Michael Prescott - Next Victim

"Spiders have webs," Michaelson said, "not holes."

"I was referring to the trapdoor spider. One of the only deadly breeds in North America." He glanced at Tess and shared a smile with her.

"No secondary devices?" she asked.

"None. But the one he installed would’ve been enough to take out half the passengers-maybe more."

"And he’s still got plenty of VX left."

"But he won’t use it." Tennant stared down the tunnel. "My boys from DC just arrived. We’ll go in and get him."

"SWAT can do that," Andrus said.

"When they get here, they can help. We’re going first."

"You’ll need hazmat suits."

"Nah." Tennant patted his vest. "Just big noisy guns."

"Guns won’t help you if he gets close enough to douse you with that stuff."

"He won’t get that close." Tennant’s face was hard. "Count on it."

Tess believed him.

Tess was surprised how quickly things were wrapped up at the station.

It was agreed that Tennant and his men would work their way deeper into the tunnel in the direction Hayde had gone. SWAT teams from the FBI and LAPD would enter the tunnel at other access points, then seal off all known means of egress. The tunnel continued in an essentially straight line to the North Hollywood station-NoHo, to the locals-and that station, as well as the Universal City depot, was now under police lockdown. There were no stations after that. NoHo was the end of the line.

Somewhere under the earth, between Universal City and NoHo, Hayde would be found. Then the only question was how he would choose to handle this final crisis. He could surrender or fight. If he fought, he would use whatever he had left of the VX. In the confined space of the tunnel, with limited access to outside air, he would have an ideal environment in which to release the nerve agent.

Unless, of course, he was already out of the tunnels. He could have escaped via a maintenance passageway, stolen a car and gone…anywhere.

And if he was out there, roaming loose, he might not be found or stopped in time.

This was the thought that flicked at her, rough as a lizard’s tongue, as she took the entrance ramp of the Santa Monica Freeway, heading for the ATSAC command center, where the crisis managers were again gathering.

The cell phone in her handbag buzzed. She answered it out of habit: "McCallum."

"Who is this?" a female voice asked.

Tess remembered that the phone had belonged to Dodge. "Sorry," she said. "This is FBI Agent Tess McCallum. I’m an associate of Detective Dodge-"

"Of course. Agent McCallum. I met you in Radiology. This is Rachel Winston."

The pathologist. "Hello, Doctor."

"You screening Jim’s calls?"

"Something like that." She changed the subject. "Working late?"

"Emergency hours-because of the, uh, well, the emergency. You know, you could’ve shared more info with me."

"I was under orders to keep quiet."

"Well, it’s all over the media now. Anyway, I finally got that information Dodge was looking for. Maybe you can pass it on to him?"

"Will do," Tess said, hoping Winston didn’t pick up on the catch in her voice.

"The antemortem X rays from Scott Maple’s dentist came through. I’ve just had a chance to make a comparison, and I can say definitively that the body from the chem lab is not that of Mr. Maple."

"Wait a minute. Is not?"

"No question about it. You can have a forensic dentist double-check the results, if you want, but I guarantee my conclusion will hold up. There are no significant similarities between the teeth on Scott Maple’s films and the teeth I radiographed this afternoon."

"So it’s someone else," Tess said half to herself.

"Must be. Look, I’ve got to run, but-"

"Could it be someone older?"

"Excuse me?"

"In the X-ray room you said there was a lot of dental work for a twenty-two-year-old. Maybe that’s because the victim was older than twenty-two."

"Good point. My guess is, we’re dealing with someone in his late thirties at a minimum."

Tess thanked the doctor and clicked off.

Then she stared at the blur of the freeway, trying to make sense out of things.

Scott Maple hadn’t died in the fire.

So who had?

Into the bowels of the city once more.

The elevator dropped Tess five floors below City Hall. A card key, left for her on Andrus’s orders, let her into the air-lock corridor, and a new four-digit code gave her access to the main space of the ATSAC center.

Again she saw the semicircular arrays of computer workstations, the rows of swivel chairs occupied by city officials, the wall of video images. But now the screens showed nothing but intersections in the San Fernando Valley along the route of the Red Line. The central screen displayed the Universal City station, where additional LAPD units and rescue ambulances had gathered, along with unmarked vans that might contain chem-bio protective gear.

And there were at least two satellite live-remote vans. Word of the evacuation had reached the media. Tess checked her watch. Midnight. The local newscasts must be staying on late.

In time with this thought, one of the screens switched from a traffic shot to a local station’s video feed. The volume was muted, but Tess could see the words SPECIAL REPORT: SUBWAY EVACUATION. A field reporter was doing a live stand-up in Universal City.

The newscast cut to a photo of William Hayde. It looked like the ID photo given to the police. Someone in law enforcement had passed it to the media-maybe with an okay from the higher-ups, maybe not.

Tess stared at Hayde’s face. The cool insouciance of his half-hidden smile. The lift of one eyebrow.

A killer’s face?

No one else paid attention to the news show. Everyone was talking at once, and the volume of their combined voices kept rising as each speaker competed to be heard over the rest.

Tess picked out Sylvia Florez of Emergency Management arguing hotly with the mayor and someone from the Terrorism Working Group-or was it the Terrorism Early Warning Group? She saw Dr. Gant pounding the flat of his hand on a table as two LAPD representatives shook their heads angrily.

She pushed into the crowd and found Andrus exchanging words with a pair of officials from the city fire department. Remarkably, Andrus had taken off his jacket-the first time she had ever seen it removed. To relax his habitual formality to that extent, he must be really peeved-or really scared.

"Not your jurisdiction," one of the LAFD guys was saying, and Andrus snapped back, "We’re federal. Everything’s our jurisdiction."

A turf war. She was reminded that the AD was, in the end, a bureaucrat, not a street agent. He fought desk battles. She found herself wishing Tennant were here.

"Gerry," she said, getting close enough to speak into his ear.

Andrus turned away from the fire department people, evidently fed up with the discussion. "What?" he barked, transferring his frustration to her.

"I have some news."

"So talk."

Before she could begin, the Nose was beside her. "Mind if I join you, or are you still operating on a need-to-know basis?"

Tess shrugged. Michaelson was a jerk, but he was now part of the team.

"Got a phone call from the morgue," she said, addressing both men, her voice raised over the commotion around her. "The body in the fire isn’t who we thought it was. In fact, it may not be a student at all. It may be someone older."

"So it’s a night watchman," Michaelson said. "A janitor, whatever. Who cares?"

"What if it’s Hayde?"

"Hayde is Mobius. You told us so. Remember?"

"I told you what car Mobius was driving. When the plate number came back as Hayde’s, we assumed he was the guy. But what if Mobius wants us to assume that?"