Patterson, James - Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

The call didn't come, and I threw myself into the work. Nana would be home tomorrow. I needed to stop worrying about her and put my mind to better use.

The Army records were interesting, but also about as depressing as an IRS audit. Obviously there had been rogue activity in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. The Army, at least officially, seemed to turn away and not look too closely at what had happened. There weren't civilian review boards, of course, like the police departments had to investigate misconduct. The press had no way to judge what was going on either. They rarely interviewed victims' families in the small villages. Plus, few of the American reporters spoke much Vietnamese. The good and the bad of it was that the Army had sometimes fought fire with fire. Maybe it was the only way to effectively fight a guerrilla war. But I still didn't know what had happened over there to inspire the murders stateside during the past few years.

I spent several grueling hours looking through more records of Colonel Thomas Starkey, Captain Brownley Harris and Sergeant Warren Griffin. I saw that their Army careers were exemplary, at least in written form. I went back as far as Vietnam and the pattern continued. Starkey was a highly decorated officer; Harris and Griffin were good soldiers. There was nothing in the records about assassinations in Vietnam committed by the trio. Not a single word.

I wanted to know when they had met and where they had served together. I kept leafing through records,

hoping, but not finding the connect point. I knew they'd fought together in Vietnam and Cambodia. I went through every page a second time.

But there was nothing in any of the records to indicate they'd worked together in Southeast Asia. Not a goddamn word.

I sat back and stared out onto Fifth Street, letting my eyes glaze over. There was only one conclusion I could come up with, and I didn't like it.

The Army records had been doctored.

But why? And by whom?

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter One Hundred and Four

It wasn't over yet. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, and I hated the queasy feeling, the uncertainty, the lack of closure. Or maybe I just couldn't let go. All those unsolved murders. Who was the real killer? Who was behind the strange murders?

A week after the shootings in Georgia, I sat in Ronald Burns's office on the fifth floor of FBI headquarters in Washington. Burns's assistant, a crew-cut male in his mid-twenties, had just brought us coffee in beautiful china cups. There were also fresh mini-pastries on a silver tray.

“Pulling out all the stops?” I asked the director. “Hot coffee and Danish.”

“You got it,” he said, 'shameless manipulation. Go with it."

I'd known him for years, but it was only during the past few months that I'd worked closely with Burns. What I'd seen so far, I liked, but I'd been fooled before.

“How's Kyle Craig doing?” I asked him.

“We're trying to make it as uncomfortable as possible for him out in Colorado,” Burns said. He allowed himself a smile. “We have to keep him in solitary most of the day. For his own protection, of course. He hates being by himself. Drives him crazier. No one to show off to.”

“No psychiatrists in there trying to figure him out?”

Burns shook his head. “No, no. Not a good idea. That would be too dangerous for them.”

“Besides, Kyle would like the attention. He craves it. He's a junkie for it.”

“Exactly.”

We smiled at the image of Kyle locked away in seclusion, hopefully for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, I knew he had made contact with others in the max security unit -particularly Tran Van Luu.

“You don't think Kyle had anything to do with these killings?” Burns finally asked.

“I checked that out as much as I could. There's no evidence he knew Luu before he was assigned to Florence.”

“I know he visited out there, Alex, when he was still with the Bureau. He was definitely on the max security unit as well as death row. He could have met Luu. It's possible. I'm afraid you never know with Kyle.”

I almost didn't want to think about the possibility that Kyle might be behind the diabolical murder scheme somehow. But it was possible. Still, it seemed so unlikely that I didn't give it much credence.

“You had any time to think about my offer? ”Burns asked.

“I still don't have an answer for you. I'm sorry. This is a big decision for me and my family. If it's any consolation, once I land I don't jump around.”

“Okay, that's fine with me. You understand I can't leave the offer on the table indefinitely?”

I nodded. “I appreciate the way you're handling this. You always this patient?”

“Whenever I can be,” Burns said, and left it at that. He picked up a couple of manila folders from the coffee table between our chairs and slid them my way.

“I have something for you, Alex. Take a look.”

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter One Hundred and Five

More of the Bureau's resources that you want me to I see,"

I said, and smiled at Burns.

“You'll like this. It's real good stuff. I hope it's helpful. I want to see you get some closure on this Army case. We're interested in this one, too.”

I reached into one of the folders and pulled out what looked like a faded patch off of a jacket. I held it up to examine the cloth more closely. The patch was green khaki with what looked like a crossbow sewn into the fabric. There was also a straw doll on the patch. An eerie, awful straw doll. The same kind I'd first seen in Ellis Cooper's house.

“The patch came from the jacket of a sixteen-year-old gang member in New York City. The gang he belonged to is named Ghost Shadows. They use different coffee shops on Canal Street in New York as headquarters. It's called roving turf,” Burns said.

“A task force we ran with the NYPD brought the gang banger in. He decided to trade some information he thought might be valuable to them. It wasn't. But it could be valuable to you.”

“How so?”I asked.

“He says he's sent you several e-mails during the past month, Alex. He used computers at a technical high school in New York.”

“He's Foot Soldier?” I asked, and shook my head in amazement.

"No. But he may be a messenger for Foot Soldier. He's Vietnamese. The symbol of the crossbow is from a popular folktale. In the story, the crossbow could kill ten thousand men every time it was fired. The Ghost Shadows think of themselves as very powerful. They're big into symbols, myth, magic.

“As I said, this kid and his fellow gang bangers spend most of their time in the coffee shops. Playing ding lung, drinking Cafe Su Da. The gang moved to New York from Orange County in California. Over one hundred fifty thousand Viet refugees have settled in Orange County since the seventies. The gang in New York favored Vietnamese-style criminal activities. Smuggling illegal aliens called snake heads credit card fraud, software and computer parts heists. That help you?”

I nodded. “Of course it does.”

Burns handed me another folder. “This might help too. It's information about the former leader of the Viet gang.”

TranVan Luu."

Burns nodded. “I did a tour in sixty-nine and seventy. I was in the Marines. We had our own re-con people. They'd get dropped into hostile territory, just like Starkey and company. Vietnam was a guerrilla war, Alex. Some of our people acted like guerrillas. Their job was to wreak havoc behind enemy lines. They were tough, brave, but more than a few of them got incredibly desensitized. Sometimes they practiced situational ethics.”

“Wreak havoc?” I said. “You're talking about terrorism, aren't you?”