Patterson, James - Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

I slipped on the night goggles I'd brought with me. I hoped they would give me an advantage. Maybe not,

probably not. Starkey and Griffin would have the best, too. They worked for a company that manufactured high-tech equipment, didn't they?

I kept reminding myself that I'd taken out Brownley Harris. It gave me some confidence. He'd looked so utterly surprised to see me. Now he was dead, his arrogance gone, exploded in an instant by a bullet.

But how could I surprise Starkey and Griffin? They must have heard the shot. Maybe they thought it came from Harris. No, they had to know he was dead.

For a couple of minutes I considered a flat-out run. Maybe I could get to the road. I doubted it, though. More likely I'd be shot down trying.

They were good at this, but Harris had been good, too. He was experienced, and now he was lying dead in a ditch. I had his rifle in my hands.

Patience. Wait on them. They have questions and doubts, too.

I watched Sampson's body for another few seconds, then I had to turn away. I couldn't think about him now. I mustn't, or I would die as well.

I never heard it coming a sudden blast of deafening gunfire. One or both of them had gotten between me and the cabin. I spun in the direction of the shots. Then a voice pierced the darkness.

Close behind me.

“Put down the gun, Cross. I don't want to kill you. Not just yet.”

Warren Griffin was down in the hollow with me. I saw him now. He had a rifle aimed at my chest. He wore night goggles and looked like an alien.

Then Thomas Starkey appeared, also wearing goggles. He was above the gully, staring down. He had an M-16 aimed right at my face and he was smiling horribly. His victory grin.

“You couldn't leave it alone, asshole. So now Brownley's dead. So's your partner,” said Starkey. “You satisfied yet?”

“You forgot the two women. And the lawyer,” I said.

It was strange to be looking at Griffin and Starkey through the night vision glasses, knowing that they were seeing me the same way. I wanted to take them down so much it hurt. Unfortunately that wasn't going to happen.

“What the hell happened in Vietnam?” I asked Starkey. “What started all of this? What the hell was it?”

“Everybody who was over there knows what happened. Nobody wants to talk about it. Things got out of hand.”

“Like what, Starkey? How did it get this bad?”

“At first, there was a rogue platoon on the loose. That's what we were told anyway. We were sent to the An Lao Valley to stop them. To clean it up.”

“You mean murder our own soldiers? Those were your orders, Starkey? Who the hell is behind this? Why the murders now?”

I was going to die, but I still wanted answers. I needed to know the truth. Hell of an epitaph. Alex Cross. Died seeking the truth.

“I don't even fucking know,” Starkey hissed. "Not all of it. I'm not going to talk about it anymore either. Maybe what I'm going to do... is cut you into little pieces. That happened over there. I'll show you what was done in the

An Lao Valley. See this knife. It's called a K-Bar. I'm really good with it. I've had some practice recently."

“I know you have. I've seen some of your butchery.”

Then the strangest thing I could ever imagine happened. It blew my wheels off, completely blew my mind into a thousand pieces.

I was staring past Starkey. But something was different in the background. At first I didn't know what, then I did and my knees became weak.

Sampson was gone!

I didn't see his body anyway. At first I figured I was just disoriented. But then I was sure I wasn't. His body had been over there near a tall beech tree. Now it wasn't there.

No warnings, Alex.

No prisoners.

Do you understand what I'm saying?

I heard his words echo inside my head. I could hear the exact sound of it.

“Put down your guns,” I said to Starkey and Griffin. “Drop them right now. Now!”

They looked puzzled, but kept their guns aimed at me.

“I'm going to cut you everywhere,” Starkey said. “This is gonna take hours. We'll be here 'til morning. I promise.”

“Put down the guns!” I heard Sampson's voice before I saw him walk out from behind a tree. And the knife, Starkey! You're not cutting anybody."

Warren Griffin spun around. Two shots instantly caught him in the throat and upper chest. His gun went off as he fell over backwards to the ground. Arterial blood pumped from his wounds as he died.

“Starkey, no!”I yelled. “No!”

Thomas Starkey had raised his gun at me. Then he took one high in the chest. It didn't stop him. A second shot stung him in the side and spun him full around. A third blasted through his forehead and he went down for good in a bloody heap. His gun and K-Bar fell into the gully near my feet. His blank eyes stared into the night sky.

No prisoners.

Sampson was weaving toward me. As he came forward he rasped, “I'm okay, I'm okay.”

Just before he collapsed into my arms.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

PART FIVE

FOUR BLIND MICE

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter One Hundred

As it turned out, Jamilla was a life-send after the shootings in Georgia.

She called every day, often two or three times, and we talked until she could tell I was healing some. Sampson was the one who'd been physically wounded, and he was healing now too, but I was the one who seemed hurt the most. There had been too much killing, for too long, in my life.

Early one morning Dr. Kayla Coles arrived at the house on Fifth Street. She marched right into the kitchen where Nana and I were eating breakfast.

“What's that?” she pointed an accusatory finger and asked with an arched eyebrow.

“It's decaf. Just terrible. A memory of real coffee, and a bad one at that, ”Nana told her with a straight face.

“No, I'm talking about Alex's plate. What are you eating?”

I pointed out the ingredients for her. "These are two eggs, over-easy. What's left of two hot sausage patties.

Home fries, slightly burned. The remains of a homemade sticky bun. Mmm mmm good."

“You made this for him?” She looked at Nana in horror.

“No, Alex made it for himself. He's been cooking most of the breakfasts since my fainting spell. He's treating himself this morning because his big murder case is finally over. And he's feeling better.”

“Then I take it you don't always eat like this?”

I smiled at her. “No, Doctor. I don't usually eat eggs, sausage, sticky buns and greasy potatoes. I was almost killed down in Georgia, and I'm celebrating that I wasn't. I guess that I prefer death by breakfast. Care to join us?”

She laughed out loud. “I thought you'd never ask. I smelled something heavenly when I opened the car door. I followed it all the way to the kitchen.”

Kayla Coles asked a few questions about the case while she ate a single egg, orange juice, just a bite of a sticky bun. I glossed over most of the details of the case, but I gave her a feel for the three killers and what they had done, and what I knew about why, which wasn't enough, but that's the way it goes sometimes.

“Where's John Sampson now?” she wanted to know.

“Mantoloking, New Jersey,” I said. “He's recovering from his wounds, among other things. He has a nurse. A live-in, I hear.”

“She's his girlfriend,” said Nana. “That's what he really needed anyway.”

After breakfast Dr. Coles gave Nana a physical right there in the house. She took her temperature, pulse, blood pressure, listened to her chest with a stethoscope, then did a P and A. She checked for fluid buildup in Nana's ankles, the tops of her feet and hands, under her eyes. She looked into Nana's eyes and ears, tested her reflexes, looked at the color of her lips and nail beds. I knew all the elements of the test and possibly could have done the exam myself, but Nana liked getting visits from Kayla Coles.