I, Alex Cross

which was okay, since we were hiking in from a couple of miles away.
    It took forty-five minutes to get there through pretty thick woods and brush. After the first mile or so, we switched to night vision only, those with goggles leading those without.
    All conversation dropped off at that point, except for the occasional radio exchange between Mahoney and the SWAT commander.
    The main house came up quickly over a steep rise, all three stories of it. We hung just out of sight, about seventy-five yards off the front. Ned sent SWAT out to do a quick three sixty, and I borrowed a pair of binoculars for a better look while we waited for the action to start.
    It was a really large limestone
mansion;
there’s no other word for it. And the driveway was a virtual car show tonight — Mercedes, Rolls, Bentley, even a vintage Lamborghini and a red Ferrari.
    Tall mullioned windows ran along the first floor, which was well lit inside, but there were no people that I could see. Presumably, the action was taking place upstairs, where all the windows were dark or at least shaded.
    Was this where Caroline had been killed? The thought came over me like a shroud. Was it also where her body had been so horribly desecrated? For that matter, were we about to crack open somebody’s butcher shop or just a rich man’s playground? It was a strange feeling to have no idea what to expect.
    Word finally came back to Mahoney. I couldn’t hear anything from his headset, but it looked like the main event was about to happen. He radioed a standby to the other units, which had spread out around the property, and then gave me that gallows humor grin of his.
    "You ready for Coitus Interruptus?"
    "As I’ll ever be," I said.
    "Here we go, then. Should be a gas." He went back to his headset and counted off. "All units, on the ready. Don’t hurt anybody; don’t get hurt."
    A few seconds later, SWAT was out of the woods with the rest of us just behind, sprinting toward the impressive house of ill repute.

Chapter 45

    AN EXPENSIVE-LOOKING WALNUT front door splintered and then gave way. SWAT was inside with no difficulty. I had my Glock out, hoping I wouldn’t have to use it. The last time Ned and I had worked together, we’d both been shot.
    Not this time, I hoped. This was white-collar crime, wasn’t it? As soon as we got the "all clear" from SWAT, Ned left two men at the door, then led everyone else inside.
    My first impression was just, well,
money
.
    The foyer was three stories high, with a checkerboard marble floor and huge chandeliers dangling like outrageous jewels overhead. The furniture was gleaming antiques, and there was something odd about the light. It looked like gold in here.
    The second impression I got was of stunningly beautiful women — a lot of them — some in evening gowns, others in various stages of undress. Three were naked and not being very shy about it, hands on their hips like we’d just busted into an apartment they all shared.
    The escorts, expensive ones
.
From clean-cut all-American to exotic Far Eastern
.
    I moved through the foyer and turned right, past another agent shuttling two dark-skinned men speaking Arabic and a tall black woman toward the front. All three were naked, and they were cursing out the agents as if they were household help.
    I passed open, empty parlors on either side, then came to a glass-walled smoking room at the end of the house. It stank of cigars and sex, but nobody was inside at the moment.
    When I doubled back, I could hear shouting from near the entrance. Somebody was objecting to our presence — and loudly.
    "Get your hands off me! Don’t touch me, you wanker!" A tall blond man with an English accent was attempting to come down the big main staircase while two FBI agents held him back.
    "This is an illegal search,
goddamnit
!" The Englishman had some spine; I could see that much. They finally had to put him down on the marble landing just to get a zip tie around his wrists.
    I took the stairs two at a time, to where Mahoney was trying to question the guy. "Are you in charge here? You’re Nicholson, right?"
    "Piss off! I’ve already called my attorney. You’re trespassing, every one of you." He was well over six feet and didn’t seem to be losing steam. "You’re breaking the law just being here. This is private property. Goddamnit, let me up! This is an outrage. This is a
private
party in a
private
house."
    "Keep him separated from the others," Mahoney told the agents. "I