The Kill Room

with, Metzger decided that was punishment enough. The Smoke within him faded.
    A good sign, Dr. Fischer?
    Probably it was. But would the serenity last? Maybe, maybe not. Why did all the important battles have to be lifetime battles? Weight, anger, love…
    He flashed an ID at a couple of local uniforms and ducked under the tape, walking toward Lincoln Rhyme and Amelia Sachs.
    He greeted them and then learned his administrations director’s motive for leaking the STO. The sin arose not from conscience or ideology or money. But simply because he was passed over for the job of head of NIOS.
    Metzger was stunned. For one thing, Boston was totally wrong for the senior job. For all his scrawny physique and bland eyes, Metzger was a killer. Whatever makes your own personal Smoke go away defines you.
    Spencer Boston, on the other hand, was a diligent and meticulous national security professional, an organizer, a player, a dealer, a man who got things done in the hazy streets of Managua or Rio. Who didn’t own a gun and wouldn’t know how to use one—or have the guts to do so.
    What on earth would he do with an organization like NIOS, whose sole purpose was to end lives?
    But ambition doesn’t grow from logic, Metzger knew.
    He now nodded a tepid farewell to Rhyme and Sachs. He’d hoped to confront Spencer Boston but Sachs had explained that the administrations director had gone to be with his wife and children in Larchmont. He hadn’t been officially arrested yet. There was still considerable debate as to what crime, if any, he’d committed. The charges would be federal, not state, however, so the NYPD’s involvement was marginal.
    Nothing more to do here.
    Spencer, how could you…
    He turned abruptly toward his car.
    And nearly walked smack into stocky Assistant District Attorney Nance Laurel.
    They both froze, inches away from each other.
    He was silent. She said, “You were lucky this time.”
    “And what exactly does that mean?”
    “Moreno’s renunciation of his citizenship. That’s why the case got dropped. The only reason.”
    Shreve Metzger wondered if she held everyone’s eyes so steadily. Probably. Everyone except lovers’, he suspected. In this they were the same. And he wondered where on earth that thought had come from.
    She continued, “How did you manage to pull it off?”
    “What?”
    “Did Moreno really renounce? Were those documents from the embassy in Costa Rica legitimate?”
    “Are you accusing me of obstruction?”
    “You’re guilty of obstruction,” she said. “That’s a given. We’re choosing not to pursue those charges. I just want to know specifically about the renunciation documents.”
    Meaning calls had been made from Washington to Albany dictating that obstruction charges not be brought. Metzger wondered if this was a farewell present from the Wizard. Probably not. A case like that would look bad for everybody.
    “I don’t really have anything more to say on that topic, Counselor. Take it up with State.”
    “Who’s al-Barani Rashid?”
    So she had at least two entries in the STO queue—Moreno’s and Rashid’s.
    “I can’t discuss NIOS operations with you. You don’t have a clearance.”
    “Is he dead?”
    Metzger said nothing. He kept his hazel eyes locked easily on hers.
    Laurel pressed ahead, “You’re positive Rashid is guilty?”
    The Smoke boiled and cracked his skin like an eggshell. He whispered harshly, “Walker used me, he used NIOS.”
    “You let yourself be used. You heard what you wanted to about Moreno and stopped asking questions.”
    Smoke, plumes and plumes of Smoke now. “What’s wrong, Counselor? Upset that all you ended up with was a run-of-the-mill homicide? A CEO at a defense contractor orders a couple of hits? Boring. Won’t make CNN the way a federal security director’s going to jail would.”
    She didn’t rise to the argument. “And Rashid? No mistakes there, you’re convinced?”
    Metzger couldn’t help but recall that Barry Shales—and he—had nearly blown two children to oblivion in Reynosa, Mexico.
    CD: Not approved…
    An urge to strike Laurel swelled. Or to lash out with cruel words about her short stature, wide hips, excessive makeup, her parents’ bankruptcy, her failed love life—a deduction but surely accurate. Metzger’s anger had inflicted only a half dozen bruises or welts over the years; his words had hurt legions. The Smoke did that. The Smoke made you inhuman.
    Just leave.
    He turned.
    Laurel said