Kill Alex Cross

plate. There were several other untouched dishes on the table.

He picked up on it right way. “Smart,” he said. “But completely unnecessary. What would you like me to try?”

“The labneh,” she said. “And the date spread.”

She didn’t back down, and it seemed to please rather than antagonize Uncle. His grin only broadened as he took large bites of both, then poured coffee for all three of them from the same pot.

“Very good. I’m impressed. Now, enough antics. You can relax,” he told them in a quiet voice that was also firm and reassuring.

As they loaded their plates, Hala’s mind came back to the night before. “What about the others?” she asked. “Is everyone —”

“Perfectly safe, thanks to you,” Uncle said.

It seemed imprudent to complain about the mother bitch right now. “The assignment didn’t come off,” she said instead.

“Yes, but not without some impact all the same,” he answered. “Two of their police officers are dead. That’s a powerful symbol to the Americans. They both hate and love their police. The authorities are terrified, mostly because they don’t know what to make of us. The kidnapping of the children has them baffled as well.” He paused for a moment, then went on. “Of course, we are responsible for that.”

Tariq passed her a piece of bread, smiling with his eyes. He was obviously proud that The Family had already accomplished so much.

Hala sipped her coffee. It was Arabic, and not entirely hot, but delicious. She wanted to ask more about the president’s children but thought it would be wise to let Uncle take the lead on that subject.

“There will be other important assignments,” Uncle went on casually. “In fact, we’d like to reposition you. We’re prepared to do this now, the sooner the better. As you know so well, we are at war!”

The words hung there in the air.

“I’m sorry? Reposition?” Tariq asked.

“Take charge of the next phase we have planned for the Americans. Part of it, anyway.” He took a large manila envelope from the pocket on the back of his chair and slid it across the table.

“Go ahead,” he said, smiling as though it were a personal gift. “Take a look.”

Tariq tilted the envelope to empty its contents — a disk in a thin jewel case, two American passports, a car key, and an engraved hotel folio with a room entry card inside.

“There’s a list of our targets there,” Uncle said, indicating the disk. “We will assemble a team for you. Whatever you like, whatever you need.”

Hala took it all in, searching her mind for an appropriate response. “Thank you, Uncle,” she said finally. “We’re honored.”

“Don’t be.” For the first time, there was a scowl on the man’s face. “This is about The Family, not some American version of self-glorification.”

Hala felt embarrassed. “Of course. I understand,” she said.

Then the man’s face turned again. He grinned that grin of his, and winked as he took another bite of breakfast.

“But I do think you’ll like the Four Seasons,” he said. “It is a very good hotel.”

Book Three

WAR!

THE KIDNAPPER UNDERSTOOD everything there was to understand about the case, and definitely more than the Washington police, the plodding Secret Service, and the painstakingly ineffective FBI. He watched them as they continued to search for any hint of a clue or evidence misplaced on the campus of the Branaff School. They weren’t going to find anything, though. He was certain of that.

Record.

“I have been thinking, obsessing over these desperate measures for over two years, and actually planning it for fourteen months. I believe that I’ve covered my tracks, and the more I go over the details, the more confident I am that this will go down as one of the great unsolved cases in history.”

A school bell rang just then — lunch!

He slid the tape recorder into a trouser pocket and decided to stroll out onto the school campus, to parade among the still-nervous students and teachers, but also the cops who were there performing their tireless yet pointless interviews. Talk to me, just me, he couldn’t help thinking.

As he strolled along, he noticed a tall MPD detective, a striking figure, an obviously confident man. He knew this one, had read about his becoming part of the investigation. This detective had a success record that was some cause for concern.

The kidnapper didn’t turn the tape recorder back on now, though his finger played over its shape. Still, he was recording inside his head.