Cross Country Part 1

Cross Country.

by James Patterson.

Part One

LATE TO THE PARTY.

Chapter 1.

THE HARDEST MYSTERIES to solve are the ones you come to near the end, because there isn't enough evidence, not enough to unravel, unless somehow you can go all the way back to the beginning-rewind and replay everything.I was riding in the lap of comfort and civility, my year-old Mercedes. I was thinking about how odd it was to be going to a murder scene now. And then I was there, leaving my vehicle, and feeling conflicted about going over to the dark side again.Was I getting too soft for this? I wondered for an instant, then let it go. I wasn't soft. If anything, I was still too hard, too unyielding, too uncompromising.Then I was thinking that there was something particularly terrifying about random, senseless murder, and that's what this appeared to be, that's what everyone thought anyway. It's what I was told when the call came to the house."It's rough in there, Dr. Cross. Five vics. It's an entire family.""Yeah, I know it is. That's what they said."One of the first responders, a young officer I know named Michael Fescoe, met me on the sidewalk at the murder scene in Georgetown, not far from the university where I'd gone as an undergrad and which I remembered fondly for all sorts of reasons, but mostly because Georgetown had taken a chance on me,The patrolman was visibly shaken. No surprise there. Metro didn't call me in special at eleven o'clock on a Sunday night for run-of-the-mill homicides."What have we got so far?" I said to Fescoe and flashed my badge at a patrolman seemingly guarding an oak tree. Then I ducked under the bright yellow tape in front of the house. Beautiful house, a three-story Colonial on Cambridge Place, a well-heeled single block just south of Montrose Park.Neighbors and looky-loos crowded the sidewalk-but they stayed at a safe distance in their pajamas and robes, keeping up their white-collar reserve."Family of five, all of them dead," Fescoe repeated himself. "The name's c.o.x. Father, Reeve. Mother, Eleanor. Son, James. All on the first floor. Daughters, Nicole and Clara, on the third. There's blood everywhere. Looks like they were shot first. Then cut up pretty bad and piled into groupings."Piled. I sure didn't like the sound of that. Not inside this lovely home. Not anywhere."Senior officers on site? Who caught it?" I asked."Detective Stone is upstairs. She's the one asked me to page you. ME's still on the way. Probably a couple of them. Christ, what a night.""You've got that right."Bree Stone was a bright star with the Violent Crimes branch, and one of the few detectives I went out of my way to partner with, pun intended, since she and I were a couple and had been for more than a year now."Let Detective Stone know that I'm here," I said. "I'm going to start downstairs and work my way up to where she is.""Will do, sir. I'm on it."Fescoe stuck with me up the porch steps and past an ALS tech working on the demolished front door and threshold."Forced entry, of course," Fescoe went on. He blushed, probably because he'd stated the obvious. "Plus, there's a hatch open to the roof on the third floor. Looks like they might have left that way.""They?""I'd say so-based on the amount of damage, whatever the h.e.l.l happened in there. Never seen anything like it, sir. Listen, if there's anything else you need-""I'll let you know. Thank you. It's better if I do this alone. I concentrate better."My reputation seems to attract hungry cops on big cases, which can have its advantages. Right now, though, I wanted to take in this scene for myself. Given the grim, steely-eyed look on the face of every tech I'd seen coming from the back of the house, I knew this was going to get harder in a hurry.Turns out I didn't know the half of it. The murder of this Family was much worse than I'd thought.Much, much worse.

Chapter 2.

THEY WANTED TO scare somebody, I was thinking as I entered a brightly lit, warmly decorated alcove. But who? Not these dead people. Not this poor family that had been slaughtered for G.o.d only knew what reason.The first floor told a grim and foreboding story that delineated the murder. Nearly every piece of furniture in the living and dining rooms had been either turned over or destroyed-or both. There were gaping holes punched in the walls, along with dozens of smaller ones. An antique gla.s.s chandelier lay scattered in splinters and shards all over a brightly colored Oriental rug.The crime scene made no sense and, worse, had no direct precedent in my experience as a homicide detective.A bullet-riddled Chesterfield couch and settee had been pushed up against the wall to make room in front of the fireplace. This was where the first three bodies were piled.While it's safe to say that I've seen some horrendous s.h.i.+t in the line of duty, this scene, the monstrosity of it, stopped me instantly.As promised, the stacked victims were the father, mother. and son on top, all lying faceup. There were blood streaks and stains on the nearby walls, furniture, and ceiling, and a pool had formed around the bodies. These poor people had been attacked with sharp cutting instruments of some sort, and there had been amputations."Jesus, Jesus," I muttered under my breath. It was a prayer, or a curse on the killers, or more likely both.One of the printing techs answered under his breath, "Amen."Neither of us was looking at the other, though. This was the kind of homicide scene you just gutted your way through, trying to get out of the house with a minute piece of your sanity intact.The blood patterns around the room suggested the family members had been attacked separately, then dragged together in the middle.Something had fueled whatever savage rage brought these killers to this and I agreed with Fescoe that there had been several killers. But what exactly had happened? What was the cause of the ma.s.sacre? Drugs? Ritual? Psychosis?Group psychosis?I stashed the random thoughts to consider at another time. Methods first, motive later.I slowly circled the bodies and parts, picking my way around the pools of blood, stepping on dry parquet where I could. There didn't seem to be any cohesion to the cutting, or the killing for that matter.The son's throat was slit; the father had a bullet wound to the forehead; and the mother's head was turned away at an unnatural angle, as if her neck had been broken.I went full circle to see the mother's face. The angle was such that she seemed to be looking right up at me, almost hopeful, as if I could still save her.I leaned in for a closer look at her and all of a sudden felt dizzy. My legs went weak. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.Oh no! Oh my G.o.d, no!I stepped back blindly, my foot hit a slick spot, and I fell. As I went down, I reached to break my fall. My gloved hand smeared deep red across the floor.Ellie Randall's blood. Not c.o.x-Randall!I knew her-at least I once had.Long, long ago, Ellie had been my girlfriend when we'd been students at Georgetown. She had probably been my first love.And now Ellie had been murdered, along with her family.

