He wasn’t really Sam Harrison!
Don’t think, he commanded himself again as he hurried down the upstairs hallway to the master bedroom.
Be Jack.
Kill.
CHAPTER
57
JACK—whoever the hell he was—was three or four steps from the master bedroom when its varnished wood door suddenly opened.
A tall, balding man stepped out into the hall. Very hairy arms and legs. Bare, bony feet; toes splayed. Only half awake. In the middle of a jaw-cracking yawn.
He had on blue plaid boxer shorts, nothing else. A good build, still athletic-looking; just a hint of a spare tire above the boxers’ elastic band. Still formidable after all the years of D.C. power lunches.
General Aiden Cornwall!
“You! You son of a bitch!” he whispered as he suddenly saw Jack in the upstairs hallway. “I knew it might be you.” Yes, Aiden Cornwall knew everything in an instant. He had solved the mystery; a lot of mysteries, actually. He understood Jack and Jill. Where it was going. And why it was going there: why it had to be this way. Why there could be no turning back.
Jack fired the silenced Beretta twice and the target collapsed. Jack quickly stepped forward and caught the lifeless body before it could thud loudly against the floor.
He held the body in his arms, lowering it slowly to the carpet. His friend, whatever that meant now. He stayed down on his knees for a long moment. His heart was exploding.
He hadn’t realized how hard this one was going to be until now. Not until this instant.
He looked down into the startled gray blue eyes of the former member of the Joint Chiefs, part of the White House’s Jack and Jill emergency task force.
One of the hounds had been taken out. Just like that. Jack and Jill had struck back boldly at the manhunters! They had shown their strength again.
He took a note from his pocket. He left a calling card on Aiden Cornwall’s chest.
Jack and Jill came to The Hill
To storm your picket fences.
Once safe and sound
They easily found
The flaw in your Defenses.
A noise in the hall! He looked up. Aiden’s boy! “Oh Jesus God, no,” he whispered out loud. “Oh, God, no.” He felt sick all over. He wanted to run from the house.
The boy had recognized him. How could he not? Young Aiden even knew his children. He knew too much. Dear God, have mercy on me. Please have mercy.
Jack fired the Beretta again.
This was war.
CHAPTER
58
I WAS CALLED to an emergency crisis team meeting at the White House at 8:00 A.M. on December 10. I had been causing some trouble over the past few days there. My internal investigation was making waves, ruffling feathers. The big cats on The Hill didn’t like being under suspicion—but all of them were, at least in my book.
Jay Grayer grabbed me the moment I arrived inside the West Wing. Jay’s eyes were flat and cold and hard. His grip was strong on my shoulder. “Alex, I need to talk to you for a minute,” he said. “It’s important.”