Double Cross

good start, I thought. I assumed the killer had left it as a message for us.
Or me
?
    “So then we opened our lens a little wider, for derivative elements elsewhere,” Bree said, and brought up a PowerPoint slide.
    “Here’s a transcription of the speech the killer gives in the first half of the videotape. And this”—she changed slides—“is a speech from a 2003 video made by someone calling himself the Sheik of America.”
    “Is it the same guy?” somebody in the back asked.
    “No,” Bree said. “Actually, it isn’t. But he’s obviously borrowing from more than one source. Abu Ghraib. Now this. Statistically, the two speeches are about sixty percent similar.”
    “Hang on a minute. Why do you insist it’s not the same guy?” Richter wanted to know. He had a snide way of making his questions sound like accusations.
    I saw a brief flash of annoyance on Bree’s face, probably invisible to everyone else. “Because the Sheik was
arrested
last year. He’s cooling his heels in a New York prison,” she said. “Let’s move on, shall we?”
    Another detective raised his hand like a schoolkid. “Do we have a bead on nationality one way or the other at this point?”
    Bree nodded in my direction. That was my cue. “A lot of you know Dr. Alex Cross. I’m going to ask him to run down the basic points of our profile as it stands now. The killer knows about Dr. Cross. In case you haven’t heard, he was mentioned by name on the tape.”
    “How could I resist an invitation like that?” I said, and got a few laughs.
    Then we went right into the heavy stuff.

Chapter 24

    AS I STOOD AT THE FRONT, I actually recognized about half the people in the room. I’m not sure how many of the rest of them knew me by reputation, but probably most of them did. I’d worked the high-profile cases in DC for years, and now here I was again.
Doing pro bono work? Helping out Detective Bree Stone? What was this, actually
?
    “One thing’s pretty clear,” I began. “He’s going to
want
to kill again, whether or not he actually does it. His signature aspect is terrorist, but there are also serial tendencies here. There’s already a recognizable pattern that I see.”
    “Can you clarify that, Alex?” someone asked. I looked over at Bree, but she raised her chin at me in a go-ahead signal.
    “His opening bid, so to speak, was an individual homicide. It’s possible he’s warming up to something bigger, but I don’t think so. He just might stick to one victim at a time.”
    “Why?”
    “Good question, and I think I might even have the answer to that one. My guess is that he doesn’t want to be eclipsed by his own work. This is about
him
, not the victims. Despite what he says on the tape, he’s a narcissist at heart. He badly wants to be a star. Maybe that’s why he ‘invited’ me onto the case. He may have even left some greeting cards at the crime scene—a couple of unsigned Hallmark cards. We’re still checking into that one and what it might mean if he did. And we’re checking on the books Mrs. Olsen had written.”
    “What about his motive?” Richter asked. “Are we still thinking this could be political?”
    “Yes and no. Right now, our working theory is that he’s Iraqi-born, or descended, with some kind of law-enforcement or military background, or both. The FBI thinks he’s lived in the U.S. for at least a few years, if not his entire life. Above-average intelligence, highly disciplined, and yes, probably anti-American. But we also think the political agenda could be more a means of expression than an end in itself.”
    “Expression of what?” Richter pressed, even though he had to know we didn’t have a lot of answers yet.
    “A need to kill, maybe. He seems to like what he’s doing. But, more important, he likes being in the spotlight.”
    Just like you do, Thor.
    And maybe
just like me
.

Chapter 25

    SEVERAL PEOPLE SCRIBBLED or typed out notes in the deepening and troubling silence that followed. I didn’t want to dominate the meeting, so I handed it right back to Bree for the rest of the Q&A. Richter grilled her hard, but she never backed down from her domineering boss. Sampson was right about Bree—she was going places in the MPD, or she was going to get tossed by some jealous superior.
    Afterward, we were gathering up our materials in the empty briefing room when she stopped and looked at me. “You’re pretty good at this,” she said. “Maybe even better than your hot-shit