Jack & Jill (Alex Cross 3)
He wasn’t Sam Harrison.
“It’s Daddy,” he said to his youngest child. “Hello, pumpkin-eater. I miss you to bits. How are you? Where’s Mommy?” he asked. “Are you guys taking good care of each other? I’ll be home real soon. Do you miss me? I sure miss you.”
He had to get away with this, he thought as he talked to his daughter, and then to his wife. Jack and Jill had to succeed. He had to change history. He couldn’t go home in a body bag. In disgrace. As the worst American traitor since Benedict Arnold.
No, the body bag was for President Thomas Byrnes. He deserved to die. So had all the others. They were all traitors in their own way.
Jack and Jill came to The Hill
To kill, to kill, to kill.
And soon—very soon—it would be finished.
CHAPTER
81
SOMETHING was clearly wrong at the hotel. We hadn’t been at the Waldorf for more than a few minutes when I knew there was a serious breach in security. I could see the way the Secret Service agents closed around President Byrnes and his wife as they entered the glittery hotel foyer.
Thomas and Sally Byrnes were hurriedly being escorted to their suite of rooms on the twenty-first floor. I knew the drill by heart. NYPD detectives had been working closely with the Secret Service detail. They had checked every conceivable and inconceivable method of infiltration into the Waldorf, including subways, sewers, and all the underground passages. Bomb-sniffing dogs had been marched through the midtown hotel just before our arrival. The dogs had also been taken that afternoon to the Plaza and the Pierre, other possible choices for the President’s stay.
“Alex,” I heard from behind. “Alex, over here. In here, Alex.” Jay Grayer beckoned with his hand. “We’ve got a little problem already. I don’t know how they managed it, but they’re definitely here in New York. Jack and Jill are here.”
“What the hell is going on here, Jay?” I asked the Secret Service agent as we hurried past glass cases filled with quart-size perfume bottles and expensive clothing accessories.
Jay Grayer led me to the hotel’s administrative offices, which were directly behind the front desk on the lobby floor. The room was already filled with Secret Service, FBI agents, and New York City police honchos. Everybody seemed to be listening to earphones or hand transmitters. They looked stressed-out, including the hotel management, with their own director of security and the proud claim that every president since Hoover had stayed at the Waldorf.
Grayer finally turned to me and said, “A delivery of flowers came about ten minutes ago. They’re from our friends Jack and Jill. There’s another rhyme with the flowers.”
“Let’s take a look at it. Let me see the message, please.”
The note was on a mahogany desk next to an arrangement of blood-red roses. I read it as Grayer looked over my shoulder.
Jack and Jill
went up The Hill
And surprised the Chief with flowers.
We’re here in town
We’re counting down
Your last remaining hours.
“They want us to believe they’re a couple of kooks,” I said to Jay.
“Do you?”
“I sure as hell don’t, but they’re sticking with it. It’s consistent as hell and it’s all a plan. They definitely know what they’re doing, and we definitely don’t.”
And Jack and Jill were definitely in New York City.
CHAPTER
82
THE HEAVY WOODEN DOOR into President Thomas Byrnes’s master bedroom opened a few minutes past midnight. The Waldorf’s presidential suite consisted of four bedrooms and two sitting rooms in the tower portion of the hotel. No other hotel guests were staying on that floor, or the floors immediately above and below.