Michael Harvey - The Third Rail

“Nice atmosphere up here today,” I said.

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know, but this isn’t going to work.”

“You haven’t seen the worst.” Rodriguez walked me over to the railing. From Southport the elevated tracks snaked due east, bending down al eys and across people’s backyards, before turning south toward the Loop.

“Can you see them?”

Rodriguez pointed to a row of rooftops. I saw them, smal mounds, at least one hunkered down at the corner of several buildings along the run of tracks.

“So they real y put them in?” I said.

“Yup. Federal snipers, covering selected stations and then scattered along the entire route. They’re not ful y deployed yet. But, of course, they started here.”

“Press is going to love this.” I glanced up and down the street. “By the way, where is the Fourth Estate?”

Rodriguez grinned. “Wilson did get his way there. Pushed the fuckers back two blocks and completely off Southport. A security perimeter. No pictures of any of this. No bul shit live shots, either.”

I shook my head. “They’l get their pictures and they’l take the city apart for trying to keep them out of it.”

Rodriguez turned away from the street. “Right now, no one real y cares. The mayor just wants to get through today with no more bodies.”

“And you think this is going to work?”

The detective shrugged. “Wil it prevent him from hitting us again? Maybe not. But if he hits here, he’s a dead man. That much, I can guarantee.”

“That’s nice to hear, Detective.” We both turned to find Katherine Lawson walking toward us, badge around her neck, face pale and pinched. “Kel y, you want to walk with me for a minute?”

Lawson kept moving toward an empty end of the L platform. I fel in step.

“You want to put a bul et in this guy?”

I glanced at Lawson, who kept her eyes straight ahead as she spoke.

“Good morning to you, too, Agent Lawson.”

“Answer the question, Kel y.”

“I’m guessing a lot of people would like that,” I said.

Lawson stopped walking and jammed her hands into her pockets.

“I know it’s your mayor’s preferred solution,” she said. “And I don’t think my boss would mind it very much, either. Problem is…”

“Problem is, I’m not a hired gun. Even if I was, you have no idea who this guy is, where he is, or what he’s going to try next. And, by the way, for my money we’re talking two people here.”

“Maybe. Rodriguez already knows this, but I wanted you to hear it from me.”

“What’s that?”

“Most of the team wants you cut out of this investigation altogether.”

“And then there’s the people who want to put a bul ’s-eye on my back and use me as bait.”

“There is that faction, but the prevailing sentiment seems to be that you’re a distraction. Someone this guy picked out to screw up our focus.”

“And?”

“And therefore you’re going to be discarded.”

“At least you didn’t snicker when you said it.”

“Don’t take it personal y. Wel, maybe you should take it personal y. For what it’s worth, I disagree with their assessment.”

“How so?”

“Sometimes the Bureau skews facts to fit their theory of a case.”

“And you think that’s what they’re doing here?”

“Could be. This guy went out of his way to put you in the game. My gut tel s me it’s not something we should ignore.”

“So how can I help?”

“The phone cal yesterday. You said he mentioned something about Homer.”

“You mean glory and suffering? Zero-sum game?”

“Yeah, what was that al about?”

“You real y want to know?”

“I asked.”

“He was talking about the Iliad and the ancient concept of honor. According to the Greeks, you only earned honor through action, by defeating your opponent. And your measure of honor was in equal measure to the amount of pain you inflicted.”

“Zero-sum game?” Lawson said.

“Exactly.”

“So this guy is going to extract as much pain as he can.”

“If we were in Greece in the eighth century B.C., yes, that’s exactly what he’d do.”

“Great. And I assume you have no idea how any of that connects up to what we’ve got going on here?”

“If it was that easy, I’d have spoken up yesterday.”

“Not sure I believe that.” Lawson leaned a hip against the railing and looked out over Chicago’s rooftops. A federal agent looked back at us through the scope of his weapon.

“People are going to go crazy when they see this,” she said.

“Yes, they are.”

“I dug a little dirt on you, talked to people who have actual y worked with you in the field.”

“And?”

“Some say you have good instincts. The rest say you’re just lucky. And those are your friends.”

“What do you say?”

“I say we need a little luck.” Lawson turned her back to the street and folded her arms across her chest. She kept her eyes fixed on the wooden planks of the L platform as she spoke. “It has to be low-key. You work the case as an unofficial consultant. Your contacts are Rodriguez and myself. Above al, you stay away from the main investigation.”

“I’m getting that warm, tingling feeling inside.”

“You want to do this or not?”

I wanted to tel her about the mayor, about how he had already locked me up as the city’s “official” unofficial consultant. But then I figured what the hel, double-dipping was practical y a birthright in Chicago.

“You want to pay my daily rate?” I said. “Or a flat fee?”

“Work it out with Rodriguez. If you turn up any leads…” Lawson stopped and looked over again. “I mean anything of significance, you report it to me. Immediately. And then we decide what to do together. Are we clear?”

“One more question. Why take the chance?”

“With you?”

I nodded. “My experience with agents from the Bureau is they like to play it by the book. Even when they don’t agree with their boss.”

“How many female agents have you worked with?”

“You’re the first.”

“Exactly. The Bureau is only slightly less misogynistic than the Catholic church. Women have to work twice as hard and be three times as smart just to stay afloat.”

“And they need to take chances?”

“After a while, you figure, ‘Why not?’ Especial y on the big ones. Now, what are you going to need?”

I held up a finger. “One thing.” I wrote down Hubert Russel ’s name and number. “I need to hire this guy. He’s a little unorthodox and not real y an investigator, but he understands computers and he understands stealth.”

Lawson looked at the name. “Should I meet him?”

“I don’t see why.”

“What does he do?”

“What do we have so far? A woman shot at close range with a forty-cal, a sniper shooting, and a knife attack. No real pattern, except they al involve the city and, one way or another, the CTA. What else?”

“The bad guy reaches out to you on the phone.”

“That’s right. So we know he’s got an ego. Big surprise. But where’s the focus? What’s the overal pattern?”

“Maybe there isn’t any,” Lawson said.

“Maybe not. My guy wil create a profile.”

“I got a team at Quantico doing that right now.”

“Not like Hubert wil. Look, it might not work, but I think it’s worth a shot.”

“When can you get him up and going?”

“He already is.”

“Thanks for talking to me first, asshole. Keep me informed.”

My new favorite federal agent turned away just as my cel phone buzzed. I reached for it and a half dozen police radios exploded with sound.