Criss Cross (Alex Cross) - James Patterson Page 0,26
back of our car in Ohio, I entered the visitors’ center at the Alexandria jail for my scheduled meeting with Martin Forbes.
I didn’t fully trust Marty Forbes’s alibi tale. I still believed he could have found the reference to M in files at Quantico and then cooked up everything else, hoping to lure me in to help him.
Forbes was smiling when he entered the booth on the opposite side of the bulletproof glass.
“I read the papers,” he said. “I see it’s out in the open now. M is messing with you, isn’t he, Cross?”
“He sent a note.”
“What did it say?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”
That pissed off Forbes. “You don’t trust me. This is my life.”
“I know it is, and no, I don’t trust you. Not entirely. That’s just the way it is.”
He stewed over that for a while and then said, “I’m a smart guy. I was a good agent, a good investigator.”
“I’d agree with that.”
“Then use me,” Forbes said, tapping his head. “I do nothing but sit around all day. Who was the woman? The head?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“C’mon, Cross, let me in. I can help.”
I thought about it and decided to let him in on some of it. I read him a copy of the note M had left us.
Forbes listened, gazing off into the middle distance.
“He called himself Mastermind,” he said after a few moments. “Craig’s alias.”
I shook my head. “M didn’t call himself Mastermind. He said that he was a mastermind.”
“Still. That’s something.”
“It’s not,” I insisted. “Craig’s dead. I saw him blown apart and consumed in flames. This guy’s using words he knows will yank our chain. It’s misdirection.”
“I know what I saw,” Forbes said.
“While you were drugged,” I said. “It could have been a hallucination. Or M wore a disguise to look like Craig.”
I could tell Forbes was not convinced, but he let the issue drop and said, “He called the media. That’s a bold move.”
“Very bold,” I said. “And now they know he has a name. Or a letter, anyway.”
“Is the story getting traction?”
“The media doesn’t know the extent of it all yet,” I said. “Not by a mile.”
“What does that mean?” he said, studying me.
I considered telling him about the earlier notes from M but then decided to keep that close. “Your story, for one,” I said.
“It’s going to come out,” Forbes said. “I’ve told the Bureau about this.”
That was news to me, but before I could question him, he said, “And I told you and my attorney.”
“That’s a good thing,” I said. “But I’d appreciate it if you kept a lid on that until it comes out in court. If he wants you in here, there’s a reason.”
He stared at me, then shook his head in disgust. “You’re not here about me at all, Cross. I had it wrong. You’re not the straight shooter I thought you were. You’re in it for yourself, same as M, same as everyone else. Meanwhile, I sit and rot.”
Before I could reply, he slammed down the phone, glared at me, and then got up and walked away.
CHAPTER 30
NANA MAMA MADE COUNTRY-STYLE short ribs with jasmine rice and homemade coleslaw that evening. She’d slow-cooked the ribs, and the meat was sweet and spicy, falling off the bone. It was so good that no one spoke for a full ten minutes.
Jannie pulled her robe tighter around herself and sighed. “I don’t feel any stronger after that, but I sure feel better, Nana.”
My grandmother got up and threw her arms around my daughter.
“You are getting stronger,” Nana said. “Those vitamins are in there working. They just haven’t turned the tide yet.”
That only made Jannie morose. “My friend Jeanette had it, and she said it took her six weeks before she wasn’t falling asleep all the time. And this kid, Connor Bartlett? He got it twice. Twice!”
“Stop,” I said. “Jeanette and Connor are not you. And they were not on this vitamin regimen.”
She rolled her eyes. “They make my stomach feel rude.”
Bree said, “The doctor said to take them with food, and if you take them, drink a lot of fluids, and sleep a lot, you will start feeling better next week.”
“Maybe sooner,” I said.
“Or later,” Ali said.
I glared at him.
“What?” he said. “No two people react to an illness the same way. It said so in the Washington Post the other day.”
Not wanting to belabor the point, I said, “Why don’t you start clearing the table.”
“It’s Jannie’s turn.”
“She’s sick,” I said, and I looked at my daughter.