The Burning Wire

riveted on the evidence whiteboards.
    McDaniel said to the Kid, “Get me Dellray.”
    A moment later the agent’s voice came through the speaker. “Yes, who’s this? Who’s there?”
    “Fred. It’s Tucker. I’m here with Lincoln Rhyme and some other people from the NYPD.”
    “At Rhyme’s?”
    “Yes.”
    “How you doing, Lincoln?”
    “Been better.”
    “Yeah. True about all of us.”
    McDaniel said, “Fred, you heard about the new demand and deadline.”
    “Your assistant called me. She told me about the motive too. Galt’s cancer.”
    “We’ve got a confirmation that it’s probably a terror group. Ecoterror.”
    “How does that play with Galt?”
    “Symbiosis.”
    “What?”
    “A symbiotic construct. It was in my memo. . . . They’re working together. The group’s called Justice For the Earth. And Rahman’s second in command is named Johnston.”
    Dellray asked, “Sounds like they have different agendas. How’d they hook up? Galt and Rahman?”
    “I don’t know, Fred. That’s not the point. Maybe they contacted him, read his postings about the cancer. It was all over the Internet.”
    “Oh.”
    “Now, the deadline’s coming up at any minute. Has your CI found anything ?”
    A pause. “No, Tucker. Nothing.”
    “The debriefing. You said it was at three.”
    Another hesitation. “That’s right. But he doesn’t have anything concrete yet. He’s going a little farther underground.”
    “The whole fucking world’s underground,” the FBI agent snapped, surprising Rhyme; he couldn’t imagine an expletive issuing from the man’s smooth lips. “So, call your guy up and get him the information about Justice For the Earth. And the new player, Johnston.”
    “I’ll do it.”
    “Fred?”
    “Yes?”
    “He’s the only one has any leads, this CI of yours?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And he didn’t hear anything, not a name, nothing?”
    “Afraid not.”
    McDaniel said distractedly, “Well, thanks, Fred. You did what you could.” As if he hadn’t expected to learn anything helpful anyway.
    A pause. “Sure.”
    They disconnected. Rhyme and Sellitto both were aware of McDaniel’s sour expression.
    “Fred’s a good man,” the detective said.
    “He is a good man,” the ASAC replied quickly. Too quickly.
    But the subject of Fred Dellray and McDaniel’s opinion of him vanished as everyone in the town house, except Thom, got a cell call, all within five seconds of each other.
    Different sources, but the news was the same.
    Although the deadline was still seven minutes away, Ray Galt had struck again, once more killing innocents in Manhattan.
    It was Sellitto’s caller who gave them the details. Through speakerphone the NYPD patrolman, sounding young and distracted, started to give an account of the attack—a Midtown office building elevator car in which four passengers were riding. “It was . . . it was pretty bad.” Then the officer choked, his voice dissolved in coughing—maybe from smoke created by the attack. Or maybe it was simply to cover up his emotion.
    The officer excused himself and said he’d call back in a few minutes.
    He never did.

Chapter 50
    THAT SMELL AGAIN .
    Could Amelia Sachs ever escape it?
    And even if she scrubbed and scrubbed andthrew her clothes out, could she ever forget it? Apparently the sleeve and hair of one of the victims had caught fire in the elevator car. The flames hadn’t been bad but the smoke was thick and the smell was repulsive.
    Sachs and Ron Pulaski were suiting up in their overalls. She asked one of the Emergency Service officers, “DCDS?” Gesturing toward the hazy car.
    Deceased, confirmed dead at scene .
    “That’s right.”
    “Where’re the bodies?”
    “Up the hall. I know we fucked up the scene in the elevator, Detective, but there was so much smoke, we didn’t know what was going on. We had to clear it.”
    She told him that was all right. Checking on the conditions of victims is the first priority. Besides, nothing contaminates a crime scene like fire. A few emergency worker footprints would make little difference.
    “How’d it work?” she asked the ESU officer.
    “We aren’t sure. The building supervisor said the car stopped just above the ground floor. Then smoke started. And the screams. By the time they got the car down to the main floor and the door opened, it was all over.”
    Sachs shivered at the thought. The molten metal disks were bad enough, but, being claustrophobic, she was even