Chapter 3.

ONE OF THE printing techs moved to help me, but I got myself up quickly. I wondered if maybe I was in shock about Ellie. "No harm. I'm fine. What's the name here again?" I asked the tech."c.o.x, sir. Reeve, Eleanor, and James are the victims in the living room."Eleanor c.o.x. That was right; I remembered now. I stared down at Ellie, my heart racing out of control, tears starting at the corners of my eyes. She had been Ellie Randall when I met her, a smart, attractive history major looking for anti-apartheid signatures from Georgetown University students. Definitely not someone whose story would end like this."Need anything?" Fescoe was back and he was hovering."Just... get me a garbage bag or something," I told him. "Please. Thank you."I peeled off my Windbreaker and tried to wipe myself with it, then stuck the coat in the bag Fescoe brought me. I needed to keep moving and to get out of this room, at least for now.I headed toward the stairs and found Bree just coming down."Alex? Jesus, what happened to you?" she asked.I knew if I started to explain, I wouldn't be able to finish. "We'll talk about it later, okay?" I said. "What's going on upstairs?"She looked at me strangely but didn't push it. "More of the same. Bad stuff. Third floor, Alex. Two more kids. I think they were trying to hide from the killers, but it didn't work."A photo flash ghosted the stairwell as we climbed. Everything seemed hallucinogenic and unreal to me. I was outside the scene, watching myself stumble through it. Ellie had been murdered. I tried again but couldn't process the thought."No blood on the stairs, or in the hall," I noticed, trying to focus on evidence, trying to do the job. It was freezing cold, with a hatch door open overhead. November third, and the forecast was for single-digit temperatures overnight. Even the weather had gone a little crazy."Alex?"Bree was waiting up ahead, standing at the doorway to a room on the third floor. She didn't move as I approached. "You sure you're okay to be here?" she asked, speaking low so the others wouldn't hear.I nodded and peered into the room.Behind Bree, the two little girls' bodies were crisscrossed on an oval rag rug. A white canopy bed was broken into pieces, collapsed in on itself as if someone had jumped too hard on it."I'lI be fine," I said. I need to see what happened here. I need to begin to understand what it all means. Like who the h.e.l.l was jumping on that bed?"

Chapter 4.

BUT I DIDN'T even begin to understand the horrible murders of five family members. Not that night, anyway. I was as baffled as everybody else about the possible motivation of the killers.What made the mystery even deeper was something that happened about an hour after I got to the crime scene. Two officers from the CIA showed up. They looked around, then left. What was the CIA doing there?It was a little after three thirty in the morning when Bree and I finally got back home to Fifth Street. In the stillness of my house, I could hear Ali's little-boy snores wafting down from upstairs. Rea.s.suring and comforting sounds, to be sure.Nana Mama had left the hood light on over the stove, and she'd Saran Wrapped a plate of the last four hermit cookies from dessert. We took them upstairs, along with gla.s.ses and a half-full bottle of wine.Two hours later I was still awake and still messed up in the head. Bree finally sat up and turned on the light. She found me sitting on the edge of the bed. I could feel the warmth of her body against my back, her breast on my neck."You sleep at all?" she asked.That wasn't really what she wanted to know."I knew the mother, Bree. We went to Georgetown together. This couldn't have happened to her. Shouldn't have, anyway."She breathed in sharply at my revelation. "I'm so sorry, Alex. Why didn't you say so?"I shrugged, then sighed. "I'm not even sure if I can talk about it now," I said.She hugged me. "It's okay. No need to talk. Unless you want to, Alex. I'm here.""We were best friends, Bree. We were a couple for a year. 1 know it was a long time ago, but..." I trailed off. But what? But-it hadn't just been kid stuff, either. "I loved her for a while, Bree. I'm blown away right now.""You want to get off the case?""No." I'd already asked myself the same question, and the answer had come just as quickly."I can get Sampson or somebody else from Violent Crimes to cover. We'll keep you up to the second-""Bree, I can't let go of this one.""This one?" She ran a hand softly up and down my arm. "As compared to... what, Alex?"I took a deep breath. I knew where Bree was going with this. "It's not about Maria, if that's what you mean." My wife, Maria, had been gunned down when our kids were small.I'd managed to close the case only recently. There had been years of torture and guilt before that. But Maria had been my wife, the love of my life at the time. Ellie was something else. I wasn't confusing the two. I didn't think so anyway."Okay," she said, stroking my back, soothing me. "Tell me what I can do."I folded us both under the covers. "Just lie here with me," I said. "That's all I need for now.""You got it."And soon, wrapped in Bree's arms, I went off to sleep-for a whole two hours.

Chapter 5.

