His aide, Captain Rizzo, was already back at the door.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Eighteen
The Three Blind Mice were in Fayetteville again, headed toward Fort Bragg for the first time in several months. Brownley Harris, Warren Griffin and Thomas Starkey were admitted through the security gates on All American Freeway. No problem. They had official business on post; they had an appointment.
The three men were unusually quiet as Starkey drove the dark blue Suburban across the base. They hadn't been at Bragg since the murders of the three women. Not that the place had changed one iota; change happened very slowly in the military.
“This is a trip I personally could do without,” Brownley Harris contributed from the backseat of the Suburban.
“It's not a problem,” said Starkey, taking control as he always did. “We have a legitimate reason to be here. Be a mistake if we stopped showing our faces at Bragg. Don't disappoint me.”
“I hear you,” said Harris. “I still don't like being back at the scene of the crime.” He decided that things needed some lightening up. “You all hear the differential theory of the US Armed Forces the so-called snake model?” he asked.
“Haven't heard that one, Brownie,”said Griffin, who also rolled his eyes. He knew a joke was coming, probably a bad one.
“Army Infantry comes in after the snake. Snake smells them, leaves the area unharmed. Aviation comes next, has Global Positioning Satellite coordinates to the snake. Still can't find the snake. Returns to base for re-fuel, crew rests and manicures. Field Artillery comes. Kills the snake with massive Line On Target barrage with three Formal Artillery Brigades in support. Kills several hundred civilians as unavoidable collateral damage. All participants, including cooks, mechanics, clerks, are awarded Silver Stars.”
“What about us Rangers?” asked Griffin, playing the straight man.
Harris grinned. “Single Ranger comes in, plays with the snake, then eats it.”
Starkey snorted out a laugh, then he turned off Armistead Street into the lot for the Corps Headquarters. “Remember, this is just business. Conduct yourselves as such, gentlemen.”
Griffin and Harris barked, “Yes, sir.”
The three of them gathered their briefcases, put on lightweight suit jackets, and tightened their neckties. They were the senior sales team for Hechler and Koch, and they were at Bragg to promote the sale of guns to the Army. In particular, they were trying to build common interest in the gun manufacturer's Personal Defense Weapon (PDW),
which weighed just over two pounds, fully loaded, and could 'defeat all known standard issue military body armor.
“Hell of a weapon,” Thomas Starkey liked to say during his sales pitch. “If we'd had it in ”Nam, we would have won the war."
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Nineteen
The meeting went as well as any of them could have hoped. The three salesmen left the Army Corps offices at a little past eight that night, with assurances of support for the PDW. Thomas Starkey had also demonstrated the latest version of the MP5 submachine gun and talked knowledgeably and enthusiastically about his company's fabrications system, which made their gun parts 99.9 percent interchangeable.
“Let's get some cold beers and thick steaks,” Starkey said. “See if we can get in a little trouble in Fayetteville, or maybe some other town down the line. That's an order, gentlemen.”
“I'm up for that,” said Harris. “It's been a good day, hasn't it? Let's see if we can spoil it.”
By the time they left Fort Bragg darkness had fallen. “On the road again...” Warren Griffin started in on his theme song, the old Willie Nelson standard that he sang just about every time they started an adventure. They knew Fayetteville, not only from business trips, but from a time when they'd been stationed at Bragg. It was only four years since the three of them had left the Army, where they'd been Rangers: Colonel Starkey, Captain Harris, Master Sergeant Griffin. Seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment, 3rd Battalion, originally out of Fort Benning, Georgia.
They were just entering town when they saw a couple of hookers loitering on a semi darkened street corner. In the bad old days Hays Street in town had block after block of rough bars and strip joints. It used to be known as Fayettenam. No more, though. The locals were trying to gentrify the downtown area. A billboard put up by the Chamber of Commerce read: "Metro Living At A Southern Pace'. Made you want to throw up.
Warren Griffin leaned out the side window of the Suburban. “I love you, and especially you. Stop the car this minute! Oh God, please stop the vehicle. I love you, darling. I'll be back! ”he called to the two girls.
Starkey laughed, but he drove on until they reached The Pump, which had been there for at least twenty years. They strolled inside to eat and party. Why work if you couldn't get a reward? Why feel the pain unless you got some gain?
During the next few hours, they drank too many beers, ate twenty-four-ounce steaks with fried onions and mushrooms slathered on top, smoked cigars, and told the best war stories and jokes. Even the waitresses and bartenders got into the act some. Everybody liked Thomas Starkey. Unless you happened to get on his bad side.
They were leaving Fayetteville around midnight when Starkey pulled the Suburban over to the curb. Time for a live-fire exercise," he said to Griffin and Harris. They knew what that meant.
Harris just smiled, but Griffin let out a whoop. “Let the war games begin!”
Starkey leaned out his window and talked to one of the girls loitering on Hays Street. She was a tall, rail-thin blonde, wobbling slightly on silver platform heels. She had a little, pouty mouth, but it disappeared when she flashed them her best hundred-dollar smile.
