The Burning Wire

strength, he’d shimmied down the hose and had managed to slide into the crux of the sling. He fervently hoped that fire hoses were made exclusively of rubber and canvas; if the hose was, for some reason, reinforced with metal strands, then in a few minutes he would become a major player in a phase-to-ground fault and would turn into vapor.
    Around his neck was a length of 1/0-gauge cable—what he’d borrowed from the booth next to Algonquin’s. With his Swiss army knife Sommers was slowly stripping away the dark red insulation on it. When hewas finished he would similarly strip away the protective coating from the high-voltage line, exposing the aluminum strands. And, with his unprotected hands, he’d join the two wires.
    Then one of two things would happen. Either:
    Nothing.
    Or, a phase-to-ground fault . . . and vapor.
    If the case of the former, he would then carefully extend the exposed end of the wire and touch it to a nearby return source—some iron girders connected to the convention center’s foundation. The result would be a spectacular short that would blow the breakers in the center’s power plant.
    As for him, Charlie Sommers himself wouldn’t be grounded, but voltage that high would produce a huge arc flash, which could easily burn him to death.
    Knowing now that the deadline was meaningless and that Randall and Andi Jessen might trip the switchgear at any moment, he worked feverishly, slicing the bloodred insulation off the cable. The curled strips of dielectric fell to the floor beneath him and Sommers couldn’t help but think they were like petals falling from dying roses in a funeral home after the mourners had returned home.

Chapter 78
    RICHARD LOGAN WATCHED Lincoln Rhyme gazing out one of the large windows of the town house—in the direction of the East River. Somewhereout there the gray and red towers of Algonquin Consolidated Power presided over the grim riverfront. The smokestacks weren’t visible from here but Logan supposed that on a cold day Rhyme could see the billowing exhaust rising over the skyline.
    Shaking his head, the criminalist whispered, “Andi Jessen didn’t hire you at all.”
    “No.”
    “She’s the target , isn’t she? You’re setting her up.”
    “That’s right.”
    Rhyme nodded at the gear bag at Logan’s feet. “There’s evidence in there implicating her and her brother. You’re going to plant it here, as if Andi and Randall had killed me too. Just like you’ve been planting evidence all along. The trace from City Hall, the blond hair, the Greek food. You were hired by somebody to make it look like Andi was using Ray Galt to kill Sam Vetter and Larry Fishbein. . . . Why them?”
    “It wasn’t them particularly. The victims could have been anybody from the alternative energy conference at the Battery Park Hotel or from Fishbein’s accounting firm. Anybody there might have information about some scam or another Andi Jessen wanted to cover up.”
    “Even though they didn’t have any information.”
    “No. Nothing to do with Algonquin or Andi at all.”
    “Who’s behind it?” Rhyme’s brow was furrowed, the eyes now darting over the evidence boards, as if he needed to know the answer to the puzzle before he died. “I can’t figure that out.”
    Logan looked down at the man’s gaunt face.
    Pity . .  .
    He extracted a second wire and rigged it too toRhyme. He’d connect this to the closest ground, the radiator.
    Richard Logan never cared, on a moral level, why his clients wanted the victims dead, but he made a point of learning the motive because it helped him to plan his job and to get away afterward. So he’d listened with interest when it was explained to him why Andi Jessen had to be discredited and go to jail for a long, long time. He now said, “Andi is a threat to the new order. Her view—her very vocal view, apparently—is that oil and gas and coal and nuke are the only significant sources for energy and will be for the next hundred years. Renewables are a kid’s toy.”
    “She’s pointing out the emperor’s new clothes.”
    “Exactly.”
    “So some ecoterror group is behind this, then?”
    Logan grimaced. “Ecoterrorists? Oh, please. Bearded unwashed idiots who can’t even burn down a ski resort construction site without getting caught in the act?” Logan laughed. “No, Lincoln. It’s about money.”
    Rhyme seemed to understand. “Ah, sure . . . It doesn’t matter that clean energy and renewables