"I SPY, WITH my little eye, a pink newspaper," said Bree."Over there!" Ali was quick to spot it. "I see it! It is pink. What kind of crazy newspaper is that?"To my family's surprise and delight, I hadn't left for work at some obscene hour the morning after I found Ellie and her family dead in their home. Today, I wanted to walk the kids to school. Actually, I wanted to do it most every day, but sometimes I couldn't, and sometimes I didn't. But today I needed lots of fresh air in my life. And smiles. And Ali's giggles.Jannie was in her last year at Sojourner Truth, all ready for high school, while Ali was just starting out in the school world. It seemed very circle-of-life to me that morning, with Ellie's family gone in a blink, and my own kids coming up strong.I put on my best cheerful dad face and tried to set aside the gruesome images of last night. "Who's next?""I've got one," Jannie said. She turned a canary-eating grin on Bree and me. "I spy, with my little eye, a POSSLQ.""What's a possel-cue?" Ali wanted to know. He was already looking around, moving his head like a bobblehead doll's, trying to spot it, whatever it was.Jannie practically sang out the answer. "P, O, S, S, L, Q. Person of the opposite s.e.x, sharing living quarters." She whispered the word s.e.x in our direction, presumably to safeguard her little brother's innocence. No matter, I could feel myself blus.h.i.+ng slightly.Bree tagged Jannie's shoulder. "Where exactly did you pick that one up?""Cherise J. She says her mom says you two are, you know, living in sin."I exchanged a look with Bree over the top of Jannie's head. I guessed this was bound to come up in some way or another sooner or later. Bree and I had been together for more than a year now, and she spent a good amount of time at the house on Fifth Street. Part of the reason was that the kids loved having her around. Part was that I did."I think maybe you and Cherise J. need to find something else to talk about," I told her. "You think?""Oh, it's okay, Daddy. I told Cherise her mom needs to get over herself. I mean, even Nana Mama's down with it, and her picture's in the dictionary under 'old-fas.h.i.+oned,' right?""You wouldn't have any idea what's in a dictionary," I said.But Bree and I had stopped trying to be politically correct with Jannie, and we just let ourselves laugh. Jannie had that "crossroads" thing going on these days; she was right at the Intersection of girl and woman."What's so funny?" Ali asked. "Somebody tell me. What is it?"I scooped him up off the sidewalk and onto my shoulders for the last half block of our walk to school. "I'll tell you in about five years.""I know anyway," he said. "You and Bree love each other. Everybody knows. No big deal. It's a good thing.""Yes it is," I said and kissed his cheek.We dropped him at the school's east entrance, where the rest of his cla.s.s of minicuties were lining up outside. Jannie called to him through the fence. "See you later, alligator! Love you.""In a while, crocodile! Love you back."With their older brother, Damon, off at prep school in Ma.s.sachusetts, these two had grown closer than ever lately. On weekend nights, Ali often slept on an air mattress at the foot of his sister's bed, in what he called his "nest."We left Jannie at the opposite side of the school building, where all the older kids were streaming in. She gave us both hugs good-bye, and I held on a little longer than usual. "I love you, sweetie. There's nothing more special to me than you and your brothers."Jannie couldn't help but look around to make sure no one had heard. "Me too, Daddy," she said. Then, almost in the same breath, "Cherise! Wait up!"As soon as Jannie was gone, Bree took my arm in hers. "So what was that?" she said. '"Everybody knows you and Bree love each other'?"I shrugged and smiled. "What do I know? That's the big rumor going around, anyway."I gave her a kiss.And because that worked out so well, I gave her another.

Chapter 6.

BY NINE A.M. I was all kissed out and getting ready to enter a most unpleasant multiple-homicide briefing at the Daly Building. It was being held in the large conference room right across from my office. Handy, anyway. Every available D-1 and D-2, and a contingent from Second District, which covered most of Georgetown, would be there.I still couldn't get it in my head that Ellie was the victim. One of the victims.The ME's Office had sent over a representative in the person of Dr. Paula Cook, a bright investigator who had the personality of tapioca pudding. The corners of Dr. Cook's mouth actually twitched when we shook hands. I think it was an attempted smile, so I smiled back. "Thanks for coming, Paula. We need you on this one.""Worst I've seen," she said, "in fourteen years. All those kids, the parents. Turns my stomach. Senseless."We had picked up a stack of crime scene photos on the way in, and now Paula and I pinned some of them up in the situation room. I made sure they were all 11 x 14s. 1 wanted everyone to feel some of what had happened last night in Georgetown, the way I still did."This might be an isolated incident," I stood in front and told the a.s.sembled group a few minutes later. "But I'm not going to a.s.sume it is. The more we understand, the more prepared we'll be if this happens again. It might not be an isolated incident." I figured some of the more jaded homicide detectives wouldn't agree; they'd be thinking I'd worked one too many serial cases. I didn't much care what they thought at that point.For the first fifteen minutes or so, I ran through the primary facts of the case for those who hadn't been there the night before. Then I turned it over to Paula. She bounced up and talked us through the photos on the wall."The cutting styles indicate a variety of weapons, strength, and ability," she said, using a red laser pointer to highlight the slashes, punctures, and severing that had been done to the c.o.x family."At least one blade had a serrated edge. One was unusually large-possibly a machete. The amputations, wherever they occurred, were never done cleanly. Rather, they were the result of repet.i.tive trauma."A detective named Monk Jeffries asked a pretty good question from the front row. "You think they were practicing? Had never done this before?""I couldn't say," Paula told him. "Wouldn't surprise me.""Yeah," I put in. "It's like they were practicing, Monk." I had my own opinion about the murders. "There's something very young about this crime scene.""As in inexperienced?" Jeffries asked."No. Just young. I'm talking about the cutting, the broken bed, the vandalism in general. Also the fact that this was probably done by a group of five or more. That's a big group of intruders. When I intersect all those factors, I get a few possibilities: gang, cult, OC. In that order.""Gang?" another D-1 asked from the back. "You ever see gang violence like this ma.s.sacre?""I've never seen violence like this, period," I said."I've got twenty bucks on OC. Any takers?" It was Lou Copeland, a competent but thoroughly obnoxious D-1 with Major Case Squad. A few of his cronies laughed.Not me. I threw my clipboard across the room. It struck the wall and fell onto the tile. That wasn't like me, so it made an impression.The room was quiet. I walked over to pick up my notes. I saw Bree and Sampson exchange a look I didn't like. They weren't sure that I could handle this.Bree took it from there, and she started handing out a.s.signments. We needed people recanva.s.sing the Cambridge Place neighborhood, riding the lab for fast turnaround, and calling in any chits we had on the street for information about last night."We need your best work on this one," Bree told the group. "And we want some answers by the end of the day.""What about-?""Dismissed!"Everyone looked around. It was Sampson who'd spoken."You all have any more questions, you can reach Stone or Cross on their cells. Meanwhile, we've got a b.u.t.tload of fieldwork to do. This is a major case. So get started! Let's. .h.i.t it, and hit it hard."

