Her radio squawked. “Command, this is Metro K-9 Handler Krauss. K-9 Rebel has alerted. Exterior trash bin, women’s public restroom immediately southwest of Constitution Gardens Pond.”

“Shit,” Bree said, got to her feet, and ran to the opposite window as she ordered the officer and his dog back. She saw them trotting north toward open ground and heard the sirens of the other two bomb squads rushing to the new site.

Were there more IEDs? Bree wondered. All set to go off at 8:26?

It was

8:18 as the tactical vans skidded to a stop well back from the restroom. If the bomb was timed to go off at 8:26, they had eight minutes. As before, officers and agents in heavy protective gear and visors poured out of the vans.

There was brief radio chatter regarding tactics before Denton said, “Command, I recommend we move straight to the bomb mats and blankets. No time for the robot.”

“No other options?” Bree said.

“We let it blow.”

8:19. Seven minutes.

“Mats and blankets,” Bree said. She now spotted police and news helicopters hovering outside the no-fly zone that covered much of the Mall, and all of the White House grounds to the north.

“Command, we have a Caucasian male in camo gear on the west Mall,” an officer called.

Bree swung the binoculars and spotted him. The man was wearing filthy military desert fatigues, dancing in circles and shouting at the sky, on the lawn north of the Ash Woods. Officers ran toward him, shouting at him to get down.

Bree focused her binoculars on the man. Tall, lanky, bearded, grimy, with matted dark hair and wild eyes, he saw them coming and took off toward the reflecting pool. Before they could catch him he darted through the trees, across a path, and jumped into the pool.

He waded fast toward the center of the pool, heading almost directly toward the bomb squads and the restrooms. The water was well above his knees when he stopped, reached into his pants pocket, and slipped out a Glock pistol.

“Gun!” she barked into the radio. “Repeat, suspect in reflecting pool is armed.”

The police and FBI agents closing on the pool all had their weapons drawn now, shouting at the man to drop his pistol even as the bomb teams approached the restrooms north of the reflecting pool.

The man ignored the warnings. He sat down in the water, which came up to his chest. Holding the Glock overhead, he released the clip, which fell and disappeared below the surface. He ran the action next and ejected the round from the chamber before expertly stripping the weapon down to its components. Every bit of the gun was in pieces and sunk in under thirty seconds.

The officers were in the pool with him now, wading toward him, training their weapons on him, when he flopped back and disappeared into the water.

What the hell is that guy doing? Bree thought. She turned her attention back to the restroom and the first four members of the bomb squad who were close, maybe twelve feet from the second trash can, preparing to lay down the first mat.

She glanced at her watch. 8:23. Three minutes to spare.

She exhaled with relief as the bomb experts lifted the mat over the can—and the IED exploded in a brilliant, fiery red and yellow flash.

Chapter 4

Thirty-four-year-old Kate Williams was curled up in the fetal position in the overstuffed chair opposite me, in the basement office where I’d been seeing patients since being suspended from DC Metro five months before.

“I’ll end up killing myself, Dr. Cross,” Kate said. “Probably not today or tomorrow. But it’s going to happen. I’ve known that since I was nine years old.”

Her voice was flat, her expression showing the anger, fear, and despair that her tone didn’t betray. Tears welled and slipped from eyes that would not meet mine.

I took her threat seriously. From her records, I knew some of the damage she’d done to herself already. Kate’s teeth were stained from drug abuse. Her dirty blond hair was as thin and brittle as straw, and she wore a long-sleeve Electric Daisy Carnival T-shirt to hide evidence of cutting.

“Is that when it started?” I asked. “When you were nine?”

Kate wiped at her eyes furiously. “You know, I’m not talking about it anymore. Digging around back there never helps. Just pushes me to pull the plug on sobriety, on everything, sooner.”

I set my notepad aside, sat forward with my palms up and said, “I’m just trying to understand your history clearly, Kate.”

She crossed her arms. “And I’m just trying to hang on, Doc. The court ordered me here as a term of my probation, otherwise I gotta tell you, I’d be a no-show.”

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