The Vanished Man

themselves).
    The tune had been replaced over the years by far more efficient procedures for the evacuation of a circus tent. But if a gas bomb detonated, spreading burning liquid everywhere?
    The crowd would sprint to the exits and a thousand people would die in the crush.
    Edward Kadesky ran into the tent and saw twenty-six hundred people eagerly awaiting the opening of his show.
    His show.
    That was what he thought. The show he’d created. Kadesky had been a hawker in sideshows, a curtain bitch at second-tier theaters in third-tier cities, a payroll manager and ticket seller in sweaty regional circuses. He’d struggled for years to bring to the public shows that transcended the tawdry side of the business, the carny aspect of circuses. He’d done it once, with the Hasbro and Keller Brothers show—which Erick Weir had destroyed. Then he’d done it again with Cirque Fantastique, a world-renowned show that brought legitimacy, even prestige, to a profession that was so often disparaged by those who attended theater and opera, and ignored by those who watched E! and MTV.
    Remembering the wave of searing heat from the Hasbro tent fire in Ohio. The flecks of ash like deadly, gray snow. The howl of the flames—the astonishing noise—as his show had lumbered to its death right in front of him.
    There was one difference, though: three years ago the tent had been empty. Today thousands of men, women and children would be in the middle of the conflagration.
    Kadesky’s assistant, Katherine Tunney, a young brunette who’d risen high in the Disney theme park organization before coming to work with him, noticed his troubled gaze and instantly joined him. That wasone of Katherine’s big talents: sensing his thoughts almost telepathically. “What?” she whispered.
    He told her what he’d learned from Lincoln Rhyme and the police. Her eyes began to sweep the circus tent, just like his, looking both for the bomb and at the victims.
    “How do we handle it?” she asked tersely.
    He considered this for a moment then gave her instructions. He added, “Then you leave. Get out.”
    “But are you staying? What are—?”
    “Do it now,” he said firmly. Then squeezed her hand. In a softer voice he added, “I’ll meet you outside. It’ll be okay.”
    She wanted to embrace him, he sensed. But his glance told her no. They were in view of most of the seats here; he didn’t want anyone in the audience to think even for a moment that something was wrong. “Walk slowly. Keep smiling. We’re performers before anything else, remember.”
    Katherine nodded and went first to the lighting man and then to the bandleader to deliver Kadesky’s instructions. Finally she took up a position beside the main doorway.
    Straightening his tie and buttoning his jacket, Kadesky glanced at the orchestra, nodded. A drumroll began.
    Showtime, he thought.
    As he strode, smiling broadly, into the middle of the ring the audience began to fall silent. He stopped in the direct center of the circle and the drumroll ceased. A moment later two fingers of white illumination targeted him. Though he’d told Katherine to have the lighting man hit him with the main spots he stillgave a brief gasp, thinking for an instant that the brilliant lights were from the detonating gas bomb.
    But his smile never wavered and he recovered instantly. He lifted a cordless microphone to his lips and began to speak. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Cirque Fantastique.” Calm, pleasant, commanding. “We have a wonderful show for you today. And to begin I’m going to ask your indulgence. I’m afraid we’re going to inconvenience you a bit but I think the effort will be well worth it. We have a special performance outside the tent. I apologize. . . . We tried to get the Plaza Hotel inside here but their management wouldn’t let us. Something about the guests not agreeing.”
    A pause for the laughter.
    “So I’m going to ask you to hold on to your ticket stubs and step outside into Central Park.”
    The crowd began murmuring, wondering what the act might be.
    He smiled. “Find space anywhere nearby. If you can see the buildings on Central Park South you’ll be able to watch the act just fine.”
    Laughter and excitement now in the seats. What could he mean? Were daredevils doing high-wire acts on the skyscrapers?
    “Now, lower rows first, in an orderly manner, if you please. Use whatever exit is near you.”
    The houselights went up. He