The Cold Moon

cheerily on a recorded harpsichord, echoing in the cavernous entryway.
    ’Tis the season . . .
    Hale left the black bag at the coat check, though he kept his coat and hat. The clerk looked inside the bag, noted the four art books, then zipped it back up and told Hale to have a nice day. He took the claim check and paid admission. He nodded a smile at the guards at the entrance and walked past them into the museum itself.

    “The Delphic Mechanism?” Rhyme was talking to the director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art via speakerphone. “It’s still on display there?”
    “Yes, Detective,” the man replied uncertainly. “We’ve had it here for two weeks. It’s part of a multicity tour—”
    “Fine, fine, fine. Is it guarded?”
    “Yes, of course. I—”
    “There’s a possibility that a thief’s trying to steal it.”
    “Steal it? Are you sure? It’s a one-of-a-kind objet. Whoever took possession could never show it in public.”
    “He doesn’t intend to sell it,” Rhyme said. “I think he wants it for himself.”
    The criminalist explained: The package stolen from the delivery service in the building on Thirty-second Street was from a wealthy patron of the arts and was destined for the Metropolitan Museum. It contained a large portfolio of some antiques being offered to the museum’s furniture collection.
    The Metropolitan Museum? Rhyme had wondered. He’d then recalled the museum programs found in the church. He’d asked Vincent Reynolds and the clock dealer, Victor Hallerstein, if Duncan had mentioned anything about the Met. He had, apparently—spending considerable time there—and he’d expressed particular interest in the Delphic Mechanism.
    Rhyme now told the director, “We think he may have stolen the package to smuggle something into the museum. Maybe tools, maybe software to disable alarms. We don’t know. I can’t figure it out at this point. But I think we have to be cautious.”
    “My God . . . All right. What do we do?”
    Rhyme looked up at Cooper, who typed on his keyboard and gave a thumbs-up. Into the microphone the criminalist said, “We’ve just emailed you his picture. Could you print it out and get a copy to all the employees, the security surveillance room and the coat check? See if they recognize him.”
    “I’ll do it right now. Can you hold for a few minutes?”
    “Sure.”
    Soon the director came on the line. “Detective Rhyme?” His voice was breathless. “He’s here! He checked a bag about ten minutes ago. The clerk recognized the picture.”
    “The bag’s still there?”
    “Yes. He hasn’t left.”
    Rhyme nodded at Sellitto, who picked up the phone and called Bo Haumann at ESU, whose teams were on their way to the museum, and told him this latest news.
    “The guard at the Mechanism,” Rhyme asked, “is he armed?”
    “No. Do you think the thief is? We don’t have metal detectors at the entrance. He could’ve brought a gun in.”
    “It’s possible.” Rhyme looked at Sellitto with a lifted eyebrow.
    The detective asked, “Move a team in slow? Undercover?”
    “He checked a bag . . . and he knows clocks.” He asked the museum director, “Did anybody look in the bag?”
    “I’ll check. Hold on.” A moment later he came back. “Books. He has art books inside. But the coat-check clerk didn’t examine them.”
    “Bomb for diversion?” Sellitto asked.
    “Could be. Maybe it’s only smoke but even then people’ll panic. Could be fatalities either way.”
    Haumann called in on his radio. His crackling voice: “Okay, we’ve got teams approaching all the entrances, public and service.”
    Rhyme asked Dance, “You’re convinced he’s willing to take lives.”
    “Yes.”
    He was considering the man’s astonishing plot-making skills. Was there some other deadly plan he’d put into play if he realized he was about to be arrested at the museum? Rhyme made a decision. “Evacuate.”
    Sellitto asked, “The entire museum?”
    “I think we have to. First priority—save lives. Clear the coatroom and front lobby and then move everybody else out. Have Haumann’s men check out everybody who leaves. Make sure the teams have his picture.”
    The museum director had heard. “You think that’s necessary?”
    “Yes. Do it now.”
    “Okay, but I just don’t see how anyone could steal it,” the director said. “The Mechanism’s behind inch-thick bullet-proof glass. And the case can’t be opened until the day the exhibit