in the middle of the night all the time — but I’m sure it does more than most. “Alex Cross,” I answered. There was a click, then two short beeps. That meant a secure line of some kind. Whose line?
“Detective Cross, this is Betty Chow with the CIA Directorate of Intelligence. I’m very sorry for the hour, but I’m calling to ask you to come to a meeting out here at the counterterrorism center in Langley.”
That woke me right up. What had happened now? And what was the CIA suddenly doing in the mix? For that matter, what was
“Can you tell me what this is regarding?” I asked while wiping the sleep from my eyes. “That would help.”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss any details, but you’ll be fully briefed at the center,” she said.
I looked at the clock. It was just after four a.m. “When’s the meeting?” I asked.
“We’re set to convene at five-thirty, Detective. Can I tell them you’ll be here?”
I didn’t even know who Betty Chow meant by “them.”
“I’m on my way,” I said.
“And, Detective? I’m to stress that this is a classified matter and that you’re not to tell anyone where you’re going this morning, under penalty of federal law.”
“Of course,” I told her, and hung up.
I thought about calling Bree anyway. She was still on duty, working the graveyard shift these days, and might even have some idea about what had happened to initiate all this. But then I thought the situation through again. If I was getting secure calls from the CIA on classified matters, there was a good chance — a very good chance — they were already listening in on my line.
I got dressed quickly and left the house in the dark.
Figuratively and literally in the dark.
THE USUALLY LONG drive to CIA headquarters in langley took no time at all without traffic.
What I got off the car radio was that two police officers had been killed sometime overnight at the Brentwood rail yard. Was that why I had been summoned to the CIA? Doubtful. I figured it must be something even worse. But what did they know that I didn’t? I didn’t like being on the wrong side of this mystery again.
Bree, after so many nights on duty, would be exhausted when she got home and would wonder where I was. I missed her like crazy. That’s a good thing, but sometimes it feels so bad.
An escort met me inside the main entrance to the agency’s complex. He took me up to one of the nicer conference rooms on the sixth floor, where most of the two dozen high-backed leather chairs were already taken.
I recognized only a few people around the table. Ned Mahoney was one of them.
He came right over and shook my hand. A little formal for Ned. “Alex. It’s good to see you,” he said. “I mean it. This’s been about the craziest week of my life.”
I hadn’t laid eyes on him since this roller-coaster ride had started. Part of me still wanted to be pissed at him, but what was the point? Ned was a friend.
“Any idea what we’re doing here?” I asked him in a quiet voice.
“I’m not sure. But listen,” he said. He turned me around so we were both facing a glass wall that looked out to guest parking and the rolling, deep green woods beyond. The sun was just coming up over the hills.
“I need to apologize for how this mess has gone down so far,” Ned said. He spoke quietly but still in that rapid- fire way of his. “It wasn’t my call, but I know that doesn’t mean anything when you’re at the shit end of the stick.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
“I
“Just write me a nice check or something. Buy me a Philly cheesesteak and a beer.”
He smiled at that and I guessed we were already over the hump. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure they’d listen to me,” he said.
“About what?” I asked.
“About bringing you into the loop.”
Before I could respond, a voice behind us was calling the meeting to order.
“Good morning, everyone. For those who don’t know me, I’m Evan Stroud, head of the Directorate here at the agency.”
Ned and I sat down at the far end of the table. I knew Stroud’s face, but only from the news. He’d made a blip in the media when he started this job, all of four weeks ago.
“If you’re here, you’ve already been cleared by the heads of your respective organizations,” he went on. “Beyond that, everything we cover is for the eyes and ears of this group only. You’ll find clearance credentials in the folders in front of you. You have to fill them out before you leave.”
Stroud made all the introductions himself. He impressed me by knowing everyone’s name and title without notes. It was a complete alphabet soup in that room — CIA, FBI, NSA, MPD. There were counterterrorism analysts, as well as reps from Secret Service and Homeland Security, and one exhausted-looking agent from the National Clandestine Service who had just arrived from Riyadh.
