Strong Cold Dead (Caitlin Strong, #8)(34)

She’d first met him when his name was still “Smith” and he was attached to the American embassy in Bahrain. Enough of a relationship had formed for the two of them to remain in contact and to have actually worked together on several more occasions. Sometimes Jones surprised her, but mostly he could be relied upon to live down to Caitlin’s expectations.

This morning, the thin light kept Jones’s face cloaked in the shadows, where he was most comfortable. Caitlin tried to remember the color of his eyes but couldn’t, as if he’d been trained to never look at anyone long enough for anything to register. He was wearing a sport jacket over a button-down shirt, and pressed trousers, making him seem like a high school teacher, save for the tightly cropped military-style haircut.

Jones finally started to ease his hand from his pocket, withdrawing a heavy, shiny piece of paper folded in two. “You’re about to thank me, Ranger,” he said.

“For what?”

“Getting you out from behind this desk.”

Caitlin glanced at the chair he’d just vacated. “Your message last night said you had something important to show me,” she said.

“Actually,” Jones corrected, “I said ‘vital.’ And the voice mail I left said we needed to play a little show-and-tell. I show and you tell, starting with this.”

Jones unfolded the picture he was holding and held it so Caitlin could see a tall, gangly young man with a bad case of acne.

“Holy shit,” Caitlin said, not believing her eyes.

“Recognize him, I see.”

“I spotted him yesterday bird-dogging a protest outside the Comanche Indian reservation near Austin.”

Jones shook his head, as if he were having trouble processing what Caitlin had just said. “What time?”

“Early afternoon. You need me to be more specific?”

Jones shook his head again. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?”

“How you find shit to step in, no matter how well the pile is hidden.”

“Did I miss something here?”

“No, I did.” Jones looked down at the picture. “On a major terrorist suspect yesterday, because he happened to be in the same place as you. Then again, nothing just happens when it comes to Caitlin Strong, does it? You are a genuine force of nature, Ranger.”

“Maybe we should start this conversation again.”

“So you really don’t recognize this kid?”

“Should I?”

Jones held the picture up again. “We lifted this picture off social media.” Then he reached into his pocket and came out with a second photo, which he slowly unfolded. “This is a copy of one we found framed atop a bureau in the suspect’s apartment. Let’s see if it jogs your memory.”

“Oh, man,” Caitlin said, looking at it.





28

SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

Caitlin was still shaking her head, moments later, unable to lift her eyes from the shot from ten years ago, of her standing next to a younger version of the kid she’d spotted outside the Comanche reservation yesterday. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders.

“Well, I guess that explains why he looked familiar to me,” she told Jones, finally raising her eyes.

“Remember his name?”

“Daniel Cross, I believe.”

Jones nodded. “Currently age twenty-four, lifelong resident of Austin, and recent frequenter of ISIS-related social media. In fact, you could call him a genuine fanboy, enough of one to hit our radar, with all the pinging he’d been doing.”

“You saying he’s a convert?”

“Sure. Straight to the terrorism watch list. The bureau’s been keeping tabs on a couple of hardcore ISIS homegrown operatives with ties right up to the organization’s top. They’re the ones who pinged Daniel Cross back.”

“Why?”

“Apparently, the kid’s a frigging genius, with degrees in molecular and chemical engineering. Most of the time, losers like him who hate the world can’t even steady an assault rifle long enough to do any real damage. But what put Daniel Cross on our radar was his brains, not his bullets. And in case you didn’t get the message, we’ve got ISIS seriously on the run. They’re desperate, and that’s given their midlevel operatives operational freedom to ditch the purity test. Whatever Cross put on the table before the two on the FBI’s radar was obviously more than enough to compensate for the fact that he doesn’t pray five times a day.” Jones stopped there, leaning slightly forward. “That makes this a good time for you to tell me the basis of your association with him.”

“I don’t think you really want to hear it.”

“Try me.”

“Cross got himself into a scrape, just before I left the Rangers for a time.”

“Yeah, I heard the death rate in Texas dropped precipitously those couple of years.”

“Anyway, Jones, I tried to help the kid.”

“What kind of scrape was it, exactly?”

Caitlin swallowed hard. “He was planning to blow up his high school.” She paused, then continued, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a worse case of bullying.”

“So the kid tries to blow up his school and you give him a shoulder to cry on?”