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cell.
    “Carl, it’s Alex Cross calling from Washington. How about if I ask you my favor first, and we do the chitchat later?”
    “Sounds good, Alex, minus the chitchat, if you don’t mind. What can I do for you?” This was one of the reasons I liked Carl; he worked the way I did.
    “I’ve got a print on a homicide, two kill shots from two hundred sixty-two yards. The guy obviously had some training, not to mention good equipment, and I’m wondering if maybe there’s a military connection.”
    “Let me guess, Alex. You want a red phone into the civil database.”
    “Something like that,” I said.
    “Yeah, okay. I can run it by CJIS,” he said. “Shouldn’t take too long.”
    CJIS stands for Criminal Justice Information Services, a part of the FBI that’s based in Clarksburg, West Virginia. This was one of those loopy situations — calling halfway around the world to access something so close to home, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
    Less than two hours later, Carl was back with some discouraging news.
    “Your boy’s not U.S. military, Alex. Not FBI or Secret Service either. And I hope you don’t mind, but I ran it through ABIS at Defense while I was at it. He’s never been detained by U.S. forces, and he’s not a foreign national who’s ever had access to one of our bases. I don’t know if that helps or not.”
    “It gets rid of some of the obvious possibilities anyway. Thanks, Carl. Next time you’re in DC —”
    “Drinks and all that, sure thing. I look forward to it. Take care, Alex.”
    My next call was to Sampson, to share the news, such as it was.
    “Don’t worry, sugar, we’re just getting started,” he told me. “Maybe this print didn’t even come from our guy. That crime scene was crawling with our people the other night — and you can bet not everyone was wearing gloves.”
    “Yeah,” I said, but a different possibility had already wormed its way to the front of my mind. “John, what if it is the shooter’s print, and he
wanted
us to find it? Maybe it gets him off, knowing we’re going to waste our time chasing it down —”
    “Oh man, no. No, no, no.” Sampson knew just where I was headed.
    “And maybe that gives him exactly the confidence he’s looking for — when it comes time to do it all over again.”

Chapter 16

    I WAS THERE for Bree outside of Penn Branch when she got off that afternoon. I couldn’t wait to see her, and when she finally came out of the building, it brought a big smile to my face.
    “This is a nice surprise,” she said, and gave me a kiss. We’d stopped trying to draw a line around that stuff at work anymore. “To what do I owe the pleasure? This is a
treat.
”
    “No questions,” I said, and opened the car door for her. “I want to show you something.”
    I’d been planning this for a while now, and even though work was starting to pile up again, I was too stubborn to give up on my scheme. I drove us along North Capitol Street, over to Michigan, and then to the edge of the Catholic University campus, where I parked.
    “Um, Alex?” Bree looked out the windshield — and almost straight
up.
“When we talked about a small wedding, I think I should have been a little more specific.”
    The Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception is one of the ten biggest churches in the world and, for my money, the most beautiful in Washington, maybe in the whole country.
    “Not to worry,” I told her. “We’re just passing through. Come on.”
    “Okay, Alex. I guess.”
    The Romanesque-Byzantine architecture inside those walls is almost overwhelming, but it’s unbelievably peaceful in there, too. The soaring arches make you feel tiny, while the million little gold mosaic tiles in the artwork fill every corner with a kind of amber light I’ve never seen anywhere else.
    I took Bree’s hand and walked her up one of the side aisles, through the transept, and into the wide area at the back. It’s enclosed from behind with