“I'm going to have you arrested for trespassing,” he said when he saw me. As I'd told the soldier in his reception area, the general knew who I was.
"That being the case I pushed my way in the front door. Hutchinson was a broad-shouldered man, but in his sixties. He didn't try to stop me, didn't touch me at all.
“Haven't you caused enough trouble?” he asked. “I believe you have.”
“Not really. I'm just getting started.”
I walked into a spacious living room and sat down. The room had deep couches, brass floor lamps, curtains in warm blues and reds. His ex-wife's taste, I assumed.
“This won't take too long, General. Let me tell you what I know about An Lao.”
Hutchinson tried to cut me off. “I'll tell you what you don't know, mister. You don't know how the Army works, and you don't seem to know much about life in power circles either. You're out of your depth here. Leave. Now. Take your goddamn stories to the Washington Post.”
“Starkey, Griffin and Brownley Harris were military assassins assigned to you in Vietnam,”I began.
The general frowned and shook his head, but finally seemed resigned to hearing me out. He sat down. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I've never heard of any of those men.”
“You sent ten-person teams into the An Lao Valley specifically to intimidate the Vietnamese. It was a guerrilla war, and your teams were instructed to act like guerrillas. They committed murders, mutilations. They slaughtered non-combatants. They had a calling card they painted their victims red, white or blue. It got out of control, didn't it, General?”
Hutchinson actually smiled. “Where did you dig up this ridiculous shit? You have some fucking imagination. Now get the hell out of here.”
I continued. “You destroyed the records showing that these men were even in the An Lao Valley. The same was true of the three assassins, Starkey, Griffin and Harris, the ones you sent to clean up the mess. That's how I first found out about the deception. They told me they were there. But their Army records said otherwise.”
The general looked disinterested in what I had to say. It was all an act, of course. I wanted to get up and punch him until he told me the truth.
"The records weren't destroyed, GeneralI went on.
Finally, I had his attention. “What the hell are you talking about?”
"Just what I said. The records weren't destroyed. A Kit Carson scout named Tran Van Luu brought the atrocities to the attention of his CO. None other than Colonel Owen Handler. No one would listen, of course, so Luu stole copies of the records and took them to the North Vietnamese.
“Those records were held in Hanoi until nineteen ninety-seven. Then the CIA happened to obtain copies. I got my copies from the FBI, as well as the Vietnamese Embassy. So maybe I do know a little about life in Washington's power circles. I even know that you're being considered for the Joint Chiefs. But not if any of this started to come out.”
“You're crazy,” Hutchinson huffed. “You're out of your mind.”
"Am I? Two teams of ten men each committed a hundred or more civilian murders in villages during nineteen sixty-eight and sixty-nine. You were the commanding officer. You gave the orders. When the teams got out of control, you sent in Starkey and his men to tidy up. Unfortunately, they killed a few civilians themselves. More recently, you gave the order to have Colonel Handler killed. Handler knew about your role in the An Lao Valley. Your career would have been ruined and you might have even gone to jail.
“You went up country with Starkey, Harris and Warren Griffin yourself. You were there, Hutchinson, in the An Lao Valley. You're responsible for everything that went wrong. You were there the fourth Blind Mouse.”
Hutchinson suddenly turned around in his chair. “Walker, Taravela,” he said, 'you can come in now. We've heard more than enough from this bastard."
Two men entered through a side door. They both had guns drawn, pointed at me.
“Now you don't get to leave, Dr. Cross,” said Colonel Walker. “You don't get to go home.”
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter One Hundred and Twelve
My hands were cuffed tightly behind my back. Then I was pushed outside and shoved down into the trunk of a dark sedan by the two armed men.
I lay curled up like a blanket in there. For a man my size, it was a tight squeeze.
I could feel the car back out of Hutchinson's driveway, bump over the gutter, then turn onto the street.
The sedan rode inside West Point at a reasonable speed. No more than twenty. I was sure we were leaving the grounds as the car finally sped up.
I didn't know who was up front. Whether General Hutchinson had come along with his men. It seemed likely that I was going to be killed soon. I couldn't imagine how I could get out of this one. I thought about the kids and Nana, and Jamilla, and I wondered why I'd risked my life again. Was it a sign of good character, or a serious character flaw? And did it really matter anymore?
Eventually, the car turned off the smooth highway surface onto a seriously bumpy road that was probably unpaved. I estimated we were about forty minutes from West Point. So how much longer did I have to live?
The car rolled to a stop and I heard the doors open and slam shut. Then the trunk was sprung.
The first face I saw was Hutchinson's. There was no emotion in his eyes. Nothing human looked back at me.
The two others were behind him. They had handguns pointed my way. Their stares were blank as well.
“What are you going to do?” I asked a question that I already knew the answer to.
“What we should have done the night you were with Owen Handler. Kill you,” said Colonel Walker.
“With extreme prejudice,” added the general.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen
I was lifted out of the car trunk and unceremoniously dropped on the ground. I landed hard on my hip. Rain lanced my body. Just the beginning, I knew. These bastards were out to hurt me before they killed me. I was handcuffed and there was nothing I could do to stop them.
