Kill Alex Cross

DNA-tested and matched to Ethan and Zoe, respectively.”

The new images were of a boy’s white oxford shirt and a pair of thick-soled red boots, the kind a girl like Zoe might wear to school.

“Any formal theories?” someone asked.

“Actually, I was going to ask Detective Cross for his take on all this,” Lindley said. Everyone turned to look at me, probably in time to catch the surprise on my face. “I know you’ve only been working around the edges so far,” Lindley said. “I don’t mean to put you on the spot here.”

“It’s fine,” I said. At least I knew why I’d been brought in now. I’ve done as much profiling for the FBI as anyone in Washington. The pictures were all passed back my way, and I looked at them as a set.

“First thoughts?” I said. “The note’s unequivocal — no ransom, no demands, period. So then the next question, Why send the second package?”

“Maybe just to string us along?” one of the Bureau wonks contributed the obvious. “Flaunt an advantage. Hang it over our heads. Show off.”

“I think that’s probably true,” I said. “But there’s a personal element here that’s directed at the president. He’s the one named in the note. If someone wanted to make him suffer, the best way to do that would be to draw this search out for as long as possible.”

“Go back a second,” Stroud said. “When you say this is personal, are you suggesting it’s also an individual act? Is this one man’s vendetta against the president?”

I thought about it before I answered, but my first impulse didn’t change.

“If you want my best guess,” I said, “yes. That’s what this feels like to me. But for the sake of argument, terrorism can be very personal, too, even in the name of a larger cause.”

“Especially in the name of a larger cause,” Fatany said. “Most of these shits take what they’re doing very personally. They’re willing, even eager, to die — as we’ve already seen.”

Lindley started to move on, but I jumped back in when one other thing occurred to me.

“This is above my pay grade — but I’d also recommend keeping President Coyle out of the public eye, if that’s not already in the plan,” I said.

“Why is that?” Stroud asked, although I think he already knew the answer.

“If I’m right, it deprives the kidnapper, or kidnappers, of a primary motivation. Don’t let them see the president dealing with this. That’s probably exactly what they want. To humble the United States president in front of a world audience.”

One of the Secret Service reps cleared his throat. “The president and First Lady are in a secure location,” he said. “We’ll keep Detective Cross’s recommendation under advisement, but any decisions about that kind of thing —”

Just then, a familiar voice came into the room from an unseen speaker.

“Excuse me. I’d like to say something.”

It was coming from the wall, or the ceiling, or maybe even the table itself. I couldn’t tell. But there was no mistaking who it belonged to.

President Coyle was there with us, and apparently he was ready to make a statement.

TWO WIDE SCREENS flicked on, one at either end of the room. Suddenly President Edward Coyle was there, sitting at a generic-looking desk, with a set of plain blue drapes drawn behind him.

For all I know, it was a set piece, a bit of theater meant to hide any clues about where he actually was at this time. Still, it gave me a chill. Probably did the same for everybody in the room.

“We have you, sir,” Stroud said. “Go ahead. We’re here and we’re listening.”

Coyle looked bone-tired, and his face was drawn. There was a kind of sadness in his eyes I’d never seen before. I also got the impression he hadn’t been planning on doing this, speaking to our group right now.

“Let me state the obvious first,” he said. “I have two separate and distinct obligations here. One is to Ethan and Zoe, and the other is to this country.

“Right now, we don’t seem to know how enmeshed those obligations might be. But I do know that by all indications, and according to the best advice I can get, our capital city is under attack.”

The president was incredibly focused. I thought of the eye of a hurricane as I watched him. He was obviously a strong man and it was no fluke that he had risen to this position.

“I’m not saying that we’ve reached some critical point at which a decision has to be made between my children and our nation’s security —”

“No sir, not at all,” Stroud cut in.

The president immediately put up the flat of his hand to quash any discussion. “I need to make one point very clearly,” he went on. “With all due respect to the opinions in the room, if I have to show my face to lead the country through this crisis, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Sir —”

“That’s all for right now. Carry on,” he said. “Evan, I’ll expect my next briefing by ten o’clock. I should be back in the residence by then.”

“Yes, sir,” Stroud said.