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

He sped up Massachusetts Avenue, past the British Embassy and the vice-president's house. He wondered if he was being followed and assumed it was possible. Alex Cross and the other police were out there, just waiting to get him. He hadn't spotted them yet, which only meant that they were getting serious now.

He made a quick right, hit a traffic circle, and shot onto Nebraska Avenue headed toward American University. He snaked around back roads near the university, then got on Wisconsin, and sped toward the mall.

He entered Bloomingdale's, found the department store sparsely crowded, a little depressing actually. Good, he despised the American shopping scene anyway. It reminded him of Lucy and her brood. He walked at a leisurely pace through the men's clothing section. He picked up a few overpriced Ralph Lauren Polo sport shirts, and then two pairs of dark trousers.

He draped a black Giorgio Armani suit over his arm and took the bundle into the changing rooms. At a security desk inside he handed the clothes to an attendant on duty, to curtail shoplifters, no doubt.

'Changed my mind,' he said.

'That's not a problem, sir.'

Shafer then jogged down a narrow corridor that led to a rear exit. He sprinted toward the glass doors, then burst into a parking lot in back. He saw signs for Bruno Cipriani and Lord Taylor, and knew he was heading in the right direction.

A Ford Taurus was parked there near the F pole. Shafer jumped inside, started it up, and drove up the Rockville Pike to Montrose Crossing, a little over a mile away.

He didn't think anyone was following now. He passed Montrose, and headed north to the Federal Plaza shopping center. Once he was there, he entered Cyber Exchange, which sold new and used software and lots of computers.

His eyes darted left and right, until he saw exactly what he needed.

'I'd like to try out the new iMac,' he told the salesperson who approached him.

'Be my guest. You need any assistance, holler,' the salesperson said. 'It's easy.'

'Yes, I think I'm fine. I'll call if I get stuck. I'm pretty sure I'm going to buy the iMac, though.'

'Excellent choice.'

'Yes. Excellent, excellent.'

The lazy clerk left him alone and Shafer immediately booted on. The display model was connected online. He felt a rush of manic excitement, but also a tinge of sadness as he typed in his message to the other players. He'd thought this through and knew what had to be said, what had to be done.

GREETINGS AND SALUTATIONS. THIS GLORIOUS AND UNPRECEDENTED ADVENTURE OF EIGHT YEARS, THE FOUR HORSEMEN, IS NEARLY AT AN END NOW. YOU HAVE STATED YOUR CASE VERY LOGICALLY, AND I ACCEPT THE REGRETTABLE CONCLUSION YOU'VE REACHED. THE GAME HAS BECOME TOO DANGEROUS. SO I PROPOSE THAT WE CREATE AN UNFORGETTABLE ENDING. I BELIEVE THAT A FACE-TO-FACE MEETING IS A FITTING END. IT'S THE ONLY CONCLUSION THAT I CAN ACCEPT. THIS WAS INEVITABLE, I SUPPOSE, AND WE HAVE DISCUSSED IT MANY TIMES BEFORE. YOU KNOW WHERE THE GAME ENDS. I PROPOSE THAT WE START PLAY ON THURSDAY. TRUST ME, I WILL BE THERE FOR THE GRAND FINALE. IF NECESSARY, I CAN BEGIN THE GAME WITHOUT YOU. DON'T MAKE ME DO THAT... DEATH.

?CHAPTER One Hundred and Eight

At nine o'clock on Monday morning, Shafer joined the monotonous, stomach-turning line of workaday morons stuck in traffic headed in the direction of Embassy Row. He had the intoxicating thought that he would never be going to work again after today. Everything in his life was about to change. He couldn't go back.

His heart was pounding as he stopped and waited at the green light on Massachusetts Avenue near the embassy. Car horns beeped behind him, and he was reminded of his suicide run a year ago. Those were the days, damn it. Then he blasted through on the red. He ran. He had rehearsed his escape. This was for keeps.

He saw two blocks of clear roadway ahead and he floored the gas. The Jaguar leaped forward, raw phallic power, as it were. The sports car rocketed toward the puzzle of side streets around American University.

Ten minutes later he was turning into the White Flint Mall at fifty, gunning the Jag up to fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five as he sped across the mostly empty lot. He was sure no one had followed him.

He drove toward a large Borders Books Music store, turned right, then zoomed up a narrow side lane between the buildings.

There were five exits out of the mall that he knew of. He accelerated again, tires squealing.

The surrounding neighborhood was a warren of narrow streets. Still no one was behind him, not a single car.

He knew of a little-used one-way entrance onto the Rockville Pike. He got on the road, heading out against the barrage of traffic streaming to work in the city. He hadn't spotted any cars speeding behind him inside the mall, or on the side streets, or on the Pike.

They probably had only one, or at most two cars on him in the morning. That made the most sense to Shafer. Neither the Washington Metro police nor the Security Service would approve a large surveillance detail to follow him. He didn't think so anyway.

He'd probably lost them. He whooped loudly and started blaring the Jag's horn at all the pathetic suckers and fools stuck in the oncoming lanes, headed toward work. He'd been waiting nearly eight years for this.

It was finally here.

Endgame.

?CHAPTER One Hundred and Nine

'We've still got him?' I asked Jones, nervously looking around at the half-dozen agents working in the crisis room inside the British Embassy. The room was filled with state-of-the-art electrical equipment including half-a-dozen video monitors.

'Still got him. He won't get away that easily, Alex. Besides, we think we know where he and the others are going now.'

We had a tiny, sophisticated homing device on the Jaguar, but there was a reasonable chance Shafer would discover it. So far, he hadn't. And now he was running in the Jag, running with the bait, at least that was what we thought was happening.

The Horsemen were all on the move. Oliver Highsmith had been followed from his home in Surrey to Gatwick Airport, outside London. Agents at the airport made sure that Conqueror got on the British Airways flight to New York, then called Washington to report he was en route.

A couple of hours later, an agent called from the Philippines. George Bayer was at Ninoy Aquino Airport in Manila. Famine had purchased a ticket to Jamaica, with a stopover in New York.

We already knew that James Whitehead had retired to Jamaica, and he was on the island at this time. War was waiting for the others to arrive.

'I'm trying to get a fixed pattern for The Four Horsemen game, but there are several points of view at work. That's what they like about the game, what makes it so addictive.' I said to Jones as we waited for more information to come in.

'We know that at least three of them have been playing the game since they were stationed in Thailand in ninety-one. Around that time, bar girls and prostitutes began to disappear in Bangkok. The local police didn't spend much time on the investigation. Girls in Pot Pol had disappeared before. The police have somewhat the same attitude here in Washington with respect to the Jane Doe killings. These girls didn't mean much. They were written off. Murders and disappearances in Southeast certainly aren't investigated like the ones in Georgetown or on Capitol Hill. It's one of Washington's dirty little secrets.'

Jones lit a new cigarette with the butt of his last one. He puffed, then said, 'It might just be Shafer who's involved in the actual murders, Alex. That, or the others are much more careful than he is.'

I shrugged my shoulders. I didn't think so, but I didn't have enough concrete evidence to argue my case effectively with Jones, who was no slouch as a detective.

'The end of The Four Horsemen is coming, right? Can they really end their little fantasy game?' Sampson asked.