London Bridges (Alex Cross 10)

Oh no. No. Don’t do this to me.

Chapter 8

I GROANED and gently set down Jamilla, as if we had been doing something wrong instead of something very right. All the good feelings inside me evaporated in a hurry. Just like that. Wham, bam! I needed a break—and this wasn’t going to be it.

“I’m Agent Jean Matthews; this is Agent John Thompson,” the woman said, gesturing to a thirty-something blond guy munching a Ghirardelli chocolate bar. “We hate to interrupt, to intrude, but we were sent out here to meet your plane. You’re Alex Cross, sir?” she said, finally thinking to check.

“I’m Alex Cross. This is Inspector Hughes from the SFPD. You can talk in front of her,” I said.

Agent Matthews shook her head. “No, sir, I’m afraid I can’t.”

Jamilla patted my arm. “It’s okay.” She walked away, leaving me with the two agents, which was the opposite of what I wanted to happen. I wanted them to walk away—far, far away.

“What’s this about?” I asked Agent Matthews. I already knew it was something bad, which was an ongoing problem with my current job. FBI Director Burns had my schedule and itinerary at all times, even when I was off duty, which effectively meant that I was never off duty.

“As I said, sir, we were told to meet you. Then to put you right on a plane to Nevada. There’s an emergency out there. A small town was bombed. Well, the town was blown off the map. The director wants you on the scene, like, an hour ago. It’s a terrible disaster.”

I was shaking my head, feeling incredible disappointment and frustration as I walked over to where Jamilla stood. I felt as if there was a hole in the center of my chest. “There’s been a bombing in Nevada. They say it’s on the news. I have to go out there,” I told her. “I’ll try to get back as soon as I can. I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

The look on her face said it all. “I understand,” she said. “Of course I understand. You have to go. Come back if you can.”

I tried to hug her, but Jamilla backed away, finally giving me a small, sad wave. Then she turned and left without saying another word, and I think I knew that I had just lost her, too.

Chapter 9

I WAS ON THE MOVE, but the whole scene felt more than frustrating—it was actually surreal. I flew by private jet from San Francisco to a small town in Nevada, and from there caught a ride in an FBI helicopter to what had once been Sunrise Valley.

I was trying not to think about little Alex, trying not to think about Jamilla, but so far it wasn’t working. Maybe once I got to the bomb site? Once I was there in the action, in the middle of the shit.

I could tell by the way the local agents deferred to, and fussed around, me that my reputation, or the fact that I worked out of Washington, was making them nervous and edgy. Director Burns had made it clear that I was one of the Bureau’s troubleshooters, that I was his troubleshooter. I wouldn’t carry tales back to Washington, but the agents in the field offices didn’t know that. How could they?

The helicopter ride to the bombing site took only about ten minutes. From the air, I could see emergency lights all around Sunrise Valley, or what had been Sunrise Valley. The town was gone now. There was still smoke, but no fire was visible from the air, possibly because there was nothing left to burn.

It was a little past eight o’clock. What the hell had happened out here? And why would somebody go to the trouble of destroying a hole-in-the-wall town like Sunrise Valley?

I had been briefed as soon as I stepped inside the FBI helicopter. Unfortunately, there wasn’t too much information available. At four that afternoon, the residents—except for one male who’d been shot—had been “evacuated” by what appeared to be U.S. Army national guardsmen. The townspeople were then driven forty miles away to a point halfway to the nearest large town, Elko. Their location was called in to the Nevada State Police. By the time the troopers arrived to assist the badly frightened townies, the army trucks and jeeps were gone. And so was the town of Sunrise Valley. Blown off the map.

I mean, there was nothing down there but sand, sage, and scrub.

I could see fire trucks, vans, off-road vehicles, maybe half a dozen helicopters. As our copter began to settle down I spotted techies in chemical protective overgarments.

Jesus, what happened here?

Chemical warfare?

War?

Is that a possibility? In this day and age? Of course it is.

Chapter 10

IT WAS PROBABLY the scariest thing I’d ever seen in my years as a police officer—total desolation, without apparent rhyme or reason.

As soon as we touched down and I climbed out of the helicopter, I was outfitted in chemical protective overgarments, CPOGs, including a gas mask and other gear. The rubber mask was state-of-the-art, with dual eyepieces and an internal drinking tube for replenishing fluids. I felt like a character in a scary Philip K. Dick story. But it didn’t last too long. I took the unwieldy mask off as soon as I saw a couple of army officers roaming around without theirs.

We got a possible break soon after I arrived. A couple of rock climbers had spotted a man using a video camera to film the explosion. He looked suspicious, and one of the climbers had photographed the man with his digital camera. The climbers also had shots of the town’s evacuation.

Two of our agents were interviewing the climbers, and I also wanted to talk to them as soon as the agents had finished. Unfortunately, the local police had gotten to the camera first and were holding it until their chief arrived at the scene. He was late, because he’d been away on a hunting trip.