Patterson, James - Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel

I turned the southern end of our attic into a war room. There was an excess of unused space up there anyway. I moved an old mahogany dining table out from the shadows. I rewired an ancient window fan and it made the attic space almost bearable most days.

Especially early in the morning and late in the evening, when I did my best work up there - in my hermitage.

I set up my laptop on the table, and I pinned different-colored index cards to the walls, to keep what I considered the most important pieces of the case before me at all times. Inside several bulky and misshapen cardboard boxes I had all the rest of it: every scrap of evidence on Christine's abduction; and everything I could find on the Jane Does.

The murder cases formed a maddening puzzle, created over several years, that was not given to easy solutions. I was trying to play a complex game, against a skillful opponent, but I didn't know the rules of his game, or how it was played. That was Shafer's unfair advantage.

I had found some useful notes in Patsy Hampton's detective logs, and they led me to interview the teenage boy, Michael Ormson, who'd chatted online with Shafer about The Four Horsemen. I continued to work closely with Chuck Hufstedler of the FBI. Chuck felt guilty about giving Patsy Hampton the original lead, especially since I'd come to him first. I used his guilt.

Both the Bureau and Interpol were doing an active search of the game on the Internet. I'd visited countless chatrooms myself, but had encountered no one, other than young Ormson, who was aware of the mysterious game. It was only because Shafer had taken a chance and gone into the chatroom that he'd been discovered. I wondered what other chances he'd taken.

Following Shafer's arrest at the Farragut, we'd had a little time to search his Jaguar, and I also spent nearly an hour at his home - before his lawyers knew I was there. I spoke to his wife, Lucy, and his son, Robert, who confirmed that he played a game called The Four Horsemen. He had been playing for seven or eight years.

Neither the wife nor the son knew any of the other players, or anything about them. They didn't believe that Geoffrey Shafer had done anything wrong.

The son called his father 'the straight arrow of straight arrows'. Lucy Shafer called him 'a good man', and seemed to believe it.

I found role-playing-game magazines as well as dozens of sets of game dice in Shafer's den, but no other physical evidence concerning his game. Shafer was careful. He covered his tracks well. He was in intelligence, after all. I couldn't imagine him throwing dice to select his victims, but maybe that helped to account for the irregular pattern of the Jane Does.

His attorney, Jules Halpern, complained loudly and vigorously about the invasion of Shafer's home, and had I uncovered any useful evidence, it would have been suppressed. Unfortunately, I didn't have enough time, and Shafer was too clever to keep anything incriminating at his home. He'd made one big mistake; he wasn't likely to make another. Was he?

Sometimes, very late at night as I worked in the attic, I would stop for a while and remember something about Christine. The memories were painful and sad, but also soothing to me. I began to look forward to these times when I could think about her without any interruption. Some nights, I would wander down to the piano in the sun porch and play songs that had been important to us -'Unforgettable', 'Moonglow', 'Swonderful'. I could still remember how she looked, especially when I visited at her place - faded jeans, bare feet, T-shirt, or maybe a favorite yellow crewneck sweater she liked, a tortoiseshell comb in her long hair that always smelled of shampoo.

I didn't want to feel sorry for myself, but I just couldn't help feeling miserably bad. I was caught in limbo, not knowing one way or the other what had really happened to Christine. I couldn't let her go.

It was paralyzing me, crippling me, making me feel so damn sad and empty. I knew I needed to move on with my life, but I couldn't do it. I needed answers, at least a few of them. Is Christine part of the game? I kept wondering. I was obsessed with the game.

Am I part of it?

I believed that I was. And in a way I hoped she was, too. It was my only hope that she might still be alive.

Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel

CHAPTER Eighty-One

And so I found myself a player in a truly bizarre game that was habit-forming for all the wrong reasons. I began to make up my own rules. I brought in new players. I was in the game to win.

Chuck Hufstedler from the FBI offices in DC continued to be helpful. The more I talked to him, the more I realized that he'd had a serious crush on Detective Hampton. His loss, and mine with Christine, had united us.

I climbed up to the attic late on Friday night after watching The Mask of Zorro with Damon, Jannie, Nana, and Rosie the cat. I had a few more facts to check before going to bed.

I booted up the computer, logged on and heard the familiar - you have mail. Ever since that night in Bermuda, the message gave me a terrible fright, a chill that tightened my body from head to toe.

Sandy Greenberg from Interpol was returning one of my messages. She and I had worked together on the Mr. Smith case and had become friends. I'd given her several things to check for me.

CALL ME ANY TIME TONIGHT, ALEX, AND I MEAN ANY TIME. YOUR IRRITATING DOGGED-NESS MAY HAVE PAID OFF. IT'S VITALLY IMPORTANT THAT YOU CALL. SANDY.

I called Sandy in Europe and she picked up after the second ring. 'Alex? I think we found one of them. It was your bloody idea that worked. Shafer was playing a game with at least one of his old cronies from MI6. You were spot on.'

'Are you sure it's one of the game-players?' I asked her.

'Pretty sure,' she shot back. 'I'm sitting here now staring at a copy of Diirer's Four Horsemen, on my Mac. As you know, the Horsemen are Conqueror, Famine, War and Death. What a creepy bunch. Anyway, I did what you asked. I talked to some contacts from MI6 who found out that Shafer and this one chap regularly keep in touch on the computer. I have all your notes, too, and they're very good. I can't believe how much you figured out from back there in the colonies. You're a very sick puppy too.'

'Thanks,' I said. I let Sandy ramble on for a few minutes. A while back I recognized that she was a lonely person, and, even though she sometimes put up a cantankerous front, craved company.

'The name he uses in the game is Conqueror. Conqueror lives in Dorking, in England,' Sandy told me. 'His name is Oliver Highsmith, and he's retired from MI6. Alex, he was running several agents in Asia at the same time Shafer was there. Shafer worked under him. It's eight in the morning over here. Why don't you call the bastard?' she suggested. 'Send him an e-mail. I have a number for him, Alex.'

I started to wonder about the other players in The Four Horsemen game. Were there four of them - or was that just the name of the game? Who were these players? How was the game actually played? Did all, or indeed any of them, act out their fantasies in real life?

My message to Conqueror was simple and straightforward, and not too threatening, I hoped. I didn't see how he could resist answering me.

DEAR MR. HIGHSMITH,

I AM A HOMICIDE DETECTIVE IN WASHINGTON, DC, LOOKING FOR INFORMATION ABOUT COLONEL GEOFFREY SHAFER PERTAINING TO THE FOUR HORSEMEN. I UNDERSTAND THAT SHAFER WORKED FOR YOU IN ASIA. TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE. I NEED YOUR HELP. PLEASE CONTACT DETECTIVE ALEX CROSS.

Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel

CHAPTER Eighty-Two

I was surprised when a message came right back. Oliver Highsmith, Conqueror, must have been online when my e-mail went through.

DETECTIVE CROSS. I AM WELL AWARE OF YOU, SINCE THE ONGOING MURDER TRIAL IS A RATHER BIG STORY IN ENGLAND, AND IN THE REST OF EUROPE, FOR THAT MATTER. I HAVE KNOWN G.S. FOR A DOZEN YEARS OR MORE. HE DID WORK UNDER ME, BRIEFLY. HE IS MORE AN ACQUAINTANCE THAN A CLOSE FRIEND, SO I HAVE NO EXPERTISE OR BIAS ABOUT HIS GUILT OR INNOCENCE. I HOPE IT'S THE LATTER, OF COURSE.