William Bernhardt - Strip search

I answered, even though my lips were dry and tremulous. "I don't think so."

"Then he doesn't have a chance."

I checked my watch. Barely more than two minutes till four. Assuming my watch was accurate. "Darcy! Give it up! We have to get out of here!"

He was still punching madly at the keypad. "I think that maybe I can get it." Long pause. "But there are so many equations. Each one leads to another."

"Darcy! There just isn't time!" I didn't know what to do. I could go in there and try to drag him out, but he would resist. I couldn't carry him out and get far enough away in time. "Darcy! It's going to detonate!"

"Did you know that thirty-seven percent of all detonators fail?"

I felt a hollow aching in my chest. "Hers won't." I climbed through the window. While he worked, I examined the bomb over his shoulder. I saw the clock that worked as the timer-less than a minute away from four o'clock. Two wires were attached to the minute hand-one leading to the power source and the other to the detonator-and there was a pin soldered in precisely at the four. I imagined there was a relay that cut off the triggering signal by stopping the clock, if the puzzle was solved in time, something that separated the power source from the detonator. I could see that the plugs and wires could not be pulled out-they'd been soldered into place, too. I didn't think my odds of snipping the right wire to defuse the bomb were high; it might not even be possible. Either Darcy solved this puzzle or a lot of people were going to die. Including Darcy.

And me. Because I wasn't leaving him here alone.

"Darcy," I murmured quietly. Beads of sweat were dripping down the sides of my face. My heart was pounding against the walls of my chest. "If there's anything I can do for you, please let me know."

He didn't. And what the hell could I do, anyway? Check his math? I just waited and watched the human calculator in motion. The Mozart of Math. Each time he solved an equation, a little beeping noise told him that he'd gotten it correct, but then another one appeared. I saw the target number-seven-scribbled just above the LED readout. This problem wouldn't be solved until that number turned up as a solution-a final solution. And there was no telling how long that might take.

Thirty seconds to go. Twenty.

"Darcy," I said quietly, "I don't want to distract you. I don't even want you to listen to me. But I have to say-I have to tell you-" I drew in my breath. "You're a good boy, Darcy. A very good boy." Pause. Ten seconds to go. "I'd be lucky to adopt a kid as great as you. And you'd make a hell of a good policeman."

Darcy's eyes widened. He let out a scream He stopped the clock with four seconds left to go. I don't really know what happened after that-Granger showed up with some of his men and they took control of the situation. Which was okay with me, because my legs had totally turned to Jell-O and I was lying on the carpet laughing and crying my eyes out.

August 5

"You have got to be kidding," I said.

"I wouldn't kid about something this important."

I had my feet propped up on the desk. My first day back in the office after an enforced and unwanted medical leave, and I felt better than I had in months. And this time, it wasn't a case of Better Living Through Chemistry. "How many people have you shown this to, Colin?"

"Oh, about a hundred and five. Kiddo, I've been showing it to everyone I know since you found it in the woman's hotel room. I'm telling you, that little blue notebook is solid gold. In an intellectual sort of way."

"She wasn't delusional?"

"No! Well, maybe in the killing people way, but her math is solid. I don't think I can explain how tremendous this accomplishment really is. People have been trying to solve Reimann's hypothesis for hundreds of years."

"That's what Esther told me. The first time I met her."

"And she's done it! At least, as far as anyone can tell so far. It has to go through peer review. These mathematical proofs are scrutinized for years before they're fully and finally accepted. But speaking for myself-I think it's the real deal. Can you imagine anything weirder than that?"

Yes, sadly enough, I could. I thought back to that first meeting with Esther, when she explained the theory of extreme intellectual capacity, the thin line between genius and madness. It seemed Esther had both, big time. What might she have become in a different world, with a different childhood? Different parents. Different everything.

"It's a shame, really," Colin mused. "Wasting a mind with that kind of ability. You think they'll let her do math in prison?"

I sighed. "I don't think it matters, Colin. She won't be there long."'

I was glad the bomb did not explode while I was holding it. I was not worried well maybe just a little and maybe I should have been more worried but I did not have time to be more worried because I was busy solving the puzzle and I like it when I have puzzles to solve. Puzzles are fun. Everyone kept acting like I had done some wonderful thing but all I did was solve a puzzle and I like doing puzzles so what is so wonderful about that? It would be nice if everyone could get so much praise just for doing the things they like to do anyway.

I am glad we caught the Math Lady, but I feel sort of sorry for her, even though she did hurt people. I bet she liked to do puzzles too and now she probably will not get to do puzzles anymore. I would not like that.

I wish I understood why Susan started crying when the bomb did not explode. I would understand if she cried because the bomb did explode, but this does not make any sense to me. I guess I am just too stupid to understand things like that. But I still think I could be smarter. Especially if Susan would help me.

My dad kept saying that the best part of this case was when I out-smarted the Math Lady. But he was wrong. The best part of this case was when Susan called me her Darcy.

"It would never have worked, you know," I said, as I peered at the figure at the opposite end of the interrogation table. She seemed much smaller now, and it wasn't just because she had delivered the baby-a perfectly healthy seven pound nine ounce girl. Esther named her Anna. "Never in a million years. No matter how many times you destroyed the Sefirot."

"That's your opinion," Esther said, through dark, hooded eyes. She looked feeble; I knew she wouldn't live much longer. She was being surprisingly cooperative, telling us everything we wanted to know. It wasn't so much the usual serial killer's narcissist pride in their brilliant master plan, at least I didn't think so. She was smart enough to know it was over. Everything. "Because you don't believe in God in the first place." Her tired eyes looked downward. "I believe in Him. I just hate the bastard."

"Whether God exists or not, I know this. He can't be accountable for everything that goes wrong." Take good care of our son for us, okay? "If He could, someone would've given Him the boot a long time ago."

I expected an argument, maybe something mathematical, maybe a long-winded Kabbalistic theological discursion, but I didn't get it. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

I didn't have to ask who she was talking about. "Yes, she is." I smiled a little. "Favors her mother."

"No. She favors my sister. That's why I gave her that name. They weren't going to let me see her, you know. Not at first."

I did know. The DHS people argued that when a child is going up for adoption, it's standard procedure not to let the birth mother see her. But I came down on them in my inimitable fashion, explained that there was no chance of Esther ever interfering in the girl's life, so they relented. "I will monitor the adoption process," I told her. "Just like I promised. I have some experience with those people." Most of it bad, but I didn't tell her that. "I'll make sure your daughter ends up in a good home. A very good home. A safe home."