Roses Are Red (Alex Cross 6)

The Capitol Hilton was close enough for us to get to the Mayflower in about ninety seconds if necessary. We hoped it was far enough away so that the crew wouldn’t know we were there. We now had exactly two hours until the money was to be dropped. The schedule was incredibly tight. For them and for us.

Then the job got harder.

Jill Abramson from the insurance company’s internal security committee and Steve Bolding from the security firm itself arrived at the Hilton. Abramson was a heavyset woman in a yellow pinstriped business suit. She looked to be in her late forties. Bolding was tall and in good shape, probably in his early fifties. He had on a blue blazer, white shirt, and jeans. They had come to the Hilton to tell us how to do our jobs.

Betsey opened her mouth to speak, but Bolding abruptly waved her off. He had something to say first. It was clear that he wanted to take control of the meeting.

“This is how it’s going to be. I let you in on this, but I can also shut you right out again. I’m a former SAC with the Bureau so I know all the right moves — and all the wrong ones. We don’t have time for niceties here. Agent Cavalierre, are there any leads on the identity of the UNSUBs? It’s eleven forty-six. Our zero hour is one-forty-five. Precisely.”

Betsey took a short breath before she answered Bolding’s question. She was keeping her cool better than I would have done with the private security expert.

“Suspects, yes, but nothing we can use to help the hostages. A neighbor saw the hijacking of the bus. Two males were involved. They wore ski-style masks. The bus was spotted on DeSales Street, but we don’t know if that was before or after the hostages were taken. It’s now eleven forty-seven, Mr. Bolding.”

Ms. Abramson said something that surprised all of us. “We have the money coming to the Mayflower right now. The ransom will be paid.”

“On schedule,” said Bolding. “We’re waiting for further instructions from the hijackers. They have been incommunicado since their first contact. Our people will make the drop, and we’ll make it alone.”

Betsey Cavalierre finally went off on Bolding. “I listened to you, now you listen to me, mister. You were a SAC. I am a SAC. I would have been your superior if you had stayed at the Bureau, and I’m your superior now. My people will make the money drop. I’ll be there — you won’t. That’s how it will be done!”

Both Abramson and Bolding started to argue with her, but Betsey cut them off instantly.

“That’s enough bullshit out of both of you. Everything will be handled with the full knowledge of how dangerously predictable the hijackers are. If you don’t like my terms, then you’re out. I’ll arrest you right here, Bolding. That goes for you, too, Ms. Abramson. We have lots of work to do — in exactly one hour and fifty-seven minutes.”

Chapter 59

HE WALKED AMONG THE PEOPLE in the crowded lobby and the vast corridors to nowhere inside the Capitol Hilton hotel. None of them had any idea what was happening, which was just as he liked it. Only he had the answers, and the questions as well.

He had already spotted the FBI agents and Metro Detective Cross as they arrived. They hadn’t seen him, of course, but even if they did, there was no chance that he would be stopped and apprehended. It just couldn’t happen.

This was such an incredible mismatch — his mind and experience against theirs. Sometimes, it didn’t even seem like a challenge to him. That was the rub, the only problem he could see: If he got too bored and careless, then maybe they had a chance to catch him.

He noticed a small entourage, nervous and worried looking, cross through the lobby and head toward the hotel’s cramped nest of meeting rooms. That was where the FBI had set up camp. MetroHartford had violated his warning, but he’d known they would. It really wasn’t important. Not this time. He had wanted the FBI and Cross brought in on this.

Finally, he decided to leave the Hilton. He walked to the Renaissance Mayflower — the scene of the horrific crime. That was where the real action would be.

And that’s where the Mastermind wanted to be as well. He wanted to watch, to be right there.

Chapter 60

THE KIDNAPPERS finally called MetroHartford’s board of directors at ten past one. There were only thirty-five minutes left until the deadline.

We knew what would happen if we missed the deadline. Or if the kidnappers did, even if they did it on purpose.

Betsey and I hurried to the Mayflower Hotel. We caught two small breaks, but given the direction of things so far, they felt much larger. The first was that the service door of the kitchen led to a small loading dock and alley. During the Clinton inaugural, the Secret Service had parked there. We used the alley to get inside without being seen. The second break was that the FBI agents in the hotel had learned that the room where the MetroHartford board was meeting, the Chinese Room, had a unique feature that would be useful to us. There was a narrow metal staircase directly behind it. The stairs led to a catwalk above the rotunda. There were small viewing holes there so we could watch and listen but not be seen.

Betsey and I hurried up to the catwalk and crouched high over the meeting room. We needn’t have bothered.

The kidnappers were still on the line.

“We assume that the FBI and possibly the Washington police are involved at this point,” the voice of one of the kidnappers said over the speakerphone in the Chinese Room. “We have no objection. We fully expected it. In fact, we welcome the Bureau. We’ve written you into the plan.”

Betsey and I shared looks of exasperation. The Mastermind was making us look bad. Why? We hurried downstairs and joined the others in the Chinese Room. My head was spinning with questions. The Mastermind was good at keeping us off balance. Too good.

“First, I’m going to repeat our demands for the money,” the distorted voice on the speakerphone said. “This is important. Please follow the instructions. As you know, five million of the thirty should be in uncut diamonds. The diamonds must be packed in one duffel bag. There should be no more than eight other duffels. The cash must be in twenties and fifties. No hundred-dollar bills. No dye packs. No tracking devices o

f any kind. Now, who am I speaking to?”

Betsey moved close to the speakerphone. So did I. “This is Special Agent Elizabeth Cavalierre. I’m Special Agent in Charge with the FBI.”