The Stone Monkey

asked.
    “We don’t think it’s related. But it’s going to have some implications, I’m afraid.”
    Well, get on with it, Rhyme thought and hoped his impatient glare conveyed this message.
    “Someone planted a bomb in the garage across from the federal building tonight.”
    “My God,” Mel Cooper whispered.
    “It was in Fred Dellray’s car.”
    Oh, Lord, no, thought Rhyme.
    “No!” Sachs cried.
    “A bomb?” Sellitto blurted, snapping closed his cell phone.
    “He’s okay,” the ASAC said quickly. “The main charge didn’t go off.”
    Rhyme closed his eyes. Both he and Dellray had lost people close to them thanks to explosive devices. It was, even unemotional Rhyme believed, the most insidious and cowardly way to kill someone.
    “Not hurt?” Li asked, concerned.
    “No.”
    The Chinese cop muttered something, a prayer perhaps.
    “What happened?” the criminalist asked.
    “Dynamite with a pressure switch. Dellray triggered it but only the detonator fired. Maybe the cap wasn’t seated right. They don’t know yet.”
    The ASAC said, “Our bomb unit rendered safe and handed the parts over to PERT.”
    Rhyme knew most of the agents and the techs in the bureau’s Physical Evidence Response Team and respected them. If there was anything to find he had confidence that they would. “Why don’t you think it’s related?”
    “Anonymous nine-one-one call about twenty minutes before the blast. Male voice, undetermined accent, saidthe Cherenko family was planning some retaliation for the bust last week. It said more would follow.”
    Dellray, Rhyme recalled, had just finished running a huge covert operation in Brooklyn, the home of the Russian mob. They’d nailed three international money launderers, their staffs and several supposed hitmen and had confiscated millions of dollars and rubles.
    “Origin of the call?”
    “Pay phone in Brighton Beach.”
    The largest Russian community in the area.
    “I don’t believe in coincidences,” Rhyme said. “The Ghost spent some time in Russia, remember? To pick up the immigrants.”
    He glanced at Sachs, an inquiring eyebrow raised. She answered, “The Ghost and his buddies were pretty hot to get the hell away from the scene of the Wu shooting. I can’t see them detouring down to the federal building to set up a bombing. Not to say they couldn’t have hired somebody.”
    Rhyme observed that Webley from State had said not a word since the three men arrived. He was standing, silent, arms crossed, in front of the evidence charts, staring at them.
    “How’d they plant the device?” Sellitto asked the ASAC.
    “Team of two, we think. Somebody set a van on fire in front of the parking garage. Distracted the guard. The other guy got into the garage and set it.”
    Dismayed, Rhyme suddenly understood what “implications” the ASAC had been referring to. “And Fred wants off the Ghost case, right?”
    The ASAC nodded. “The thing with his partner, you know.”
    Toby Doolittle, Rhyme recalled, the partner killed in the Oklahoma City bombing.
    “He’s already cleared the decks and’s calling in markers from his snitches in Brighton Beach.”
    Rhyme could hardly blame the agent. But he said, “We need some help, Harold. Fred was getting a SPEC-TAC team together and some more agents.” He knew too that Dellray had been arranging to have the INS’s role cut down to intelligence gathering and advising, a fact which even Rhyme—never a practitioner of diplomacy—decided it was best not to mention at the moment. “The Ghost’s network is too good. He’s too far underground. We need more people, better support.”
    The ASAC said reassuringly, “Oh, we’re downcourt with that one, Lincoln. We’ll have a new field ops agent for you in the morning and some more news about SPEC-TAC.”
    Peabody unbuttoned his suit jacket, revealing a badly sweat-stained shirt. He said, “I heard what happened with Alan Coe—at the Wus’ apartment, I mean. I’m sorry.”
    “We would’ve catch the Ghost,” Li said, “if Coe not fire shot.”
    “I know. Look, he’s a good man. I don’t have many agents as dedicated as he is. He works twice as hard as most of my people. He’s just impulsive. I try to cut him some slack. Had a tough time after that informant of his disappeared. I guess he blamed himself. After his suspension he took a leave of absence. He won’t talk about it but I heard he went overseas to find out what happened to her. On his own nickel.