Lincoln Rhyme: The Kill Room Part 6

The hollow sound of ringing filled the air.

"S'Dellray here," the agent answered. The muted tone suggested he might've been on an undercover set somewhere in Trenton or Harlem and didn't want to draw attention to himself.

"Fred. Amelia."

"Well, well, well how's it goin'? Been a while. Now how imperiled am I, speaking into a telephone that on my end is nice and private but on yours is broadcasting to Madison Square Garden? I do truly hate speakers."

"You're safe, Fred. You're on with me, Lon, Lincoln-"

"Hey, Lincoln. You lost that Heidegger bet, ya know. I'ma peeking in my mailbox everday and as of yesterday, ain't a single check appeared. Pay to the order of Fred Don't-Argue-Philosophy-With Dellray."

"I know, I know," Rhyme grumbled. "I'll pay up."

"Y'owe me fifty."

Rhyme said, "By rights, Lon should pay part of it. He egged me on."

"f.u.c.k no I didn't." Delivered essentially as one word.

Nance Laurel took in the exchange with a bewildered look. Of all the things she wasn't, a banterer would be high on the list.

Or maybe she was just angry that Sachs had overridden her and called the FBI agent.

Sachs continued, "And a prosecutor, ADA Nance Laurel."

"Well, this is a special day. Hey there, Counselor Laurel. Good job with that Longsh.o.r.emen's convic. That was you, right?"

Pause. "Yes, Agent Dellray."

"Never, never, never thought you'd pull that one off. You know the collar, Lincoln? The Joey Barone case, Southern District? We got some fed charges on that boy but the jury went for wrist slaps. Counselor Laurel, other hand, ran downfield in state court and bought that boy twenty years min. I heard the U.S. attorney put a pictura you up in his office...on a dartboard."

"I don't know about that" was her stiff response. "I was pleased with the outcome."

"So, pro-ceed."

Sachs said, "Fred, we've got a situation. A sensitive one."

"Well, I gotta say the tone of your voice sounds so perplexingly intriguing, don't stop now."

Rhyme saw a brief smile on Sachs's face. Fred Dellray was one of the bureau's best agents, a renowned runner of confidential informants and a family man and father...and amateur philosopher. But his years as an undercover agent on the street had given him a unique speaking style, as bizarre as his fas.h.i.+on choices.

"The perp's your boss, the federal government."

A pause. "Hm."

Sachs glanced at Laurel, who debated a moment and then took over, reiterating the facts they knew so far about the Moreno killing.

Fred Dellray's waiting state was calm and confident but Rhyme detected unusual concern now. "NIOS? They're not really us us. They're in their own dimension. And I don't necessarily mean that in a good way."

He didn't elaborate, though Rhyme wasn't sure he needed to.

"I'll check out a few things now. Hold on." The sound of typing flew from the speaker like nutsh.e.l.ls on a tabletop.

"Agent Dellray," Laurel began.

"Call me Fred. An' don'tcha fret. I'm as encrypted as can be."

A blink. "Thank you."

"Okay, just looking at our files here, our files..." A lengthy pause. "Robert Moreno, aka Roberto. Sure, here's some notes on APDR, American Petroleum Drilling and Refining...Looks like our Miami office was scrambled on a potential terrorist incident but it turned out to be a big false a-larm. You want what I got here on Moreno?"

"Please, Fred. Go ahead." Sachs sat at a computer and started a file.

"Hokay, our boy left the country over twenty years ago and only comes back once a year or so. Well, came back. Let's see...Watchlisted but never in any active-risk books. He was mostly all talk-so we didn't pri-oritize him. Hobn.o.bbed with al-Qaeda some and s.h.i.+ning Path, folk like that, but never actually shouted out for an attack." The agent was whispering to himself. Then he said, "Note here says that the official word is some cartels might've been behind the shooting. But that couldn't be verified...Ah, here's this."

A pause.

"Fred, you there?" Rhyme asked impatiently.

"Hm."

Rhyme sighed.

Then Dellray said, "This could be helpful. Report from State. Moreno was here. New Yawk City. Arrived April thirty, late. Then left May second."

Lon Sellitto asked, "Anything specific about what he did here, where he went?"

"Nup. That's gotta be your job, friends. Now, I'll keep on it from my end. Make some calls down to my folks in the Caribbean and South America. Oh, I got a picture. Want it?"

"No," Laurel said abruptly. "We need to minimize any communication from your office. I'd prefer phone calls to me or Detectives Sellitto and Sachs or Lincoln Rhyme. Discretion is-"

"The better part of valor," Dellray intoned cryptically. "Not a single problem in the world on that. But broachin' that subject: You sure our friends don't know anything yet? At NIOS?"

