Jeffery Deaver: The Burial Hour

Thom hit a button. With another squeak, not unlike that of the brakes, the door beside which Rhyme sat slid open.

‘The ramp?’ Thom asked.

‘No. I’m staying put. He can come to us.’

Mulbry disconnected the call and put his phone away. He walked to the van. Without waiting for an invitation he pulled himself up inside and sat directly in front of Rhyme.

‘Hey there,’ he said to them all, an amiable voice, the dusting of Southern accent upon both words, the second of which was pulled into two syllables.

Sachs asked, ‘Busy day for public relations?’

Mulbry smiled. ‘After that news story that the Composer vanished from the country, journalists have been pelting us with requests. Positively pelting .’

Rhyme said, ‘You wrote that story. You’re one of Charlotte McKenzie’s associates.’

‘Her boss, actually. I’m director of Alternative Intelligence Service.’

Ah, the New York actor. Yes, Rhyme could see him getting great notices for a character part. Probably stealing the show.

Rhyme asked, ‘Is anybody in your business who they seem to be?’

Mulbry laughed once more and wiped sweat.

‘One question?’ Rhyme asked.

‘Only one?’

‘For the moment. Ibrahim.’

Mulbry grimaced. ‘Ah, yes. Ibrahim. Aka Hassan, our “trusted” asset in Tripoli. Ibrahim’s real name is Abdel Rahman Sakizli. Freelancer. Mercenary. He’ll run ops for ISIS, he’ll run ops for the Lord’s Resistance Army, he’ll run ops for Mossad. He’s loyal to whoever pays him the most. Sadly, Hill had more money than we did, so Ibrahim chose to cheat on us.’ Mulbry clicked his tongue.

‘Where is he?’

A frown, but an exaggerated frown. ‘Good question. He seems to have disappeared.’

Rhyme chided, ‘And you, the kinder, gentler face of national security.’

‘’T’wasn’t us. Last we heard he was in the company of a couple of women who were charming and beautiful and, coincidentally, rumored to be members of the Italian external security agency. Now, Captain Rhyme—’

‘Lincoln really is fine. If you’re going to detain us at least use my first name.’

‘Detain?’ He seemed genuinely confused. ‘Why would we detain you?’

‘Because we handed Mike Hill over to Dante Spiro for trial here without a fight.’

‘Oh, that . We’ll let him float in the soup here for five to ten years. You knew we couldn’t bring a case on the terrorism charges. Since we don’t exist. Dante’ll get justice enough for both countries. Damn smart, charging Hill for the explosives only. You have a hand in that?’

Rhyme’s expression: Don’t know what you mean.

Mulbry continued, ‘As for his buddy, the senator from Texas?’

Sachs asked, ‘You’re aware of him?’

Mulbry settled for a sardonic smile. ‘Some folks in Washington’ll take him out to the woodshed on the QT. Y’all might appreciate this: I had a thought last night: Compared with Mike Hill, Stefan Merck was the saner of the two. More interesting too. I’ll tell you, I’d have a beer with that fellow. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering, what exactly am I doing here?’

The interior of the van was hot and getting hotter, with the full-on sun taxing the lethargic AC. Mulbry dried his brow yet again. ‘Want to hear a story? You know that years ago CIA technical services tried to build a fake dragonfly? It’s in the museum at Langley. It’s quite something. A work of art. Equipped with an early miniature video camera, an audio system, a flight mechanism that was revolutionary for the time. And guess what? It didn’t work worth squat. The least headwind would send it all over the landscape. But a few years later, the inspiration behind those dragonflies gave us drones. S’all about refinement. Story of life.

‘Now, you could say that the AIS is an attempt to build a dragonfly. The Composer project would have worked pretty well. Except for one thing.’

‘A headwind.’

‘Exactly! And that’d be you and Detective Sachs. I’ll say — this isn’t flattery — not many people could have figured out the story we’d put together, the musical kidnapper and all.’

Not many ? Rhyme thought.

‘When you raided Charlotte’s home, you explained how you figured it all out.’ A big grin. ‘We were listening, sure.’

Rhyme tipped his head.

‘Impressive, Lincoln, Amelia. And hearing you — how you figured out the plan — I got myself an idea.’

‘Your dragonfly molting into a drone.’

‘I like that. So in the world of intelligence gathering, there’s HUMINT — that’s info from people, assets on the ground. Then there’re satellites, computer hacking, wiretapping and video surveillance. That’s signals and electronic intelligence. SIGINT, ELINT. But until you took down our dragonfly, Lincoln, it never occurred to me how much intelligence we might learn from... evidence. Forensic evidence.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, we have teams we use, or borrow the Bureau’s or army’s or somebody’s. But it’s usually after the fact, when an op goes bad. Get fingerprints or blast signatures or handwriting. We don’t use forensic investigation...’

Please don’t say proactively.

‘... proactively. The way you analyze evidence, it’s like it talks to you.’

Sachs laughed, a clear, ringing sound. ‘Rhyme, I think he wants to hire us.’

Mulbry’s pale face betrayed that this was exactly what he was suggesting. ‘Remember, we’re “Alternative” intelligence gathering. What’s more alternative than a forensic team running an espionage op? You consult for the NYPD. Why not for us? You’ve broken the international barrier. Here you are — in Italia ! We have private jets too. They’re government, so no liquor cabinets. But you can BYOB. Not against the rules. Or not against any rules anyone cares about.’

Mulbry’s eyes actually shone. ‘And it occurred to me: What a great cover you’d have! A fabled forensic scientist and his associate. A professor, no less. Yeah, I’ll admit I looked you up, Lincoln. Imagine how it would work: You’re in Europe assisting local officers in an intractable crime, a serial killer, a cult leader, a master money launderer. Or you’re in Singapore to lecture at the criminal justice institute on the latest developments in crime scene techniques. And, in your spare time, you look into whether Natasha Ivanovich has been listening in on conversations she shouldn’t, naughty girl. Or Park Jung went shopping for a teeny piece of nuclear trigger he’s not supposed to have.’

Mulbry eased a glance toward Sachs. ‘There’d be the issue of your being on the payroll of the NYPD. But that’s not insurmountable. They have liaison offices overseas, you know. Or maybe a leave of absence. It’s all negotiable.’

If Rhyme’s torso had been sensate, he suspected he would have been feeling a stirring. Certainly, he was aware that his pulse had increased; this he knew from the rhythm in his temples. Not patriotism, which was a subcategory of sentimentality, an emotion he bluntly rejected. No, what stirred him was the possibility of a whole new set of challenges.

A thought occurred. He said, ‘EVIDINT.’

‘Evidence intelligence.’ Mulbry’s lower lip extended and he nodded. ‘Nice.’

‘Don’t get your hopes up, though,’ Rhyme muttered. ‘We’re not closing the deal yet.’

A nod from Mulbry. ‘Sure, sure. But say what, just for the fun of it, let me run this by you. Of course, just as an example.’ The words seemed spontaneous but Rhyme guessed the dangle had been prepared ahead of time, tied like a fly with painstaking care by a fisherman intent on catching a particularly elusive and astute bass.