uncharacteristically wrinkled and unkempt. His thick blond hair was combed back, looked dirty and greasy, and it resisted the high winds flowing through Washington. He looked pale, seemed nervous and fidgety.
Was he going to crash?
After dinner on Friday night, Nana and I sat out in back of the house on Fifth Street. We were talking, and spending more time together than we had in years. I knew she was concerned about me, and I let her help as much as she wanted. For both our sakes.
Jannie and Damon were washing the dishes inside and they managed not to squabble too much. Damon washed while Jannie dried. Damon's tape deck played the beautiful score from the movie Beloved.
'Most families have a washer and dryer these days,' Nana said, after she'd taken a sip of her tea. 'Slavery has ended in America, Alex. Did you happen to hear about that?'
'We have a dishwasher and dryer, too. Sounds like they're in good working order. Low maintenance, low cost. Hard to beat.'
Nana clucked. 'See how long it lasts.'
'If you want a dishwasher we can buy it, or are you just practicing the fine art of being argumentative before you launch into something more deserving of your talents? As I remember, you are a fan of Demosthenes and Cicero.'
She nudged me with her elbow. 'Wiseapple,' she said. 'Think you're so smart.'
I shook my head. 'Not really, Nana. That's never been one of my big problems.'
'No, I suppose not. You're right, you don't have a big head about yourself.' Nana stared into my eyes. I could almost feel her peering into my soul. She has an ability to look very deeply into things that really matter. 'You ever going to stop blaming yourself?' she finally asked. 'You look just terrible.'
'Thank you. Are you ever going to stop nagging me?' I asked, and finally smiled at her. Nana could always bring me out of the doldrums, in her own special way.
She nodded her small head. 'Of course I will. I'll stop one day. Nobody lives forever, grannyson.'
I laughed. 'You probably will, though. Live longer than me or the kids.'
Nana showed lots of teeth - her own, too. 'I do feel pretty good, considering everything,' she said. 'You're still chasing him, aren't you? That's what you're doing nights. You and John Sampson, that Englishman, Andrew Jones.'
I sighed. 'Yeah, I am. And we're going to get him. There may be four men involved in a series of murders. Here, in Asia, Jamaica, London.'
She beckoned to me with a bent, crabbed forefinger. 'Come closer now.'
I grinned at her. She's such a soft touch really, such a sweetie, but such a hardass, too. 'You want me to sit down on your lap, old woman? You sure about that?'
'Good Lord, no. Don't sit on me, Alex. Just bend over and show some respect for my age and wisdom. Give me a big hug, while you're at it.'
I did as I was told, and I noticed there wasn't any fuss or clatter coming from the kitchen anymore.
I glanced at the screen door, and saw my two little busybodies were watching, their faces pressed against the mesh wire. I waved them away from the door, and their faces disappeared.
'I want you to be so very, very careful.' Nana whispered as I held her gently. 'But I want you to get him somehow, some way. That man is the worst of all of them. Geoffrey Shafer is the worst, Alex, the most evil.'
?CHAPTER One Hundred and Seven
The game had never really ended - but it had changed tremendously since the trial in Washington.
It was five thirty in the evening in London and Conqueror was waiting at his computer. He was both anxious and feverishly excited about what was happening: The Four Horsemen was starting up again.
It was twelve thirty a.m. in Manila in the Philippines. Famine was ready for a message, and a new beginning to the game he loved.
And War awaited news of The Four Horsemen at his large house on the island of Jamaica. He too was obsessed with how it would end, and whether he would be the winner.
It was twelve thirty in Washington. Geoffrey Shafer was driving fast to the White Flint Mall, from the embassy. He had a lot to accomplish that afternoon. He was revved and manic.
He sped up Massachusetts Avenue, past the British Embassy and the vice-president's house. He wondered if he was being followed and assumed it was possible. Alex Cross and the other police were out there, just waiting to get him. He hadn't spotted them yet, which only meant that they were getting serious now.
He made a quick right, hit a traffic circle, and shot onto Nebraska Avenue headed toward American University. He snaked around back roads near the university, then got on Wisconsin, and sped toward the mall.
He entered Bloomingdale's, found the department store sparsely crowded, a little depressing actually. Good, he despised the American shopping scene anyway. It reminded him of Lucy and her brood. He walked at a leisurely pace through the men's clothing section. He picked up a few overpriced Ralph Lauren Polo sport shirts, and then two pairs of dark trousers.
He draped a black Giorgio Armani suit over his arm and took the bundle into the changing rooms. At a security desk inside he handed the clothes to an attendant on duty, to curtail shoplifters, no doubt.
'Changed my mind,' he said.
'That's not a problem, sir.'
Shafer then jogged down a narrow corridor that led to a rear exit. He sprinted toward the glass doors, then burst into a parking lot in back. He saw signs for Bruno Cipriani and Lord Taylor, and knew he was heading in the