Colonel Walker reached toward me and ripped my shirt open. The other man was pulling off my shoes, then my pants.
Suddenly, I was naked and shivering in the woods somewhere in upstate New York. The air was cold, probably in the low forties.
“Do you know what my real crime is? Do you know what I did that was so wrong in Vietnam? ”Hutchinson asked. “I gave the fucking order to fight back. They killed and maimed our men. They practiced terrorism and sadism. They tried to intimidate us in every way they could. I wouldn't be intimidated. I fought back, Cross. Just like I'm fighting back now.”
also murdered non-combatants, disgraced your command," I spat the words at him.
The general leaned in close. “You weren't there, so don't tell me what I did or didn't do. We won in the An Lao Valley. Back then, we used to say there were only two kinds in the world, the motherfuckers and the mother-fucked. I'm a motherfucker, Cross. Guess what that makes you?”
Colonel Walker and the other man had paint and brushes. They began to swab cold paint onto my body. “Thought you would appreciate this touch, ”Walker said. “I was in the An Lao Valley, too. You going to tell the Washington Post on me?”
There was nothing I could do to stop this. No one could help me either. I was naked in the world, and all alone, and now I was being painted. Their calling card before they killed me.
I shivered in the cold. I could see in their eyes that killing me meant nothing to them. They'd murdered before. Owen Handler for one.
So how much longer did I have? A few minutes? Maybe a couple of hours of torture? No more than that.
A gunshot rang out in the blackness. It seemed to come from beyond the headlights of the sedan we'd driven there in. What the hell?
A dark hole opened in Colonel Walker's face, just below his left eye. Blood spurted. He flopped over backwards, landing with a heavy thud on the fores
t floor. The back of his head was gone, just blown away.
The second soldier tried to duck, and a bullet drilled his lower spine. He screamed, then fell and rolled right over me.
I saw men come swarming out of the woods at least half a dozen. I counted nine, ten of them. I couldn't see who they were in the darkness. Who in hell was rescuing me?
Then, as they came closer, moonlight illuminated some of the features. My God! I didn't know them, but I knew where they had come from and who had sent them -either to follow me, or to kill Hutchinson.
The Ghost Shadows were here.
Tran Van Luu's people had been tracking me. Or Hutchinson.
They were speaking in Vietnamese. I didn't understand a word they were saying. Two of them grabbed the general and threw him to the ground. They began to kick him in the head, the chest, stomach, and the genitals. He cried out in pain, but the beating continued, almost as if they couldn't hear him.
They left me alone. But I had no illusions I was a witness to this. I lay with my face pressed against the ground. I watched the attack from the lowest vantage point. The beating of General Hutchinson seemed unreal and almost inhuman. They were kicking Colonel Walker and the other soldier now as well. Beating the dead!
One of them took out a serrated knife and cut Hutchinson. His scream pierced the night. It was obvious they wanted to hurt the general, but not kill him. They meant to torture and terrorize, to wreak havoc.
One of Luu's men pulled out a straw doll. He threw the doll at Hutchinson. He then stabbed the general in the lower stomach. Hutchinson screamed again. The stomach wound wouldn't be fatal. The torture was going to continue. And sooner or later they would paint all of our bodies.
I believe in rituals and symbolism, and I believe in revenge.
Tran Van Luu had told me that in prison.
One of his men finally came for me. I curled into a protective ball. No one could save me now. I knew the Ghost Shadows' plan wreak havoc, get revenge for ancestors who had been murdered but never buried.
“You want watch? Or go?” the man asked. His voice was surprisingly calm. “You free to go, Detective.”
I looked into his eyes. “Go,” I said.
The Ghost Shadow helped me to my feet, took off my cuffs, then he led me away. He threw me rags to clean up with. A second man brought my clothes and shoes. They were both respectful.
Then I was brought to the gates of West Point, near 9W, where I was released unharmed. I had no doubt that those were Tran Van Luu's explicit orders.
I ran to get help for General Hutchinson and his men, but I knew I was already too late.
The Foot Soldier had killed them.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen
Ron Burns finally reached me at home the following afternoon. I was up in my office, standing at the bay window looking down on Fifth Street and the rest of the neighborhood.
Jannie was on the front lawn teaching little Alex how to play tag. She was even letting her brother win, but that wouldn't last long.
Burns was saying, “Alex, I just got off the phone with a special agent named Mel Goodes. He called me from a small town in upstate New York called Ellenville.You ever hear of Ellenville?”
“Actually, no. But I think I've been there recently,” I said. "Have
I?"
“Yeah, you have,” Burns said. “That's where they took you from West Point.”
“What was Agent Goodes doing in Ellenville?” I asked.
“We were called in by the local police from up that way. They were puzzled and, frankly, shocked, by a mess some local deer hunters found in the mountains this morning.”
“I'll bet they were. Three murder victims. A grotesque death scene. Ritualistic.”
