For a second I think about telling them about Phillips beheading the tribal leader, but then I decide to keep that tidbit to myself for now.
Perkins leans forward in his chair. “When Phillips went on his unauthorized missions to bring out friendlies, we know he had contacts with officers he had trained for the Afghan National Army.”
“Those guys are all underground now,” says Walsh. “Or dead.”
Perkins continues. “We’re trying to run down whether the C-4 used in the DC explosions was under the control of those officers.”
“How long will that take?” I ask.
“As long as it takes,” says Walsh.
Enough of this; I’m tired. I stand up, go around my desk, and start gathering my stuff again. “Look, you guys can stay all night if you want. But if you don’t mind, I’m heading out.”
I keep my back turned until I hear the elevator doors ding closed. Just as I’m once again reaching for the switch to turn off the lights, my phone rings.
Anna Rizzo. We made plans earlier to go to her favorite Spanish restaurant for a late dinner. I’m really looking forward to it.
I accept the call. “Hi there.”
“Hi, yourself. How goes the hunt?”
“I learned some interesting facts about our boy Aiden Phillips. And I just talked to the two spooks. But listen, we can talk about everything over dinner.”
“Sorry, John, that’s actually why I’m calling. My abuela is fighting a nasty cold, so it looks like she can’t hang with my kids tonight.”
For some reason, this disappoints me more than it should. Then in a flash, I come up with a solution.
“Hold on, Anna. Do your kids like barbecue?”
“Hell yes! Who doesn’t like barbecue?”
“Okay. Dinner’s still on. You, me, and the kids. Change of venue.”
CHAPTER 78
Cross
AN HOUR AFTER ALEX CROSS stranded Brett in his truck, his adrenaline is still pumping. Now he knows more about what happened to Damon that morning: He was riding his bike near the reserve and got chased and harassed by two rednecks in a pickup. They stole his bike, phone, and laptop, then ditched his bike in the reserve and tossed his phone and laptop in a creek somewhere.
But where did Damon go from there? Where did he end up? How could he have simply vanished?
Think!
Maybe Damon followed the truck up to the trailhead and went looking for his bike after the two goons left. Maybe he got lost or hurt.
Just because the search teams haven’t found him doesn’t mean he’s not out there.
Alex makes a hard turn on a dark street and heads for someplace even darker.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s driving back up to the trailhead in the Mason Farm Biological Reserve. With every turn in the road, his headlight beams rake across the dense woods and underbrush.
At night, the place looks haunted. It makes no sense to be here. But Alex can’t rest. Not now.
He parks the car. His heart is going a hundred beats a minute. He steps out, pats the gun in his pocket, and shines the flashlight of his cell phone around.
There must be another trail here. Another way down. There has to be.
Twenty minutes later, his heart leaps when his hunch is proved right. Not far from the trailhead but far enough that you’d miss it, especially with the other two trails so clearly marked, is another path, an older trail obscured by a tangle of dead branches. When Alex shoves aside the fallen branches, he sees a well-beaten footpath leading down the slope. Narrow, but passable.
