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"I'm open-water certified--PADI." Meaning she had been trained in scuba diving by the Professional Association of Diving Instructors. Rhyme knew that she and her former boyfriend Nick had taken the course together and gone on a number of dives. Not surprisingly, though, speed-lover Sachs had found cigarette boats and Jet Skiing more to her liking.
"But you haven't been diving for years, Sachs," he pointed out.
"Like riding a bike."
"Miss . . ."
"That'd be Officer Sachs, Captain," she said.
"Officer, there's a big difference between recreational dives and what it's like down there today. My people've been diving for years and I wouldn't feel real comfortable sending them into an unstable wreck under these conditions."
"Sachs," Rhyme said, "you can't. You're not trained for that."
"There're a million things they'd miss. You know that. They'd be the same as civilians. All respect, Captain."
"Understood, Officer. But my vote is it's too risky."
Sachs paused and then said, "Captain, you have children?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You have a family?"
"Well," he said, "yes, I do."
"This perp we're after is the man who sank that ship and killed most of the people inside. And right now he's trying to kill some immigrants who escaped--a family with two children and a baby. I'm not going to let that happen. There may be some evidence inside that ship that could tell us where he is. My expertise is finding clues--under all conditions."
Sellitto said, "Use our divers." Both the NYPD and the city's fire department had experienced scuba divers.
"They're not Crime Scene," Sachs argued. "They're just S and R too." She looked at Rhyme, who hesitated for a long moment. But then nodded, indicating that, yes, he'd back her up.
"Will you help us out here, Captain?" Rhyme asked. "She needs to be the one who goes down."
Through the wind the captain said, "Okay, Officer. But tell you what, we'll set the chopper down at the Hudson River helipad. That'll save some time. It's closer than Battery Park. You know it?"
"Sure," she said. Then added, "One thing, though, Captain?"
"Yes'm?"
"On a lot of those dives I did in the Caribbean?"
"Right."
"Afterward, when we were sailing home, the crew made rum punch for everybody--it was included in the cost of the dive. You have anything like that on Coast Guard cutters?"
"You know, Officer, I think we may be able to rustle something up for you."
"I'll be at the pad in fifteen minutes."
They hung up and Sachs glanced at Rhyme. "I'll call you with what I find."
There was so much he wanted to say to her and yet so little he was able to. He settled for "Search well--"
"--but watch my back."
She stroked his right hand--the one whose fingers couldn't feel any sensation whatsoever. Not yet, at any rate. Maybe after the surgery.
He glanced at the ceiling, toward his bedroom, where the god of detectives, Guan Di, presently sat with his evaporating cup of sweet wine. But Lincoln Rhyme, of course, restrained himself from sending a prayer to a folk deity wishing Sachs a safe journey and sent that message directly--though tacitly--to her.
