories of Nana, going all the way back to when I was ten and she had replaced my parents in life.

When they finally wheeled her out, it was a gift just to look into her eyes. She'd been unconscious when we arrived, and there had been no guarantee I would ever see her alive again.

But here she was, and she was talking.

"Gave you a little scare there, did I?" Her voice was weak and wheezy, and she looked even tinier than usual sitting up on the gurney, but she was alert.

"More than a little scare," I said. It was all I could do to keep from squeezing the life right back out of her. I settled for a lingering kiss on the cheek.

"Welcome back, old woman," I whispered in her ear – just to make her smile, which it did.

"Good to be back. Now, let's get out of here!"

ONCE WE GOT Nana settled – in a hospital bed – the cardiologist on call came in to meet with us. Her name was Dr. Englefield, and she looked about fifty, with a compassionate face but also the kind of professional detachment I've seen with a lot of specialists.

She worked off Nana's chart while she spoke.

"Mrs. Cross, your general diagnosis is congestive heart failure. Specifically, your heart isn't pumping enough blood into your system. That means you're not getting enough oxygen or nutrients, and that's most likely why you collapsed this morning."

Nana nodded, not showing any emotion. The first thing she asked was "How soon can I leave the hospital?"

"The average stay for something like this is four or five days. I'd like to adjust your blood pressure medication and see where we are in a few days."

"Oh, I'll be at home, Doctor. Where will you be?"

Englefield laughed politely, as if she thought Nana was joking. As soon as she was gone, though, Nana turned to me.

"You need to speak with someone else, Alex. I'm ready to go home."

"Is that so?" I asked, trying to keep it light.

"Yes, that's so." She wagged her hand, trying to shoo me out of the room. "Go on. Make it happen."

This was starting to get uncomfortable for me. I'd never called any shots for Nana before, and now, suddenly, I had to do just that.

"I think we should go with the doctor on this one," I said. "If a few nights in the hospital means we don't have to repeat this morning, then I'm all for it."

"You're not listening to me, Alex." Her voice had changed in a beat, and she grabbed my wrist. "I am not going to spend another day in a hospital bed, do you hear me? I refuse . It's my right to do so."

"Nana -"

"No!" She let go and pointed at me with a shaking finger. "I will not have that tone, either. Now, are you going to respect my wishes or not? I'll get right up and do it myself if I have to. You know I will, Alex."