The Stone Monkey

skidded into a row of parked vehicles with a huge bang.
    “Kwan Ang,” came an electronic shout from a bullhorn or vehicle loudspeaker, a different voice this time. “This is the FBI. Put down—”
    He shut up the agent by firing twice more in his direction and climbed into the Blazer. The Uighurs climbed into the back. “Kashgari! He is inside,” Yusuf cried and nodded toward the Wus’ apartment, where the third Turk waited.
    “He’s dead or captured,” the Ghost snapped. “Understand? We’re not waiting.”
    Yusuf nodded. But just as the Ghost turned the key and started the engine he noticed a police officer step from a line of cars, motioning bystanders to get back and take cover. He lifted his pistol, aimed toward the front of the four-by-four.
    “Get down!” the Ghost cried as the officer fired repeatedly. The three men ducked, expecting the windshield to shatter.
    But instead they heard loud ring after loud ring as the bullets struck the front of the vehicle. Eight or nine of them. Finally there was a huge clanging as fan blades were knocked out of alignment and jammed into other parts of the engine, which gave a huge squeal, steam pouring from the pierced radiator. Finally it went silent.
    “Out!” the Ghost ordered, jumping out and firing several shots at the officer to drive him under cover behind a row of cars.
    The three men crouched on the sidewalk. For a moment there was a lull. The police and agents were holdingtheir fire, probably waiting for the arrival of the backup officers—more emergency cars, sirens howling, were racing down Canal Street toward them right now.
    “Drop your weapons and stand up,” the staticky voice called through the loudspeaker again. “Kwan, drop your weapons!”
    “We give up?” asked Hajip, his eyes huge with fear.
    The Ghost ignored him and wiped his sweating hand on his slacks, then slipped another clip of ammunition into his Model 51. He looked behind him. “This way!” He rose and fired several times toward the officers then ran into the fish market behind them. Several patrons and clerks were cowering behind bins of fish and eels, racks of food, freezer cases. The Ghost and the two Turks ran to the back alleyway, where they found an old man standing beside a delivery truck. Seeing the guns and the masks, the man dropped to his knees and lifted his arms. He began wailing, “Don’t harm me! Please! I have a family . . . . ” His voice trailed off into sobbing.
    “Inside,” the Ghost shouted to the Turks. They leapt in the truck. The snakehead looked behind them through the doorway and could see several officers cautiously approaching the store. He turned and fired several shots in their direction. They scattered for cover.
    The Ghost then spun back and froze. The old man had grabbed a long filleting knife and had taken a step forward. He stopped and blinked in terror. The Ghost lowered his pistol to the old man’s age-spotted forehead. The knife fell to the wet cobblestones at his feet. He closed his eyes.
    •   •   •
    Five minutes later Amelia Sachs arrived at the scene. She ran toward the Wus’ apartment, her pistol in her hand.
    “What happened?” she called to an officer standing beside a shot-up car. “What the hell happened?”
    But the young cop was badly shaken and just glanced at her, numb.
    She continued down the street and found Fred Dellray crouched over an officer who’d been shot in the arm, holding an improvised bandage on the man’s wound. Medics ran up and took over.
    Dellray was furious. “This is bad, Amelia. We were an inch away from him. A half inch.”
    “Where is he?” she asked, holstering the Glock.
    “Stole a delivery van from that fish market ’cross the street. We got ever-body in town with a badge looking for it.”
    Sachs closed her eyes in dismay. All of Rhyme’s brilliant deductions—and the superhuman efforts to put together a takedown team in time had been wasted.
    What Rhyme, frustrated by the lack of leads, had noticed on the evidence chart was the reference to the injured immigrant’s blood. The number Sachs had found for him was that of the Medical Examiner’s office. He realized the lab had never called back with results of the tests. Rhyme had bullied a forensic pathologist into quickly completing the analysis.
    The doctor had found several helpful things: the presence of bone marrow in the blood, indicating a severe bone fracture; sepsis, suggesting a deep cut or abrasion,