Chapter 7.

THE TIGER WAS the tallest and strongest of ten well-muscled black men racing up and down a weathered asphalt basketball court at Carter Park in Petway. He understood that he wasn't a skillful shooter or dribbler, but he rebounded like a pro and defended the basket fiercely, and he hated to lose more than anything. In his world, you lose, you die.The player he guarded called himself "Buckwheat" and the Tiger had heard that the nickname had something to do with an old TV series in America that sometimes made fun of black kids.Buckwheat either didn't mind the name, or he'd gotten used to it. He was fast on the basketball court and a steady shooter. He was also a trash-talker, as were most of the young players in DC. The Tiger had picked up the game in London instantly while he was at university, but there wasn't much trash-talking in England."You talk a good game, but you're going to lose," the Tiger finally said as he and his opponent ran up the court, shoulder to shoulder. Buckwheat turned off a screen and took a bounce pa.s.s in the left corner. He proceeded to bury a long, perfectly arced jump shot even though the Tiger b.u.mped him hard after the release."f.u.c.kin' ape," the other man yelled as the two of them ran back the other way."You think so?""Oh h.e.l.l, I know so. 'Nother minute, you be the big monkey watchin' on the sideline!"The Tiger laughed but said nothing more. He scored on a rebound, and then Buckwheat's team raced the ball up the court on a fast break.Buckwheat caught a pa.s.s in full stride and brought it hard to the hoop. He had a step on the Tiger and called out, "Game!" even before he went up for the winning dunk.He was airborne, graceful and athletic, when the Tiger hit him with all his force and weight. He took the six-foot-three man down, drove him into the metal pole supporting the basket. The man lay sprawled on the asphalt with blood streaming from his face."Game" shouted the Tiger and raised both arms high over his head. He loved to play basketball-what great fun it was to beat these loudmouthed African Americans who didn't know anything about the real world.On the sidelines, his boys cheered as if he were Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant rolled into one. He wasn't any of that, he knew. He didn't want to be like Mike or Kobe. He was much better.He decided life and death on a daily basis.He walked off the court, and a man came up to him. This particular man couldn't have been more out of place, since he wore a gray suit and he was white."Ghedi Ahmed," said the white devil. "You know who he is?"The Tiger nodded. "I know who he used to be.""Make an example of him.""And his family.""Of course," said the white devil. "His family too."

Chapter 8.

I PUT IN a call for help to my friend Avie Glazer, who headed up the Gang Intervention Project in the Third District. I told Avie why it was important to me." 'Course I'll help. You know me, Alex. I'm more tapped into La Mara R, Vatos Locos, Northwest gangs. But you can come over here and ask around Seventeenth and R if you want. See if anybody's tuned in.""Any way you could meet us?" I asked him. "I'll owe you one. Buy you a beer.""Which makes it how many total? Favors and beers?"That was his way of saying yes, though. Bree and I met Avie at a s.h.i.+tty little pool hall called Forty-Four. The owner told us that was how old he was when he opened the place. Avie already knew the story but listened politely anyway."Seemed like as good a name as any," the owner said. His what-ever att.i.tude struck me as that of a long-term stoner.For sure, he wasn't making his nut on billiards and sodas. His name was Jaime Ramirez, and Avie Glazer had advised me to give him room and a little respect."You know anything about the murders in Georgetown last night?" I asked Ramirez after we'd chitchatted some. "Multiple perps?""That was some awful s.h.i.+t," he said, leaning on the bottom half of a Dutch door, a brown cigarette held between stubby fingers and tilted at the same angle as his body.He chinned up at the television in the corner. "Channel Four's all I get in here, Detective.""How about any new games opening up?" Bree asked. "Players we might not have heard about? Somebody who would wipe a family out?""Hard to keep up," Ramirez said and shrugged. That's when Glazer gave him a look. "But yeah, matter of fact, there has been some talk."His dark eyes flicked almost involuntarily past me and Bree. "Africans," he said to Avie."African American?" I asked. "Or-""African African." He turned back to Avie. "Yo, Toto, I'm gonna get something for this? Or this a freebie?"Avie Glazer looked at me first and then at Ramirez. "Let's say I owe you one.""What kind of African?" I asked.He shrugged and blew out air. "How'm I supposed to know that? Black-guys-from-Africa kind of African.""English speaking?""Yeah," he said, nodding. "But I never spoke to them. Sounds like they're into a little bit of everything. You know, four-H club? Hits, ho's, heroin, and heists. This ain't your graffiti-and-skip-party kind of gang."He opened a gla.s.s-fronted cooler and took out a can of c.o.ke. "Anyone thirsty? Two dollars.""I'll take one," Glazer said. He cupped a couple of bills into Ramirez's hand, and they didn't look like singles.Then Glazer turned to me. "And I will collect from you too. Count on it.""Africans," Ramirez repeated as we headed toward the door, "from Africa."

