Four Blind Mice (Alex Cross 8)

The cabin was near a small lake that was fed by the headwaters of the Jacks River, at least that was how it was marked. A stand of hemlocks, maples, and beech trees enveloped the clearing in deep green. Some of the trees were easily six feet wide.

The blue Suburban was parked in front of the cabin — but so was a silver Mercedes station wagon. It had North Carolina plates.

“They’ve got company. Who the hell is this?” Sampson asked. “Maybe we caught a break.”

We saw the front door open, and Colonel Thomas Starkey stepped outside. He had on a green T-shirt and baggy fatigue pants.

Right behind him was Marc Sherman, Cumberland County’s district attorney. Christ.

It was the lawyer who had prosecuted and convicted Ellis Cooper for three murders that he didn’t commit.

Chapter 92

“WHAT THE HELL is this? You know who he is?” Sampson asked. His temperature was rising fast.

“I remember him. Like you said, maybe we caught a little break. But why would Marc Sherman be here?”

Sampson and I were crouched behind a couple of ancient beech trees about a hundred yards from the cabin. The forest was eerily dark and seemed almost primitive. The roots of the huge trees all around us were carpeted by small ferns. On the walk there our legs got a good lashing from the catbrier and blackberry stickers.

“We’re in deep shit somewhere around Kennesaw, Georgia. We traveled a lot of hours to get here. Now what?” John asked.

“Now we wait. We listen,” I said.

I reached into the cloth duffel bag and pulled out a black box attached to what looked like a silver wand. The apparatus was a long-distance microphone, compliments of my new good buddies at the Bureau.

Sampson nodded when he saw what it was. “FBI wants you real bad.”

I nodded back. “That they do. This is a state-of-the-art unit. But we should get a little closer.”

We made our way up toward the cabin, crawling on our hands and knees between the towering trees. Besides the long-distance mike, Sampson and I had rifles and 9mm Glocks.

“Take one of these,” I said. “In case you don’t like the NVGs.” I handed him a pocket scope that worked in day or night. Fully extended, it was less than six inches long. Another valuable loan from the FBI.

“Only fair I guess,” Sampson said. “The boys probably have a couple of war toys of their own inside that log cabin.”

“That’s what I was thinking. It’s the argument I used with Burns. That and the fact that they came after me at my house. Burns has three kids of his own. He was sympathetic.”

Sampson glanced over at me. “I thought you didn’t know it was them in Washington?” he whispered.

“I don’t. I’m not so sure it was. I had to tell Burns something. I don’t know that it wasn’t them.”

Sampson grinned and shook his head. “Yo

u’re gonna get fired before you get hired.”

I stayed close to the ground and trained one end of the mike at the cabin. We were only fifty yards away now. I worked the microphone around until the voices got as clear as if they were just a few feet away from us.

I recognized Starkey’s voice. “Thought we’d party a little tonight, Counselor. Tomorrow we’re going to hunt deer up on the mountain. You in?”

“I have to go back tonight,” said Marc Sherman. “No hunting for me I’m afraid.”

There was a brief silence — then a burst of laughter. Three or four men joined in.

Brownley Harris spoke up. “That’s just fine, Sherman. Take your blood money and run, why don’t you? You hear this one? The devil takes a meeting with this lawyer.”

“I heard it,” said Sherman.

“Funny, Marc. Now listen. Devil is slick as shit, you know. I mean, you know, right, Counselor? Devil says, ‘I’ll make you a senior partner right now. Today.’ Young turk lawyer asks, ‘What do I have to do?’ Devil says, ‘I want your immortal soul.’ Beat. ‘And also the immortal souls of everyone in your family.’ The young lawyer stops and thinks, and he eyes the devil something fierce. Then the lawyer says, ‘What’s the catch?’”