Page 120 of Cross Down
“I know you will, sir,” she says. “Beginning today.”
He rubs the card again. “Timing.”
Up ahead there are blue and white wooden sawhorses marking a DC Metro Police checkpoint. The Tahoe starts to slow.
“Sir?” she says.
“You know who Alexandre Dumas is, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” she says. “The French author who wroteThe Three Musketeers.”
“That he did,” he says. “But he also wroteThe Count of Monte Cristo.”
The little convoy comes to a halt.
His identification card is in his lap. He looks down, and for a strange moment, the person in the photo seems to be his son, Nathan.
Grissom says, “In that important novel, Dumas wrote: ‘The difference between treason and patriotism is only a matter of dates.’ As this day progresses, let’s keep that in mind, Colonel.”
“Absolutely, sir,” she replies.
Chapter
150
As Ned racesto the White House through the crowded streets of DC, lights and siren on, I send a quick text to Bree Stone:
SITUATION IS EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. MAKE SURE EVERYONE IN THE FAMILY IS OFF THE STREETS.
Ned says, “Okay, John, we’ve got a police roadblock up ahead at I Street. And we’ve got about fifteen minutes before we hit noon. Should we blast through it?”
“No,” I say. “Let’s try something else.”
“Like what?” Ned asks.
“I’ll come up with something, don’t worry about it,” I say, rapidly texting. “Hold on, almost done here.”
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS, TELL WILLOW I LOVE HER VERY, VERY MUCH AND NEVER STOPPED THINKING OF HER. PLEASE, YOU AND ALEX RAISE HER AS YOUR OWN.
I send off the text as the Impala comes to a halt in front of the two DC Metro Police cruisers and six heavily armed MPD cops.
I say, “They’re jumpy. Let’s move slow and let me take lead.”
“You got it,” Ned says.
I step out and so does Ned. I hear car horns, sirens, and the voices of people clustered on the sidewalk, looking around and pointing. A helicopter from one of the local TV stations roars low overhead, and a DC Metro Police lieutenant comes forward and says, “Gentlemen, I need to see your identification.”
I think,Oh, shit,because it’s Lieutenant Matt Caine, who’s hated me pretty much from the first day I was on the force. He’s fleshy and overweight, and his face is always red, like he’s perpetually angry. I know from others that he thought the force started going downhill the day they let women and minorities join.
He says, “Actually, I see only one gentleman. Hey, Detective, what are you doing here? Word is that your fat ass has been suspended.”
I say, “Matt, we’re trying to pass through.”
“No can do,” he says. “Orders, you know? Oh, right, fuck, you don’t know. You and your buddy Alex follow your own orders. Sorry. Not gonna work this time.”
Ned shows his identification. “Lieutenant, I’m Agent Ned Mahoney, FBI.”
“Good for you, Agent Mahoney,” Caine says. “We’re pretty frigging busy here in case you didn’t notice.”