Chapter 9.

THIS WAS THE last place I wanted to be in DC, or probably anyplace else.So unbelievably sad, and eerie, and tragic. So many memories rising to the surface for me.Ellie's office was up on the second floor of the house in Georgetown. It was as tidy and meticulously organized as I remembered her being back when we thought we might love each other.A copy of Sidney Poitier's The Measure of a Man was open on the arm of an easy chair. I'd liked the autobiography and remembered that Ellie and I had similar tastes in books, music, and politics.The shades were all drawn to exactly the same height. The desk held an iMac, a phone, an appointment book, and a few family photos in silver frames. The room felt strange compared with the downstairs of the house, which had been ransacked by the killers last night.I started with Ellie's appointment book and then went on to the desk drawers. I wasn't sure yet what I was looking for, only that I'd had to come back here with a clearer head than I'd had last night.I booted up Ellie's computer and went into her e-mail- checking the in-box, sent items, and deleted folders, working backward in time. I was trying to get as close as possible to the moment of the murders. Had Ellie known the killers?The first thing to catch my attention was a note from an editor at Georgetown University Press. It concerned her completion schedule for "the new book."Ellie had a new book coming out? I knew she was on the history faculty at Georgetown, but I didn't know much more than that. We had seen each other at a few charity events during the past fifteen years or so, but that was about it. She was married, I wasn't for much of that time, and that fact can sometimes cut down contact and communication.I ran her name through Amazon and Barnes & n.o.ble and found three book t.i.tles. Each had something to do with African sociopolitics. The most recent one, Critical Juncture, had been published four years ago.So where was the new book? Was there a partial ma.n.u.script I could read?I swiveled around to look over the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that took up two entire walls of the office. Ellie had hundreds of volumes here, mixed in with a collection of awards and citations.Kids' artwork and framed photos covered the rest of the s.p.a.ce.Then all of a sudden I was looking at a picture of myself.

Chapter 10.

IT WAS AN old snapshot from our college days. I remembered the time as soon as I saw it. Ellie and I were sitting on a blanket on the National Mall. We had just finished finals. I had a summer interns.h.i.+p lined up at Sibley Memorial, and I was falling in love for the first time. Ellie told me that she was too. In the photograph, we were smiling and hugging one another, and it looked as if we could be that way forever.Now here I was in her house, responsible for Ellie in a way I never could have imagined.I let myself stare nostalgically at the picture for a few more seconds, then forced myself to move on, to come back to the present mess.It didn't take long to find three hundred typed pages of a ma.n.u.script t.i.tled Deathtrip. The subt.i.tle on the t.i.tle page read Crime as a Way of Life, of Doing Business, in Central Africa.A copy of a plane ticket had been inserted in the ma.n.u.script. The ticket was round-trip from Was.h.i.+ngton to Lagos, Nigeria. Ellie had returned from there two weeks ago.I looked through the index at the back of the ma.n.u.script and found a listing for "Violence, African Style," and a subhead, "Family Ma.s.sacre."I turned to the relevant ma.n.u.script page and read: "There are gang leaders for hire all through Nigeria and especially in Sudan. These brutal men and their groups-often made up of boys as young as ten-have an unlimited appet.i.te for violence and sadism. A favorite target is entire families, since that spreads both news and fear the farthest. Families are ma.s.sacred in their huts and shacks, and even boiled in oil, a trademark of a few of the worst gang leaders."I decided to take the partial ma.n.u.script with me to get it copied. I wanted to read everything that Ellie had written.Was this what had gotten her killed-her book?Next, I stared for a long time at a striking, poignant picture of Ellie, her husband, and their three beautiful children.All dead now.Murdered right here in their home. At least they hadn't been boiled in oil.I took one more look at the photo of the two of us on the National Mall. Young and in love, or whatever it was that we were feeling."Ellie, I'll do what I can for you and your family. I promise you that."I left the house, thinking, What did you find in Africa?Did somebody follow you back?

Chapter 11.

EVERYBODY THERE KNEW there was trouble, but no one knew what kind or how bad it was.A dark green panel van had screeched to a stop in front of a low-level mosque in Was.h.i.+ngton called Masjid Al-Shura. More than one hundred fifty peaceful congregants were crowding the sidewalk in front.Even so, the very moment Ghedi Ahmed saw the gunmen scrambling out of the van, saw their gray hoodies, their black face masks and jaunty sungla.s.ses, he knew they had come for him. They were just boys-the Tiger's boys.The first gunshots were aimed into the sky. Just warnings. Men and women screamed, and some scurried back into the mosque.Others flattened themselves on the sidewalk, s.h.i.+elding their children's bodies as best they could.His hands held high, Ghedi Ahmed made his decision and moved away from his family. Better to die alone than to take them with me, he was thinking, shaking like a leaf now.He hadn't gotten far when he heard his wife, Aziza, scream, and he realized what a terrible mistake he'd made. "Ghedi! Ghedi!" He turned as the wild boys carried, then threw, Aziza into the waiting van. And then-his children! They were taking the children, too! All four of them were hustled into the van.Ghedi reversed direction quickly, and now he was screaming, more loudly than anyone in the crowd, even more than Aziza.A courageous man from the congregation took a swing at one of the kidnappers. The boy yelled, "Dog!" and shot the man in the face. Then he fired again, where the man lay spread-eagled and already dying on the sidewalk.Another bullet took down an elderly woman just as Ghedi pushed past her.The next shot found his leg, and running became falling. Then two of the boys s.n.a.t.c.hed him up off the ground and threw him into the van with his family."The children! Not our children!" sobbed Aziza."Where are you taking us?" Ghedi screamed at the kidnappers. "Where?""To Allah," came the answer from the driver, the Tiger himself.

