Jeffery Deaver - The burning wire

"Really? And yet here you are working."

"Indeed. I appreciate your help with this case. This is a very dangerous man."

"I'm pleased to be of assistance. Your colleague, Mrs. Dance, she's been very helpful in getting some of our felons extradited back to our own country, when there was considerable pressure not to."

"Yes, she's good." He got to the meat of his question: "I understand you've seen Logan."

"My assistant, Arturo Diaz, and his team have spotted him twice. Once yesterday in a hotel. And then not long ago nearby-among office buildings on Avenue Bosque de Reforma in the business district. He was taking pictures of the buildings. That aroused suspicion-they are hardly architectural marvels-and a traffic officer recognized Logan's picture. Arturo's men got there quickly. But your Mr. Watchmaker vanished before backup arrived. He's very elusive."

"That describes him pretty well. Who are the tenants in the offices he was taking pictures of?"

"Dozens of companies. And some small government ministries. Satellite offices. Transport and commerce operations. A bank on the ground floor of one. Would that be significant?"

"He's not in Mexico for a robbery. Our intelligence is that this is a murder he's planning."

"We're looking into the personnel and the purposes of all the offices right now to see if there might be a likely victim."

Rhyme knew the delicate game of politics but he had no time for finesse, and he had a feeling Luna didn't either. "You have to keep your teams out of sight, Commander. You must be much more careful than usual."

"Yes, of course. This man has the eye, does he?"

"The eye?"

"Like second sight. Kathryn Dance was telling me he's like a cat. He knows when he's in danger."

No, Rhyme thought; he's just very smart and can anticipate exactly what his opponents are likely to do. Like a master chess player. But he said, "That's it exactly, Commander."

Rhyme stared at the picture of Luna on his computer. Dance was right: Conversations seemed to have more to them when you could visualize the person you were speaking with.

"We have a few of those down here too." Another chuckle. "In fact, I'm one of them. It's why I'm still alive when so many of my colleagues are not. We will continue the surveillance-subtly. When we capture him, Captain, perhaps you would like to come for the extradition."

"I don't get out much."

Another pause. Then a somber, "Ah, forgive me. I forgot about your injury."

The one thing, Rhyme reflected, with equal sobriety, that he himself never could. He said, "No apologies are necessary."

Luna added, "Well, we are very-what do you say?-accessible here in Mexico City. You would be welcome to come, and very comfortable. You could stay at my house and my wife will cook for you. I have no stairs to trouble you."

"Perhaps."

"We have very good food, and I am a collector of mescal and tequilas."

"In that case a celebration dinner might be in order," Rhyme said to placate him.

"I will earn your presence by capturing this man… and perhaps you could lecture to my officers."

Now Rhyme laughed to himself. He hadn't realized they'd been negotiating. Rhyme's appearance in Mexico would be a feather in this man's cap; it was one of the reasons he'd been so cooperative. This was probably the way all business-whether it was law enforcement or commerce-worked in Latin America.

"It would be a pleasure." Rhyme glanced up and saw Thom gesturing to him and pointing to the hallway.

"Commander, I have to go now."

"I'm grateful you contacted me, Captain. I will be in touch as soon as I learn anything. Even if it seems insignificant, I will absolutely call you."

THOM LED TRIM, energetic Assistant Special Agent in Charge Tucker McDaniel into the lab again. He was accompanied by an associate, spiffy and young and compensating, whose name Rhyme immediately forgot. He was easier to think of as the Kid, capital K, anyway. He blinked once at the quadriplegic and looked away.

The ASAC announced, "We've eliminated a few more names from the list. But there's something else. We've got a demand letter."

"Who from?" Lon Sellitto asked from an examination table, where he sat wrinkled as a deflated ball. "Terrorists?"

"Anonymous and unspecified," McDaniel said, pronouncing every syllable primly. Rhyme wondered if he disliked the man as much as he thought he did. Partly it was how he'd treated Fred Dellray. Partly it was just his style. And sometimes, of course, you just didn't need a reason.

Cloud zone…

The agent continued, "Sounds mostly like a crank, eco issues, but who knows what it's a front for."

Sellitto continued, "We sure it's him?"

After an apparently motiveless attack, it wasn't unusual for a number of people to take credit for it. And threaten to repeat the incident if some demands weren't met, even though they themselves had nothing to do with it.

McDaniel said in a stiff voice, "He confirmed details of the bus attack. Of course we checked that."

The condescension explained some of Rhyme's distaste.

"Who received it and how?" Rhyme asked.

"Andi Jessen. I'll let her give you the details. I wanted to get it to you as fast as possible."

At least the fed wasn't fighting a turf war. The dislike eased a bit.

"I've told the mayor, Washington and Homeland Security. We conferenced about it on the way over."

Though without our presence, Rhyme noted.

The fed opened his briefcase and took out a sheet of paper in a clear plastic envelope. Rhyme nodded to Mel Cooper, who, in gloved hands, removed the sheet and placed it on an examining table. First, he photographed it and an instant later the handwritten text appeared on the computer screens around the room: To Andi Jessen, CEO, and Algonquin Consolidated Power:

At around 11:30 a.m. yesterday morning there was an arc flash incident at the MH-10 substation on W 57 Street in Manhattan, this happened by securing a Bennington cable and bus bar to a post-breaker line with two split bolts. By shutting down four substations and raising the breaker limit at MH-10 an overload of close to two hundred thousand volts caused the flash.

This incident was entirely your fault and due to your greed and selfishness. This is typical of the industry and it is reprehensable. Enron destroyed the financial lives of people, your company destroys our physical lives and the life of the earth. By exploiting electricity without regard for it's consequences you are destroying our world, you insideously work your way into our lives like a virus, until we are dependent on what is killing us.

People must learn they do not need as much electricity as you tell them they do. You have to show them the way. You are to execute a rolling brownout across the New York City service grid today-reduce levels to fifty per cent of offpeak load for a half hour, starting at 12:30. If you don't do this, at 1 p.m. more people will die.

Rhyme nodded toward the phone and said to Sachs, "Call Andi Jessen."

She did and a moment later the woman's voice came through the speaker. "Detective Sachs? Have you heard?"

"Yes, I'm here with Lincoln Rhyme and some people from the FBI and the NYPD. They've brought the letter."

Rhyme heard exasperation and anger as the woman said, "Who's behind it?"

"We don't know," Sachs said.

"You have to have some idea."

McDaniel identified himself and said, "The investigation's moving along, but we don't have a suspect yet."

"The man in the uniform at the coffee shop yesterday morning, by the bus stop?"

"We don't have his identity. We're going through the list you gave us. But nobody's a clear suspect yet."

"Ms. Jessen, this is Detective Sellitto, NYPD. Can you do it?"