Gary beat her at her own game.

He lived in the underworld, his own private hell. He truly believed he was the Prince of Darkness.

Gary Soneji had to keep bringing himself back to the present, back to Union Station and his beautiful plan. The Metro police were searching the trains.

The police were outside right now! Alex Cross was probably among them.

What a great start to things, and this was only the beginning.

HE COULD see the police jackasses roaming the loading platforms at Union Station. They looked scared, lost and confused, and already half beaten. That was good to know, valuable information. It set a tone for things to come.

He glanced toward a businesswoman sitting across the aisle. She looked frightened, too. White knuckles showing on her clenched hands. Frozen and stiff, shoulders thrown back like a military school cadet.

Soneji spoke to her. He was polite and gentle, the way he could be when he wanted to. “I feel like this whole morning has to be a bad dream. When I was a boy, I used to go-one, two, three, wake up! I could bring myself out of a nightmare that way. It’s sure not working today.”

The woman across the aisle nodded as if he’d said something profound. He’d made a connection with her. Gary had always been able to do that, reach out and touch somebody if he needed to. He figured he needed to now. It would look better if he was talking to a travel companion when the police came through the train car.

“One, two, three, wake up,” she said in a low voice across the aisle. “God, I hope we’re safe down here. I hope they’ve caught him by now. Whoever, whatever he is.”

“I’m sure they will,” Soneji said. “Don’t they always? Crazy people like that have a way of catching themselves.”

The woman nodded once, but didn’t sound too convinced. “They do, don’t they. I’m sure you’re right. I hope so. That’s my prayer.”

Two D.C. police detectives were stepping inside the club car. Their faces were screwed tight. Now it would get interesting. He could see more cops approaching through the dining car, which was just one car ahead. There had to be hundreds of cops inside the terminal now. It was showtime. Act Two.

“I’m from Wilmington, Delaware. Wilmington ’s home.” Soneji kept talking to the woman. “Otherwise I’d have left the station already. That’s if they let us back upstairs.”

“They won’t. I tried,” the woman told him. Her eyes were frozen, locked in an odd place. He loved that look. It was hard for Soneji to glance away, to focus on the approaching policemen and the threat they might present.

“We need to see identifications from everyone,” one of the detectives was announcing. He had a deep, no-nonsense voice that got everybody’s attention. “Have IDs with pictures out when we come through. Thank you.”

The two detectives got to his row of seats. This was it, wasn’t it? Funny, he didn’t feel much of anything. He was ready to take both cops out.

Soneji controlled his breathing and also his heartbeat. Control, that was the ticket. He had control over the muscles in his face, and especially his eyes. He’d changed the color of his eyes for today. Changed his fair color from blond to gray. Changed the shape of his face. He looked soft, bloated, as harmless as your average traveling salesman.

He showed a driver’s license and Amex card in the name of Neil Stuart from Wilmington, Delaware. He also had a Visa card and a picture ID for the Sports Club in Wilmington. There was nothing memorable about the way he looked. Just another business sheep.

The detectives were checking his ID when Soneji spotted Alex Cross outside the train car. Make my day.

Cross was coming his way, and he was peering in through the windows at passengers. Cross was still looking pretty good. He was six three and well built. He carried himself like an athlete, and looked younger than forty-one.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, what a mindblower. Trip the goddamn light fantastic. I’m right here, Cross. You could almost touch me if you wanted to. Look in at me. Look at me, Cross. I command you to look at me now!

The tremendous anger and fury growing inside him was dangerous, Soneji knew. He could wait until Alex Cross was right on top of him, then pop up and put half a dozen shots into his face.

Six head shots. Each of the six would be well deserved for what Cross had done to him. Cross had ruined his life-no, Alex Cross had destroyed him. Cross was the reason all of this was happening now. Cross was to blame for the murders in the train station. It was all Alex Cross’s fault.

Cross, Cross, Cross! Was this the end now? Was this the big finale? How could it be?

Cross looked so almighty as he walked, so above-the-fray. He had to give that to Cross. He was two or three inches taller than the other cops, smooth brown skin. Sugar-that’s what his friend Sampson called him.

Well-he had a surprise for Sugar. Big unexpected surprise. Mindscrewer for the ages surprise.

If you catch me, Dr. Cross-you catch yourself. Do you understand that? Don’t worry-you will soon enough.

“Thank you, Mr. Stuart,” said the detective as he handed Soneji back his credit card and the Delaware driver’s license.

Soneji nodded and offered a thin smile to the detective, and then his eyes flicked back to the window.

Alex Cross was right there. Don’t look so humble, Cross. You’re not that great.

He wanted to start shooting now. He was in heat. He experienced something like hot flashes. He could do Alex Cross right now. There was no doubt about it. He hated that face, that walk, everything about the doctor-detective.

Alex Cross slowed his step. Then Cross looked right in at him. He was five feet away.

Gary Soneji slowly moved his eyes up to Cross, then very naturally over to the other detectives, then back to Cross.

Hello, Sugar.

Cross didn’t recognize him. How could he? The detective looked right at his face-then he moved on. He kept on walking down the platform, picking up speed.

Cross had his back to him and it was an almost irresistibly inviting target. A detective up ahead was calling to him, motioning for Cross to come. He loved the idea of shooting Cross in the back. A cowardly murder, that was the best. That’s what people really hated.

Then Soneji relaxed back into his train seat.

Cross didn’t recognize me. I’m that good. I’m the best he’s ever faced by far. I’ll prove it, too.

Make no mistake about it. I will win.

I am going to murder Alex Cross and his family, and no one can stop it from happening.

IT WAS past five-thirty in the evening before I even got to think about leaving Union Station. I’d been trapped inside all day, talking to witnesses, talking to Ballistics, the medical examiner, making rough sketches of the murder scene in my notepad. Sampson was pacing from about four o’clock on. I could see he was ready to blow out of there, but he was used to my thoroughness.

The FBI had arrived, and I’d gotten a call from Kyle Craig, who had stayed down in Quantico working on Mr. Smith. There was a mob of news reporters outside the terminal. How could it get any worse? I kept thinking, the train has left the station. It was one of those wordplays that gets in your head and won’t leave.

I was bleary-eyed and bone weary by day’s end, but also as sad as I remembered being at a homicide scene. Of course this was no ordinary homicide scene. I had put Soneji away, but somehow I felt responsible that he was out again.

Soneji was nothing if not methodical: He had wanted me at Union Station. Why, though? The answer to that question still wasn’t apparent to me.

I finally snuck out of the station through the tunnels, to avoid the press and whatnot. I went home and showered and changed into fresh clothes.