They weren’t far wrong
To judge how long
A bleeding liberal bleeds.
One of Michael Robinson’s agents was in the room. He’d flown down from New York. He was a good-looking man, with silver-blond hair. He wore a long cashmere coat over an Armani suit. I noticed his eyes were red and swollen. He seemed to have been crying. Two medical examiners were working on the film actor’s body. I suppose you could call all that attention going out in style. Only the best for Michael Robinson.
There were some other obvious connections to the Fitzpatrick and Sheehan murders. There was a tawdry, kinky side to all three killings. Each had been an execution. And maybe most important so far, they were all “bleeding liberals,” weren’t they? They had all been exposed for what they were.
“Dr. Alex Cross? Excuse me, you’re Dr. Alex Cross, aren’t you?”
I turned to a tall, rangy man who had spoken my name. He was clean-cut and his bearing was almost military. About forty, I guessed. He wore a black raincoat over a dark gray suit. A buttoned-down look. Definitely senior law enforcement of some kind, I figured.
“Yes, I’m Alex Cross,” I said to him.
“I’m Jay Grayer from the Secret Service,” he introduced himself formally. There was something about the very erect way that he held himself. Extreme confidence. Or was it moral certitude? A stiff pole up his behind?
“I’m senior agent of the First Family detail.”
“What can I do for you?” I aske
d Agent Grayer. Alarms were already sounding in my head. I felt I was about to get a much fuller understanding of why I had been put on the Jack and Jill investigation. By whom, and for exactly what reason.
“You’re wanted at the White House,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s a command performance, Dr. Cross. It’s about the Jack and Jill investigation. There’s a problem we have to let you know about.”
“I’ll bet it’s a big problem, too,” I said to Agent Grayer.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is. It’s a very big problem, Dr. Cross. We have something we need to share with you.”
I had suspected as much. I’d had a quiet fear way in the back of my mind. Now it was up front.
I was being summoned to the White House.
They wanted the dragonslayer there. Did they understand what that meant?
CHAPTER
30
THE ONLY THING anybody seems to share very readily in Washington these days is trouble.
I could hardly argue with the command from on high, though. I dutifully accompanied Jay Grayer up the street to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Ask not what I can do for my country.
The White House was only a short jaunt from the Willard Hotel. Despite the relative performance of some of the recent occupants, the White House continues to cast its spell over a lot of people, including me. I had been inside only twice, on canned guided tours with my kids, but even they had been larger-than-life and moving. I almost wished Damon and Jannie could be with me.
We were quickly passed through the blue-canopied guardhouse on West Executive Drive. Agent Grayer was allowed to park his car in the garage under the White House. He seemed modestly proud of the perk. He explained that the garage was still considered a primary bomb shelter, but also an escape route in case of an attack.
“Good to know,” I said and smiled. Grayer smiled back. It was forced conviviality, but at least we were both making an effort.
“I’m sure you’re curious as to why you’ve been asked to come. I would be.”
“I don’t think I’ve been invited to tea,” I said stiffly. “But, yes, I’m very curious.”
“The reason is the Soneji and Casanova cases,” Grayer explained to me as we took an elevator one flight up from the garage. “Your reputation precedes you here. You’re aware that the FBI has never captured a single serial killer, for all their expertise? We want you on the team.”
“What team is that?” I asked.
“You’ll see in a few seconds. This is definitely the A team, though. Be ready for some crazy shit. The Bureau has staked out the hotel room where John Hinckley stayed. Just in case the killers might decide to stay there. Pay homage, or something like that.”