The Burning Wire

standing on was soaking wet. She realized that whether or not Galt was inside, he’d riggedwires to the metal infrastructure of the school. Probably from a diesel-powered generator; that was the racket they’d heard.
    If Galt had rigged the door he would have rigged the fire escape as well. She’d leapt to her feet then and charged after Pulaski as he approached the ladder. She didn’t dare call his name, even in a whisper, because if Galt was in the school, he’d hear and start shooting.
    So she’d used Taser on Pulaski.
    She carried an X26 model, which fired probes that delivered both high- and low-voltage charges. The X26 had a range of about thirty-five feet, and when she saw that she couldn’t tackle the officer in time, she’d hit him with the double probes. The neuromuscular incapacitation dropped him where he stood. He’d fallen hard on his shoulder, but, thank God, hadn’t struck his head again. Sachs dragged him, gasping and quivering, to cover. She’d found and shut the generator off just as the ESU officers arrived, blowing open the chain on the front gate and storming the school.
    “You look a little woozy.”
    “Was quite a rush,” Pulaski said, breathing deeply.
    She said, “Take it easy.”
    “I’m okay. I’m helping the scene.” He blinked like a drunk. “I mean helping you search the scene.”
    “You’re up for it?”
    “Long as I don’t move too fast. But, listen, keep that thing of yours, that box that Charlie Sommers gave you? Keep it handy, okay? I’m not touching anything until you go over it.”
    The first thing they did was walk the grid around the generator behind the school. Pulaski collected and bagged the wires that had carried the chargeto the door and fire escapes. Sachs herself searched around the generator. It was a big unit several feet high and about three long. A placard on the side reported that its maximum output was 5,000 watts, producing 41 amps.
    About four hundred times what was needed to kill you.
    Nodding at the unit. “Could you pack it up and get it to Rhyme’s?” she asked the crime scene team from Queens, who’d just joined them. It weighed about two hundred pounds.
    “You bet, Amelia. We’ll get it there ASAP.”
    She said to Pulaski, “Let’s walk the grid inside.”
    They were heading into the school when Sachs’s phone rang. “Rhyme” popped up on caller ID.
    “About time,” she said good-naturedly as she answered. “I’ve got some—”
    “Amelia.” It was Thom’s voice, but the tone was one she’d never heard before. “You better come back here. You better come now.”

Chapter 64
    BREATHING HARD, SACHS hurried up the ramp and pushed open the door to Rhyme’s town house.
    Jogging across the foyer, boots slapping hard, she ran into the den, to the right, opposite the lab.
    Thom looked toward her from where he was standing over Lincoln Rhyme in his wheelchair, eyes closed, face pale and damp. Between them was oneof Rhyme’s doctors, a solidly built African American, a former football star in college.
    “Dr. Ralston,” she said, breathing hard.
    He nodded. “Amelia.”
    Finally Rhyme’s eyes opened. “Ah, Sachs.” The voice was weak.
    “How are you?”
    “No, no, how are you ?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “And the rookie?”
    “He nearly had a problem, but it worked out okay.”
    Rhyme said in a stiff voice, “It was a generator, right?”
    “Yes, how did you know? Did Crime Scene call?”
    “No, I figured it out. Diesel fuel and herbs from Chinatown. The fact that there didn’t seem to be any juice in the school. I figured out it was a trap. But had a little problem before I could call.”
    “Didn’t matter, Rhyme,” she said. “I figured it out too.”
    And didn’t tell him how close Pulaski had come to getting electrocuted.
    “Well, good. I . . . Good.”
    She understood that he was thinking how he’d failed. How he’d nearly gotten one or both of them injured or killed. Normally he’d have been furious; a tantrum might have ensued. He’d want a drink, he’d insult people, he’d revel in sarcasm, all of which was directed toward himself, of course, as she and Thom knew very well.
    But this was different. There was something about his eyes, something she didn’t like one bit. Oddly, for someone with such a severe disability,there was rarely anything vulnerable about Lincoln Rhyme. Now, with this failure, he radiated weakness.
    She found she had to look away and turned to the doctor, who said,