Chapter 12.

THE MYSTERY WAS deepening and getting worse each day, but much of Was.h.i.+ngton didn't seem to care, probably because this one happened in Southeast, and only black people were killed.Lorton Landfill is the final destination for much of Was.h.i.+ngton's garbage. It is two hundred and fifty acres of foul and disgusting refuse, so we were fortunate the bodies had been found at all. I drove the Mercedes in through valleys of trash that rose thirty feet high on either side. I continued on to where the response team was parked around an orange-and-white DC sanitation truck. The gauze masks they'd provided Bree and me at the gate didn't do much against the nauseating smell."A drive in the country, Alex. This is so romantic," Bree said as we plunged forward through the muck. She was good at keeping things upbeat, no matter what the circ.u.mstances."I'm always thinking of new things for us to do.""You've outdone yourself this time. Trust me on that."I finally spotted Sampson talking to the truck's driver as we got out of the car. Behind the two of them and a ribbon of Crime scene tape, I could see yellow sheets covering the six bodies where they had been FoundTwo parents and four more kids here. That made four adults and seven children in just the past few days.Sampson walked over to brief us. "Garbage truck started on the empty streets this morning and made stops all over midtown. Forty-one Dumpsters at eighteen locations, some of them as close as a few blocks from the mosque. That's a s.h.i.+tload of follow-up work for us.""Any other good news?" I asked him."So far, only the bodies have been found. No word on the heads." We hadn't released that so far to the press: All six of the victims had been decapitated."I love my job, I love my job," Bree said quietly. "I can't wait to get to work in the morning."I asked Sampson where the father's body was, and we started there. When I pulled back the sheet, the sight was horrific, but I didn't need an ME to tell me that the cutting was much cleaner this time. There were no extraneous wounds: no bullet holes, no slashes, no punctures. Plus, the lower body had been burned badly.Senseless murders, but probably not random, I was thinking.But what did the Ahmed killings have to do with Ellie and her family?"We've got some similarities and some real differences here," Sampson told us. "Two families taken out suddenly. Multiple perps. But one behind closed doors, the other outside a mosque. Heavy cutting in both cases.""But different cutting," Bree said. "And if the heads don't turn up-""Something tells me they won't," I said. "Then, maybe we're talking about trophies, keepsakes." "Or proof of purchase," I said.They both looked at me. "Maybe this one was business, and the other was personal. Also, CNBC just broke a story that Ghedi Ahmed was the brother of Erasto Ahmed, who's Al Qaeda, operating out of Somalia.""Al Qaeda?" Bree whispered and looked momentarily stumped. "Al Qaeda, Alex?"We stood there, silent for a moment, trying to comprehend something as horrible as these murders. I thought of Ellie again. I couldn't stop thinking of her the past few days. Did her trip to Africa have something to do with her murder?"So, what are we looking at?" Sampson finally spoke again. "Two sides of a war?""Could be," I said. "Or maybe two teams."Or maybe one very smart killer, trying to keep us guessing.

Chapter 13.

THERE WAS NO question there was federal interest in these cases. The cases were inflammatory and international in scope, and the CIA probably knew something. Two of their people had shown up at Ellie's house the night of the murders. The question was, How much could I get them to tell me, if anything at all?I pulled in a few favors from my days with the bureau and got a meeting set up at Langley. The fact that they not only agreed to meet but also waived the first in what was normally a two-meeting protocol told me this was no back-burner issue for them. Usually, the CIA started you with somebody who couldn't do anything for you before you even got close to anybody who could.I was given a whole team: Eric Dana from the National Clandestine Service; two spit-s.h.i.+ned a.n.a.lysts in their mid-twenties who never spoke a word the whole time I was there; and one familiar face, AI Tunney, from the Office of Transnational Issues.Tunney and I had worked together on a Russian mafia case a few years back. I hoped he would advocate for me here, but this was clearly Eric Dana's meeting, his case. We sat at a gleaming wood table with a view of nothing but green forests and lawns as far as I could see. Peaceful, serene, very misleading."Detective Cross, why don't you tell us what you know so far?" Dana asked. "That would be helpful to get things going." I didn't hold back, saw no reason to. I walked them through all three crime scenes-the c.o.x house, the street outside Masjid Al-Shura, and, finally, the landfill out in Lor ton.I also pa.s.sed around a set of photos, keeping them chronological.Then I covered everything I'd learned or heard about gang leaders in Africa, including what I'd read in Ellie's book. Only then did I mention the CIA officers who had shown up at the first murder scene."We won't comment on that," said Dana. "Not at this point.""I'm not looking for you to open your files to me," I said to Dana. "But I'd like to know if you're tracking a killer stateside. And if you are, do you have any idea where he is?"Dana listened to what I had to say, then shoved a stack of papers back into a file and stood up."Okay. Thank you, Detective Cross. This has been most helpful. We'll get back to you. Let us do our thing here for a few days."It wasn't the response I wanted. "Hold on, what are you talking about? Get back to me now."It was a bad moment. Dana stared at his a.n.a.lysts with a look that said, Didn't anyone brief this guy?Then he looked back at me, not impolitely. "I think I understand your urgency, Detect-""I don't think you do," I cut in. I looked over at Al Tunney, who was s.h.i.+fting uncomfortably in his seat. "Al, is this a joint decision?"Tunney's eyes played tennis between me and Dana. "No one's decided anything, Alex. We just can't turn over information that quickly," he finally said. "That's not how we work. You knew that when you came here.""You can't or you won't?" I asked, looking at Tunney first, then at Dana."We won't," Dana said. "And it's my decision, no one else's. You have no idea what kind of damage this man and his team are responsible for."I leaned across the table. "All the more reason to drop any turf wars, don't you think? We're here for the same reason," I said.Dana stood at the table. "We'll get back to you." Then he left the room. How very CIA of him.

