I went upstairs to my room and called Director Bums. He wasn't in, so I left a message. I wanted to call Jamilla, but it was too early in California so I logged onto my computer and sent her a long e-mail.

Then I found that I had a new message. Now what?

It turned out to be from Jannie and Damon. They were breaking my chops about being away from home again, even' for a night. When was I coming back? Would they get a neat souvenir from West Point? How about a shiny new sword for each of them? And one for little Alex, too.

There was a second message for me.

It wasn't from the kids.

Or Jamilla.

Detective Cross. While you are at West Point, you ought to see Colonel Owen Handler. He teaches political science. He might have some answers for you. He's a friend of the Bennetts. He might even know who killed them.

I'm just trying to be helpful. You need all the help you can get.

Foot Soldier.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Sixty-Eight

The three killers had been right here. I couldn't get the thought out of my head, but the feeling was in my bones, my blood.

Sampson and I walked along the main drag toward Thayer Hall. Several cadets were out practicing for parade on the Plains. As we got closer, I saw that wooden pegs were driven into the ground to show the cadets exactly where to turn their faultlessly sharp corners. I had to smile. It reminded me that so many things in life were an illusion. Maybe even the 'facts' I was collecting on this case.

“So what do you think about this help we're getting? The mad e-mailer? The Foot Soldier?” Sampson asked. “I don't like it, Alex. It's too convenient, too pat. This whole case is about being set up.”

“You're right, we don't have any reason to trust the information we're getting. So I don't. On the other hand, we're here. Why not talk to Colonel Handler? It can't hurt.”

Sampson shook his head. “I wish that was so, Alex.”

I had called the History Department immediately after I received the 'helpful' e-mail from Foot Soldier. I was told that Colonel Handler had a class that met from eleven until noon. We had twenty minutes to kill, so we took in a few sights: Washington Hall, a cavernous three-story building where the entire Corps of Cadets could sit simultaneously for meals; the Eisenhower and MacArthur Barracks; the Cadet Chapel; plus several incomparable river vistas.

Cadets flowed past us lickity-split on the sidewalk. They wore long-sleeved gray shirts with black ties, gray trousers with a black stripe, brass belt buckles shined to perfection.

Everybody was moving in double time! It was contagious.

Thayer Hall was a huge gray building that was virtually windowless. Inside, the classrooms all looked identical, each with desks arranged in a horseshoe so that everyone was in the front row.