Cross Country

said.
    Dana stood at the table. “We’ll get back to you.” Then he left the room.
How very CIA of him
.

Chapter 14
    BUT I COULDN’T let it go like that, and I didn’t.
    In the wide, mostly empty corridor outside the conference room, I called to Al Tunney before he could get away. “Hey, Al! I meant to ask you how Trish and the kids are doing.” I held up a hand to my building escort. “I’ll just be a second.”
    Al was giving me a disgusted look as I walked over to him. I knew he had a wife, but unless I was psychic, her name probably wasn’t Trish.
    I started right in with him. “You know something, or you wouldn’t be at that meeting. Neither would Dana. Your guys were at the murder scene. Help me out here. Anything,
something,
Al.”
    “Alex, I can’t. This case is even hotter than you think it is. You heard my boss in there. It goes right to the top of our group. Steven Millard is involved. Trust me, there
is
an investigation going on. We’re taking it very seriously.”
    “Eric Dana doesn’t know me, and neither does Steven Millard, but you do. You know what I can get done. I don’t have to prove that to you, do I?” A large department seal loomed over us in the hall. I took a step to the side so Tunney wouldn’t be looking up at it.
    “Very funny,” he said.
    “Come on, Al. Two families have died already. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
    Then Tunney said a really odd thing. “Not as much as you might think. There are other monsters.”
    My escort called over from the intersection in the corridor. “Detective Cross? This way?”
    “One second.” I turned back to Tunney again. “Ellie Cox was a dear friend. Nicole Cox was thirteen. Clara was six. James ten. The four Ahmed kids? All younger than twelve. They didn’t just die, Al.
Their heads were cut off
. Whoever did it is on a par with Hannibal Lecter. Only this is
real
.”
    “I know the case by heart,” he said. “I’ve got it.”
    “You have kids, right? I’ve got three. Damon, Jannie, and Ali. What about you?”
    “Jesus.” Tunney shook his head at me. “You got mean somewhere along the way.”
    “Not mean, Al. I’m trying to solve some horrific murders. Something tells me the trail might go to Africa. Is that true?”
    I could tell he was close to giving me something. I put a hand on his shoulder and ratcheted down my tone a little. “I’m not asking for any deep agency secrets. I’m talking about existing police business. In my own jurisdiction. At least for now.”
    Tunney looked down at the floor tile for a few seconds, then over at my escort, then back at the floor. Without looking up, he said, “There’s been some talk about a deal going down. We got this from the FBI. Service Plaza in Virginia. Chantilly, Virginia. Might be your guy. You’d be within your rights to intercept.”
    “What kind of deal?”
    Tunney didn’t answer. He put out his hand, with a smile broad enough for the escort to see. His voice rose just a notch. “It was good seeing you again, Alex. And say hello to Bree for me. Like I said, I know this case by heart. It
is
horrific. Boy shot your friend. And please remember this, we’re still the good guys, Alex. No matter what you might read or see in the movies.”

Chapter 15
    BY EIGHT O’CLOCK that night, I had gathered together a half dozen handpicked officers from Major Case Squad, plus Bree, Sampson, and myself. We wore Kevlar vests under plain clothes and were heavily armed and wired, waiting at the service plaza in Chantilly, Virginia, where something might be going down involving my killer.
    We were scheduled for a twelve-hour shift, eight to eight if we needed it. The team was already spread out over five sectors: front car park, restaurant, gas station, and both sides of the big truck lot in back. Sampson had a hip problem, so he was on the roof observing for us. Bree and I traded off roaming and covering the communications van parked near the entrance, with another good view of the service plaza.
    There was no sign of the CIA.
Had they not shown up yet?
    For the first five hours, there was nothing but radio silence and lots of bad coffee.
    Then just after one in the morning, the silence broke.
    “Twenty-two-oh-one. Over.”
    “Go ahead, twenty-two-oh-one.”
    I looked over from the communications van toward the far corner of the truck lot, where a detective named Jamal McDonald was stationed.
    “I got two Land Cruisers. Just pulled up to a tanker in the back. Northeast