“You are a very beautiful lady,” Starkey said. “Listen, we're heading over to our suite at the Radisson. You be interested in three big tips, instead of just one? We kind of like to party together. It'll be good, clean fun.”
Starkey could be charming, and also respectful. He had an easy smile. So the blonde hooker got into the Suburban. “You all promise to be good boys,” she said, and smiled that wonderful smile of hers again.
“Promise,” the three of them chorused. “We'll be good boys.”
“On the road again,” Griffin sang.
“Hey, you're pretty good,” the girl said, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She was good with men, knew how to handle them, especially soldiers from Fort Bragg, who were usually decent enough guys. Once upon a time, she'd been an Army brat herself. Not so long ago. She was nineteen.
“You hear that? This beautiful lady likes my singing. What's your name, sweetie?” asked Griffin. “I like you already.”
“It's Vanessa,” said the girl, giving her made up street handle. “What's yours? Don't say Willie.”
Griffin laughed out loud. “Why, it's Warren. Nice to make your acquaintance, Vanessa. Pretty name for a pretty lady.”
They rode out of town, in the direction of 1-95. Starkey suddenly pulled the Suburban over after a mile or so and shouted, Tit stop!" He let the car roll until it was mostly hidden in a copse of evergreens and prickle bushes.
“The Radisson's not far. Why don't you wait?” Vanessa asked. “You boys can hold it a little longer, can't you?”
“This can't wait, ”said Griffin. Suddenly, he had his pistol up tight against the girl's skull.
From the front seat, Brownley Harris had his gun aimed at her chest.
"De had tay len daul'Thomas Starkey screamed, his voice deep and scary.
Hands on your head.
“Ban gap nhieu phi en phue roi do.”
You're in serious trouble, bitch.
Vanessa didn't understand a word but she sure got the tone. Bad shit was going down. Real bad shit. Her stomach dropped. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have gotten into a car with three guys, but the driver had seemed so nice. Now why was he yelling at her? What kind of messed-up language was it? What was happening? She thought that she might throw up and she'd had a
chili dog and Fritos for dinner.
“Stop, please stop! ”Vanessa said, and started to cry. It was an act, kind of, but it usually worked on the soldiers from Bragg.
Not this time, though. The insane yelling in the car got even louder. The weird language she didn't understand.
“Ra khoi xe. Ngay bay gro,” said Thomas Starkey.
Get out of the car. Do it now, bitch.
They were waving their scary guns and pointing, and she finally understood that she was supposed to get out of the car. Oh my God, were they going to leave her out here as a sick joke? The bastards!
Or was it worse than that? How much worse could it get?
Then the one in the front seat smacked her with the back of his hand. Why? She was already getting out of the car. Goddamn him! She almost toppled over on her silver platform shoes. Willie Nelson kicked her in the back and Vanessa gasped in pain.
“Ra khoi xe!” the man in front screamed again. Who were they? Were they terrorists or something?
Vanessa was sobbing, but she understood she was supposed to run, to hightail it into the dark woods and creepy swampland. Jesus, God, she didn't want to go in there! There'd be snakes for sure!
The one from the backseat punched her in the back again, and Vanessa started to run. What choice did she have?
"Lue do may se den toil'
You're going to die.
She heard shouts behind her.
Oh God, God, God, what were they saying? What was going to happen to her? Why had she let them pick her up? Big mistake, big mistake!
Then all Vanessa could think about was running.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Twenty
Let her go,“ Thomas Starkey said. ”Let's be fair now.
We told Vanessa we'd be good."
So they leaned against the Suburban and let the frightened girl run off into the swamp, gave her a good head start.
Starkey slid on one of the Ranger's new tan berets. It had replaced the black beret of the Special Forces, once the rest of the Army had gone to black. “Here's the first side bet of the evening. Ole Vanessa will be wearing her platform heels when we catch up with her. Or do you boys think she'll shuck the shoes?” asked Starkey. “Bets, gentlemen?”
“Shuck 'em for sure,” said Griffin. “She's dumb, but she's not that stupid. I'll take your bet. Fifty?”
“She'll be wearing the shoes,” pronounced Starkey. “Girl that pretty working the street, she's dumb as a board. A hundred says so.”
Just then they saw a pair of lights veering off the highway. Someone was driving toward where they'd parked. Now who the hell was this?
Trooper," said Starkey. Then he raised his hand in a friendly wave at the slow-moving police car.
“Problem here?” the static said once he'd rolled up close to the big blue Suburban. He didn't bother to get out of his car.
“Just a little pit stop, Officer. We're on our way to Fort Benning from Bragg,” Starkey said in the calmest voice. In truth, he wasn't nervous about the trooper. Just curious about how this would turn out. “We're in the Reserves. If the three of us were on the first team I guess we'd all be in trouble.”
“I saw your vehicle from the road. Thought I better check to make sure everybody was all right. Nothing but swamp back there.”
“Well, we're fine, Officer. Finish our smokes and hit the road again. Thanks for the concern.”
The state trooper was just about to pull away when a woman's scream came from the woods. There was no mistaking that it was a cry for help.
“Now that's a damn shame, Officer.” Starkey swung his pistol out from behind his back. He shot the trooper point-blank in the forehead. Didn't even have to think about it. “No good deed goes unpunished.”
