David Morrell - The Covenant Of The Flame

'Jesus.'

The only way the man could have known about those pictures is if he'd followed us when we left Joseph's apartment and he saw me go into the photo shop,' Tess said with urgency.

That sure as hell sounds logical to me. Jesus ,' the lieutenant said again and coughed. That's what I mean. You can't stay out of touch. You've got to let me know where you are and what you're doing. This might be dangerous for you.'

'There's more. I don't understand it, but when the clerk described the man, it sounded like Joseph. The man even had gray eyes. Could I have been wrong at the morgue? Could Joseph be alive ! Could - ?'

'No, Tess, you weren't wrong. That much I can guarantee. Whoever the man was, he very definitely wasn't Joseph.'

'But how can you be sure? How do you explain the gray eyes ?'

'Coincidence maybe,' Craig said. 'I don't know, but - '

'You yourself said that the scar on the corpse's wrist wasn't enough for an absolute identification. Maybe that scar's a coincidence, too. Since the FBI hasn't been able to match the corpse's fingerprints with anyone in their files, maybe-'. 'No, Tess, we do have a match. That's one of the things I tried to call you about.'

'From the FBI?' Tess asked quickly. They know Joseph's real identity?'

'Not from the FBI. From our own lab. They dusted Joseph's apartment and matched the prints they found there with those from the unburned left hand on the corpse in the morgue. Tess, the fingerprints match. Point by point, they match and they also match fingerprints on Joseph's desk at Truth Video. Your identification's been verified. Joseph died in Carl Schurz Park.'

Tess's knees abruptly weakened. She sank toward the bed and shivered so much that she wrapped a sheet around her. Since the incident in the photo shop, her fear that someone might be following her had been tempered by the hope that whoever it was would be Joseph, that Joseph might somehow still be alive.

But now she suffered a renewed aching surge of grief, her stomach sinking, her chest hollow, her mind off-balance.

'Tess?'

She tried to answer.

'Tess?' Craig emphasized her name, sounding worried.

'I'm here. I'm… Yes, I'm all right.'

'For a moment, I thought… Look, I'm sorry. I guess I could have been more delicate.'

'I felt… Never mind. I'll be okay,' Tess said.

'You're sure?'

'All that matters now is getting even, finding out who killed Joseph and why.' Tess shook her head, bitter. 'You said the matching fingerprints were one of the reasons you tried to call. What else - ?'

'It's about the photographs.' Craig paused.

'And?' Tess frowned. 'You're going to make me ask? What about them?'

'It's a good thing you took them, and a damned good thing the clerk didn't give them to the guy who claimed you'd sent him.'

'What's wrong?'

'Someone broke into Joseph's apartment. They torched his bedroom.'

Tess jerked upright, the sheet falling off her shoulders. ' Torched it ?'

'Almost burned the whole top floor before the fire department put it out. It's a miracle no one was hurt.'

'Christ, when did this happen?'

'Four o'clock.'

'About the same time the guy was trying to steal my pictures.'

'Which are the only record of what we found in Joseph's apartment,' Craig said.

'But I thought you said Homicide got there before we did and took photographs.'

'I was wrong,' Craig said. 'What they sent was a fingerprint team. When they saw the bedroom, they decided they wanted pictures. The photographer was scheduled to show up in the afternoon.'

'But he didn't?'

'Not in time. After all, the apartment wasn't a crime scene. There didn't seem any urgency.'

'Oh, shit.'

'Just make sure those photographs are safe. Hide them. Have copies made from the negatives,' Craig said.

'First thing tomorrow morning.'

' Several copies. Keep another set. Are you coming back to Manhattan tomorrow?'

'I don't know yet,' Tess said. 'I still have things to check.'

Then send the other copies to me. Federal Express.' Craig gave his office address at One Police Plaza. 'There's one other problem.'

'I'm not sure I want to hear it.'

'After the Fire Department put out the blaze, when they thought it was safe, they let me search the torched apartment. That building has concrete floors. There wasn't any risk of my falling through or of anything else having fallen through.'

'I don't know what you're getting at,' Tess said nervously.

'I had to use a pole to move sections of the toppled ceiling and walls. But I knew where to look, so it didn't take me long to clear the spot I wanted.'

' What spot? What are you - ?'

'Where the bookcase was,' Craig said. 'Where the statue stood on the bookcase. The books were destroyed, as you'd expect. So was the bookcase. Just ashes. But the statue was made of marble, and marble doesn't burn. It might crack from heat, but… I kept looking. The statue couldn't have fallen through the concrete floor, and when it toppled from the bookcase, it couldn't have rolled very far. It's gone, Tess. The statue's gone! Whoever torched the apartment must have taken it when they left. I don't know what the hell's happening, but I want you to promise me. Swear it. Be careful !'

East of Maine. The North Atlantic.

The United States Coast Guard cutter Sea Wolf , out of Portland, continued its speedy mission through a moderately choppy sea.

Clouds obscured the moon and stars, intensifying the night, although even in daylight the Sea Wolfs destination was still too far away to have allowed for a visual identification. On the cutter's bridge, Captain Peter O'Malley could see his objective as a blip on the radar, however, and its implications made him frown.

'Distance: fourteen thousand yards,' a crewman said. 'Looks like air reconnaissance was right, Captain. Its course is erratic. Minimal speed.'

O'Malley nodded. Six hours earlier, a group of Air Force F-15 fighter pilots practising night maneuvers in a military corridor off the New England coast had noticed the blip on their radar screens. Its unusual behavior had prompted the flight group's leader to radio his commander at Loring Air Force Base near Limestone, Maine, and request permission to contact the vessel. Permission was granted, but all attempts to communicate with the vessel had failed.

'Identify yourself.'

No response.

'Do you need assistance?'

No response.

After repeated efforts, the group's leader had requested further permission to change course and descend for a visual inspection. Again, permission was granted. After all, the vessel's radio silence combined with its puzzling, slow, random course and its proximity to United States waters justified concern. At a cautious distance, using intense-magnification night-vision apparatus, the flight group's leader determined that the vessel was a massive fishing trawler. English lettering on the stern indicated that the trawler's name was the Bronze Bell , its home port Pusan, South Korea. The English lettering wasn't unusual – many Oriental commercial ships used English identification symbols when operating in Western waters.

What was unusual, indeed disturbing, however, was that in addition to its erratic sluggish approach toward US waters, the trawler displayed no lights, not even the mandatory signal lights that maritime law required during night voyages to prevent converging vessels from failing to see each other and colliding.

The troubled commander at Loring Air Force Base insisted on confirmation. The equally troubled flight group leader repeated that the trawler was totally – 'I mean, absolutely'-dark. The situation became delicate, the potential for an international incident disturbing. A misjudgment could destroy careers.