CHAPTER 69 Cross
Cross
ALEX CROSS IS IN his hotel room at the Carolina Inn, hanging up a few shirts that have just been delivered from the laundry service downstairs.
His phone rings. NO CALLER ID. It’s FBI agent Cannon, from the Charlotte field office.
Alex answers and starts pacing. “Drake! What’s going on?”
“To be clear, Dr. Cross,” says the agent, “I’m not officially calling you.”
“Got it.”
“Here’s the deal. We’ve got a wiretapping operation underway targeting a local chapter of the Dixie Mafia.
Drugs, weapons smuggling. Nothing solid yet for our case, but in one of the meetings we recorded, I think your son might have come up.
Not sure. One of the agents on the surveillance team tipped me off. I listened to the recording myself.”
Alex grips his phone tighter. “Damon came up? Came up how?”
“Not by name. And it could just be a coincidence. It was hard to make out, with all the crosstalk, but it sounded like a couple guys were laughing about some ‘uppity kid’ getting what he deserved.”
Alex feels his heart racing but keeps his voice level and calm. “Go on.”
“It wasn’t part of the main conversation, but they said something like ‘Why didn’t you take the bike when you were done with him? Could have gotten a few Benjamins for it.’”
Done with him?
Alex says, “Drake, can you bring these guys in for questioning?”
“Sorry,” says Cannon. “Like I said, we’re in the middle of an investigation. It’s been six months. We can’t compromise it now. Can’t give away the wire. I could get in big trouble for even telling you this.”
“I get it,” says Alex. “Where’s the bug?”
“I can’t tell you that. But they have another meeting spot, one we don’t have wired yet.
You didn’t hear it from me, but if you go to the Bracken Motel near the old Horace Williams Airport around ten o’clock tonight, you might get lucky.
Room one oh five. You’re looking for two guys, Larry and Brett. They’re the ones I heard on the wire.”
“Larry and Brett,” Alex repeats. “Thanks, Drake. I owe you.”
“Be careful, Alex. These good ol’ boys don’t fool around.”
Alex reaches into the nightstand drawer and grabs his gun. “Understood,” he says. “Neither do I.”