Page 68 of Cross Down
Thirty minutes later,I’m still in DC but a world apart from the rough-and-tumble neighborhood of Bree and Alex Cross. My transportation is yet another vehicle borrowed from a shopping mall in Massachusetts, a transaction I’m not going to mention to my host. I’m in the book-lined living room of a brick home owned by FBI agent Ned Mahoney, and we’re both sitting in comfortable chairs with glasses of Courvoisier VSOP in our hands. I’m sure thatten-year-old John Sampson, shivering and trying to survive in an abandoned and unheated house, would never have believed he could end up being friends with a man who lives like this.
Our drinks at this hour seem ridiculously over the top, but considering what’s happened in the past few days, what the hell.
Mahoney, in a dark blue bathrobe, his muscular, hairy lower legs exposed, says, “Your Harry Maynard doesn’t exist anymore.”
“I beg to differ, Ned,” I say. “I personally saw the son of a bitch.”
“I’m sure,” he says. “But once he left his work in Treasury, he dropped off the grid. I did a deep search and found three friends of his over the years—army, FBI, Homeland Security—who did the same thing. No further records, no change of address. Swept clean.”
“Takes some weight to do that,” I say, warming the cognac tumbler in my hands. “What is the task force saying now? Foreign? Domestic? Some mix of both?”
“Mostly they’re saying, ‘We don’t rightly know, let’s have another meeting in twelve hours.’” His scowl deepens. “There’s a disease out there that goes deeper than anyone can imagine. You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s a purge going on in the Texas Rangers—they’re firing officers who were conducting unauthorized cross-border raids into Mexico. And our field office in Phoenix is practically empty. Officially, agents have been redeployed to address the current crisis. Unofficially, they’ve been redeployed to a secure area at Luke Air Force Base, while their loyalty is being examined.”
He shakes his head, takes a sip of the cognac, and says, “You sure as hell have had your hands full the past few days. How are things with Metro Police?”
“At this point, I don’t know,” I say. “There are bigger games afoot, and if it means me losing my career and pension trying to get this thing solved, I don’t care.”
“Brave and bold talk, John.”
“Just talk right now.”
Ned says, “You’re off to Afghanistan, then. You and Elizabeth Deacon.”
“Only solution for this magician’s misdirection we’re caught up in,” I say. “The bombings, the snipings, the killings in the United States, are getting our attention, but the real mystery is in the ’Stan.”
“You need any help?”
“Elizabeth is handling transport and supplies,” I say. “In one hour, I’ll be picked up at a certain corner. But there is something I need. I want to know about Elizabeth Deacon—her background, where she’s been, and, most of all, if she can be trusted.”
Ned looks to me.
I say, “In exchange, whatever we learn over there, I’ll feed it straight to you. God knows we’re running out of time.”
He runs a thick thumb around the edge of the glass. “The Company doesn’t like it when we poke into its personnel matters.”
“She says she’s a consultant now.”
His eyebrows lift at that. “A consultant? You know what that means, right?”
I nod, take another bracing sip. “CIA consultants do the Agency’s dirty work off the books. If things go wrong or they get captured, the Agency denies knowing anything about them.”
“Can I offer you some words of advice?”
“Sure,” I say.
“If you’re with her, make sure things go right, and for God’s sake, don’t get captured.”
Chapter
78
It’s nearing dawnas I make my way into George Washington University Hospital. It’s not even close to visiting hours, but I need to be here, and a pleasant smile and a detective’s badge from the Metro Police can open doors and elevators.
I go upstairs to the fourth floor and after checking in at the nurses’ station, I make my way to room 409. I’m pleased to see two DC Metro Police officers sitting in chairs flanking the door, both of them wide awake and visibly armed.
After I show them my shield, the near one says, “Detective Sampson?”
“Yes?”
