The Stone Monkey

practice operations with Delta Force and the Navy Seals—and usually won. Rhyme was glad to hear that Dellray was beefing up their side. From what they now knew about the Ghost, their present resources were inadequate. Dellray, for instance, was the only FBI agent assigned full-time to the Ghost case and Peabody was only mid-level INS.
    “Gonna be tough to get ever-body on board down at the Federal Building,” the agent said, “but I’ll make sure it happens.”
    Coe’s phone rang. He listened for a few moments, nodding his head. After he hung up he said, “That was INS Detention in Midtown—about that undocumented, John Sung. He was just released on bond by one of our hearing officers.” Coe raised an eyebrow. “Everybody who’s caught coming ashore tries for asylum—it’s standard procedure. But it looks like Sung may just get it. He’s a pretty well-known dissident in China.”
    “Where is he now?” Sachs asked.
    “With the lawyer he was assigned from the Human Rights Law Center downtown. He’s going to set Sung up at some apartment off Canal Street. I’ve got the address. He’ll be there in a half hour. I’ll go interview him.”
    “I’d rather go,” Sachs said quickly.
    “You?” Coe said. “You’re Crime Scene.”
    “He trusts me.”
    “Trusts you? Why?”
    “I saved his life. More or less.”
    “This is still an INS case,” the young agent said adamantly.
    “Exactly,” Sachs pointed out. “How much do you think he’s going to open up with a federal agent.”
    Dellray intervened. “Let Aye -melia do it.”
    Coe reluctantly handed her the address. She showed it to Sellitto. “We should have an RMP baby-sit outside his place.” Meaning a Remote Mobile Patrol—coptalk for squad car. “If the Ghost finds out Sung’s still alive he’ll be a target too.”
    The detective jotted the address down. “Sure. I’ll do it now.”
    “Okay, everybody, what’s the theme of the investigation?” Rhyme called out.
    “Search well but watch your backs,” Sachs responded with a laugh.
    “Keep that in mind. We don’t know where the Ghost is, we don’t know where—or who—his bangshou is.”
    Then his attention faded. He was vaguely aware of Sachs’s grabbing her purse and starting to the door, just as he was aware of Coe’s disgruntled sigh at his limited jurisdiction, Dellray’s pacing and fashionable Eddie Deng’s amusement at their running the case from this oddballcommand post. But these impressions were fading from his thoughts as his quick eyes made the circuit of the evidence culled from the crime scenes. He gazed at these items intently, as if imploring the inanimate evidence assembled before him to come to life, give up whatever secrets it might hold and guide them to the killer and the unfortunate prey that the snakehead was hunting.

GHOSTKILL
----
    Easton, Long Island, Crime Scene
    • Two immigrants killed on beach; shot in back.
    • One immigrant wounded—Dr. John Sung. One missing.
    • “Bangshou” (assistant) on board; identity unknown.
    • Ten immigrants escape: seven adults (one elderly, one injured woman), two children, one infant. Steal church van.
    • Blood samples sent to lab for typing.
    • Vehicle awaiting Ghost on beach left without him. One shot believed fired by Ghost at vehicle. Request for vehicle make and model sent out, based on tread marks and wheelbase.
    • No vehicles to pick up immigrants located.
    • Cell phone, presumably Ghost’s, sent for analysis to FBI.
    • Ghost’s weapon is 7.62mm pistol. Unusual casing.
    • Ghost is reported to have gov’t people on payroll.
    • Ghost stole red Honda sedan to escape. Vehicle locator request sent out.
    • Three bodies recovered at sea—two shot, one drowned. Photos and prints to Rhyme and Chinese police.
    • Fingerprints sent to AFIS.
    Stolen Van, Chinatown
    • Camouflaged by immigrants with “The Home Store” logo.
    • Blood spatter suggests injured woman has hand, arm or shoulder injury.
    • Blood samples sent to lab for typing.
    • Fingerprints sent to AFIS.

Chapter Eleven
    The Ghost waited for the three men in decadent surroundings.
    Showered and dressed in clean, unobtrusive clothes, he sat on the leather couch and looked over New York Harbor from the vantage point of his eighteenth-floor apartment that was his main safehouse in New York. It was in a fancy high-rise near Battery Park City, in the southwest corner of Manhattan, not far from Chinatown but