Target: Alex Cross (Alex Cross #26) - James Patterson Page 0,96

a congressman, and a senator, have long sworn allegiance to God, country, and our remarkable system of laws.”

Talbot paused and stood taller. “So, forthwith, I will assume the office of the president of the United States, and I want to assure every American that while I might be an old dog, I can certainly learn new tricks. I feel deeply humbled and honored to lead you in this time of crisis. My first act is to lift martial law. I want people to resume their lives. We must go on.”

I set my fork down.

Nana Mama said, “Did he say no more martial law?”

“He did.”

My grandmother threw her arms overhead. “I’ve got serious shopping to do.”

I laughed. “You sound like we’ve been imprisoned for months.”

“Feels like it to me.” She sniffed. “You know I like ingredients fresh.”

“I know you do,” I said, taking my plate to the sink and pecking her on the cheek as I passed.

“He doesn’t sound too bad,” Nana said. “That Talbot. Means well.”

“I get that sense too,” I said. “But then again, I thought Larkin was a natural leader until he taunted the Russians and the Chinese like that.”

“Any chance Larkin fights it?”

“What’s there to fight?” I asked. “The chief justice ruled.”

“But not the entire court,” she said. “I think it could be appealed on that basis.”

“I’m sure someone in Washington’s looking at the idea,” I said.

I didn’t want to go upstairs to shower yet. Everyone else was still sleeping. Even Bree, who’d been working just as hard as I had, if not harder. It was too cold to sit outside, so I went into the television room and sat with my coffee. I shut my eyes and let my thoughts roam.

Once again, I asked myself, Who benefits from the murders? What about in light of recent events? Talbot, of course. He benefits. But he’d struck me as a reluctant leader, someone who had never seen himself as presidential timber. And yet, now that he was called, he was willing to do his duty.

But what about Larkin? Why hadn’t he come forward to give the country his reaction to the ruling? For that matter, where was he? The last we’d heard he was at an air force base in Kansas. Doing what? Trying to figure out his next move?

If Larkin was involved in the assassination plot, I decided, he would emerge to fight tooth and nail to stay president. He would do as Nana Mama had suggested, at the very least: appeal to the full Supreme Court.

But until then, what was my best course of action? For several minutes, I couldn’t come up with a clear way forward. But then, as I opened my eyes to drink more coffee, I remembered something Viktor Kasimov said.

Follow the money.

CHAPTER

94

I WAS BACK in the hangar at Joint Base Andrews less than two hours later, standing with Ned Mahoney and Susan Carstensen. We were all once again looking over Keith Karl Rawlins’s shoulder.

The FBI cybercrimes expert was hacking into bank accounts that, according to British intelligence, belonged to Senator Walker’s killer. The accounts in Sean Lawlor’s name—gleaned upon request from British MI6—were all in known money-laundering centers: Panama, Seychelles, and the Isle of Jersey.

“There we are,” Rawlins said when the screen jumped to the electronic ledger on Lawlor’s account in Panama.

He scrolled down. “Empty.”

“Find recent transactions,” I said.

He did and we saw that more than a million euros and a million British pounds had been transferred out the same day Lawlor was strangled.

“Where’d it go?” Mahoney asked.

“Bank in …” Rawlins said, typing frantically. “El Salvador.”

“Can you hack it?” I asked.

He looked at me as if I’d insulted him and soon had the account open on the screen. It, too, was empty.

“Whose account?”

“Esmeralda del Toro,” he said. “Address in Madrid.”

“Send it to me,” Carstensen said. “I’ll dispatch agents.”

Rawlins did, and then Mahoney said, “Where’d the money go from there?”

“Probably another empty account, probably belonging to a shell corporation, and on and on,” Rawlins said. “I’m betting Esmeralda is not at home in Madrid.”

“Or that she even exists,” I said.

“Humor me,” Mahoney said. “Push the ball ahead a few times.”

Rawlins sighed and gave his computer an order. Nothing. He gave another order. The screen didn’t budge.

“Interesting,” he said. “There’s a firewall around recent transactions that …”

The FBI contractor cocked his head, rattled away at his keyboard, and hit Enter. The screen didn’t change at first, but then it blinked to a new document.

“Ahhh,” Rawlins said. “The money went to an account on Kraken.