He looked surprised. "It would be much stranger if I didn't. Anything to do with the White House is the Secret Service's job to know."

I tried to cover my surprise. What did my murder investigation have to do with the White House? What was going on?

"In that case, I would have thought I'd be meeting with them," I said. "The Secret Service."

"One thing at a time," he said. Fine – that was about all my nervous system could handle anyway.

There was nothing aggressive about Reese's manner; he just seemed very sure of himself. Actually, he seemed younger in person, even a little preppy looking, with a button-down collar and conservative tie. You'd never know to see him that his thumbprint was on American policy all over the world.

"For now," he went on, "I'd like to hear about how the investigation is coming along. Bring me up to speed about the way you see things, what you've found out so far."

This interview was getting stranger by the minute.

"It's coming along fine, thanks."

"I meant -"

"I think I know what you meant. With all due respect, though, Mr. Reese, I don't report to the White House." Not yet anyway.

"I see. Of course you're right. You're absolutely right. My apologies for overreacting."

I'd already gone further than I meant to, but so had Reese. I decided to stay on the offensive with him.

"Have you ever heard the name Zeus in connection with any of this?" I asked.

He considered the question for a second. "Not that I can recall. And I think I would, a name like Zeus."

I was pretty sure he was lying, and it reminded me of something Lauren Inslee had said about her clients: Why would someone like Reese even answer my question, except to lie?

When the phone on his desk buzzed, he picked it up right away. He watched me while he listened, then stood as soon as he hung up. "Would you excuse me for a minute? I'm sorry about this. I know how busy you are."

As he walked out of the room, a Secret Service agent stepped into the open door with his back to me. I couldn't help wondering what would happen if I tried to leave. Instead, I just sat there and attempted to get my bearings. Why was the White House chief of staff involved with my case? How?

Soon enough, there were voices outside, just a low murmur that I couldn't understand from where I was sitting.

The agent in the door stepped out and another one took his place. He came in and glanced quickly around the office. His eyes played right over me, the way they did the rest of the furniture.

Then he moved aside to make way for the president, who walked into the room smiling.

"Alex Cross. I've heard so much about you. All of it good," she said.

THE PRESIDENT'S VIBE was completely different from Reese's. She was almost collegial the way she shook my hand and settled onto the tufted leather couch instead of behind the desk. Not that it did anything to put me at ease.

"I've read your book," she told me. "Years ago, but I remember it well. Very interesting stuff. And so very scary because it's all true."

"Thank you, Madam President."

I admired Margaret Vance. She'd done a lot to get both sides of the aisle talking to each other. She and her husband, Theodore Vance, were both powerful figures not only in Washington but around the world. All things being equal, I would have liked to work with the president. But things were definitely not equal right now.

"I'd like to ask you a favor, Dr. Cross." She nodded at her agent to leave us alone, and I waited for him to close the door.

"Regarding my investigation?"

"That's right. I think you'll agree it's important this case not proceed in a way that could threaten innocent people, or especially national security, or even the everyday workings of our government. Allegations can be just as harmful as indictments if they're brought to light in the wrong way. You know that, of course."

"Yes," I agreed. "I have a bit of experience with that."

"So you can appreciate the delicacy here." She was talking more at me than to me, and seemed to think this was all already settled. "I'd like you to meet with one of our lead agents, Dan Cormorant, get him up to speed, and transition the case into his care."

"I'm not sure that I'm in a position to do that," I told her. "For several reasons."

"It won't be a problem. The Service's uniformed division has all the statutory authority of the Metropolitan Police."

I nodded. "Within the city limits, that's true."

It was like I wasn't even speaking anymore, the way she went on. "And of course, all the field resources any investigation could possibly need. We've got the best in the world working for us here." She stopped and looked at me over the top of her glasses. "Present company excluded, of course."

My, my, my. It's a truly original feeling to have your ass kissed by the leader of the free world. Too bad I couldn't enjoy it for more than a few seconds. I've got a pretty good internal compass, but for all I knew, it was sending me right over an edge I'd never come back from.

"President Vance," I said. My heart might have been thudding, but my mind was still clear. "I'd like to take all of this under advisement and respond sometime in the next twenty-four hours, either in writing or in person, whichever you prefer."

She didn't try to hide how she felt about that. Two lines showed up around her mouth like parentheses.

"I'm not here to negotiate, Dr. Cross. This meeting is a courtesy, and an extraordinary one at that. I assumed someone like you preferred not to be walked over. That was obviously my mistake." She stood up and I followed suit. "Frankly, I'm surprised. I've been told you were a bright man and a patriot."

"A patriot in a very difficult position right now, Madam President."

Vance didn't address me after that. The last thing I heard her say was to the agent on the other side of the door as she left.

"Show Dr. Cross out. We're done here."

THE MURDER MYSTERY was turning out to be more like a plague, spreading and infecting anyone who touched it, killing them.

Adam Petoskey sat up suddenly on the couch, all five foot four of him. His heart was kicking at the inside of his chest. Something besides a terrifying nightmare had just woken him, though there had been plenty of those lately too.

What was it?

What now?

His apartment was dark except for the TV. He'd been watching The Daily Show when he dropped off, finding solace in the droll humor of Jon Stewart.

Now there was an infomercial on, people laughing and screaming about some weight-loss thing. Maybe that's what woke him.

Paranoia was his roommate these days, and one hairy bitch to be cooped up with too. He hadn't left the apartment in a week. Literally a week. The phones were unplugged, the shades were drawn at all times, and garbage was piling up by the back door – ever since he'd nailed it shut on that first night when he couldn't sleep a wink.

There were things Adam Petoskey knew – things he wished to hell he didn't know.

Working for Tony Nicholson and his girlfriend, Mara, cooking the books and looking the other way, had been shitty enough. Not working for him, not hearing a word from him, as it turned out, was even worse.

Like tonight, just to use a handy example. He stood up off the couch, still a little shaky.

Halfway to the kitchen, he stopped. For the hundredth time that week, he felt almost sure someone was behind him.

And then, before he could even turn around – someone was.