The Stone Monkey (50 page)

Here's the answer, Rhyme thought, opening his eyes once again and staring at the entries.

The only problem is that we don't know the question.

Thorn appeared in the doorway. "Time for some ROMs," the aide said.

Range of motion exercises were important for quads. They kept the muscles from atrophying, they improved the circulation, they had a beneficial psychological effect too—which Rhyme publicly disavowed. Still, his sessions were partially based on the premise that there would come a day when he himself would use his muscles again.

And so while he groused and complained and gave Thorn hell when the aide expertly performed the ROMs then measured the results, he secretly looked forward to the daily exercises. Today, however, Rhyme cast a strong glance at the aide and the young man got the message. He retreated to the hallway.

"What're you thinking?" Sellitto asked.

Rhyme didn't answer.

Engaged in its own range of motion exercises, his mind, unlike his lifeless limbs, was limited by nothing. Infinite height, infinite depth, past and future. The criminalist now mentally followed the trails of evidence that they had collected while working the GHOSTKILL case, some of them as wide as the East River, some as narrow and frail as thread, some helpful, some as seemingly useless as the broken nerves that ran from Lincoln Rhyme's brain south into his still body. But even these he didn't neglect.

The highway took a sweep around the Brooklyn army facility and Yindao steered the police station wagon onto an exit ramp, about as fast as the Ghost himself would have taken the turn in his BMW or Porsche, and descended into a pleasant neighborhood of tidy yards and red-brick buildings.

The Ghost glanced into the side mirror casually and noticed that Yusuf was still behind them.

Then he looked at Yindao, the profile of her beautiful face, her shimmery red hair pinned into a bun, the outline of her breasts beneath her black T-shirt.

He was startled by the blare of the woman's phone ringing again.

She answered it.

"Rhyme ... yeah, we're in the neighborhood. Go ahead." She fell silent. "Excellent!" She turned to the Ghost and Coe. "He's found them. A friend of Changs got him an apartment and a job near here. It's not that far away." She turned her attention back to the phone. As she listened to what Rhyme was saying, though, the expression on her face grew momentarily dark. It seemed to the Ghost that she had tensed in reaction to whatever the man was now telling her. The Ghost wondered if Rhyme had learned something about him. He grew vigilant.

"Sure, Rhyme," she said finally. "Got it."

Yindao disconnected the call.

"Damn," Coe said. "I never thought he'd really be able to do it."

The Ghost looked at her. "So he got the exact address."

She didn't answer for a moment. Finally she said, "Yeah."

Then she began talking, just chatting like a schoolgirl, about her life in Brooklyn. The Ghost saw at once that this wasn't her nature and he grew even more suspicious. Whatever Rhyme had told her at the end of their conversation, he now understood, had nothing to do with the Changs.

He noticed her hand slip to her leg, which she scratched absently. She left her hand near her hip and he realized that the gesture was merely an excuse to move her hand to her gun.

With his eyes still on the road, the Ghost's hand now slipped casually to his side and then curled behind his back until it was touching the grip of his Glock pistol, which rested in the waistband of his workout slacks under the windbreaker.

Silence in the car as they drove for some minutes through residential streets. It seemed to the Ghost, though, that Yindao was merely driving in circles. He grew even more tense and cautious.

Another turn and, looking at the house numbers, she pulled up to the curb, put the car in park and set the brake. Pointing to a small brown-stone apartment building.

"That's it."

The Ghost glanced quickly but kept his attention wholly on Yindao.

"Not the shithole I was expecting," Coe said cynically. "Let's go get this over with."

Yindao said casually, "Wait." And she turned to her right to look at Coe over the seat.

The Ghost could see easily that it was a feint. She moved fast—far faster than the Ghost had expected. Before the snakehead could even close his fingers around his own pistol, Yindao had swept hers from her holster and was swinging the gun toward him.

GHOSTKILL

Easton, Long Island, Crime Scene    

• Two immigrants killed on beach; shot in back.

• One immigrant wounded—Dr. John Sung.

• "Bangshou" (assistant) on board; identity unknown.

