I, Alex Cross

"There's nothing pleasant about having to watch this," Ridge said, "but you should know who we're going after. The man about to come into the bedroom is Constantine Bowie. And he is about to commit murder."

Chapter 100

EVERYONE HELD THEIR professional cool as the video played out, and Agent Ridge kept talking as it did.

"A little history here. Bowie was recruited from Philadelphia PD into the Service in 1988. For thirteen years, there's not much to tell, but shortly after 9/11, his perform-ance started to slip.

"Then in February of 2002, after an improper firearm discharge, which I'm not going to detail this morning, Bowie was removed from the Service without benefits."

Cormorant took it from there and brought up a slide of a generic-looking office building.

"In 2005, he opened Galveston Security here in DC -"

" Galveston?" someone asked.

"His hometown," Cormorant said. "Today, he's got satellite offices in Philadelphia and Dallas, with a personal net worth of seven million, give or take. The Philly ties don't prove anything, but it's worth noting that at least some contract work with the Martino crime family out of Philadelphia has been part of this whole picture as well."

Cormorant's eyes traveled over to me before he went on. "One other thing we can tell you is that phone records show two calls from Bowie 's cell phone to the one found in Remy Williams's cabin today. One of those calls was made two months ago, and the other was four days ago."

"Where's Bowie now?" one of the agents asked.

"Surveillance puts him at home, as of twenty-three hundred hours last night. We have half a dozen agents watching his house."

"How soon can we move on this?" someone else asked. You could feel the impatience in the room. No one wanted to tackle the operation, I think, so much as they wanted to get it over with.

Agent Ridge looked at his watch. "We go as soon as you're ready," he said, and everyone started to stand up.

Chapter 101

IT WAS EERILY quiet when we pulled up to a row of flat-topped brick town houses on Winfield Lane in Northwest. One pair of te

We had four SWAT officers posted in back, with MPD cruisers at either end of the block and EMS on standby. The rest of us emerged onto the street several doors away from Bowie 's place, where a single white van was just coming to a stop.

Once Ridge gave the go, an entry team of five men in ballistic gear exited the van and snaked up the front steps of Bowie 's town house in a line. It was a silent operation; they pried the door and then disappeared inside.

After that, it was ten long minutes of waiting while they leapfrogged through the house, clearing one space after another. Ridge kept his head down and a hand over his earpiece as the SWAT commander whispered their progress to him. He held up two fingers to indicate they'd reached the second floor, and a few minutes later, three fingers.

Then he straightened up suddenly. I could hear shouting coming from the house.

"They've got him!" Ridge said – but then, "Wait."

There was some fast back-and-forth now, with Ridge blurting communications. "Yes? I hear you. Do not stand down." Eventually he said, "Okay, give me one second," and turned to address the rest of us.

"We've got a standoff situation inside," he said. " Bowie 's armed and belligerent. Says he won't talk to Secret Service."

I didn't have to think about this. "Let me talk to him," I said.

Ridge held up a finger and went back to the mic in his cuff. "Peters, I'm going to send in a throw phone -"

"No," I said. "Face-to-face. All he's looking at in there is five armed officers. We're not window dressing, Ridge. You brought us here for a reason, and now we know what it is."

There was another long stretch of back-and-forth after that, relayed between Ridge, SWAT, and Constantine Bowie inside. Eventually, an agreement was reached. Bowie would let them check the rest of the house to make sure no one else was there, and then I'd go in. All of a sudden, some one was handing me a vest and Ridge was giving me the rundown.

"Keep SWAT between you and Bowie at all times. If you can get him to stand down, do it, and if not, leave. Don't drag it out." He checked his watch again. "Fifteen minutes. That's it. Then I'm going to pull you out myself."

Chapter 102

THE PROFILER IN me was working overtime as I entered the alcove of Bowie 's town house by myself. The place was airy and well-appointed inside. A large amount of cash had gone into Early American antiques and art. It was also extremely neat; not a loose magazine, newspaper, or stray knickknack in sight. I saw a lot of control at work in this house. Was this where Zeus lived? Had he murdered here as well?

The master bedroom was at the top of the stairs on the third floor.

Two SWAT officers in the hall nodded at me as I came up, but they didn't say anything. I could also see two of the three who were inside the bedroom, covering Bowie from different angles with their MP5s. I called out to Bowie.

" Bowie, my name's Alex Cross. I'm with MPD and I'm coming in, okay?"

There was a pause, and then a strained voice. "Come in. Let me see a shield."

He was sitting flat on the floor, wearing just boxers, sweating profusely. The king-size bed had obviously been slept in, and the nightstand drawer was hanging open.

He'd cornered himself under a window, between the bed and one of the two closets. His arms were locked out in front of him, with a.357 SIG Sauer pointed at the nearest officer.

The other thing I noticed was the signet ring on his right hand – gold with a red stone, just like the one in the video we'd all seen by now. Man, he was making this too easy. Why? Was he Zeus?

I kept my own hands in front of me with my badge showing, and only came as far as the doorway. Everyone else stayed still as statues.

"Nice house," I said right off. "How long have you lived here?"

"What?" Bowie 's eyes took me in for half a second, then went back to his target.

"I was wondering how long you've lived here. That's all. Breaking the ice."

He scoffed. "Checking my mental acuity?"

"That's right."

"I've been here two years. The president of the United States is Margaret Vance. Seven times eight is fifty-six, okay?"

"So I guess you understand the gravity of what you're doing," I told him.

"That's where you're wrong," he said. "I have no fucking clue what's going on here."

"Well then, I'll tell you. I'll try to anyway. Technically, you're under arrest for the murder of Sally A

His eyes flashed anger without actually moving. "Fuck that! They've been gu

"Who has?"

"The Service. The Feds. Goddamn President Vance for all I know."

I stopped and took a breath, hoping he'd do the same. "You're giving me mixed signals here, Bowie," I said. "One second you seem lucid and the next -"

"Yeah, well, just cause I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get me, right?"

Oddly enough, I couldn't argue with that, so I moved on.

"Why don't you tell me what you need to hear before you lower that weapon?"

He chi

"Come on, Constantine. That's not going to happen, and you know it isn't. Work with me here. If you really are i

"Stop with the questions. Just stop."

"Okay."