I didn’t want to give her too much room to think, so I leaned in and kept talking, a little faster now, whatever came into my head.

“If your husband had been martyred, I might understand all this silence. Or even if he’d been allowed to take his own life. But that’s not what happened, is it? He was killed by one of your own. By Al Ayla. The Family. I can’t imagine that’s what either of you signed up for,” I said. “What do you owe them now? What do you owe your husband’s murderer?”

She was seething but still watching me. I took it as a green light.

And then slowly, without even the slightest change of expression, she said, “There have been rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?” I said.

“Talk. Among some of the others. They say Al Ayla kidnapped those children. That your president got what he deserved.”

“Do you know if the children are still alive?” I asked. “Just tell me that.”

“I don’t know.” She slumped in her chair, maybe hating herself for doing this, for even talking to me. This was against all her beliefs, wasn’t it?

“Do you know where they were taken?” I pressed her.

This time she only shook her head. I was starting to wonder where this was going, if anywhere. Did she know more than she was telling me? Probably.

“How about this?” I said. “Do you believe those rumors are true? Do you think Al Ayla has those kids?”

Her expression muddied. It was like I could see the gears turning. Her defenses were down now, clearly weakened, and she was easier to read.

“Of course I believe them,” she said — about two seconds too late.

She’d just put herself in a corner, and we both knew it. She wanted to believe those rumors, even needed to believe them. But she didn’t. Now she had nothing left to give me. No currency to buy her freedom.

“I think we’re done,” I said. Then I counted to ten in my head. When she didn’t say anything, I stood up to go.

“And just so you know,” I told her, “the secretary of the interior wasn’t going to be anywhere near that expo tonight. Your mission failed before it even started. The plan you were given was a bad one. Your husband died for nothing.”

I left the room with a clear conscience. The fact was, we’d both lie

d to each other. There was no deal. Never had been, never would be. I hadn’t even cleared the idea with my team.

Some days are just like that. You do whatever you need to do to get the job done. Anything at all. By tomorrow, maybe my conscience wouldn’t be so clear.

THE MAJOR CASE squad office was a twelve-cubicle circus that morning. Staff were coming and going, phones were ringing off the hook, detectives were swapping information across the room — all the usual, but it was nonstop chaos these days. A thousand clues and rumors were being chased down. At least that many leaks. Way too many.

I barely noticed any of it. I was hunched over my desk with a stack of Branaff personnel files spread out around me.

Whatever had or hadn’t been achieved the night before, it remained true that we had seventeen Branaff faculty and staff unaccounted for during that homeroom period when someone used Emma Allison’s phone to set a trap for Zoe Coyle.

I’d also started to wonder if Ethan had been an unintended second victim in this kidnap plot. Had Zoe’s fight with Ryan Townsend thrown a monkey wrench into the plan? Was she the sole target to begin with?

I was up to my eyeballs with all of it when I got a knock on my cubicle wall.

“Uh, Detective?”

It was Dennis Porter, one of the research team members. Porter was fresh out of the academy, and still green, but eager and fairly bright, I thought. The bags under his eyes and day-old ginger fuzz on his face were a testament to his hard work.

“What’s up, Denny?”

“Well, maybe nothing, but I just found this,” he said, and laid a copy of a death certificate on my desk.

It was from the Department of Vital Records in Dauphin County, Pennsylvania, dated November 10, 2006. The name on the certificate was Zachary Levi Johnson-Glass.

“Glass?” I said. “As in —”

Tags: James Patterson Alex Cross Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net