Page 40 of Cross Down
46
We take abreak at mile marker 142 on I-95 north at a rest area with a pleasant-looking one-story wooden building with a peaked white roof; it wouldn’t look out of place in New England.
Mel is working his phone, trying to reach out to other military personnel who were with us on our secret cross-border mission to Afghanistan, and I get out of the car and call Bree Stone for a variety of reasons.
She picks up after one ring and says, sobbing, “Oh, John, I wish you were here.”
My heart feels like a chunk of granite and I feel sweat pop out at the base of my neck. “Tell me what’s going on with Alex.”
Another muffled sob. “He’s okay. He’s doing all right. But a few hours ago, somebody tried to kill him in his bed in the ICU.”
Happy families and travelers swirl around me while I stand at the entrance to the rest stop. Bree tells me the details of what happened earlier this morning at George Washington University Hospital, how the assassin has only one form of legitimate ID—her Big Red One tattoo—and how Bree’s people at Bluestone Group are trying to track down her real identity.
When she takes a breath, I say, “Where’s Alex now? Have they moved him?”
“No, he has to stay in the ICU. There’s now a Metro Police checkpoint in the corridor outside the ICU, and there’s an officer in his room twenty-four/seven. That idiot officer who let the would-be killer in is going to end up in the traffic bureau, if he’s lucky. How are you?”
One hell of a question, and I’m not about to tell her what happened to me at the motel. I say, “I’m coming back north with an army buddy of mine, Sergeant Mel Carr. We’re tracking down some information that might help us get to the source of these terror attacks. And the shooting of Alex.”
“Good. You be safe now.”
“Safe as I can,” I say. “How’s Willow?”
“Good, though she misses her daddy,” Bree says. “And after Alex got shot yesterday, I arranged for my firm to send security personnel to her school.”
I choke up for a moment. Willow has been on my mind nearly every minute since I left her at the Cross home, and now I feel better about her safety. I say, “Can you go to the Bluestone Group favor bank one more time for me?”
“Yes, of course,” Bree says. “What do you need?”
“I need a current phone number and address for Elizabeth Deacon,” I say. “Two years ago she was an officer with the CIA. I don’t know where she is now, but it’s vital I get in contact with her.”
“Got it, John,” she says. “Anything else?”
“Not at the moment,” I say. “And you be safe as well.”
A harsh chuckle. “I nearly killed a woman who was threatening Alex. Don’t you worry about me.”
Chapter
47
Just after theSUV crosses the border from Virginia into North Carolina, Maynard hears his driver, Cameron, say, “Ah, shit.”
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Flashing blue lights behind us, that’s what,” Cameron says.
Maynard doesn’t make the rookie mistake of swiveling in his seat and alerting the cop that the front-seat passenger is nervous enough to look back; instead, he glances at the Ford Explorer’s side-view mirror.
A North Carolina highway patrol cruiser is coming right up on their ass.
In the rear seat are Juarez and Roccilli, good men he can trust. Juarez says, “What now, boss?”
“What do you think?” Maynard says. “Cameron, pull over. And how fast were you going when you spotted the blues back there?”
“About eighty-one,” he says.
“Fool,” Roccilli says from the rear seat.