He shook his head as he walked to the police car, shut off the headlights. He got into the front, pushing the dead trooper aside, and pulled the car out of sight from the main road.
“Go find the girl,” he said to Harris and Griffin. “Pronto. She's obviously not too far. And she's still wearing her platforms, the twit. Go! Go!” he repeated. “I'll give you chumps a couple of minutes' lead. I want to get this cruiser completely out of sight. Go. Warren is Point. Brownie is Flanker.”
When Colonel Thomas Starkey finally made his move into the woods, there wasn't a false step on his part. He went straight to where the girl had cried out for help and gotten the state trooper killed.
From that point, it was mostly instinct for him. He saw mussed leaves and grass. A broken branch of a bush where she'd passed. He noted his own internal responses rapid breathing, surging blood flow. He'd been here before.
“Tao se tim ra may, ”he whispered in Vietnamese. “Lue do may se den toi.”
I'm going to find you, honey. You're almost dead.
He was sorry that the chase after the girl had to be rushed, but the dead state trooper was an unexpected development. As always, Starkey had a calm, super aware focus. He was in the zone. Time slowed for him; every detail was precise and every movement controlled. He was moving fast, comfortable and supremely confident in the dark woods. There was just enough moonlight for him to see.
Then he heard laughter up ahead. Saw a light through the branches. He stopped moving. “Son of a bitch!” he muttered. He moved forward cautiously, just in case.
Harris and Griffin had caught the blonde bitch. They had taken off her black hot pants, gagged her with her own scuzzy underwear, cuffed her hands behind her back.
Griffin was ripping off her silver-sequined blouse. All that was left were the sparkly silver platforms.
Vanessa didn't wear a bra and her breasts were small. Pretty face, though. Reminded Starkey of his neighbor's daughter. Starkey thought again that she was a fine little piece to be selling herself for cheap on the street. Too bad, Vanessa.
She struggled and Griffin let her break away, just for the fun of it. But when she tried to run, she tripped and went down hard in the dirt. She stared up at Starkey, who was now standing over her. He thought she was pathetic.
“Why are you doing this?” She was whimpering. Then she said something else through the gag as she tried to push herself up. It sounded like “I never hurt anybody.”
“This is a game we learned a long time ago,” Starkey said in English. “It's just a game, honey. Passes the time. Amuses us. Get the paint,” he said to Master Sergeant Griffin. “I think red for tonight. You look good in red, Vanessa? I think red is your color.”
He looked her right in the eye and pulled the trigger.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Twenty-One
I got up at around five-thirty my first morning back in Washington. Same old, same old, which was fine with me.
I put on a Wizards tee-shirt and ancient Georgetown gym shorts and headed downstairs. The lights in the kitchen were still off. Nana wasn't up yet, which was a little surprising.
Well, she deserved to sleep late every once in a while.
I laced up my sneaks and headed outside for a run. Immediately I could smell the Anacostia River. Not the greatest smell, but familiar. My plan was not to think about Ellis Cooper on death row this morning. So far, I was failing.
Our neighborhood has changed a lot in the past few years. The politicians and business-people would say it's all for the good, but I'm not so sure that's right. There's construction on 395 South, and the Fourth Street on-ramp has been closed forever. I doubt it would happen for this long in Georgetown. A lot of the old brownstones
I grew up with have been torn down.
Town houses are going up which look very Capitol Hill to me. There's also a flashy new gym called Results. Some houses sport hexagonal blue ADT security signs courtesy of the huge Tyco Corporation. Certain streets are becoming gentrified. But the drug dealers are still around, especially as you travel toward the Anacostia.
If you could put on HG Wells time machine glasses, you would see that the original city planners had some good ideas. Every
couple of blocks there is a park with clearly delineated paths and patches of grass. Some day the parks will be reclaimed by the people, not just the drug dealers. Or so I like to think.
A Washington Post article the other day proclaimed that some people in the neighborhood actually protect the dealers. Well, some people think the dealers do more good things for the community than the politicians like throwing block parties and giving kids ice-cream money on hot summer days.
I've been here since I was ten and we'll probably stay in Southeast. I love the old neighborhood not just the memories, but the promise of things that could still happen here.
When I got home from my run the kitchen lights still weren't on. An alarm was sounding inside my head.
Pretty loud, too.
I went down the narrow hallway from the kitchen to check on Nana.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Twenty-Two
I edged open the door and saw her lying in bed, so I quietly moved into the room. Rosie the cat was perched on the windowsill. She meowed softly. Some watch-cat.
I let my eyes roam. Saw a familiar framed poster depicting jazz musicians by Romare Bearden; it's called "Wrapping it up at the Lafayette'.
On top of her armoire were dozens of hat boxes. Nana's collection of hats for special occasions would be the envy of any milliner.
I realized I couldn't hear Nana's breathing.
My body tensed and suddenly there was a loud roaring sound inside my head. She hadn't gotten up to make breakfast only a handful of times since I was a kid. I felt the fears of a child as I stood perfectly still in her room.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice Page 4
