The Burning Wire

to.”
    “Yes, she’s good.” He got to the meat of his question: “I understand you’ve seen Logan.”
    “My assistant, Arturo Diaz, and his team have spotted him twice. Once yesterday in a hotel. And then not long ago nearby—among office buildings on Avenue Bosque de Reforma in the business district. He was taking pictures of the buildings. That aroused suspicion—they are hardly architectural marvels—and a traffic officer recognized Logan’s picture. Arturo’s men got there quickly. But your Mr. Watchmaker vanished before backup arrived. He’s very elusive.”
    “That describes him pretty well. Who are the tenants in the offices he was taking pictures of?”
    “Dozens of companies. And some small government ministries. Satellite offices. Transport and commerce operations. A bank on the ground floor of one. Would that be significant?”
    “He’s not in Mexico for a robbery. Our intelligence is that this is a murder he’s planning.”
    “We’re looking into the personnel and the purposes of all the offices right now to see if there might be a likely victim.”
    Rhyme knew the delicate game of politics but he had no time for finesse, and he had a feeling Luna didn’t either. “You have to keep your teams out of sight, Commander. You must be much more careful than usual.”
    “Yes, of course. This man has the eye, does he?”
    “The eye?”
    “Like second sight. Kathryn Dance was telling me he’s like a cat. He knows when he’s in danger.”
    No, Rhyme thought; he’s just very smart and can anticipate exactly what his opponents are likely to do. Like a master chess player. But he said, “That’s it exactly, Commander.”
    Rhyme stared at the picture of Luna on his computer. Dance was right: Conversations seemed to have more to them when you could visualize the person you were speaking with.
    “We have a few of those down here too.” Another chuckle. “In fact, I’m one of them. It’s why I’m still alive when so many of my colleagues are not. We will continue the surveillance—subtly. When we capture him, Captain, perhaps you would like to come for the extradition.”
    “I don’t get out much.”
    Another pause. Then a somber, “Ah, forgive me. I forgot about your injury.”
    The one thing, Rhyme reflected, with equal sobriety, that he himself never could. He said, “No apologies are necessary.”
    Luna added, “Well, we are very—what do you say?— accessible here in Mexico City. You would be welcome to come, and very comfortable. You could stay at my house and my wife will cook for you. I have no stairs to trouble you.”
    “Perhaps.”
    “We have very good food, and I am a collector of mescal and tequilas.”
    “In that case a celebration dinner might be in order,” Rhyme said to placate him.
    “I will earn your presence by capturing this man . . . and perhaps you could lecture to my officers.”
    Now Rhyme laughed to himself. He hadn’t realized they’d been negotiating. Rhyme’s appearance in Mexico would be a feather in this man’s cap; it was one of the reasons he’d been so cooperative. This was probably the way all business—whether it was law enforcement or commerce—worked in Latin America.
    “It would be a pleasure.” Rhyme glanced up and saw Thom gesturing to him and pointing to the hallway.
    “Commander, I have to go now.”
    “I’m grateful you contacted me, Captain. I will be in touch as soon as I learn anything. Even if it seems insignificant, I will absolutely call you.”

Chapter 26
    THOM LED TRIM , energetic Assistant Special Agent in Charge Tucker McDaniel into the lab again. He was accompanied by an associate, spiffy and young and compensating, whose name Rhyme immediately forgot. He was easier to think of as the Kid, capital K , anyway. He blinked once at the quadriplegic and looked away.
    The ASAC announced, “We’ve eliminated a few more names from the list. But there’s something else. We’ve got a demand letter.”
    “Who from?” Lon Sellitto asked from an examination table, where he sat wrinkled as a deflated ball. “Terrorists?”
    “Anonymous and unspecified,” McDaniel said, pronouncing every syllable primly. Rhyme wondered if he disliked the man as much as he thought he did. Partly it was how he’d treated Fred Dellray. Partly it was just his style. And sometimes, of course, you just didn’t need a reason.
    Cloud zone . .  .
    The agent continued, “Sounds mostly like a crank, eco issues, but who knows what