• Assistant confirmed as drowned body found near site where
Dragon
sank.

• Ten immigrants escape: seven adults (one elderly, one injured woman), two children, one infant. Steal church van.

• Blood samples sent to lab for typing.

• Injured woman is AB negative. Requesting more information about her blood.

• Vehicle awaiting Ghost on beach left without him. One shot believed fired by Ghost at vehicle. Request for vehicle make and model sent out, based on tread marks and wheelbase.

• Vehicle is a BMW X5.

• Driver—Jerry Tang.

• No vehicles to pick up immigrants located.

• Cell phone, presumably Ghost's, sent for analysis to FBI.

• Untraceable satellite secure phone. Hacked Chinese gov't system to use it.

• Ghost's weapon is 7.62mm pistol. Unusual casing.

• Model 51 Chinese automatic pistol.

• Ghost is reported to have gov't people on payroll.

• Ghost stole red Honda sedan to escape. Vehicle locator request sent out.

• No trace of Honda found.

• Three bodies recovered at sea—two shot, one drowned. Photos and prints to Rhyme and Chinese police.

• Drowned individual identified as Victor Au, the Ghost's
bangshou.

• Fingerprints sent to AFIS.

• No matches on any prints but unusual markings on Sam Chang's fingers and thumbs (injury, rope burn?).

• Profile of immigrants: Sam Chang and Wu Qichen and their families, John Sung, baby of woman who drowned, unidentified man and woman (killed on beach).

Stolen Van, Chinatown     

• Camouflaged by immigrants with "The Home Store" logo.

• Blood spatter suggests injured woman has hand, arm or shoulder injury.

• Blood samples sent to lab for typing.

• Injured woman is AB negative. Requesting more information about her blood.

• Fingerprints sent to AFIS.

• No matches.

Jerry Tang Murder Crime Scene     

• Four men kicked door in and tortured him and shot him.

• Two shell casings—match Model 51. Tang shot twice in head.

• Extensive vandalism.

• Some fingerprints.

• No matches except Tang's.

• Three accomplices have smaller shoe size than Ghost, presumably smaller stature.

• Trace suggests Ghost's safehouse is probably downtown, in Battery Park City area.

• Suspected accomplices from Chinese ethnic minority. Presently pursuing whereabouts.

•Uighurs from Turkestan Community and Islamic Center of Queens.

• Cell phone calls lead to 805 Patrick Henry Street, downtown.

Canal Street Shooting Crime Scene    

• Additional trace suggesting safehouse is in Battery Park City area.

• Stolen Chevrolet Blazer, untraceable.

• No match on prints.

• Safehouse carpet: Arnold company's Lustre-Rite, installed in past six months; calling contractors to get list of installations.

• Locations of installations determined: 32 near Battery Park City.

• Fresh gardening mulch found.

• Body of Ghost's accomplice: ethnic minority from west or northwest China. Negative on prints. Weapon was Walther PPK.

• Details on immigrants:

• The Changs: Sam, Mei-Mei, William and Ronald; Sam's father, Chang Jiechi, and infant, Po-Yee. Sam has job arranged but employer and location unknown. Driving blue van, no make, no tag number. Changs' apartment is in Queens.

• The Wus: Qichen, Yong-Ping, Chin-Mei and Lang.

Safehouse Shooting Crime Scene    

• Fingerprints and photos of Chang Jiechi's hands reveal father—and son Sam—are calligraphers. Sam Chang might be doing printing or sign painting. Calling stores and companies in Queens.

• Biosolids on deceased's shoes suggest they live in neighborhood near sewage treatment plant.

• Ghost uses feng shui practitioner to arrange his living space.

Fuzhou Dragon
Crime Scene     

• Ghost used new C4 to blow up ship. Checking origin of explosive through chemical markers.

• Large quantity of new U.S. bills found in Ghost's cabin.

• Approx. $20,000 in used Chinese yuan found in cabin.

• List of victims, air charter details and bank deposit information. Checking name of sender in China.

• Captain alive but unconscious.

