Cross Fire (Alex Cross 17)

“Depends who you ask,” he answered.

“You left that anonymous tip at the Bureau yourself, didn’t you?” I said. This whole thing was a setup, I felt sure, and we’d given him exactly what he wanted — a quiet surveillance detail by the people who knew the most about him. Whether he’d been trying to kill us in the car or draw us closer, I still didn’t know.

“And look what I caught,” he said. “Now, I want you to reach back slowly and drop that Glock right off the roof.”

I shook my head. “I’ll throw it over there. I can’t put this thing in the street.”

“Sure you can,” he said. The tip of his Walther was cool when he pressed it into my forehead. Presumably he’d been using something bigger a few minutes ago.

I reached back and let the Glock fall. When it smacked onto the concrete below, my stomach clenched.

He took a step back then, out of arm’s reach.

“To tell you the truth, I just wanted you dead and out of the way. But now that you’re here, I’m giving you thirty seconds to tell me what you’ve got on me,” he said. “And I’m not talking about what’s already in the papers.”

“No, I don’t imagine you are,” I said. “You want to know how deep you need to go before you can disappear again.”

“Twenty seconds,” he said. “I might even let you live. Talk to me.”

“You’re Steven Hennessey, aka Frances Moulton, aka Denny Humboldt,” I said. “You were with U.S. Army Special Forces until two thousand two, most recently in Afghanistan. There’s a grave in Kentucky with your name on it, and I’m assuming you’ve been running freelance off the radar since then.”

“What about the Bureau?” he said. “Where else are they looking for me?”

“Everywhere,” I said.

He adjusted his grip and locked his elbows. “I know who you are, too, Cross. You live on Fifth Street. No reason I can’t make a stop there tonight, too. Understand?”

I felt a rush of anger. “I’m not messing with you. We’ve been grasping at straws. Why do you think we don’t have a whole team here?”

“Not yet you don’t,” he said. The sirens were definitely getting closer, though. “What else? You’re still alive. Keep talking.”

“You killed your partner, Mitch.”

“Not what I’m asking about. Give me something I can use,” he said. “Last chance, or you won’t be the only Cross to die tonight.”

“For God’s sake, if I had something, I’d tell you!”

The first police cruiser came screaming up the block down below.

“Looks like your time’s up,” he said.

A gun fired — and I flinched before I realized it wasn’t Hennessey’s. His eyes opened wide. A line of blood rolled onto his upper lip, and he collapsed straight down in front of me, as if someone had just dropped his strings.

“Alex?”

I looked to the right. Max Siegel was standing on the roof of the next building, lit from behind by a small shaft of light from the stairwell. His Beretta was still up and pointed my way, but he lowered it when I turned to him.

“You okay?” he called.

I stepped on Hennessey’s wrist and took the Walther out of his hand. There was no pulse at the neck, and his eyes were like blank saucers. He was gone. Max Siegel had taken him out and saved my life.

By the time I stood up again, the street was filling fast. Besides the sirens, I could hear doors slamming and the squawk of police radios. The block was locked down, but I still needed to go and find my Glock.

Siegel appeared to stare after me as I headed for the door. I owed him a thank-you, to say the least, but the street noise would’ve swallowed my

words, so I just flashed a thumbs-up for now.

All good.