Kill Alex Cross (Alex Cross 18)

The room went quiet for several seconds. This was exactly the problem — since the twenty-four-hour mark had come and gone, the silence was killing them.

“Okay, what else?” Burns demanded. “Where are we with the driver of that van?”

Matt Salvorsen from the DC field office took Marshall’s place at the front of the room.

“So far, his story checks out,” Salvorsen said. He brought up an image of a Maryland driver’s license. The name on it was Ray Pinkney. The picture was of the driver.

“We’ve been over his home computer, and he did in fact receive a private IM from this ‘NE1NE1’ character. Contact was made four days before the abduction.”

“Which my ten-year-old granddaughter could have faked,” Burns said.

“Yes, sir,” Salvorsen answered. “Even so, we don’t believe that Pinkney had the means to pull off the larger operation. He’s kind of …”

“Thick?”

“Something like that, sir. In any case, we’re sitting on him twenty-four/seven at the hospital. He knows he’s up a creek now, and we’re fairly confident he’s giving us everything he’s got.”

“Who else talked to him?” Burns said. “Besides EMTs and hospital staff.”

“Secret Service Agent Findlay,” Salvorsen said. “He’s been temporarily decommissioned. And then Detective Cross, from MPD’s Major Case Squad. He managed to interview Pinkney before the Bureau took jurisdiction.”

Mahoney looked up from his notes when he heard Cross’s name. He was surprised to find Director Burns looking right back at him.

“Ned, you know Alex Cross pretty well?”

“Sure,” Mahoney said.

“Get him in on this, but light duty. We don’t need any more chiefs. Just close enough to keep an eye on him. Don’t tell him anything you don’t need to. I don’t want MPD in our way. Understood?”

Mahoney nodded several times, trying not to say what he was thinking — that Alex deserved better than this. “Sir, Cross was instrumental in the Soneji case —”

“Not looking for your opinion right now. I respect Cross. Just get it done, please. We don’t want MPD involved in this, and Cross is MPD!” Burns said briskly.

Mahoney gave the only answer there was to give at that point. “Yes, sir. Will do.”

Freeze out Alex.

ALREADY, THE HIGH-ENERGY director was onto something else on his busy agenda. A crew-cut assistant, female, had just come into the briefing theater, and she whispered in Burns’s ear. Didn’t seem like good news. What was happening now?

At the same time, two Secret Service agents entered from the back, strode up the center aisle, and took a position at the fron

t.

Two more agents appeared in each of the rear corners. Something was definitely up. What?

“On your feet!” Burns said, and everyone rose — just as the president and First Lady entered the room.

President Coyle looked exhausted but somehow had pulled himself together in a dark blue suit and gray tie. Mrs. Coyle, likewise, was camera ready, but anyone could see the stress and pain in her red, puffy eyes, and the sharp lines on her face.

Good God, Mahoney thought, to live this unfolding tragedy in front of the whole world. Your kids missing. No word from whoever took them.

“Sit, please,” the president said, and waited for everyone to settle down. Finally, he spoke again. “Regina and I just wanted to come and thank you all for everything you’re doing,” he went on. “Obviously, we’re not speaking with the press, but if there are any questions while we’re here, we can answer them. Feel free to ask anything. Please. You can be candid, and you can be honest.”

“Mr. President,” Burns cut in from the side. “We can meet privately with section heads, and then get you both out of here as fast as possible. They’ll have questions.”

“Fine,” the president said. “Then just one other thing.”

He walked over to one of the freestanding whiteboards in the room, picked up a green dry-erase marker, and wrote down ten digits. Then he reached into his pocket and held up a small blue phone.