London Bridges

that the names for the breakfast foods were just about the only Czech words they knew. Then they began to clear away the food and started in on the dishes.
    “Oh, and there’s
ty vejce jsou hnusný,
” said Jozef, or Joe, the eight-year-old.
    “I’m almost afraid to ask—what does that mean?”
    “Oh, that the eggs were gross,” said Joe, who laughed with little-boy delight at his joke.

Chapter 68
    THERE WAS NOTHING to do once I left Martin and Klára’s, except obsess and worry about the Wolf and where he might strike,
if
he was going to retaliate. Back at the hotel, I caught a few more hours of sleep, then I decided to walk and I felt that this might be a long walk. I needed it.
    Something strange, though. I was strolling along Broadway and I had the feeling that somebody was following me. I didn’t think I was being paranoid. I tried to see who it was, but either he was very good or I wasn’t that skilled at spy games. Maybe if this had been Washington instead of London. But it was difficult for me to spot who or what was out of place here—except me, of course.
    I stopped in at Scotland Yard and there was still no word from the Wolf. And so far, no reprisals. Not in any of the targeted cities. The calm before the storm?
    An hour or so later, having walked up Whitehall, past No. 10 Downing Street to Trafalgar Square and back, and feeling much better for the exercise, I made my way to the hotel and had that same creepy feeling again—as if someone was watching me, following. Who? I didn’t actually see anyone.
    Back in my room, I called the kids at Aunt Tia’s. Then I talked to Nana, who was on Fifth Street by herself. “Oddly peaceful,” she joked. “But I wouldn’t mind a full house again. I miss everybody.”
    “So do I, Nana.”
    I fell off to sleep again, in my clothes, and didn’t wake until the phone rang. I hadn’t bothered to pull the drapes and it was dark outside. I looked at the clock—Jesus—four in the morning. I guess I was finally catching up on some of the sleep I’d lost.
    “Alex Cross,” I said into the phone.
    “It’s Martin, Alex. I’m on my way from home. He wants us to go to the Houses of Parliament, to meet him on the sidewalk outside the Strangers’ Entrance. Shall I pick you up?”
    “No. It’s faster if I walk. I’ll meet you there.” Parliament at this time of the morning? It didn’t sound good.
    Maybe five minutes later I was back outside again, hurrying along Victoria Street, heading toward Westminster Abbey. I was certain that the Wolf was going to pull something and that it would hurt like hell. Did that mean all four cities were about to be hit? That wouldn’t surprise me. Nothing would at this point.
    “Hello, Alex. Fancy meeting you here.”
    A man stepped out of the shadows. I hadn’t even noticed him standing there. Preoccupied, maybe only half awake, a little careless.
    He stepped all the way out of the shadows and I saw his gun. It was pointed at my heart.
    “I’m supposed to be out of the country by now. But I had this one thing I had to do. Kill you. I wanted you to see it coming, too. Just like this. I’ve had dreams about this moment. Maybe you have, too.”
    The speaker was Geoffrey Shafer. He was so cocky and confident, and he clearly had the upper hand. Maybe that’s why I didn’t even think about what I should do, and I didn’t hesitate. I barreled into Shafer, waited for the thundering gunshot to follow.
    It came, too. Only he didn’t hit me, at least I didn’t think so. I suspected the shot was deflected to the side. Didn’t matter. I blocked Shafer hard into the building behind him. I saw surprise and pain in his eyes, and that was the motivation I needed. Also his gun had gone flying in the scuffle.
    I hit him hard with a roundhouse into his midsection, probably below the belt, maybe a nut cruncher. I hoped so. He grunted and I knew I’d hurt him. But I wanted to hurt Shafer more, for all kinds of reasons. I wanted to kill him right there in the street. I crunched another shot to his stomach and I could feel it go weak under my fist. Then I went for the bastard’s head. I slammed a hard right hand into his temple. Then a left to his jaw. He was hurt badly, but he wouldn’t go down.
    “That all you got, Cross? Here’s something for you,” he snarled.
    He had a switchblade and I started to step away—but then I realized that he was hurt and that this was my best chance. I hit Shafer again, on his nose. Broke it!