Jeffery Deaver - The Stone Monkey

Evidence exists independent of perpetrators, of course, and even though the Ghost was in custody Lincoln Rhyme and Amelia Sachs spent the next morning processing the information that continued to arrive regarding the GHOSTKILL case.

An analysis of the chemical markers in the C4 by the FBI had determined that the likely source of the plastic explosive used to blow up the ship was a North Korean arms dealer, who regularly sold weaponry to China.

Recovery divers from the Evan Brigant had brought up the bodies of the crewmen and the other immigrants from the Fuzhou Dragon, as well as the rest of the money – about $120,000. The cash had been logged into evidence and was being stored in an FBI safe deposit box. They also had learned that Ling Shui-bian, the man who had paid the money to the Ghost and had written him the letter that Sachs found on the ship, had an address in Fuzhou. Rhyme assumed he was one of the Ghost's little snakeheads or partners, and he emailed the name and address to the Fuzhou public security bureau with a note telling them about Ling's involvement with the Ghost.

"You want it on the chart?" Thom asked, nodding at the whiteboard.

"Write, write!" he said impatiently. They still would have to present the evidence to the prosecutors and reproducing the information as it was written on the whiteboards would be the most concise and helpful way to do this.

The aide took the marker and wrote down the information that had just come in.

• Ghost used new C4 to blow up ship. Checking origin of explosive through chemical markers.

• North Korean arms dealer is source.

• Large quantity of new U.S. bills found in Ghost's cabin.

• Total approximately $120,000.

• Approx. $20,000 in used Chinese yuan found in cabin.

• List of victims, air charter details and bank deposit information. Checking name of sender in China.

• Ling Shui-bian resides in Fuzhou. Name and address sent to local police.

• Captain alive but unconscious.

• Regained consciousness, now in INS detention.

As Thom was writing on the board, Rhyme's computer beeped. "Command, email," he snapped.

The computer accepted his gruff tone without affront and offered him the list of new messages.

"Command, cursor down. Command, double-click."

He read the message that had just come in.

"Ah," Rhyme announced. "I was right."

He explained to Sachs that the body of John Sung had in fact been found in the trunk of the red Honda that the Ghost had stolen. As Rhyme predicted, the car had been found sunk in a pond only 200 feet from Easton Beach.

So there would be one more murder count to add to the charges against Kwan Ang.

There was another message that interested him. This one was from Mel Cooper, who was back in his office at the NYPD forensics lab in Queens.

From: M. Cooper

To: L. Rhyme

Re: Results of chromatographic and spectrometric analyses of Department of Justice PERT Evidence Sample 3452-02

The official-sounding heading was in contrast to the informal message below it.

Lincoln :

We have met the dynamite and it is phony.

Dellray's butt wasn't in any danger. The perp screwed up and used dummy explosive – stuff used for training. I tried to follow up and trace it, but nobody has a database on fake bomb materials. Might be something to think about.

Rhyme laughed. Some arms dealer had scammed Fred Dellray's attacker by selling him the fake explosives. He was relieved that the agent hadn't really been at risk.

The doorbell rang and Thom went down to see who it was.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Two sets. He believed they belonged to Sellitto and Dellray – the cop walked with distinctive, heavy footfalls and the agent took the stairs two at a time on his long legs.

For a moment Rhyme, otherwise reclusive, was glad they were here. He'd tell them about the fake bomb. They'd all get a laugh out of it. But then he was aware of something else and an alarm bell went off inside his head. The men had stopped outside the doorway and were whispering. It was as if they were debating between themselves who should deliver bad news.

He was right about whom the steps belonged to. A moment later the rumpled cop and the lanky FBI agent pushed into the bedroom. "Hey, Linc," Sellitto said.

One look at their faces told Rhyme that he was also right about the bad news.

Sachs and Rhyme exchanged a troubled glance.

Rhyme looked from one to the other. "Well, Christ, one of you say something."

Dellray uttered a long sigh.

Finally the detective said, "They took him out of our jurisdiction – the Ghost. He's being sent back to China."

"What?" Sachs gasped.

Angrily Dellray said, "Bein' escorted onto a flight later today." The agent shook his head. "Once it takes off he's free."

"Extradited?" Rhyme asked.

"That's the fuzzy little spin they're putting on it," Dellray growled. "But we ain't seen any single solitary arrest warrant for him issued by a Chinese court."

"What does that mean, no arrest warrant?" Sachs asked.

"That his fucking guanxi's saving his ass," Rhyme said bitterly.

Dellray nodded. " 'Less the country that wants the extradition shows valid paper, we never send nobody back over. No way."

"Well, they'll try him, won't they?" Sachs asked.

"Nup. I talked to our folks over there. The high-ups in China want him back, lemme quote, 'for questioning in connection with irregular matters of foreign trade.' Not a breath 'bout smugglin', not a breath 'bout murder, not a breath. 'Bout. Nothin'."

Rhyme was stunned. "He'll be back in business in a month." The Changs, the Wus and who knew how many others were suddenly at risk again. "Fred, can you do anything?" he asked. Dellray was well thought of in the FBI. He had friends at headquarters down on Pennsylvania Avenue and Tenth in D.C. and had a good stockpile of his own guanxi.

But the agent shook his head, squeezing the cigarette that rested behind his right ear. "This li'l decision got made in State Department Washington. Not my Washington. I got no clout there."

Rhyme remembered the quiet man in the blue suit: Webley from State.

"Goddamn," Sachs whispered. "He knew".

"What?" Rhyme asked.

"The Ghost knew he was safe. At the takedown he was surprised but he didn't look worried. Hell, he told me about killing Sung and taking over his identity. He was proud of it. If anybody else'd been collared like that, they would've listened to their rights and shut up. He was goddamn bragging."

"It can't happen," Rhyme said, thinking of the poor people floating dead in the Fuzhou Dragon and lying bloody on the sand at Easton Beach. Thinking of Sam Chang's father.

Thinking of Sonny Li.

"Well, it is extremely happenin'," Dellray said. "He's leaving this afternoon. And there's not a single damn thing we can do."

In the Federal Men's Detention Center in downtown Manhattan the Ghost sat across the table from his lawyer in a private conference room, which the lawyer's handheld scanner had assured them was not bugged.

They spoke in Minnanhua Chinese, quietly and quickly.

When the lawyer was finished telling him about the procedure for his release into the hands of the Fuzhou public security bureau the Ghost nodded and then leaned close. "I need you to find some information for me."

The lawyer took out a pad of paper. The Ghost glanced at it once and frowned. The lawyer put the foolscap away.

"There is a woman who works for the police department. I need her address. Home address. Her name is Amelia Sachs and she lives somewhere in Brooklyn. S-A-C-H-S. And Lincoln Rhyme. Spelled like in poetry. He's in Manhattan."