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Chapter 70
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BREE S VOICE WAS back in my earphone. Keep all exits secure. Repeat. Keep
all exits secure! She was obviously in control. I wished I could say the
same. Alex? Alex? Can you hear me? Alex?
Bree! I m here!
What s going on? Talk to me. Where ishere ? Are you okay?
The coupe took exactly the turn I thought it would and paralleled the thruway
toward I-95. We were only a block from the hotel now, our starting point.This
whole trip had been another game, hadn t it? Was that right ?
Whoever it is, they re going for the highway! The Miata s headed to I-95! I
still might take her.
Where, Alex? Which entrance?
Right by the damn hotel!
I gripped the wheel, ready to take the ramp, but then the coupe flew right by
it! A second later, so did I.
Now what?
Almost at the same time, the coupe s brake lights showed. I heard the skid
and saw the car do nearly a one eighty.
Even as I slammed my brakes, the Miata accelerated back in my direction. It
swerved to miss me, and before I could even get turned around, the coupe was
up the ramp, still accelerating. And gone in a cloud of dust.
North on 95! I yelled for Bree. I m still on her tail! For the moment.
I sped up to the highway and maxed out the taxi at close to a hundred for a
couple of exits. Eventually, I took my foot off the accelerator and slammed my
fist into the passenger seat.
I turned around at the next exit.
Back at the hotel, Bree and Sampson were waiting out front, along with half a
dozen Baltimore cruisers, their roof lights flashing in the darkness. Most of
the Unhinged crowd was outside too, loving every second of this chaos and
madness.
A three-hundred-pound biker with a white beard came charging up to me in the
parking lot. Hey, man, what the hell happened out there?
Get away, I said without stopping. The biker cut me off again. He had on
about a hundred-year-old Grateful Dead T.
Just tell me
I was in his face now, and I wanted to pop someone. I might have if Sampson
hadn t grabbed me from behind. Hey, hey, hey! he was shouting at me.
Then Bree came running up to us. Jesus, are you okay? she asked. Alex?
I m fine, I said, trying to slow my breathing. Listen, that might have
been DCAK I was chasing. Another of his
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Itwasn t him, Bree said, and shook her head. And we ve got to go right
now.
What are you talking about? I asked as she pushed me away from the crowd
and all their eerie questions.
I just got a call from Davies. Somebody was murdered at the National Air and
Space Museum in Washington. Stabbed to death in front of a crowd of people. He
punked us, Alex. He got us real good this time. This whole thing was planned.
Part Three
THE AUDIENCE IS LISTENING
Chapter 71
IHAD VISITED the National Air and Space Museum many times with my kids but
had never seen anything like this. As we arrived, the building looked dark and
foreboding from the outside, except for the glass-walled atrium of the
cafeteria. Upon entering, though, we saw dozens of shell-shocked people
sitting at tables, waiting to go home.Witnesses , I knew. To a person, they
had seen a horrific event tonight. What made it worse: at least half of them
appeared to be children, some just two or three years old.
A bulging army of news reporters and photographers had been cordoned off over
on Seventh Street near the Hirshhorn. At least it made the vultures easier for
us to avoid.
Sampson, Bree, and I had come in directly from Independence Avenue. Gil Cook,
one of our D-2s, met us at the cafeteria entrance. He approached Bree on the
run, waving one arm over his head.
Detective Stone, the museum director would like to speak with you before
After, Bree said, and she kept walking. She was on the Job now, somebody not
to be trifled with. I liked how she worked, how she took control of the
homicide scene.
Gil Cook followed her like a chastened pup looking for table scraps. He said
I should tell you he s on his way out to talk to the press.
Bree stopped walking and pivoted toward the D-2.
Oh, for Christ s sake, Gil. Where is he?
Cook pointed her in the right direction and then kept pace with Sampson and
me. The three of us passed by the darkened Milestones of Flight exhibit, with
its life-size planes like giant toys hanging from the ceiling. Very
cinematic right up our thrill killer s alley. More and more, his work was
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