Their war room was impressive. It beat Lincoln Rhyme’s bedroom hands down.
Half a floor at the federal building, three dozen agents, computers and electronic panels out of some Tom Clancy movie. The agents looked like lawyers or investment bankers. White shirts, ties. Crisp was the word that came to mind. And Amelia Sachs in the center, conspicuous in her navy-blue uniform, soiled with rat blood, dust and grainy shit from cattle dead a hundred years.
She was no longer shaking from her blowup with Rhyme and though her mind kept reeling with a hundred things she wanted to say, wished she had said, she forced herself to concentrate on what was happening around her.
A tall agent in an immaculate gray suit was conferring with Dellray – two large men, heads down, solemn. She believed he was the special agent in charge of the Manhattan office, Thomas Perkins, but she didn’t know for certain; a Patrol officer has as much contact with the FBI as a dry cleaner or insurance salesman does. He seemed humorless, efficient, and kept glancing at a large map of Manhattan pinned to the wall. Perkins nodded several times as Dellray briefed him then he stepped up to a fiberboard table filled with manila folders, looked over the agents and began to speak.
“If I could have your attention… I’ve just been in communication with the director and the AG in Washington. You’ve all heard about the Kennedy Airport unsub by now. It’s an unusual profile. Kidnapping, absent a sexual element, is rarely the basis for serial activity. In fact this’s the first unsub of the sort we’ve had in the Southern District. In light of the possible connection with the events at the UN this week we’re coordinating with headquarters, Quantico and the secretary-general’s office. We’ve been told to be completely proactive on this case. It’s getting prioritization at the highest level.”
The SAC glanced at Dellray, who said, “We’ve taken over the case from the NYPD but we’ll be using them for backup and person power. We have the crime scene officer here to brief us on the scenes.” Dellray sounded completely different here. Not a shred of Superfly.
“Have you vouchered the PE?” Perkins asked Sachs.
Sachs admitted that she hadn’t. “We were working on saving the vics.”
The SAC was troubled by this. At trial, otherwise solid cases tanked regularly because of slipups in recording the chain of custody of the physical evidence. It was the first thing the perps’ defense lawyers wailed on.
“Make sure you do that before you leave.”
“Yessir.”
What a look on Rhyme’s face when he guessed I bitched to Eckert and got them shut down. What a look…
My Sachs figured it out, my Sachs preserved the scene.
She worried a nail again. Stop it, she told herself, as she always did, and continued to dig into the flesh. The pain felt good. That’s what the therapists never understood.
The SAC said, “Agent Dellray? Could you brief the room as regards the approach we’ll be taking.”
Dellray looked from the SAC to the other agents and continued, “At this moment we have field agents hitting every major terrorist cell in the city and pursuing whatever leads we can find that’ll get us to the unsub’s residence. All CIs, all undercover agents. It’ll mean compromising some existing operations but we’ve decided it’s worth the risk.
“Our job here is to be rapid response. You’ll break out into groups of six agents each and be ready to move on any lead. You’ll have complete hostage-rescue and barricade-entry support.”
“Sir,” Sachs said.
Perkins looked up, frowning. Apparently one didn’t interrupt briefings until the approved Q &A break. “Yes, what is it, officer?”
“Well, I’m just wondering, sir. What about the victim?”
“Who, that German girl? You think we should interview her again?”
“No, sir. I meant the next victim.”
Perkins responded, “Oh, we’ll certainly stay cognizant of the fact that there may be other targets.”
Sachs continued, “He’s got one now.”
“He does?” The SAC glanced at Dellray, who shrugged. Perkins asked Sachs, “How do you know?”
“Well, I don’t exactly know, sir. But he left clues at the last scene and he wouldn’t’ve done that if he didn’t have another vic. Or was just about to snatch one.”
“Noted, officer,” the SAC continued. “We’re going to mobilize as fast as we can to make sure nothing happens to them.”
Dellray said to her, “We think it’s best to focus on the beast himself.”
“Detective Sachs -” Perkins began.
“I’m not a detective, sir. I’m assigned to Patrol.”
“Yes, well,” the SAC continued, looking at the stacks of files. “If you could just give us some of your bullet points, that would be helpful.”
Thirty agents watching her. Two women among them.
“Just tell us whatcha saw,” Dellray said, gripping an unlit cigarette between prominent teeth.
She gave them a synopsis of her searches of the crime scenes and the conclusions Rhyme and Terry Dobyns had come to. Most of the agents were troubled by the unsub’s curious MO.
“Like a goddamn game,” an agent muttered.
One asked if the clues had any political messages they could decipher.
“Well, sir, we really don’t think he’s a terrorist,” Sachs persisted.
Perkins turned his high-powered attention toward her. “Let me ask you, officer, you concede he’s smart, this unsub?”
“Very smart.”
“Couldn’t he be double-bluffing?”
“How do you mean?”
“You… I should say the NYPD’s thinking is that he’s just a nutcase. I mean, a criminal personality. But isn’t it possible he’s smart enough to make you think that. When something else’s going on.”
“Like what?”
“Take those clues he left. Couldn’t they be diversions?”
“No, sir, they’re directions,” Sachs said. “Leading us to the vics.”
“I understand that,” quick Thomas Perkins said. “But by doing that he’s also leading us away from other targets, right?”
She hadn’t considered that. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“And Chief Wilson’s been pulling men off UN security detail right and left to work the kidnapping. This unsub might be keeping everyone distracted, which leaves him free for his real mission.”
Sachs remembered that she’d had a similar thought herself earlier in the day, watching all the searchers along Pearl Street. “And that’d be the UN?”
“We think so,” Dellray said. “The perps behind the UNESCO bombing attempt in London might want to try again.”
Meaning Rhyme was going off in the completely wrong direction. It eased the weight of her guilt somewhat.
“Now, officer, could you itemize the evidence for us?” Perkins asked.
Dellray gave her an inventory sheet of everything she’d found and she went through it item by item. As she spoke Sachs was aware of bustling activity around her – some agents taking calls, some standing and whispering to other agents, some taking notes. But when, glancing down at the sheet, she added, “Then I picked up this fingerprint of his at the last scene,” she realized that the room had fallen utterly silent. She looked up. Every face in the office was staring at her in what could pass for shock – if federal agents were capable of that.
She glanced helplessly at Dellray, who cocked his head, “You saying you gotchaself a print?”
“Well, yes. His glove fell off in a struggle with the last vic and when he picked it up he brushed against the floor.”
“Where is it?” Dellray asked quickly.
“Jesus,” one agent called. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Well, I -”
“Find it, find it!” somebody else called.
A murmur ran through the room.
Her hands shaking, Sachs dug through the evidence bags and handed Dellray the Polaroid of the fingerprint. He held it up, looked carefully. Showed it to someone who, she guessed, was a friction-ridge expert. “Good,” the agent offered. “It’s definitely A-grade.”