第 50 页

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.

‘Go ahead.’

‘We have intel that someone connected with the World Criminal Court in The Hague has been targeted for assassination. Not immediately but in the next month. There’s a Prague connection. Unfortunately, at this point we have mostly SIGINT – wiretaps and emails, all of which is as vague as the narrator in a Viagra ad. Our people have only one bit of physical evidence related to the plot.’

Rhyme lifted an eyebrow.

‘A gargoyle’s head.’

‘Gargoyle.’

‘Apparently a souvenir from, well, wherever one buys gargoyle head souvenirs. It’s gray. Plastic. Gargoyley.’

‘And this is evidence why?’ Sachs asked.

‘We still use dead drops. A public location where one asset leaves a message for another, usually—’

Sachs said, ‘I’ve seen the Bourne movies.’

‘I haven’t,’ Rhyme said. ‘But I get the idea.’

‘We received intel that the bad guys had a dead drop in the square by the astronomical clock in Prague, the famous one. We started surveillance.’

‘’Round the clock?’ Sachs asked, a faint smile. Rhyme nodded to acknowledge the pun.

Smiling too, Mulbry said, ‘That one did make the rounds. Anyway, after two days, a man in hat and sunglasses walked past the location and left the gargoyle on a windowsill, the dead drop. It meant something – a go-ahead, we assume. We’re still trying to find out more.’

‘Anyone come by and do something with the gargoyle?’

‘Some kids, teen kids, saw it and stole it. But we moved in and got it from them.’ Mulbry shrugged. ‘We could show it to you if you like. Maybe you could find something.’

‘When was this?’

‘About a week ago.’

Rhyme scoffed, ‘Too late, too late. All the important evidence is long gone.’

‘Only the asset and the boy who stole it touched the thing. We couldn’t find any note or code inside. The presence of the gargoyle was a message in itself. Like a go-ahead for a prearranged meeting. So, we thought you could take a look at it and—’

‘No point.’

‘It’s preserved in plastic. Our people wore gloves. And the dead drop – the windowsill – hasn’t been touched. We’ve been monitoring it.’

‘The dead drop’s not a scene. That’s a non-scene. There’s another one, one that would have been important if you’d moved quickly.’

‘You mean where he bought the gargoyle?’

‘Of course not,’ Rhyme muttered. ‘And he didn’t buy it. He stole it. Lifted it from a stand nowhere near any CCTV, in gloved fingers. So there’d be minimal transfer of trace. No, the important scene is the one where the other side was sitting with their beer or coffee.’

Mulbry’s face stilled. ‘Could you elaborate?’

‘If I were a spy putting together an operation in a city like Prague, my first job would be to identify the foxes. That is, your people.’

‘It was another outfit actually. We were working with them.’

‘Fine. Whoever. Now, the gargoyle served no purpose other than to expose your surveillance team.’

Mulbry tilted his head, brow furrowed.

Rhyme continued, ‘A gargoyle is obvious, it’s sure to attract attention. So that your team stayed in place filming anyone who walked by and paid attention to it. The minute those kids copped it, your team was after them. As soon as your people stood up, the bad guys saw and got their IDs, probably followed them. Bugged their homes, scanned their phones. Hm, a plastic toy worth a euro or whatever the denomination is in the Czech Republic took down an entire cell of yours. The table and chairs where the enemy was sitting waiting for you to reveal yourselves would’ve told us legions. Told you legions. But of course furniture’s been cleaned, the napkins washed, the bill tossed out, the money in the bank, the cobblestones scrubbed – I’m assuming that’s the terrain there – and the CCTV footage overwritten.’

Mulbry was completely still for a moment. He whispered, ‘Goddamn.’

Sachs said, ‘You better tell the team they’ve been compromised.’

Another glance between Rhyme and Sachs. He said to the agent, ‘We’ll talk about your offer and be in touch.’

‘I hope you will.’ Mulbry shook their hands, said goodbye to Thom and climbed from the van, pulling out his phone.

Thom put the gearshift into drive and eased forward. They stopped at the Passport Control and Customs kiosk and handed over documents, which were returned. The van continued on.

Rhyme gave a laugh. ‘The Czech Republic.’

Thom said. ‘I’ve been to Prague a couple of times. I’m partial to the česnečka. Garlic soup. Oh, and the fruit dumplings. The best.’

‘What’s the local liquor like?’ Rhyme asked.

‘Slivovitz. Really potent. At least a hundred proof – fifty percent alcohol.’

‘You don’t say?’ Rhyme was intrigued.

They pulled up to the aircraft and Thom began the complicated procedure of lowering the ramp. Sachs climbed out, slung her computer bag over her shoulder. ‘Spies, Rhyme? Seriously?’

‘Stranger things have happened.’

His eyes strayed to the copilot, who was completing the pre-flight walk-around.

Everything on the aircraft seemed properly attached and functioning.

The strapping young man – in a suit, white shirt and tie – approached his passengers now. ‘We’re all set, sir. Flight time should be about an hour and a half.’

Sachs was frowning. ‘To New York?’

The copilot’s brows furrowed. He glanced toward Rhyme, who said, ‘We’re not going back to the US just yet. We’re meeting some friends in Milan.’

‘Friends?’ She glanced at Thom, who was looking over the airplane as if he himself were about to conduct a second preflight check. And avoiding eye contact. He was, however, smiling.

