Tran Van Luu had told me that in prison.
One of his men finally came for me. I curled into a protective ball. No one could save me now. I knew the Ghost Shadows’ plan — wreak havoc — get revenge for ancestors who had been murdered but never buried.
“You want watch? Or go?” the man asked. His voice was surprisingly calm. “You free to go, Detective.”
I looked into his eyes. “Go,” I said.
The Ghost Shadow helped me to my feet, took off my cuffs, then he led me away. He threw me rags to clean up with. A second man brought my clothes and shoes. They were both respectful.
Then I was brought to the gates of West Point, near 9W, where I was released unharmed. I had no doubt that those were Tran Van Luu’s explicit orders.
I ran to get help for General Hutchinson and his men, but I knew I was already too late.
Foot Soldier had killed them.
Chapter 114
RON BURNS FINALLY reached me at home the following afternoon. I was up in my office, standing at the bay window looking down on Fifth Street and the rest of the neighborhood.
Jannie was down on the front lawn teaching Little Alex how to play tag. She was even letting her brother win, but that wouldn’t last long.
Burns was saying, “Alex, I just got off the phone with a special agent named Mel Goodes. He called me from a small town in upstate New York called Ellenville. You ever hear of Ellenville?”
“Actually, no. But I think I’ve been there recently,” I said. “Have I?”
“Yeah, you have,” Burns said. “That’s where they took you from West Point.”
“What was Agent Goodes doing in Ellenville?” I asked.
“We were called in by the local police from up that way. They were puzzled — and frankly, shocked — by a mess some local deer hunters found in the mountains this morning.”
“I’ll bet they were. Three murder victims. A grotesque death scene. Ritualistic.”
“Three unidentified males. It really shook up the locals. They blocked off half the mountain. The victims had severe cuts and electrical burns all over their bodies. The initial police report said they’d been ‘sodomized slash cauterized.’ The faces had been painted.”
“Red, white, and blue.”
I was only half listening now. Jannie was teaching Little Alex how to lose at tag. He started to cry, and she picked him up and hugged him. She looked up at my window and waved. She had it all under control. That was Jannie. Meanwhile, I was thinking about torture, terrorism, things that happen in the name of war. Jihad. Whatever. When would it stop? Probably never, or not until somebody blew up our beloved planet. How totally insane of us.
“I was wondering if you could shed any more light on the three murders?” Burns asked. “Can you, Alex?”
I waved back to the kids, then walked over to my desk and sat down. There was a picture of Maria with Jannie and Damon when they were little. I wondered what she would have thought of all this. The kids? Me? Jamilla? Murder victims painted the colors of the American flag?
“Two of the victims are probably General Mark Hutchinson and a colonel named Walker. The third man is a PFC at West Point. I didn’t catch his name. Hutchinson was responsible for some atrocities over thirty years ago in Vietnam. It finally caught up with him.”
I told Burns almost everything I knew about the night before. As always, he was a good listener. I appreciated that more and more. And I was beginning to think that I trusted him.
“You know who killed the three West Pointers?” he finally asked.
I thought about that for a moment, then said that I didn’t. Technically, that was true. Burns asked a few more questions, but he accepted what I’d told him. I liked that too. It meant that he accepted my judgment. I made another judgment then and there about the FBI director.
“I’ll come work for you,” I told him. “I’ll join the FBI. Like you said, it’ll be fun.”
“Who says the offer is still open?” Burns said, and laughed. I liked that too.
Epilogue
THE GARTER
Chapter 115
THE LAST THING I expected this year was a big, joyful wedding. I stood holding Jamilla’s hand and looking out over the beautiful grounds in Falls Church, Virginia.
The setting was a sprawling meadow behind a small restaurant-inn. Yellow and white lights had been strung in the elm trees and along the patio rails. Everywhere I looked, there were roses and marigolds and simple but quite beautiful English daisies.
The bride was absolutely gorgeous in a simple white satin gown, with no fussy train or veils. The dress was in the Empire style and draped elegantly on Billie’s small frame. She wore a necklace and earrings made from brightly colored cowrie shells to celebrate her African American heritage. Her hair was swept back in a chignon with sprigs of baby’s breath tucked in just so. Billie couldn’t have looked more joyous, or happier. Her smile was radiant all through the day.
Sampson never stopped smiling either. He was dressed up in a dove gray suit, and I swear he looked like a prince. A friend of ours, Reverend Jeffrey Campbell, had agreed to perform the ceremony in front of nearly a hundred of us who loved John and Billie with all our hearts.
Reverend Campbell asked if we would do everything in our power to support this new family in the community. “We will!” everyone answered with great enthusiasm and warmth.
The reception followed, and I got to say a few words in a champagne toast.
“I have known this large man since we were both small boys. At least I was a boy. He has always been a part of our family, and always will be. John is loyal to his friends, his word is the truth, he’s honorable, kind, generous, sweet — believe it or not, which is why he is my best friend in all the world. I have not known Billie quite as long. But I already like her a lot better than John.
“To a long, happy life together. I love you, John and Billie. Now let’s hear some music. Let’s dance until tomorrow.”
John and his wife danced to “Let’s Stay Together.” Then Jamilla and I joined in with several other couples. “Nice wedding,” she said. “I like John and Billie as a couple. They’re great.” Folks started to stack their plates with food — coconut chicken and corn bread stuffing, dumplings, dirty rice, greens. Everybody was snapping pictures with the single-use cameras left on each table. Billie’s best friend from nursing school sang “Our Love Is Here to Stay,” and it was good. John and I got together on “Sexual Healing,” and it was pretty bad, which was why it was so good. The children were underfoot at all times. And Sampson still hadn’t stopped smiling.
Late in the afternoon, Damon and Jannie each grabbed one of my arms and escorted me out into the yard. “I’ll be right back,” I said to Jamilla. “I hope.”
Billie was seated on a wooden chair with her back to half a dozen woeful-looking, even terrorized single males.
“You don’t have to actually catch the garter,” she said, turning and winking, “the first one who touches it is the lucky winner.”
I stood on one side of the ragtag boys’ club and I was winking and making ridiculous faces at Damon and Jannie and of course, Jamilla. Suddenly, they all pointed toward the sky.
I looked up — and the purple garter was spinning and spiraling down toward me. I couldn’t have gotten out of the way if I’d wanted to.
So I caught the garter and twirled it around my outstretched finger. “Doesn’t scare me,” I said.
I looked to my left — and there was Jamilla with Nana. Jam was laughing and clapping her hands, and her smile said, Doesn’t scare me either.
I looked away — and by God, there was Dr. Kayla Coles. And she wasn’t clapping, just smiling coyly. Then she winked at me. Now what did that mean?
I shook my head, still laughing, but then I saw one more face. Director Ron Burns of the FBI.
My new boss was motioning for me to come over to see him. He had some kind of thick folder under his arm, which I had absolutely no plans of reading that Sat
urday.
But I did.
About the Author
James Patterson’s most recent major international bestseller is The Beach House. He is the author of twenty-one books and lives in Florida.
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