THE BIG HEAT was on all of us now. It took me all of the next day to locate the CIA's Eric Dana again, and then I found him only because he showed up at the Daly Building.

I caught Dana coming out of Chief Davies's office, and I saw the boss sitting inside before the door closed again. He wasn't smiling, and he didn't look up at me, though I was pretty sure he knew I was there.

I walked up to Dana. “Where have you been all day? I called at least half a dozen times. I need your help on this case. What's the problem?”

The CIA man didn't even break stride. "Talk to your CO. Metro is out of this. Chantilly was a disaster from our point of view. Our division head, Steven Millard, is involved at this point

Millard. I'd heard that name from my buddy Al Tunney. I caught up with Dana at the elevator and elbowed my way through the closing door. “Where is the killer?” I asked him. “What do you know about him?”

“We believe he's left the country. We'll let you know if he heads this way again,” the CIA man said, and he actually looked at me for the first time. “Stick to your own crime scenes, Cross. Do your job. I'll do mine.”

“Is that advice or a threat?” I asked Dana.

“As long as you're working in DC, it's advice. I have no control or influence over you here.”

His superior attitude was no surprise, and it didn't steam so much as focus me. I reached over and flipped the red toggle in the elevator. We jerked to a stop, and a warning bell went off.

“Where did he go, Dana?” I shouted. “Tell me where the hell he is!”

“What's the matter with you? This isn't how the game is played.”

When Dana reached for the switch, I grabbed his arm and held it.

“Where did he go?” I asked again. “This isn't a game to me.” Dana looked at me with hard eyes. He said, very evenly, “Let go of my arm, Cross. Get your hand the hell off me. He went back to Nigeria. The killer is out of your jurisdiction.”

I knew I'd taken this too far, and it made me realize how emotional I was about this case, maybe even more than I knew. I let go, and he flipped the elevator back on without a word. We rode to the lobby in silence and I watched the CIA prick leave the building.

The only question now was whether or not I could get around him. Maybe if I hurried. I dialed my cell phone from right there in the lobby of the Daly Building.

“Al Tunney,” I heard a voice on the other end answer.

“It's Alex Cross. I need a favor,” I said.

Tunney said, “No,” and groaned.

Then he asked, “What is it?”