‘Lon Sellitto. Oh, and Ron Pulaski.’ The young NYPD officer they worked with regularly.

‘Rhyme?’ Sachs asked slowly. ‘What’s in Milan?’

He frowned and looked at Thom. ‘What is it again?’

‘A Dichiarazione Giurata.’

‘A particularly delicious dinner entrée?’

‘Ha. No, it’s an affidavit we need to swear to before the consulate general there.’

‘And why?’

‘Obviously, because we can’t get married without it. Ercole and Thom arranged the whole thing. Then we drive to Lake Como. The mayor there’ll perform the ceremony. We need to rent the marriage hall – part of the arrangement. It’s bigger than we need, I imagine, but that’s the way it works. Lon and Ron’ll be the witnesses.’

‘A honeymoon on Lake Como, Rhyme,’ Sachs said, smiling.

Rhyme tossed a look Thom’s way. ‘He was pretty insistent.’

She asked, ‘And what about Greenland?’

‘Maybe our first anniversary,’ Rhyme said and drove his chair toward the ramp that would take him up to the cabin of the sleek, idling jet.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

With undying gratitude to: Will and Tina Anderson, Cicely Aspinall, Sophie Baker, Felicity Blunt, Penelope Burns, Jane Davis, Julie Deaver, Andy Dodd, Jenna Dolan, Jamie Hodder-Williams, Kerry Hood, Cathy Gleason, Emma Knight, Carolyn Mays, Wes Miller, Claire Nozieres, Hazel Orme, Abby Parsons, Michael Pietsch, Jamie Raab, Betsy Robbins, Katy Rouse, Lindsey Rose, Deborah Schneider, Vivienne Schuster, Louise Swannell, Ruth Tross, Madelyn Warcholik … and especially to my Italian friends: Roberta Bellesini, Andrea Carlo Cappi, Giovanna Canton, Gianrico Carofiglio, Francesca Cinelli, Roberto Constantini, Luca Crovi, Marina Fabbri, Valeria Frasca, Giorgio Gosetti, Michele Giuttari, Paolo Klun, Stefano Magagnoli, Rosanna Paradiso, Roberto and Cecilia Santachiara, Carolina Tinicolo, Luca Ussia, Paolo Zaninoni … and I must note the passing of the wonderful Tecla Dozio, whose mystery bookshop in Milan was always one of the highpoints of my international tours.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A former journalist, folksinger and attorney, Jeffery Deaver is an international number one bestselling author. His novels have appeared on bestseller lists around the world, including the New York Times, The Times of London, Italy’s Corriere della Sera, the Sydney Morning Herald and the Los Angeles Times. His books are sold in 150 countries and translated into twenty-five languages.

He currently serves as president of the Mystery Writers of America.

The author of thirty-eight novels, three collections of short stories and a nonfiction law book, and the lyricist of a country-western album, he’s received or been shortlisted for dozens of awards.

His The Bodies Left Behind was named Novel of the Year by the International Thriller Writers association, and his Lincoln Rhyme thriller The Broken Window and a stand-alone, Edge, were also nominated for that prize, and one of his recent stories was nominated for ITW’s short story of the year. He has been awarded the Steel Dagger and the Short Story Dagger from the British Crime Writers’ Association and the Nero Award, and he is a three-time recipient of the Ellery Queen Readers Award for Best Short Story of the Year and a winner of the British Thumping Good Read Award. Solitude Creek and The Cold Moon were both given the number one ranking by Kono Misuteri Ga Sugoi in Japan. The Cold Moon was also named the Book of the Year by the Mystery Writers Association of Japan. In addition, the Japanese Adventure Fiction Association awarded The Cold Moon and Carte Blanche their annual Grand Prix award. His book The Kill Room was awarded the Political Thriller of the Year by Killer Nashville. And his collection of short stories Trouble in Mind was nominated for best anthology by that organization, as well.

Deaver has been honored with three lifetime achievement awards: from the Bouchercon World Mystery Convention, the Raymond Chandler Lifetime Achievement Award in Italy, and the Strand Magazine.

Deaver has been nominated for seven Edgar Awards from the Mystery Writers of America, an Anthony, a Shamus and a Gumshoe. He was shortlisted for the ITV3 Crime Thriller Award for Best International Author. Roadside Crosses was on the shortlist for the Prix Polar International 2013. He contributed to the anthology In the Company of Sherlock and Books to Die For, which won the Anthony. Books to Die For recently won the Agatha, as well.

His most recent novels are The Steel Kiss, a Lincoln Rhyme novel, Solitude Creek, a Kathryn Dance thriller and The October List, a thriller told in reverse. For the Dance novel XO Deaver wrote an album of country-western songs, available on iTunes and as a CD; and before that, he wrote Carte Blanche, a James Bond continuation novel, a number one international bestseller.

His book A Maiden’s Grave was made into an HBO movie starring James Garner and Marlee Matlin, and his novel The Bone Collector was a feature release from Universal Pictures, starring Denzel Washington and Angelina Jolie. Lifetime aired an adaptation of his The Devil’s Teardrop. And, yes, the rumors are true: He did appear as a corrupt reporter on his favorite soap opera, As the World Turns. He was born outside Chicago and has a bachelor of journalism degree from the University of Missouri and a law degree from Fordham University. Readers can visit his website at www.jefferydeaver.com.