Double Cross

“Get up, you weak coward,” he said close to her ear. “Or I will cut your face in ribbons.” He knew that the softness of his voice was more threatening than any shouting could be. Also, the fact that his English had suddenly improved would confuse and frighten her.

When she tried to rise, he startled her with a sharp grab at the back of her scrawny neck. He stopped her right there-still on all fours.

“That’s quite far enough, Mrs. Olsen. Don’t move, not another inch. Be very still, very still. I’m using the box cutter now.”

Her expensive black dress fell away as he cut it down the back. Now she trembled uncontrollably and tried to scream from behind her gag. She was prettier without her clothes-firm, somewhat appealing, though not to him.

“Don’t worry. I am no dog-style fucker. Now go forward on your knees. Do as I say! This won’t take much of your busy day.”

She only moaned in response. It took the heel of Yousef’s shoe at her backside to get the idea across.

Then finally she began to crawl.

“How do you like it?” he asked. “Suspense. Isn’t that what you write about? That’s why I’m here, you know. Because you write about crime in your books. Can you solve this one?”

They moved slowly through the kitchen and the dining room, and then into a spacious living room. One entire wall was books, many of them her own. Glass sliding doors at the far end led to a terrace filled with fancy garden furniture and a shiny black grill.

“Look at all your books! I’m very impressed. You wrote all of these? Foreign editions too! You do any translations yourself? Of course you don’t! Americans speak only English.”

Qasim pulled up sharply on the leash, and Mrs. Olsen fell over onto her side.

“Don’t move from there. Stay! I have work to do. Clues to plant. Even you are a clue, Mrs. Tess Olsen. Have you figured it out yet? Solved the mystery?”

He quickly set up the living room just the way he wanted it. Then he returned to the woman, who hadn’t moved and who seemed to be getting her part down now.

“Is that you? In this picture?” he asked suddenly, with surprise in his voice. “It is you.”

Qasim prodded her chin with his foot to get her to look. A large oil portrait hung above the ornately scrolled sofa. It showed Tess Olsen in a long silver gown, her hand resting on a polished round table with an elaborate floral arrangement. The face was austere, full of unearned pride.

“It doesn’t look like you. You’re prettier in real life. Sexier without any clothes,” he said. “Now, outside! Onto the terrace. You’re going to be a very famous lady. I promise. Your fans are waiting.”

Chapter 5

AFTER QUASIM GAVE ANOTHER STRONG PULL on the leash, Tess Olsen struggled to her feet, then put her arms out, finally gaining some balance so that she could walk, at least.

Everything about this felt so unreal. Trembling, she backed her way onto the terrace-until the iron railing caught the small of her back.

Her whole body shivered. Twelve stories below, rush-hour traffic was crawling along Connecticut Avenue. Pedestrians, hundreds of them, navigated the sidewalks, most of them with their heads down, unaware of what was happening up in the Riverwalk tower. It was perfect symbolism for life in Washington, DC.

Yousef Qasim reached out and tore the tape off the woman’s mouth.

“Now, scream,” he said. “Scream like you mean it! Scream like you are terrified out of your mind! I want them to hear you in Virginia . In Ohio! In California!”

But the woman spoke to him instead, spoke in a barely intelligible rush. “Please. You don’t have to do this. I can help you. I have a lot of money. You can take anything you want from the apartment. I have a safe inside, in the second bedroom. Please, just tell me -”

“What I want, Mrs. Tess Olsen,” Qasim said, and held the barrel of a gun up to one of the diamond studs in her ears, “is for you to scream. Very, very loud. Right now! On cue, as it were. Do you follow me? It’s a simple instruction-scream!”

But her scream came out as little more than a sob, a pitiful whimper that was swallowed up in the wind.

“Fine,” Qasim said, and grabbed the woman’s bare legs. “We’ll do it your way!” With one powerful hoist, he had her over the railing, hanging upside down.

Now the screams came, high and clear as a security alarm going off. And Tess Olsen clawed at the air for a handhold that simply didn’t exist.

The red leash at her neck blew free in the wind like a stream of blood from her jugular. A nice effect, cinematic, Qasim thought. Just what he was looking for. All part of the plan.

Immediately, a crowd began to gather below. People stopped and pointed upward. Some began making cell- phone calls. Others used the phones to snap pictures-pornographic ones, if they stopped to think about it.

Finally Qasim reeled Tess Olsen back in and set her down on the terrace.

“You did very well,” he told her, his voice softening. “Beautiful work, and I mean that. Can you believe those people with their cameras? Some world we live in.”

Her next words came out in a torrent. “Oh, dear God, please, I don’t want to die like this. There has to be something you want. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. I don’t understand any of this! Please… stop.”

“We’ll see. Don’t lose hope. Do exactly as you are told. That’s the best thing.”

“I will. I promise. I’ll do what you say.”

He leaned over to better see Connecticut Avenue, and all the people.

Even in the last few seconds, the crowd down below had grown, and grown again. He wondered if those on their cell phones were calling the police-or maybe just someone they wanted to impress or titillate. You won’t believe what I’m seeing right now. Here, look for yourself!

The audience wouldn’t believe what they were about to see either. No one would, which was why millions would watch these images on television, again and again.

Until he topped this murder with his next.

“In your honor,” he whispered. “All in your honor.”

Chapter 6

“YOU START THE FIRE,” Bree suggested. “I’ll gussy up the suite.”

I shrugged, then I winked at her. “I think the, um, fire’s ready,” I said. “I know it is.”

“Patience,” Bree said. “It’ll be worth it. I’m worth it, Alex. For the moment, though, let’s remember the scoutmaster’s motto-if you fail to plan, then you plan to fail.”

“I was never a scout,” I said. “I’m too horny to be a scout.”

“Patience. If you must know, I’m horny too.”

While I went and looked for kindling, Bree unpacked the rest of the back of the car. The equipment I’d pulled from the attic at home looked like relics next to her gear. She quickly put up an ultralight tent and proceeded to fill it with an air mattress, a thermal blanket, and a couple of Coleman lanterns. She even had a water-filtration system, just in case we wanted to drink from a stream. Finally she hung a little wind chime in the flap. Nice touch.

For my part, I had a pair of lobster tails and two nicely marbled Delmonico steaks marinating in the cooler, ready for grilling. Black bears could be a fear factor here, but dehydrated food wasn’t an option for us.