Patterson, James - Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

"The records weren't destroyed, GeneralI went on.

Finally, I had his attention. “What the hell are you talking about?”

"Just what I said. The records weren't destroyed. A Kit Carson scout named Tran Van Luu brought the atrocities to the attention of his CO. None other than Colonel Owen Handler. No one would listen, of course, so Luu stole copies of the records and took them to the North Vietnamese.

“Those records were held in Hanoi until nineteen ninety-seven. Then the CIA happened to obtain copies. I got my copies from the FBI, as well as the Vietnamese Embassy. So maybe I do know a little about life in Washington's power circles. I even know that you're being considered for the Joint Chiefs. But not if any of this started to come out.”

“You're crazy,” Hutchinson huffed. “You're out of your mind.”

"Am I? Two teams of ten men each committed a hundred or more civilian murders in villages during nineteen sixty-eight and sixty-nine. You were the commanding officer. You gave the orders. When the teams got out of control, you sent in Starkey and his men to tidy up. Unfortunately, they killed a few civilians themselves. More recently, you gave the order to have Colonel Handler killed. Handler knew about your role in the An Lao Valley. Your career would have been ruined and you might have even gone to jail.

“You went up country with Starkey, Harris and Warren Griffin yourself. You were there, Hutchinson, in the An Lao Valley. You're responsible for everything that went wrong. You were there the fourth Blind Mouse.”

Hutchinson suddenly turned around in his chair. “Walker, Taravela,” he said, 'you can come in now. We've heard more than enough from this bastard."

Two men entered through a side door. They both had guns drawn, pointed at me.

“Now you don't get to leave, Dr. Cross,” said Colonel Walker. “You don't get to go home.”

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter One Hundred and Twelve

My hands were cuffed tightly behind my back. Then I was pushed outside and shoved down into the trunk of a dark sedan by the two armed men.

I lay curled up like a blanket in there. For a man my size, it was a tight squeeze.

I could feel the car back out of Hutchinson's driveway, bump over the gutter, then turn onto the street.

The sedan rode inside West Point at a reasonable speed. No more than twenty. I was sure we were leaving the grounds as the car finally sped up.

I didn't know who was up front. Whether General Hutchinson had come along with his men. It seemed likely that I was going to be killed soon. I couldn't imagine how I could get out of this one. I thought about the kids and Nana, and Jamilla, and I wondered why I'd risked my life again. Was it a sign of good character, or a serious character flaw? And did it really matter anymore?

Eventually, the car turned off the smooth highway surface onto a seriously bumpy road that was probably unpaved. I estimated we were about forty minutes from West Point. So how much longer did I have to live?

The car rolled to a stop and I heard the doors open and slam shut. Then the trunk was sprung.

The first face I saw was Hutchinson's. There was no emotion in his eyes. Nothing human looked back at me.

The two others were behind him. They had handguns pointed my way. Their stares were blank as well.

“What are you going to do?” I asked a question that I already knew the answer to.

“What we should have done the night you were with Owen Handler. Kill you,” said Colonel Walker.

“With extreme prejudice,” added the general.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen

I was lifted out of the car trunk and unceremoniously dropped on the ground. I landed hard on my hip. Rain lanced my body. Just the beginning, I knew. These bastards were out to hurt me before they killed me. I was handcuffed and there was nothing I could do to stop them.

Colonel Walker reached toward me and ripped my shirt open. The other man was pulling off my shoes, then my pants.

Suddenly, I was naked and shivering in the woods somewhere in upstate New York. The air was cold, probably in the low forties.

“Do you know what my real crime is? Do you know what I did that was so wrong in Vietnam? ”Hutchinson asked. “I gave the fucking order to fight back. They killed and maimed our men. They practiced terrorism and sadism. They tried to intimidate us in every way they could. I wouldn't be intimidated. I fought back, Cross. Just like I'm fighting back now.”

also murdered non-combatants, disgraced your command," I spat the words at him.

The general leaned in close. “You weren't there, so don't tell me what I did or didn't do. We won in the An Lao Valley. Back then, we used to say there were only two kinds in the world, the motherfuckers and the mother-fucked. I'm a motherfucker, Cross. Guess what that makes you?”

Colonel Walker and the other man had paint and brushes. They began to swab cold paint onto my body. “Thought you would appreciate this touch, ”Walker said. “I was in the An Lao Valley, too. You going to tell the Washington Post on me?”

There was nothing I could do to stop this. No one could help me either. I was naked in the world, and all alone, and now I was being painted. Their calling card before they killed me.

I shivered in the cold. I could see in their eyes that killing me meant nothing to them. They'd murdered before. Owen Handler for one.

So how much longer did I have? A few minutes? Maybe a couple of hours of torture? No more than that.

A gunshot rang out in the blackness. It seemed to come from beyond the headlights of the sedan we'd driven there in. What the hell?

A dark hole opened in Colonel Walker's face, just below his left eye. Blood spurted. He flopped over backwards, landing with a heavy thud on the forest floor. The back of his head was gone, just blown away.

The second soldier tried to duck, and a bullet drilled his lower spine. He screamed, then fell and rolled right over me.

I saw men come swarming out of the woods at least half a dozen. I counted nine, ten of them. I couldn't see who they were in the darkness. Who in hell was rescuing me?

Then, as they came closer, moonlight illuminated some of the features. My God! I didn't know them, but I knew where they had come from and who had sent them -either to follow me, or to kill Hutchinson.

The Ghost Shadows were here.

Tran Van Luu's people had been tracking me. Or Hutchinson.

They were speaking in Vietnamese. I didn't understand a word they were saying. Two of them grabbed the general and threw him to the ground. They began to kick him in the head, the chest, stomach, and the genitals. He cried out in pain, but the beating continued, almost as if they couldn't hear him.

They left me alone. But I had no illusions I was a witness to this. I lay with my face pressed against the ground. I watched the attack from the lowest vantage point. The beating of General Hutchinson seemed unreal and almost inhuman. They were kicking Colonel Walker and the other soldier now as well. Beating the dead!

One of them took out a serrated knife and cut Hutchinson. His scream pierced the night. It was obvious they wanted to hurt the general, but not kill him. They meant to torture and terrorize, to wreak havoc.

One of Luu's men pulled out a straw doll. He threw the doll at Hutchinson. He then stabbed the general in the lower stomach. Hutchinson screamed again. The stomach wound wouldn't be fatal. The torture was going to continue. And sooner or later they would paint all of our bodies.

I believe in rituals and symbolism, and I believe in revenge.

Tran Van Luu had told me that in prison.