Chapter 14.

BUT I COULDN'T let it go like that, and I didn't.In the wide, mostly empty corridor outside the conference room, I called to Al Tunney before he could get away. "Hey, Al! I meant to ask you how Trish and the kids are doing." I held up a hand to my building escort. "I'll just be a second."Al was giving me a disgusted look as I walked over to him. I knew he had a wife, but unless I was psychic, her name probably wasn't Trish.I started right in with him. "You know something, or you wouldn't be at that meeting. Neither would Dana. Your guys were at the murder scene. Help me out here. Anything, something, Al.""Alex, I can't. This case is even hotter than you think it is. You heard my boss in there. It goes right to the top of our group. Steven Millard is involved. Trust me, there is an investigation going on. We're taking it very seriously.""Eric Dana doesn't know me, and neither does Steven Millard, but you do. You know what I can get done. I don't have to prove that to you, do I?" A large department seal loomed over us in the hall. I took a step to the side so Tunney wouldn't be looking up at it."Very funny," he said."Come on, Al. Two families have died already. Doesn't that mean anything?"Then Tunney said a really odd thing. "Not as much as you might think. There are other monsters."My escort called over from the intersection in the corridor. "Detective Cross? This way?""One second." I turned back to Tunney again. "Ellie c.o.x was a dear friend. Nicole c.o.x was thirteen. Clara was six. James ten. The four Ahmed kids? All younger than twelve. They didn't just die, Al. Their heads were cut off. Whoever did it is on a par with Hannibal Lecter. Only this is real.""I know the case by heart," he said. "I've got it.""You have kids, right? I've got three. Damon, Jannie, and Ali. What about you?""Jesus." Tunney shook his head at me. "You got mean somewhere along the way.""Not mean, Al. I'm trying to solve some horrific murders. Something tells me the trail might go to Africa. Is that true?"I could tell he was close to giving me something. I put a hand on his shoulder and ratcheted down my tone a little. "I'm not asking for any deep agency secrets. I'm talking about existing police business. In my own jurisdiction. At least for now."Tunney looked down at the floor tile for a few seconds, then over at my escort, then back at the floor. Without looking up, he said, "There's been some talk about a deal going down. We got this from the FBI. Service Plaza in Virginia. Chantilly, Virginia. Might be your guy. You'd be within your rights to intercept.""What kind of deal?"Tunney didn't answer. He put out his hand, with a smile broad enough for the escort to see. His voice rose just a notch. "It was good seeing you again, Alex. And say h.e.l.lo to Bree for me. Like I said, I know this case by heart. It is horrific. Boy shot your friend. And please remember this, we're still the good guys, Alex. No matter what you might read or see in the movies."

Chapter 15.

BY EIGHT O'CLOCK that night, I had gathered together a half dozen handpicked officers from Major Case Squad, plus Bree, Sampson, and myself. We wore Kevlar vests under plain clothes and were heavily armed and wired, waiting at the service plaza in Chantilly, Virginia, where something might be going down involving my killer.We were scheduled for a twelve-hour s.h.i.+ft, eight to eight if we needed it. The team was already spread out over five sectors: front car park, restaurant, gas station, and both sides of the big truck lot in back. Sampson had a hip problem, so he was on the roof observing for us. Bree and I traded off roaming and covering the communications van parked near the entrance, with another good view of the service plaza.There was no sign of the CIA. Had they not shown up yet?For the first five hours, there was nothing but radio silence and lots of bad coffee.Then just after one in the morning, the silence broke."Twenty-two-oh-one. Over.""Go ahead, twenty-two-oh-one."I looked over from the communications van toward the far corner of the truck lot, where a detective named Jamal McDonald was stationed."I got two Land Cruisers. Just pulled up to a tanker in the back. Northeast corner.""How long has the tanker been there?" I asked McDonald."Hard to say, Alex. At least half an hour. Most of these tankers been pulling in and out."We hadn't known what to expect tonight, but stolen gas or crude would make sense, especially if Nigerians were involved. I was already out of the van and walking quickly in Jamal's direction. Two dozen or more semis, lined up in rows, were temporarily blocking my view of the corner."Nicolo, Redman, pull in tighter. Bree, where are you right now?""I'm behind the buildings. Headed east.""Good. Everyone else hold position. What about you, John? See anything yet?""Nothing from here," Sampson radioed back. "n.o.body's moving around over there. Just you guys.""Jamal, how close are you?""Hang on. Just coming around a semi." I caught sight of him briefly up near the last row of trucks as I crossed the parking lot. Bree fell in silently beside me.I had my Glock out, low at my side. So did she. Was the killer here with his team? Were they the same ones who had killed the c.o.xes and the Ahmeds?"Somebody's getting out of the cab," Jamal McDonald whispered. "No, two people. There's four others I can see approaching from the Land Cruisers. Looks like a satchel of some kind. This must be it. Hang on." There was a brief silence and then, "s.h.i.+t! I think they see me. Looks like little kids-teenagers!"Bree and I were running now. "Jamal, what's going on?We're on our way, almost there!"The next thing we heard were gunshots, lots of them.

