was.
'I don't know what to tell you, Alex,' Burns said, pacing. We'd just hung up after a marathon conference call. 'We've got nothing useful here, no physical proof that Kyle killed Tambour or Patel, or even that he's been in Washington. And nothing on that Beretta you pulled out of evidence either, by the way.'
The Beretta he was referring to was the one Bronson James had used in the armed-robbery attempt. My original idea had been that Pop-Pop had gotten it from a gang member off the street, but Kyle Craig could have just as easily put that gun in his hand. I knew that Kyle favored Berettas, and he knew that I knew.
'I'm the proof,' I said. 'He's called me on the phone. He's made threats. The man is obsessed with me, Ron. In his mind, I'm the only one who's ever beaten him, and Kyle Craig is nothing if not highly competitive.'
'What about these disciples of his? Just for the sake of argument.' Burns was talking to me but also to a dozen other agents who took notes and banged away on laptops as he spoke. 'The man's got followers, some of them apparently ready to die on his command. It's happened before. How do we know he didn't commission one of them for these hits?'
'Because the hits were directed at me,' I said slowly. 'This is the part Kyle would want to do himself.'
'Even so' – Burns stopped pacing and sat down – 'we're getting off point here. Whether Craig made these kills or he didn't, our hand is pretty much the same. We keep scouring the crime scenes. We make sure that our radar's up and that our people are as ready as they can be the next time he strikes.'
'That's not good enough. Goddamnit!' I said, and swiped my notes off the desk, taking with them a few other people's papers, too. Right away, I regretted it. 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'Sorry.'
Burns bent to where I was picking up the papers and put out a hand. He pulled me to my feet. 'Take a breather. Go get some dinner. There's nothing else to do right now.'
Like it or not, he was right. I was exhausted and a little embarrassed, and I definitely needed to go home for a while. Once I'd gathered up my stuff, I headed out.
Waiting at the elevator, I felt my phone vibrate for the umpteenth time that day. It had been a steady stream of calls from MPD, Sampson, Bree, Nana -
But this time, when I looked at the ID, it just said, 'A. Friend.'
'Alex Cross,' I answered, and I was already heading back to the operations center.
'Hello, Alex,' Kyle Craig said. 'Really in the thick of things now, aren't we?'
Chapter 71
'THIS PHONE I'M CALLING ON is encrypted, so don't bother trying anything,' Kyle went on. 'Now, if I've timed this correctly, you're right in the belly of the beast. Is that right? And don't put me on speaker – or I'm hanging up.'
I came into the conference room, gesticulating like crazy to let them know something was going on. Agents started scrambling, although there wasn't much they could do. I had no doubt Kyle was telling the truth about the encrypted phone.
Someone handed me a pad and pen, and Burns sat down with his ear close to the cell, until an assistant ran over with a laptop. He took the director's place and started transcribing as much as he could hear.
'You killed Anjali Patel and Nelson Tambour, didn't you, Kyle?'
'I'm afraid I did.'
'And what about Bronson James?' I said. 'Did you do that, too?'
'Remarkable little boy, wasn't he? Just vegetable soup, last I checked.'
My big mistake the previous time with Kyle had been to lose my shit during the manhunt. I was determined not to let that happen again, but my heart was pounding with as much hate as I've ever felt for anyone in my life.
'Do you see the swath of destruction you're creating here?' he went on. 'How much better off these people would be if you simply didn't exist?'
'What I see is a man with an obsession against me,' I told him.
'Not true,' he said. 'I think you're fascinating, especially for a Negro. If you weren't, you'd be dead by now, and Tambour, Patel, and little Bronson James would all be wondering what to have for breakfast tomorrow. It's quite a compliment, really. Not many people are worthy of my time.'
His voice sounded almost… playful? He appeared to be in an especially good mood. Killing seemed to do that for him. Kyle also loved to talk about himself.
'Can I ask you something?' I said.
'Interesting. You don't usually ask permission. Go right ahead, Alex.'
'I'm curious about the way you killed Tambour and Patel. It's not like you to imitate anyone -'
'No,' he said right away. 'It's usually the other way around, isn't it?'
'But that's exactly what you did here. Twice.'
'So what's your question, Alex?'
'Have you been in touch with them?' I asked. 'The original killers. Are they yours, Kyle?'
He thought for a second, maybe trying to slow this down a little. Or maybe concocting a lie?
'I haven't, and they aren't,' he said then. 'This Patriot character is a bit pedestrian for me. But that other one, with the numbers? Much more interesting. I'll admit, I wouldn't mind a little tete-a-tete with that chap.'
'So you don't know who either of them are,' I said.
There was another long pause. Then he laughed, as heartily as I'd ever heard from Kyle.
'Alex Cross, are you asking me for advice?'
'You used to be a good agent,' I said. 'Remember? You used to advise me.'
'Of course. They were the second-worst years of my life. The first being my time in that so-called Supermax out in Florence – which I have you to thank for.' He stopped, and I heard another long, slow breath. 'Which also brings us full circle, doesn't it?'
'Yes, it does,' I said. 'Your whole life seems to revolve around paying me back for that.'
'Something along those lines.'
'So why all the running around, playing games, Kyle? What are you waiting for?'
'The right inspiration, I suppose,' he said without a trace of irony. 'That's the beauty of creation and imagination. Remaining open to what comes. The more seasoned the artist, the more capable he is of responding in the moment.'
'So you're an artist now?'
'I suppose that I always have been,' he told me. 'I'm just getting better at it, that's all. It would be foolish to quit while I'm in my prime. But I will tell you one thing, my friend.'
'What's that?' I said.
'When the end comes – trust me – we'll both know it.' Book Four
FINAL TARGET, FINAL STRATEGIES
Chapter 72
LEAVING DC in the old white Suburban that morning, Denny had seen in the side mirror vapor trails coming out of the exhaust, but he didn't think too much about it. With a rig as old as this one, he couldn't bother himself over every mechanical hiccup.
Now, three and a half hours from home, the hiccup had turned into something more like a death rattle. There was a familiar dry clank coming from the engine.
As they pulled over to the side of Route 70, Mitch looked up from the Penthouse he'd nabbed off the rack at their last pit stop. 'What's going on, Denny? That doesn't sound right.'
'Can't you hear the head gasket going?' Denny said. It was amazing how observant Mitch could be with a rifle in his hand, considering how dim he was about most of the rest of his life.
