Tariq was still there, looking around frantically. The poor man seemed lost.

“I’m here,” Hala said. “To your left, Tariq.” Come to mother.

He ran toward her and they met in the middle of the sidewalk.

“What should we do?” he said. “They drove away. They left us, Hala!”

The sound of police sirens was already closing in around the neighborhood. They had no money for a cab, or even the subway, once it started running. If the van was apprehended, it could even be unsafe to go back to their hotel room.

Still, there was one place. Hala wasn’t supposed to know about it, but she did. The question was, Which way from here? She was completely turned around in an unfamiliar part of this large American city, this enemy outpost, their capital. It was impossible to know which way to run.

But staying put was no option. “This way,” she said, picking a direction. They’d figure it out. “Just run. Run as fast as you can, Tariq. Follow me.” I will take care of you, as I always do, my love.

IT’S NOT LIKE my phone rings in the middle of the night all the time — but I’m sure it does more than most. “Alex Cross,” I answered. There was a click, then two short beeps. That meant a secure line of some kind. Whose line?

“Detective Cross, this is Betty Chow with the CIA Directorate of Intelligence. I’m very sorry for the hour, but I’m calling to ask you to come to a meeting out here at the counterterrorism center in Langley.”

That woke me right up. What had happened now? And what was the CIA suddenly doing in the mix? For that matter, what was I doing in it?

“Can you tell me what this is regarding?” I asked while wiping the sleep from my eyes. “That would help.”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss any details, but you’ll be fully briefed at the center,” she said.

I looked at the clock. It was just after four a.m. “When’s the meeting?” I asked.

“We’re set to convene at five-thirty, Detective. Can I tell them you’ll be here?”

I didn’t even know who Betty Chow meant by “them.”

“I’m on my way,” I said.

“And, Detective? I’m to stress that this is a classified matter and that you’re not to tell anyone where you’re going this morning, under penalty of federal law.”

“Of course,” I told her, and hung up.

I thought about calling Bree anyway. She was still on duty, working the graveyard shift these days, and might even have some idea about what had happened to initiate all this. But then I thought the situation through again. If I was getting secure calls from the CIA on classified matters, there was a good chance — a very good chance — they were already listening in on my line.

I got dressed quickly and left the house in the dark.