“Three unidentified males. It really shook up the locals. They blocked off half the mountain. The victims had severe cuts and electrical burns all over their bodies. The initial police report said they'd been ”sodomized slash cauterized. “The faces had been painted.”
“Red, white and blue.”
I was only half listening now. Jannie was teaching little Alex how to lose at tag. He started to cry, and she picked him up and hugged him. She looked up at my window and waved. She had it all under control. That was Jannie. Meanwhile, I was thinking about torture, terrorism, things that happen in the name of war. Jihad. Whatever. When would it stop? Probably never, or not until somebody blew up our beloved planet. How totally insane of us.
“I was wondering if you could shed any more light on the three murders?” Burns asked. “Can you, Alex?”
I waved back to the kids, then I walked over to my desk and sat down. There was a picture of Maria with Jannie and Damon when they were little. I wondered what she would have thought of all this. The kids? Me? Jamilla? Murder victims painted the colors of the American flag?
Two of the victims are probably General Mark Hutchinson and a Colonel named Walker. The third man is a PFC at West Point. I didn't catch his name. Hutchinson was responsible for some atrocities over thirty years ago in Vietnam. It finally caught up with him."
I told Burns almost everything I knew about the night before. As always, he was a good listener. I appreciated that more and more. And I was beginning to think that I trusted him.
“You know who killed the three West Pointers?” he finally asked.
I thought about that for a moment, then I said that I didn't. Technically, that was true. Burns asked a few more questions, but he accepted what I'd told him. I liked that. It meant that he accepted my judgment. I made another judgment then and there about the FBI director.
“I'll come and work for you,”I told him. “I'll join the FBI. Like you said, it'll be fun.”
“Who says the offer is still open?” Burns said, and laughed. I liked that, too.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
EPILOGUE
THE GARTER
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen
The last thing I expected this year was a big, joyful wedding. I stood holding Jamilla's hand and looking out over the beautiful grounds in Church Falls, Virginia.
The setting was a sprawling meadow behind a small restaurant-inn. Yellow and white lights had been strung in the elm trees and along the patio rails. Everywhere I looked there were roses, and marigolds, and simple but quite beautiful English daisies.
The bride was absolutely gorgeous in a simple white satin gown, with no fussy train or veils. The dress was in the Empire style and draped elegantly on Billie's small frame. She wore a necklace and earrings made from brightly colored courie shells to celebrate her African -American heritage. Her hair was swept back in a chignon with sprigs of baby breath tucked in just so. Billie couldn't have looked happier. Her smile was radiant all through the day.
Sampson never stopped smiling either. He was dressed in a dove gray suit, and I swear he looked like a prince. A
friend of ours, Reverend Jeffrey Campbell, had agreed to perform the ceremony in front of nearly a hundred of us who loved John and Billie with all our hearts.
Reverend Campbell asked if we would do everything in our power to support this new family in the community? “We will!” everyone answered with great enthusiasm and warmth.
The reception followed and I got to say a few words in a champagne toast.
"I have known this large man since we were both small boys. At least I was a boy. He has always been a part of our family, and always will be. John is loyal to his friends, his word is the truth, he's honorable, kind, generous, sweet believe it or not which is why he is my best friend in all the world. I have not known Billie quite as long. But I already like her a lot better than John.
To a long, happy life together. I love you, John and Billie. Now let's hear some music. Let's dance until tomorrow."
John and his wife danced to' Let Stay Together'. Then Jamilla and I joined in with several other couples. “Nice wedding,” she said.
“I like John and Billie as a couple. They're great.” Folks started to stack their plates with food coconut chicken, and cornbread stuffing, dumplings, dirty rice, greens. Everybody was snapping pictures with the single-use cameras left on each table. Billie's best friend from nursing school sang' Our Love Is Here to Stay and it was good. John and I got together on "Sexual Healing and it was pretty bad, which was why it was so good. The children were underfoot at all times. And
Sampson still hadn't stopped smiling.
Late in the afternoon, Damon and Jannie each grabbed one of my arms and escorted me out into the yard. “I'll be right back,” I said to Jamilla. “I hope.”
Billie was seated on a wooden chair with her back to half a dozen woeful-looking, even terrorized single males.
“You don't have to actually catch the garter,” she said turning and winking. “The first one who touches it is the lucky winner.”
I stood on one side of the rag-tag boys club, winking and making ridiculous faces at Damon and Jannie, and, of course, Jamilla. Suddenly, they all pointed toward the sky.
I looked up and the purple garter was spinning and spiraling down toward me. I couldn't get out of the way if I wanted to.
So I caught it and I twirled it around my outstretched finger. “Doesn't scare me,” I said.
I looked to my left and there was Jamilla with Nana. Jam was laughing and clapping her hands, and her smile said, doesn't scare me either.
I looked away and by God, there was Dr. Kayla Coles. And she wasn't clapping, just smiling coyly. Then she winked at me. Now what did that mean?
I shook my head, still laughing, but then I saw one more face. Director Ron Burns of the FBI.
My new boss was motioning for me to come over and see him. He had some kind of thick folder under his arm, which I had absolutely no plans of reading that Saturday.
But I did.
The End
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