Patterson, James - Alex Cross 14 - Cross Country

“He needs to be stopped, sir. Yesterday he murdered a reporter for the Guardian named Adanne Tansi. I saw him kill her. He murdered her entire family. He's responsible for at least eight deaths in Washington.”

Finally, Oweleen exploded. “Who the hell are you? I never even heard of you until three days ago, and now I'm taking time out for this? Do you have any idea what's going on here?”

He waved his hand at the plasma TV on the wall. “Turn that up.”

One of the aides pushed a button on a remote-and then I watched the TV in shocked silence and with dread.

Cross Country

Chapter 118

THE TV WAS tuned to CNN. A British reporter was speaking over an image of an upscale housing complex-white two-story buildings in neat rows, shot from high above.

The overlay read “Breaking News-Summit Oil Residential Compound, Bonny Island, Nigeria.”

“Never before have families been taken,” the reporter was saying, “and certainly never this number of live hostages. In an e-mail to the international press, People for the Liberation of the Niger Delta now have claimed responsibility for the incident-with these shocking images attached to their message.”

The screen switched to grainy infrared video.

Dozens of people sat along the floor of a dark hallway. Their heads were covered and hands tied, but it was easy to tell there were men, women, and children on the film. Some of them were crying, others moaning piteously.

“Those are British and American citizens,” Ambassador Oweleen informed me. “Every one of them. Consider yourself lucky to get a flight out of here at all.”

“What flight? When?”

He held up a hand, looking back at the TV. “Look at this, will you? Do you see what's happening?” Armed troops were streaming out of a truck single file.

The British reporter went on: "Government forces have established a perimeter around the entire complex, while economic pressure mounts internationally.

“With more attacks promised, oil-production facilities are shutting down regionwide, approaching an unprecedented seventy percent slowdown, which is considered to be catastrophic.”

“Chinese, French, Dutch, and of course US interests in particular are at stake. Under normal trade conditions, Nigeria provides about twenty percent of American oil.”

A phone buzzed on the desk. Ambassador Oweleen picked it up. “Yes?” he said, and then, “Send them in.”

“Sir,” I tried again. “I'm not asking for much. I just need to make one phone call-”

“We'll get you a shower and some fresh clothes right away. And we'll take care of any immigration issues. We can get you a new passport right away. But then you're gone. Forget about your manhunt. As of right now, it's over.”

I finally snapped at him. “I don't need a shower! Or fresh clothes. I need you to listen to me. I just witnessed a reporter named Adanne Tansi being murdered at the Kirikiri Prison. She was writing an important story that has relevance to the violence near the oil fields.”

The doors to the office opened, and Oweleen's eyes shifted right past me. It was as though the moment I raised my voice, I'd lost him. He didn't even respond to what I'd said.

He spoke directly to the double marine escort waiting there. “We're all done here. Take Detective Cross downstairs and get him cleaned up for travel back to the US.”

Cross Country

Chapter 119

THE TWO MARINES were polite and respectful enough but very mission oriented as they escorted me to a subbasement locker room.

It had tall wooden lockers and a faded carpet, a tiled steam room and whirlpool, and a small area for showering. As promised, I was given a fresh towel.

One of the marines asked me my trouser, shirt, and shoe size and then left. The other marine told me I had about ten minutes to shower and dress, so I ought to get started. Both of the marines were black-probably no coincidence there.

There were four stalls, each with a curtained changing cubicle in front. I stood inside the last one, my mind racing while the clock ran down on my time in the country.

What was I going to do? There were no windows in the room, and there was only one exit. I turned on the water, just to sound busy.

Then I leaned in and let it pour over my head.

Suddenly my whole body was shaking. I was remembering Adanne, and that had to stop, for now, anyway

A minute later, I heard someone moving around outside. A curtain slid open and closed. One of the other showers was turned on.

Someone was humming that James Blunt ballad that was always on the radio, the one where he keeps repeating the word beautiful.

I took off the remnants of my shirt. Then I stuck my head under the water again, and leaned back out, dripping on the floor.

“Hey, can you get me another towel?” I asked the guard.

I had noticed there were stacks of them by the entrance when we'd come in.

“Why do you need two?” he leaned inside the shower and said.

“Are you kidding? You saw the way I look. And smell.”

He shook his head but went to get the extra towel.

“Thanks,” I called.

I immediately stepped over to the other cubicle, holding the curtain rings to keep them from singing on the bar.

Whoever was showering next to me had hung his clothes on a hook in the changing stall.

I rifled through the pants pockets and found just what I was hoping for-a cell phone.

Seconds later, I was back in my own stall-just before the marine looped a white terry towel over the top of the bar. “You'd better pick up the pace,” he said from outside the curtain.

I turned the shower up as hard-and as loud-as it would go.

Then I dialed Ian Flaherty's number.

He answered himself.

Cross Country

Chapter 120

“FLAHERTY,” I SAID. “It's Alex Cross.”

“Cross? Where are you?”

“I'm at the consulate. I'm in Africa. They're sending me out of the country. It's going down right now. I need you to talk to someone and get it stopped. I'm close to the bastard, the Tiger.”

He didn't even pause before he answered. “No can do. I can't cover for you anymore.”

“I don't need you to cover for me. Adanne Tansi is dead-he killed her. I need you to make a call or two. I can break this case now.”

“You don't get it,” Flaherty said. “You're done over here. Game over. Go home and stay there. Forget about Abi Sowande. Or whatever his name is now.”

The water in the other shower stopped. The man in there started whistling. I hit the heel of my hand against my forehead, putting it all together. Flaherty hadn't been covering for me at all. 1 had this all wrong, right from the beginning.

“I was covering for you, wasn't I?” I said.

The whistling in the next stall stopped for a second and then continued.

“That's why you wanted people thinking I was CIA. I was out in the open. While you played covert, I was a useful distraction.”

“Listen.” I could hear in Flaherty's voice that he was done. “I've got to run. We saved your bacon a couple of times. Be thankful. There's a war going on here. Get the hell out of Dodge-call me from the States.”

“Flaherty!”

He hung up at the same time that the shower curtain flew open.

The marine who'd fetched the towel was there and looking totally pissed off. He pushed me into the wall and pinned my wrist. I didn't struggle with him. For one thing, my shoulder was howling with pain. When he reached for the cell phone, I just opened my hand and let him take it.

Game over, all right.

I was going home.

Whether I wanted to or not.

Honestly, I had mixed feelings.