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CHRISTINE JOHNSON IN D.C. AGAIN.
Why had she come back now? What did she want with us?
The questions throbbed in my head, and also deep inside my heart. They made me afraid, even before I had a clear idea what to fear. Of course, I had a suspicion—Christine had changed her mind about Little Alex. That was it, had to be. Why else would she be here? She certainly hadn’t come back to see me. Or had she?
I was still on I-95, but just minutes away from Quantico, when Monnie Donnelley got through to me on my cell. Miles Davis played on the radio in the car. I’d been trying to chill before I got to work.
“You’re late again,” she said, and though I knew it was a joke, it still cut me some.
“I know, I know. I was out partying last night. You know how it is.”
Monnie got right to it. “Alex, did you know they grabbed a couple more suspects last night?”
Them again. I was so surprised that I didn’t answer Monnie right away. I hadn’t been told anything about a bust!
“I guess not.” Monnie answered her own question. “It took place in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania. Joe Namath’s hometown? Two UNSUBS in their forties, ran an adult bookstore, sort of named after the town. The press got ahold of it a few minutes ago.”
“Did they find any of the missing women?” I asked Monnie.
“Don’t think so. It’s not in the news reports. Nobody seems to know for sure here.”
I didn’t understand. “Do you know how long they were under surveillance? Forget it, Monnie, I’m getting off Ninety-five right now. I’m almost there. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.”
“Sorry to ruin your day so early,” she said.
“It was already ruined,” I muttered.
We worked straight through the day but at seven, we still didn’t have very good answers to several questions about the takedown in Pennsylvania. I knew a few thing
s, mostly unimportant details, and it was frustrating. The two men had criminal records for selling pornography. Agents from the field office in Philly had gotten a tip that the two of them were involved in a kidnapping scheme. It was unclear who in the FBI’s chain of command knew about the suspects, but there seemed to have been an internal communication breakdown of the sort I had been hearing about for years before I arrived at Quantico.
I talked with Monnie a couple of times during the day, but my buddy Ned Mahoney never called me about the bust; Burns’s office didn’t try to contact me either. I was shook. For one thing, there were reporters out in the parking lot at Quantico. I could see a USA Today van and a CNN truck from my window. Very strange day. Odd and unsettling.
Late in the afternoon, I found myself thinking about Christine Johnson’s visit to the house. I kept playing back the scene of her holding the baby, playing with Alex. I wondered if I could believe that she’d come to D.C. just to see him and a few of her old friends. It made my heart ache to think about losing “the Big Boy,” as I always called him. The Big Boy! What a joy he was to me, and to the kids, and to Nana Mama. What an unbearable loss it would be. I just couldn’t imagine it. Nor could I imagine being Christine and not wanting him back.
Before I left for the night, I forced myself to pick up the phone and make a call that I was dreading. Thinking about Little Alex made me remember the promise I’d made. Judge Brendan Connolly answered after a few rings.
“It’s Alex Cross,” I said. “Just wanted to check in with you. Tell you about the news stories you’ve been seeing today.”
Judge Connolly asked me if his wife had been found, if there was any news about Lizzie.
“They didn’t find her yet. I don’t think those two men were involved with your wife. We’re still very hopeful that we’ll find her.”
He began to mutter words that I couldn’t make out. After listening to him for a few seconds, trying to make sense of it, I told him I’d keep him informed. If someone informed me.
After the difficult phone call, I just sat at my desk. Suddenly, I realized I’d forgotten something else—my class had graduated today! We were officially agents. The others in my class had gotten their credentials, or “creds,” as well as their assignments. Right now, cake and punch were being served in the lobby of the Hall of Honor. I didn’t bother to go to the party. Somehow, it seemed inappropriate to attend. I went home instead.
Chapter 57
HOW MUCH TIME did she have left now?
A day? Hours?
It almost didn’t matter, did it? Lizzie Connolly was learning to accept life as it came; she was learning who she was inside, and how to keep herself in balance.
Except, of course, when she was frightened out of her mind.
Lizzie called them her “swimming dreams.” She had been an avid swimmer ever since she was four years old. The repetition of stroke after stroke, kick after kick could always put her in another place and time, on autopilot, let her escape. So that was what she was doing now in the closet/room where she was being kept.
