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Apart from his derisive attitude toward the aliens, however, he had a troubling personal stake in collaring the Ghost. Several years ago Coe had been stationed in Taipei, the capital of Taiwan, running undercover agents in mainland China, trying to identify major snakeheads. During an investigation of the Ghost, one of his informants, a woman, had disappeared and presumably been killed. Later it was learned that the woman had two young children but had so desperately needed money that she was willing to snitch on the Ghost--the INS never would have used her as an informant if they'd known that she had children. Coe was reprimanded--suspended for six months. He'd become obsessed with collaring the Ghost.
But to be a good cop you've got to tuck those personal feelings away. Detachment is absolutely necessary. This was a variation on Rhyme's rule about giving up the dead.
Dellray said, "Listen up. Ain't in the mood t'put you kiddies in a time-out corner so juss settle down. Li stays with us for's long as Lincoln wants him. Make it happen, Coe. Call somebody at the State Department and get him a temporary visa. We all together on that?"
Coe muttered, "No, I'm not all together on that. You can't have one of them on a task force."
" 'Them'?" Dellray asked, pivoting on a very long foot. "Who exactly might 'them' be?"
"Undocumenteds."
The tall agent clicked his tongue. "Now, you know, Coe, that word's kinda like marbles in a blender to me. Doesn't sound respectful. Doesn't sound nice. Specially the way you say it."
"Well, as you folks from the bureau've made clear all along, this isn't really an INS case. Keep him if you want. But I'm not taking any heat for it."
"You make good decision," Sonny Li said to Rhyme. "I help lo
ts, Loaban." Li walked over to the table and picked up the gun he'd been carrying.
"Nup, nup, nup," Dellray said. "Get your hands offa that."
"Hey, I a cop. Like you."
"No, you ain't a cop like me or any-single-solitary soul else here. No guns."
"Okay, okay. Keep gun for now, Heise."
"What's that?" Dellray snapped. "Heise?"
"Means black. Hey, hey, don't get offense. Nothing bad, nothing bad."
"Well, can it."
"Sure, I can it. Sure."
"Welcome on board, Sonny," Rhyme said. Then glanced at the clock. It was just noon. Six hours had passed since the Ghost began his relentless pursuit of the immigrants. He could be closing in on the poor families even now. "Okay, let's start on the evidence."
"Sure, sure," Li said, suddenly distracted. "But I need cigarette first. Come on, Loaban. You let me?"
"All right," Rhyme snapped. "But outside. And for Christ's sake, somebody go with him."
Chapter Fourteen
Wu Qichen wiped the sweat off his wife's forehead.
Shivering, burning with fever, soaking with sweat, she lay on a mattress in the bedroom of their tiny apartment.
The basement rooms were down an alley off Canal Street in the heart of Chinatown. They'd been provided by the broker that Jimmy Mah had sent them to--a robber, Wu had thought angrily. The rent was ridiculous, as was the fee the slimy man had demanded. The apartment stank, the place was virtually unfurnished and roaches roamed the floor boldly--even now, in the diffuse noon light bleeding in through the greasy windows.
He studied his wife with concern. The raging headache Yong-Ping had suffered on board the Dragon, the lethargy, the chills and sweats, which he'd believed were seasickness, had persisted even after they'd landed. She was afflicted with something else.
His wife opened her fever-glazed eyes. "If I die . . . " she whispered.
"You won't die," her husband said.
But Wu wasn't sure that he believed his own words. He remembered Dr. John Sung in the hold of the Dragon and wished he'd asked the man's opinion on his wife's condition; the doctor had treated several of the immigrants for various maladies but Wu had been afraid that he'd charge him money to examine Yong-Ping.
"Sleep," Wu said sternly. "You need rest. You'll be fine if you rest. Why won't you do that?"
