James Patterson: Kill Alex Cross

“Where are we?” he asked.

“We’re... here,” Hala said. It was as much of an answer as she had. For that matter, where seemed less important than who they were here to see right now. Whoever this man was, they’d driven all night to get here.

Neither of the two in the front seat spoke. They waited for the stranger to finish his prayers and only then opened their car doors to get out. Hala and Tariq followed.

The four of them came around and stood by their vehicle while the man walked slowly up from the beach, shaking the sand from his prayer rug as he came.

He was elderly — older than Uncle had been, but fitter. His snowy hair was brushed straight back over his head, and he wore the kind of tracksuit an American businessman might wear on the weekend. Dark blue with a single white stripe. His feet were bare, and he carried a pair of Adidas scuffs in one hand.

Hala could feel the excitement rising in her chest. Before they’d come to America, no one had even suggested that advancement within The Family was possible. But that was before they’d met Uncle. Now, it seemed, anything was possible.

She grinned at the ground. America really was the land of opportunity, after all. The irony in this amused her.

The old man smiled as he came close. He walked right up and embraced Tariq, kissing him on each cheek. Then he shook Hala’s hand warmly but respectfully.

“It is good to meet our famous warriors from Washington, DC,” he said in a thick Najdi accent. “The Family owes you a tremendous debt of gratitude for what you’ve accomplished.”

“Thank you for the opportunity,” Hala said. She’d learned not to appear too proud. “And thank you for saving us. It was more than we deserved.”

“ Psh! ” The man waved a hand in the air. “You were clever to make that phone call. A risky move, yes? But here we are. It is good.”

He was even more ingratiating than Uncle had been, Hala thought. The fact that he addressed her more than Tariq said quite a bit about what he must already know.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but if I may ask — who are you, sir?”

“I would have thought someone as clever as you might have guessed,” he answered. “In any case, it is not important who I am. In this country, we are all just nameless, faceless monsters. Isn’t that so?”

Hala allowed herself to laugh. And before the man spoke again, she realized all at once who he was.

“You may call me Jiddo if you like,” he said.

Jiddo . It was the first word of Arabic any of these strangers had spoken to them, and exactly what she’d expected to hear.

It meant Grandfather.

“I love the ocean,” Jiddo said. “As close to a view of home as we have here, yes?”

Hala and Tariq stood with him at the edge of the beach, looking toward the water. The air was cold, but the sky was a brilliant blue with just a few wisps of cloud floating near the horizon. Seagulls rode the breeze over their heads.

“I’ve never seen the Atlantic before,” she said.

“Ah. Well, now you have,” he said, in a way that told Hala the topic was about to turn back to business. Tariq took hold of her hand and stayed quiet. It was unusual for him to take the lead, but that’s what he did now, signaling for her not to talk anymore.

“Our Washington operations are over,” the old man said. “Rather, I should say they’ve been suspended for the time being.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hala said honestly. “We would have liked to have gone much deeper.”

“Don’t be sorry. You are invaluable, an impressive soldier. We trained you quite well, it seems.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“The jihad is not over. America is only just beginning to kneel. While they lick their wounds on one side, we will attack them from another. It will be like that until they are defeated.”

Hala smiled again. It excited her to hear him speak this way. “I hope there will be a role for us,” she said.

“Of course,” he said right away. “In fact it begins right here.”

Hala turned to see the younger man pulling a familiar case from the trunk of Jiddo’s Mercedes. It was the laptop computer she and Tariq had brought from Saudi Arabia. The one she’d been forced to leave behind at the Four Seasons.

She stared. “How did you—”

“ Psh! ” Jiddo said again. “Please don’t be surprised. That would disappoint me.”

The assistant carried the computer over and opened it on the hood of the car.

“We created a very secure system for ourselves,” Jiddo told them. “Perhaps too secure. With the man you know as Uncle out of circulation, our access to certain information has been... somewhat restricted.”

Hala understood immediately. “You need for me to open my files,” she said, to an approving smile. She stepped over to the laptop, where a flashing cursor waited on the blank screen. It took only a moment to still her racing mind. Then the sixteen characters she needed flowed out of her fingers as if by muscle memory: 23EE4XYQ9R21WV0W.

The screen blinked once, then repopulated itself with a familiar series of icons. Hala scanned through them quickly, making sure everything was as she’d left it — target names, home addresses, public schedules, maps, security contacts.

“I believe it’s all here,” she said.

“Very good,” Jiddo said. “And now—”

Tariq spoke up all at once, in a voice that was oddly grave. “ Hala! ”

She turned around and saw the other couple standing behind them. The man had his hand out. In his palm were the two cyanide capsules that had been removed from her pocket earlier.

The woman stayed to the side, covering them with her Sig from the opposite angle.

“And now,” Jiddo said again, “we must ask for one last act of dedication to The Family.”

Hala stared at the old man, understanding everything — and understanding nothing at the same time. The Family was supposed to be smart, wise.

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

“I believe you’re familiar with the terms,” he answered. “It is preferred that your deaths be deemed a suicide by the authorities.”

The words hit Hala like scalding water. And the reversal of it all. She remembered the night at the Harmony Suites Business Hotel, when she’d said virtually the same thing to the other couple. The ones she’d thought were traitors.

The ones she’d been told were traitors.

“How can you do this? After all of our service? All we went through?” she said.

Jiddo was unperturbed. “You came to this country prepared to die at any time, isn’t that so?”

“ For the cause! ” Hala spat back. “Not for this! Not for The Family’s convenience.”

“And how exactly are those different?” he asked. “Please make the right choice. If I’m not mistaken, there are... two little ones at home? Is that correct?”

“You wouldn’t!” she said. But of course, she knew that they would.

“Hala.” Tariq was there now, and as he spoke, there was more clarity in his voice than she’d heard in days. Maybe ever. “We have to, Hala. Fahd and Aamina will be taken care of. Your parents—”

“This can’t be happening!” she said.

“I won’t warn you again,” Jiddo told them.

Like something out of a waking nightmare, she watched as Tariq reached over and took the capsules from the other man. He pressed one into her shaking palm and closed her fingers around it. Then he kissed her, unapologetically. There were tears in his eyes, but love as well. So much love.

“We’ll see each other again,” he said.