Patterson, James - Alex Cross 3 - Jack and Jill

“I'm as okay as I'm going to be,” I told him. “Thanks for keeping me in the loop. I needed to be here.”

“We wouldn't even be here without you. Let's go do it.”

The two of us got out of his unmarked car and hurried up the red-brick front walkway together. We matched each other, step for step.

This was where it had all started.

The big house, the whole street, seemed so innocent and appealing.

A beautiful, white Colonial stood before us. The house had a big old porch supported by column pedestals. Children's bikes were neatly stacked on the porch. Everything out here was so neat. Was it all a disguise? Of course it was.

Jay Grayer rang the doorbell and it sounded like the “Avon calling” bell. Jack and Jill came to The Hill But Jack and Jill started right here, didn't it? In this very house.

The door was answered by a woman wearing a red plaid robe that looked as if it came straight out of the J. Crew catalog.

A grapevine wreath, one of those peculiar, decorative affairs that looks. like Jesus' crown of thorns, was hung on the front door for the holidays. It had a big red bow tied around it. Here is Jill, I was thinking. Finally, the real Jill.

“ALEX, JAY. My God, what is it? What's happened now? Don't tell me this is a social visit?”

Jeanne Sterling stood just inside the front door of her house. I could see a polished oak stairway glistening behind her. A formal dining room was visible through pocket doors, which were also polished oak. A tall stack of gift-wrapped Christmas presents lay piled near a desk and a six-foot-high standing mirror in the foyer.

Jill's house. The inspector general of the CIA. Clean Jeanne.

“What's happened? I just made some coffee. Please, come in.”

She sounded as if Jay Grayer and I were a couple of neighbors from just down the street. A social visit, right? She smiled and her prominent teeth made it look like a grimace.

What happened? Has someone in the neighborhood been involved in a fender bender? I just made fresh coffee. Good as the stuff at Starbucks. Let's chat.

“Coffee sounds fine,”Jay said, showing he could chat with the best of them.

We walked inside the house that she shared with her children and her husband. With Jack.

I noticed details -- everything seemed important, telling, evidence. The bright colors and exuberant style on the inside of the house said “American,” but the accents communicated “world travel.” French etchings. Flemish weavings. Chinese porcelain.

Jill the traveler. Jill the spymaster.

There's an old saying in classic mysteries, which I'd never felt made much sense -- cherchez la femme. Look for the woman. I had my own catchphrase for solving many modern-day mysteries -- cherchez l' argent. Look for the money.

I didn't believe that Jeanne Sterling and her husband had acted on their own. I didn't believe it any more than I had ever bought that Jack and Jill were celebrity stalkers. Aldrich Ames had supposedly received two and a half million for exposing a dozen American agents. How much had the Sterlings received for disposing of a troublesome United States president? A loose cannon who had gone against the system?

And who had given them the money? Cherchez l'argent. Maybe Jeanne would tell us if we twisted her arm a little, which I definitely planned to do.

Who would gain the most from the murder of President Thomas Byrnes? The vice president, now the president? Wall Street? Organized crime? The CIA? I would have to ask Jeanne about that. Maybe over steaming pewter mugs of coffee. Maybe that was what we could chat about.

She turned and led the way back to her kitchen. She was so calm and collected. I continued to notice the furnishings, the pristine decor, the neatness, even with three kids in the house.

I thought that I knew how Jeanne and her husband could afford such a terrific house out here in Chevy Chase. Cherchez l'argent.

“There's been some kind of a break, hasn't there?” she said and turned to look at us. “You have me completely baffled as to what it could be. What's happened? Tell me.” She rubbed her hands together gleefully. Quite an act. Quite an actress.

“There has been a break,” I finally said. “We've found out some interesting things about Jack.” We decided to take him down first. Now it's your turn.

“That's excellent news,” Jeanne Sterling said. “Please, tell me everything. After all, Kevin Hawkins was one of ours.”

We entered a large kitchen, which I remembered from my first visit there. The walls were covered with terra cotta tiles and expensive-looking wooden cabinets. Half a dozen windows looked out on a gazebo and a tennis court.

“We've arrested your husband, Brett, for the murder of the President,”Jay Grayer told her in a cold, flat voice. “We have him in custody right now. We're here to arrest you.”

“It's so damn hard to control every single detail, isn't it? One little slipup was all it took,” I said to Jeanne. "Sara made a mistake.

I think she fell in love with your husband. Did you know that? You must have known about Sara and Brett's affair?"

“Alex, what are you saying? What areyou saying, Jay? Neither of you is making any sense.”

"Oh, sure we are,Jeanne. Sara Rosen kept a dupe of the footage of Senator Fitzpatrick's murder at her apartment in D.C. Your husband is on the tape. She was in love with him, the poor spinster.

Maybe you planned on that. You must have at least suspected it. We even have a partial fingerprint of his at Sara Rosen's apartment in Foggy Bottom. We'll probably find more now that we know what to look for."

Her look darkened, her eyes narrowed into slits. I sensed she might not have known everything about her husband's close “relationship” with Sara Rosen.

She knew about Sara, of course. In the last few days, we had discovered that Sara Rosen had been an Agency spy inside the White House. She had been the Agency's mole there for eight years. That was how Jack had found her, and knew she would be loyal. Sara Rosen had been the perfect Jill. Sara had believed in “the cause,” at least as much as she was told about it. She was extremely right-wing. Thomas Byrnes wanted massive changes at the Pentagon and CIA. A powerful group felt the changes could destroy the country, would destroy the country. They had decided to destroy President Byrnes instead. Jack and Jill had been born.

Jay Grayer said, “This is going to be worse than Aldrich Ames, you know. Much, much worse.”

Jeanne Sterling slowly nodded her head. “Yes, I suppose it will be. I suppose,” she continued, her eyes trailing back and forth between Grayer and me, "that you're proud to be a part of the destruction of one of the few, the very few, advantages the United States holds over the rest of the world. Our intelligence network was second to none. It still is, in my opinion. The President was a foolish amateur who wanted to dismantle intelligence and the milita In the name of what? Populist change? What a mock-cry, what a sad, dangerous joke. Thomas Byrnes was a car salesman from Detroit! He had no business making the decisions he was entrusted With. Most presidents before him understood that.

I don't care what you believe about us. My husband and I are patriots. Are we clear on that? Are we clear, gentlemen?"

Jay Grayer let her finish before he spoke again. "You and your husband are slimy traitors. You're both murderers. Are we clear?

You're right about one thing, though. I am proud about bringing you down. I feel great about that. I really do,Jeanne."

There was a sudden flare of bright white light in the kitchen!

A muzzle flash.

A deafening shot rang out in the most unexpected of places. Jay Grayer's body arched. He fell back against the kitchen counter, knocking over a row of tall wooden stools.