"No," the ADA said.

"Uh-hum."

Rhyme said, "You don't sound convinced."

He chuckled. "Good luck, one and all."

Sachs clicked the phone off.

"Now, where can I work?" Laurel asked.

"How's that?" Sachs wondered aloud.

The ADA was looking around. "I need a desk. Or table. It doesn't need to be a desk. Just something big."

"Why do you need to be here?"

"I can't work out of my office. How can I?" As if it were obvious. "Leaks. NIOS'll eventually find out we're running the investigation but I need to delay that for as long as possible. Now, that looks good. Over there. Is that all right?"

Laurel pointed to a worktable in the corner.

Rhyme called Thom in and had the aide clear the surface of books and some boxes of old forensics gear.

"I have computers but I'll need my own line and Wi-Fi router too. I'll have to set up a private account on it, encrypted. And I'd prefer not to share the network." A glance toward Rhyme. "If that can be arranged."

Sachs clearly didn't like the idea of this new member of the team. Lincoln Rhyme was by nature a solitary person but at least when a case was ongoing he'd come to tolerate, though hardly relish, the presence of others. He had no particular objection.

Nance Laurel hefted her briefcase and the heavy litigation bag onto the table and began unpacking files, organizing them into separate stacks. She looked as if she were a student moving into a dorm on the first day of freshman year, placing her few possessions on the desk and bedside table for most comfort.

Then Laurel looked up to the others. "Oh, one thing: In working the case I need you to find everything you can to make him look like a saint."

"I'm sorry?" From Sachs.

"Robert Moreno-a saint. He's said a lot of inflammatory things. He's been very critical of the country. So I need you to find what he's done that's good. His Local Empowerment Movement, for instance. Building schools, feeding third-world children, that sort of thing. Being a loving father and husband."

"You need us to do that?" Sachs questioned. The emphasis pointed the question in the direction of disbelief...and gave it a nice tidy edge, to boot.

"Correct."

"Why?"

"It's just better." As if obvious.

"Oh." A pause. "That's not really an answer," Sachs said. She wasn't looking at Rhyme and he didn't want her to. The tension between her and the ADA was simmering just fine on its own.

"The jury again." With a glance toward Rhyme who'd apparently fueled her argument earlier. "I need to show he was upright and a good, ethical man. The defense is going to paint Moreno as a danger-like lawyers try to portray a rape victim as somebody who was dressing provocatively and flirting with her attacker."

Sachs said, "There's a big difference between those scenarios."

"Really? I'm not so sure."

"Isn't the point of an investigation to get to the truth?"

A pause for digesting these words. "If you don't win in court, then what good does having the truth do?"

Then, for her, the subject was settled. Laurel said to everyone, "And we need to work fast. Very fast."

Sellitto said, "Right. NIOS could find out about the case at any time. Evidence could start disappearing."

Laurel said, "That's obvious but it's not what I'm talking about. Look at the board, the kill order."

Everyone did, Rhyme included. Yet he could draw no immediate conclusion. But he suddenly understood. "The queue."

"Exactly," the prosecutor said.

RET - TOP SECRET - TOP SECRET - TOP SE.

Special Task Orders

Queue

8/27 Task: Robert A. Moreno (NIOS ID: ram278e4w5) Born: 4/75, New Jersey Complete by: 5/85/9 Approvals: Level Two: Yes Level One: Yes Supporting Doc.u.mentation:

See "A"

Confirmation required: Yes PIN required: Yes CD: Approved, but minimize Details: Specialist a.s.signed: Don Bruns, Kill Room, South Cove Inn, Bahamas, Suite 1200 Status: Closed 9/27 Task: Al-Barani Ras.h.i.+d (NIOS ID: abr942pd5t) Born: 2/73, Michigan Complete by: 5/19 Approvals: Level Two: Yes Level One: Yes Supporting Doc.u.mentation:

N/R.

Confirmation required: No PIN required: Yes CD: Approved, but minimize Details: To come Status: Pending She continued, "Now, I can't find out anything about this Ras.h.i.+d or where he is. Maybe his kill room's a hut in Yemen, where he's selling nuclear bomb parts. Or given Metzger's zeal, maybe it's a family room in Ridgefield, Connecticut, where Ras.h.i.+d is blogging against Guantnamo and insulting the president. But we do know that NIOS's going to kill him before Friday. And who'll be the collateral damage then? His wife and children? Some pa.s.serby? I want Metzger in custody before that."

Rhyme said, "That won't necessarily stop the a.s.sa.s.sination."