• Regained consciousness, now in INS detention.

• Beretta 9mm, Uzi. Unable to trace.

Sonny Li Murder Crime Scene    

• Killed by new Glock 36, .45-caliber. (Gov't issue?)

• Tobacco.

• Flecks of yellow paper.

• Unidentified plant material (herbs, spices, drugs?).

• Magnesium silicate (talc) under fingernails.

The Ghost involuntarily flinched, half-expecting Yindao to shoot him without warning—which is what he, of course, would have done had the circumstances been reversed.

But the muzzle of the black weapon traveled past him in a blur and came to rest on the man in the backseat.

"Not an inch, Coe. Don't move an inch. Keep your hands where I can see em."

"What... What is this?" Coe asked, rearing back in shock.

"Don't move," she snapped. "One hand disappears and you're dead."

"I don't—" The agent blinked.

"You understand me?"

"Yes, I fucking understand you," he spat out angrily. "You better tell me what this is all about."

"On the phone a minute ago? Lincoln had a little more to tell me than just directions to the Changs'. He looked over the evidence a second time and made some phone calls. You thought you covered it up pretty well, didn't you?"

"Put that down, Officer! You can't—"

"He knows all about it. How
you're
the one working for the Ghost."

The agent swallowed. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"You're his guardian angel. You're protecting him. That's why you fired that shot at the Wus' place on Canal Street: you weren't trying to hit him.

You were trying
to warn
him. And you've been feeding him information—you told him the Wus were in the Murray Hill safehouse."

Coe looked around nervously, glancing outside. "This's bullshit."

The Ghost struggled to control his breathing. His hands shook. He was sweating furiously. He wiped his palms on his slacks.

"Don't worry, John," Yindao said to him. "He's not going to hurt anybody else." She continued speaking to the agent, "And you got the Ghost a nice new gun—a Glock. A new .45. Which happens
to be
the issue weapon in the INS."

"You're crazy, Officer."

"We've had reports all along that the Ghost was bribing people in the government over here. We just never thought it'd be an INS agent. Why all the trips to China, Coe? According to Peabody, none of the other field agents travel over there as much as you do. Sometimes apparently on your own nickel too. You were meeting your boss's snakeheads."

"Because my informant disappeared over there and I wanted to get the asshole who did it."

"Well, Rhyme's contacting the Fuzhou security bureau right now. He wants to look over the evidence in
that
case too."

"You're saying I killed my own informant? A woman with children?"

"We'll look at the evidence," she said coolly.

"If anybody said they ever saw us together, the Ghost and me, they're lying."

"That doesn't mean anything. He's not going to meet anybody in person who could testify against him. He's got intermediaries who do that."

"You're dreaming, Officer."

"No, we're just examining
evidence,"
Yindao said. "Rhyme just ran your cell phone call record. A half-dozen calls to a dead-letter answering service in New Jersey in the past two days."

"Oh, bullshit. I use that for my local CIs."

"You never mentioned running informants before."

"Because it didn't have anything to do with this case."

Yindao snapped, "Were you going to call the Ghost when we got to the Changs' apartment? Or were you just going to kill them yourself?... And us too?"

Coe swallowed. "I'm not saying another word to you. I want to talk to a lawyer."

"You'll have plenty of time for that. Now, right hand on the door handle. It moves off by one inch, I'll park one in your arm. Understand me?"

"Listen—"

"Understand
me?"

The Ghost looked at her flinty eyes and felt a chill himself. He wondered if she hoped the man would reach for his gun so that she could shoot him.

"Yes," Coe muttered, furious.

"Left hand, thumb and index finger only, on your weapon, grip first. Move real slow."

Disgust on his face, Coe carefully removed the weapon and handed it to her.

Yindao pocketed it and then said, "Out of the car." She opened her door and stepped out. Then she opened his, the pistol unerringly targeted on the agents chest. "Slow."

He followed her out. She gestured him around to the sidewalk.

"Face down."

The Ghost's heart—which had been pounding like a bird trapped in a glass case—calmed slowly.