Chapter 16.

BREE AND I began to sprint at full speed in the direction of the first volley of shots. I could still hear Jamal McDonald-but he was making a wet, gasping sound, as though he might have been hit in the throat and was possibly suffocating.The other officers were shouting "twenties" over the wireless and also converging on the tanker. Sampson stayed put on the roof and radioed Fairfax County for more help.We were only halfway there when three or four fast-moving shadows ran across our path. Maybe fifty feet ahead. They looked like kids to me, just like Jamal had said.One of them fired from the hip as he went, not even trying to keep covered. Then they all opened up on us. It was like some kind of Old West shoot-out; they appeared to have no fear at all, no concept of dying.Bree and I dropped down and fired back from ground level. Bullets sparked off the asphalt and trucks in the dark, but we couldn't see who we were shooting at now or where they were headed."Kids," Bree said."Killers," I corrected her.A second heavy exchange of fire came from the next row over of trucks. One of the team members, Art Sheiner, shouted out that he'd been hit too.Then everything was quiet again."Sheiner?" I radioed.He didn't respond."McDonald?"No response either."Sampson, we need medical with that backup.""On its way. I'm coming down now.""Stay up there, John. We need a spotter, more than ever. Stay where you are!""Sir, it's Connors." He was the rookie of the group and his voice was tight. "I found Jamal. He's down. There's a lot of blood.""Stay with him! But watch yourself.""Twenty-two-oh-four." It was Frank Nicolo. "Sheiner's here. He's down. No pulse. I think he's gone."Then, suddenly, there were more shots!

Chapter 17.

WE WERE UP and running again. Two officers had been shot, and an unknown number of a.s.sailants were at the service plaza. A second ambush opened up on us. A bullet streaked by my face.Someone had fired from the roof of a tractor trailer-as he ran down the length of it. I shot back and couldn't tell if I'd hit the sniper or not. Everything was happening like fireworks - there and gone-then quiet again."What the f.u.c.k?" somebody shouted on radio. He didn't explain. Couldn't?"Alex! Bree!" It was Sampson again. "By the pumps! To your left!"I ran out to where I could see the main buildings. Three of the gunmen had a good fifty yards on us and were running toward the gas canopy, firing as they went. They had black balaclavas pulled over their heads.Two were short-boys, if the height was any indication. A larger person-huge-was in the first position. Was that the gang's leader? Ellie's killer. It had to be him, didn't it? I wanted to get the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, no matter what else happened tonight.Innocent people ran screaming away from their cars and semis. There was too much confusion for us to fire, A woman in a red parka and baseball cap went down, clutching her stomach. The large man shot her a second time! Was he crazy?Then he plucked the gas nozzle out of her SUV. He definitely was mad. He locked it in the on position, then left the gas running on the ground.Then he stepped over to the next car in line and did the same thing.His team of boys was getting clear of the area, running and shouting as if this were some kind of out-of-control sports match. His pistol was pointed at the pooling gas, and that was all the warning I needed."Hold fire! Hold fire!" I yelled, then pulled up short of the pumps. "Bree, take Brighton. Go around the other side. Nicolo, get somebody to shut those things off."The large man held a third nozzle in his hand now, just letting the gasoline flow onto the pavement. I could smell the vapors, even at this distance.What the h.e.l.l was he thinking?"Just put it down. Walk away!" I shouted. "We won't fire on you."He didn't move, just stared back at me. No fear in him. A second later, someone shouted behind him. Then came three short blasts of a car horn.Finally he did what I'd asked. He kept his gun pointed my way, but set the gas nozzle down. He backed away slowly, moving out of the light of the canopy.We were clear-he was leaving!Then several shots were fired out of the darkness. It was him-the b.a.s.t.a.r.d!A wall of flame burst from the concrete. It almost seemed like a magic trick. In seconds, the forecourt was burning, flames licking under and around the empty cars.A white Corolla went up first. It exploded right where the large male had been standing a few seconds ago. Then a black pickup on the other side of the pumps caught fire."Clear! Clear! Clear! Clear!" I was shouting and waving both arms over my head, trying to get everybody, civilians and police, away from there.That's when the first pump head blew.And then-Armageddon in Virginia.

Chapter 18.

THE PLAZA WITH its lines of gas pumps exploded from underneath, the pavement rising like a carpet being rolled. Flames shot at least eighty feet into the air, a ball of bright yellow and orange, followed by a heavy black coat of smoke. Burning vehicles rolled around like toy cars; truckers and families fled screaming from the restaurant, where the fire had already spread and with it the panic.I was running as close to the blast site as I could. Heat singed my face, my eyes, and my hearing felt like it was half gone.Up ahead I could see two SUVs speeding out toward Route 50. They were getting away!I spotted Bree coming around from the far side of the building and breathed a sigh of relief. She was all right. She ran toward my car and so did I.I got in the car and punched it up to ninety in a hurry.For a few uneasy seconds, there was nothing ahead of us, nothing I could see."There!" Bree pointed at the two SUVs. They must have spotted us because just then they peeled off from each other.The first Land Cruiser went left. The second SUV turned right. I followed the lead vehicle, hoping I had made the right choice.

Chapter19.