“Do you by any chance know who I am?”
“Yes, sir. I do. Congressman Richard Holt of Delaware.”
“That’s right,” he said. And then his voice moved into the too-friendly tone of a man running for reelection: “It really is necessary for me to be out of the station in the next thirty minutes. Do you think that can be arranged?”
“Congressman, if I could arrange it, I’d have you and everyone else out of here in the next thirty seconds, and I’d be at home in my wife’s loving arms.”
“Excellent,” said the congressman. “How long?”
Typical politician. Only listened to himself.
“Mr. Holt,” I said. “Read my lips. I would like to have you out of here in the next half hour, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”
Holt smiled a standard candidate’s smile and said, “If anyone can do it, you can. After all, you’re Alex Cross.”
“Doesn’t seem to be impressing many people these days,” I said as I turned and walked away.
Yeah, I was Alex Cross…without a lead, without a clue, without Hala.
And everywhere I looked, there were angry, frightened people trying to get their needs met:
“My little boy has medication he has to take.”
“My cell phone isn’t getting any reception. What is this, Nazi Germany?”
“This is exactly the kind of shit I expect from the Metro police. You guys hate black people. You hate us.”
“Just stay calm, dear. There’s nothing we can do.”
“That’s always your stupid advice, Barbara. Stay calm. Just stay calm.”
I rubbed my temples, tried to find a place of quiet, a moment of sanity, so I could call home again.
Nana answered on the first ring. “You coming home, Alex?”
“Soon as I’m able.”
“You okay?”
“I am. I just wanted you all to know that. Bree there?”
“She and Jannie have gone to the corner for milk and eggs.”
“I’ll try her cell.”
“You be safe now,” my grandmother said. She paused, and then added in a worried tone, “Alex, I don’t feel good about whatever you’re doing.”
“Having visions these days?”
“I’m telling you what I am feeling,” she said, hurt. “What we’re all feeling.”
I hesitated, willing myself not to fall into the trap of thinking too much beyond the task at hand. When someone is lobbing grenades, you want to be single-minded, even if it hurts the people closest to you.
“I promise you I’ll be safe, Nana,” I said at last. “And I’ll call again when we’ve wrapped this up and I’m coming home.”
“Please do that, Alex. I mean, come home.”
“Always,” I said, and I hung up.