Page 103 of Cross Down
Chapter
119
I’ve been inmore tight situations than I can recall, but I’m sure I’ll never forget this one. As we get closer to the headquarters of Global Security Services, Deacon drives like a woman possessed, passing cars slowing in traffic, blowing through red lights, and, once, driving partway up a sidewalk.
I hold on to the dashboard and say, “Remember that promise to you I made back in Afghanistan?”
More horns blaring, more brakes screeching. “Which one?”
“The one about a date in a place with clean water, clean sheets, electricity, and room service?” I reflexively close my eyes for a second. “Hard to keep that promise if I get killed.”
She screeches the blue Mercedes sedan through an exit leading to 234th Street South and says, “Calm down, John. I was at the top of my defensive-driving courses at the Farm.”
“Maybe so, but…”
Deacon slows the Mercedes to the thirty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit and says, “Closer to the target, there’remore surveillance cameras and observation platforms. Lots of contractors and government agencies—they see a speeding car approaching, they’ll kick up their security.”
She turns left onto a tree-lined avenue called Defensive Way. Clustered around the oval-shaped and carefully planned parking areas are several cookie-cutter office buildings, all about fifteen or twenty stories high.
Deacon parks us in a space markedVISITORin front of a building that has a large sign on its perfect lawn that readsGLOBAL SECURITY SERVICES.It’s written in blue and white script that’s bisected by a swooping red line.
I get out and look around. Deacon says, “What, thinking you’ve been here before?”
“Not hardly,” I say. “Back when I was a rookie on the Metro Police, they had a program where you rotated from precinct to precinct. I was patrolling with some old vet along K Street and he pointed to all the shiny office buildings and said, ‘Man, there’s more criminals per square inch up there than in any other place in DC, and we’re out here busting brothers for dime bags.’”
Deacon says, “If you move along, you’ll be coming face to face with a real criminal, someone worse than anyone on K Street.”
“Looking forward to it,” I say.
We go through a wide entrance of double glass doors, each bearing the GSS logo. Up ahead is a curved desk-like counter with three women sitting behind it, all wearing headsets and talking to visitors. Deacon goes to the oldest woman in the trio and says, “Cassie, you still playing video games on company time?”
Cassie grins. “I won’t tell. What brings you here today, girl?”
Deacon puts her hands on the counter, leans over. “I need to see my asshole ex-hubby, but I don’t want him to know I’m here yet. Can you give my friend and me a temporary pass?”
Cassie’s grin slips away. “Shit, Liz, you tossed him out on his ass two years ago. Why in hell do you need to see him now?”
“Because I just found out the shithead was concealing assets during the divorce proceedings, and my large friend here”—she shrugs in my direction—“is about to serve his flabby white ass the paperwork for another hearing.”
Cassie shakes her head, starts typing. “The more I hang out with my dog, Cooper, the less I like men.” She prints out two squareVISITORstickers with a bar code and the ever-present company logo. Deacon and I put them on and move through the bustling lobby to a bank of four elevators. Security officers in light blue shirts and dark blue trousers are at various checkpoints, and we go to the one that saysVISITORS ONLY.
A bored guard uses a hand scanner on our badges and passes us through. We enter an empty elevator, and Deacon pushes the button for the tenth floor.
“Nice to know you still have friends in high places,” I say.
She looks at the flickering lights. “Friends, contacts, acquaintances—they all count when you need them.”
A sudden chime breaks through the silence. My burner phone. I pull it out, and the words of Bree’s text hit me hard:John, where are you? We need you. Willow needs you. Please contact us ASAP. It’s been too long.
I put the phone away. “Everything all right?” Deacon asks.
In a tight voice I say, “No, everything is not all right. Stay focused.”
Chapter
120
When the elevatorstops, Deacon leads the way to a reception area, smaller than the lobby, then to a closed wooden door withGERROLD MASONon it in shiny brass letters, and a woman gets up from a desk and calls, “Ma’am, sir, you can’t go—”
