Jeffery Deaver - The Vanished Man

"Sure has," Rhyme muttered darkly. "ESU's scouring the place. Amelia's down there too. But they haven't found any leads."

Bell drawled, "He might be heading for the hills but I'm thinking it's time to get Charles and his family into a safe house until we find out what's what."

Sellitto said, "Absolutely."

The detective pulled out his cell phone and placed a call. "Luis? It's Roland. Listen here, Weir's escaped… No, no, he wasn't dead at all. Faked it. I want Grady and his family in a safe house till that boy's caught. I'm sending a… What?"

At the sound of this single, shocked word, everyone's attention swiveled to Bell. "Who's with him?… By himself? What're you telling me?"

Rhyme was looking at Bell 's face, the dark, cryptic frown in the otherwise comfortingly lackadaisical visage. Once again, as had happened so often on this case, Rhyme had a sense that events that seemed unforeseeable but had in fact been planned a long time ago were beginning to unfold.

Bell turned to Sellitto. "Luis said you called and had the baby-sitting team stand down."

"Called who?"

"Called Grady's house. You told Luis to send everybody but him home."

"Why would I do that?" Sellitto asked. "Fuck, he did it again. Just like sending the guards at the circus home."

Bell said to the team, "It gets worse – Grady's on his way downtown by himself to meet with Constable about some plea-bargain deal." Into the phone he said, "Keep the family together, Luis. And call the others on the team. Get 'em back right now. Don't let anybody into the apartment less you know 'em. I'll try and find Charles." He hung up and dialed another number. He listened into the receiver for a long moment. "No answer." He left a message: "Charles, this is Roland. Weir's escaped and we don't know where he'd be or what he's getting up to. As soon as you hear this, get next to an armed officer you know personally and then call me."

He gave his number and then made another call, to Bo Haumann, head of Emergency Services. He alerted him that Grady was on his way to the detention center, unprotected.

The man with two guns hung up and shook his head. "Missed this one by a mile." He stared at the evidence charts. "So, what is this boy up to?"

"One thing I know," Rhyme said. "He's not leaving town. He's enjoying this."

• • •

The only thing in my life, the only thing that's ever meant anything to me is performing. Illusion, magic…

"Thank you, sir. Thank you."

The guard hesitated slightly at these gentle words as he ushered the man who'd spoken them – Andrew Constable – into the interview room atop the Tombs in lower Manhattan.

The prisoner smiled like a preacher thanking his parishioners for tithes.

The guard uncuffed Constable's hands from behind his back and then recuffed them in front.

"Is Mr. Roth here yet, sir?"

"Siddown, shutup."

"Sure thing." Constable sat.

"Shutup."

Did that too.

The guard left and, alone in the room, the prisoner gazed out the greasy window at the city. He was a country boy through and through but he still appreciated New York. He'd felt stunned and angry beyond words at September 11. If he and the Patriot Assembly had had their way, the incident never would have happened because the people who wished to do harm to the American way of life would have been rooted out and exposed.

Hard questions…

A moment later the heavy metal door opened and the guard let Joseph Roth into the room.

"Hi, Joe. Grady's agreed to negotiate?"

"Yeah. Should be here in about ten minutes, I'd guess. He's going to need something substantive from you, though, Andrew."

"Oh, hell get it." The man sighed. "And I've found out more since I talked to you last. I'll tell you, Joseph, I'm heartsick about what's happening up in Canton Falls. And it's been going on, right under my nose, for a year or so. That story Grady kept harping on – about killing those troopers? I thought it was nonsense. But, nope, there were some folk actually planning that."

"You have names?"

Constable said, "You bet I have names. Friends of mine. Good friends. Used to be, at least. That lunch at the Riverside Inn? Some of them did hire that man Weir to kill Grady. I've got names, dates, places, phone numbers. And there's more coming. There're a lot of Patriots're going to cooperate to the hilt. Don't worry."

"Good," Roth said, looking relieved. "Grady'll be tough to deal with at first. That's his style. But I think things're going to work out."

"Thanks, Joe." Constable sized up his attorney. "I'm glad I hired you."

"I have to tell you, Andrew, I was little surprised at first, you hiring a lawyer that was Jewish. You know, with what I heard about you."

"But then you got to know me."

"Then I got to know you."

"That reminds me, Joe, I've been meaning to ask. When's Passover?"

"What?"

"That holiday of yours. When is it?"

"About a month ago. Remember that night I left early?"

"Right." He nodded. "What's it mean, 'Passover'?"

"When the firstborn of the Egyptians were killed, God 'passed over' the Jews' houses. He spared their sons."

"Oh. I thought it meant like you passed over a border to safety or something. Like the Red Sea."

Roth laughed. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"Anyway. Sorry I didn't wish you a happy holiday."

"I appreciate that, Andrew." Then he looked into the man's eyes. "If things work out the way I'm hoping they will, maybe you and your wife could come to our Seder next year. That's a dinner, a celebration. We have about fifteen people. They're not all Jewish. It's a good time."

"You can consider that invitation accepted." The men shook hands. "All the more incentive to get me out of here. So let's get to work. Tell me about the charges again and what you think we can get Grady to agree to." Constable stretched.

Felt good to have his hands in front of him and the shackles off his ankles. He felt so good, in fact, that he actually found it amusing to hear his lawyer recite the laundry list of reasons why the people of the state of New York found him unfit for social relations. This monologue was interrupted, though, a moment later when the guard came to the door. He motioned Roth outside.

When he returned the lawyer looked troubled and said, "We're supposed to sit tight here for a bit. Weir's escaped."

"No! Is Grady safe?"

"I don't know. I assume he's got guards looking out for him."

The prisoner sighed in disgust. "You know who's going to come off the heavy? Me, that's who. I've had it. I'm just sick and tired of this crap. I'm going to find out where Weir is and what he's up to."

"You? How?"

"I'll have everybody I can muster up in Canton Falls track down Jeddy Barnes. Maybe they can convince him to let us know where Weir is and what he's doing."

"Hold on, Andrew," Roth said uneasily. "Nothing illegal up there."

"No. I'll make sure of that."

"I'm sure Grady'll appreciate it."

"Between you and me, Joe, I don't give a rat's ass about Grady. This's for me. Giving 'em Weir and Jeddy's head on a platter – I do that and maybe at last everybody'll believe I'm on the up-and-up. Now let's make some phone calls and get to the bottom of this mess."

Hobbs Wentworth didn't get away from Canton Falls very often.

Dressed like a janitor, wheeling a cart containing push brooms, mops and his "fishing gear" (that is, his Colt AR-15 semiautomatic assault rifle), Hobbs Wentworth realized that life in the big city had changed quite a bit in the past twenty years, the last time he'd been here.

And he noted that everything he'd heard about the slow cancer eating away the white race was true.