Patterson, James - Alex Cross 14 - Cross Country

I also passed around a set of photos, keeping them chronological.

Then I covered everything I'd learned or heard about gang leaders in Africa, including what I'd read in Ellie's book. Only then did I mention the CIA officers who had shown up at the first murder scene.

“We won't comment on that,” said Dana. “Not at this point.”

“I'm not looking for you to open your files to me,” I said to Dana. “But I'd like to know if you're tracking a killer stateside. And if you are, do you have any idea where he is?”

Dana listened to what I had to say, then shoved a stack of papers back into a file and stood up.

“Okay. Thank you, Detective Cross. This has been most helpful. We'll get back to you. Let us do our thing here for a few days.”

It wasn't the response I wanted. “Hold on, what are you talking about? Get back to me now.”

It was a bad moment. Dana stared at his analysts with a look that said, Didn't anyone brief this guy?

Then he looked back at me, not impolitely. “I think I understand your urgency, Detect-”

“I don't think you do,” I cut in. I looked over at Al Tunney, who was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Al, is this a joint decision?”

Tunney's eyes played tennis between me and Dana. “No one's decided anything, Alex. We just can't turn over information that quickly,” he finally said. “That's not how we work. You knew that when you came here.”

“You can't or you won't?” I asked, looking at Tunney first, then at Dana.

“We won't,” Dana said. “And it's my decision, no one else's. You have no idea what kind of damage this man and his team are responsible for.”

I leaned across the table. “All the more reason to drop any turf wars, don't you think? We're here for the same reason,” I said.

Dana stood at the table. “We'll get back to you.” Then he left the room. How very CIA of him.

Cross Country

Chapter 14

BUT I COULDN'T let it go like that, and I didn't.

In the wide, mostly empty corridor outside the conference room, I called to Al Tunney before he could get away. “Hey, Al! I meant to ask you how Trish and the kids are doing.” I held up a hand to my building escort. “I'll just be a second.”

Al was giving me a disgusted look as I walked over to him. I knew he had a wife, but unless I was psychic, her name probably wasn't Trish.

I started right in with him. “You know something, or you wouldn't be at that meeting. Neither would Dana. Your guys were at the murder scene. Help me out here. Anything, something, Al.”

“Alex, I can't. This case is even hotter than you think it is. You heard my boss in there. It goes right to the top of our group. Steven Millard is involved. Trust me, there is an investigation going on. We're taking it very seriously.”

“Eric Dana doesn't know me, and neither does Steven Millard, but you do. You know what I can get done. I don't have to prove that to you, do I?” A large department seal loomed over us in the hall. I took a step to the side so Tunney wouldn't be looking up at it.

“Very funny,” he said.

“Come on, Al. Two families have died already. Doesn't that mean anything?”

Then Tunney said a really odd thing. “Not as much as you might think. There are other monsters.”

My escort called over from the intersection in the corridor. “Detective Cross? This way?”

“One second.” I turned back to Tunney again. “Ellie Cox was a dear friend. Nicole Cox was thirteen. Clara was six. James ten. The four Ahmed kids? All younger than twelve. They didn't just die, Al. Their heads were cut off. Whoever did it is on a par with Hannibal Lecter. Only this is real.”

“I know the case by heart,” he said. “I've got it.”

“You have kids, right? I've got three. Damon, Jannie, and Ali. What about you?”

“Jesus.” Tunney shook his head at me. “You got mean somewhere along the way.”

“Not mean, Al. I'm trying to solve some horrific murders. Something tells me the trail might go to Africa. Is that true?”

I could tell he was close to giving me something. I put a hand on his shoulder and ratcheted down my tone a little. “I'm not asking for any deep agency secrets. I'm talking about existing police business. In my own jurisdiction. At least for now.”

Tunney looked down at the floor tile for a few seconds, then over at my escort, then back at the floor. Without looking up, he said, “There's been some talk about a deal going down. We got this from the FBI. Service Plaza in Virginia. Chantilly, Virginia. Might be your guy. You'd be within your rights to intercept.”

“What kind of deal?”

Tunney didn't answer. He put out his hand, with a smile broad enough for the escort to see. His voice rose just a notch. “It was good seeing you again, Alex. And say hello to Bree for me. Like I said, I know this case by heart. It is horrific. Boy shot your friend. And please remember this, we're still the good guys, Alex. No matter what you might read or see in the movies.”

Cross Country

Chapter 15

BY EIGHT O'CLOCK that night, I had gathered together a half dozen handpicked officers from Major Case Squad, plus Bree, Sampson, and myself. We wore Kevlar vests under plain clothes and were heavily armed and wired, waiting at the service plaza in Chantilly, Virginia, where something might be going down involving my killer.

We were scheduled for a twelve-hour shift, eight to eight if we needed it. The team was already spread out over five sectors: front car park, restaurant, gas station, and both sides of the big truck lot in back. Sampson had a hip problem, so he was on the roof observing for us. Bree and I traded off roaming and covering the communications van parked near the entrance, with another good view of the service plaza.

There was no sign of the CIA. Had they not shown up yet?

For the first five hours, there was nothing but radio silence and lots of bad coffee.

Then just after one in the morning, the silence broke.

“Twenty-two-oh-one. Over.”

“Go ahead, twenty-two-oh-one.”

I looked over from the communications van toward the far corner of the truck lot, where a detective named Jamal McDonald was stationed.

“I got two Land Cruisers. Just pulled up to a tanker in the back. Northeast corner.”

“How long has the tanker been there?” I asked McDonald.

“Hard to say, Alex. At least half an hour. Most of these tankers been pulling in and out.”

We hadn't known what to expect tonight, but stolen gas or crude would make sense, especially if Nigerians were involved. I was already out of the van and walking quickly in Jamal's direction. Two dozen or more semis, lined up in rows, were temporarily blocking my view of the corner.

“Nicolo, Redman, pull in tighter. Bree, where are you right now?”

“I'm behind the buildings. Headed east.”

“Good. Everyone else hold position. What about you, John? See anything yet?”

“Nothing from here,” Sampson radioed back. “Nobody's moving around over there. Just you guys.”

“Jamal, how close are you?”

“Hang on. Just coming around a semi.” I caught sight of him briefly up near the last row of trucks as I crossed the parking lot. Bree fell in silently beside me.

I had my Glock out, low at my side. So did she. Was the killer here with his team? Were they the same ones who had killed the Coxes and the Ahmeds?

“Somebody's getting out of the cab,” Jamal McDonald whispered. “No, two people. There's four others I can see approaching from the Land Cruisers. Looks like a satchel of some kind. This must be it. Hang on.” There was a brief silence and then, “Shit! I think they see me. Looks like little kids-teenagers!”