AllFreeNovel
Share Us
If you ignore me this time, the consequences will be far, far greater than the small incidents of yesterday and the day before, the loss of life far worse.
--R. Galt
McDaniel said, "Absurd. There'll be civil chaos, riots, looting. The governor and president are adamant. No caving in."
"Where's the letter?" Rhyme asked.
"What you're seeing there. It was an email."
"Who'd he send it to?"
"Andi Jessen--personally. And the company itself. Their security office email account."
"Traceable?"
"No. Used a proxy in Europe . . . He's going for a mass attack, it seems." McDaniel looked up. "Washington's involved now in a big way. Those senators--the ones working with the President on renewable energy--are coming to town early. They're going to meet with the mayor. The assistant director of the Bureau's coming in too. Gary Noble's coordinating everything. We've got even more agents and troops out on the streets. And the chief has mobilized a thousand more NYPD officers." He rubbed his eyes. "Lincoln, we've got the manpower and the firepower, but we need to know some idea of where to look for the next attack. What've you got? We need something concrete."
McDaniel was reminding Rhyme he'd let the criminalist take the case with the assurance that his condition wouldn't slow the investigation.
From entrance to exit . . .
Rhyme had gotten what he wanted--the investigation. And yet he hadn't found the man. In fact, the very condition that he'd assured McDaniel wasn't a problem had nearly gotten Sachs and Pulaski killed, along with a dozen ESU officers.
He gazed back to the agent's smooth face and predator's eyes and said evenly, "What I've got is more evidence to look at."
McDaniel hesitated then waved his hand in an ambiguous gesture. "All right. Go ahead."
Rhyme had already turned away to Cooper with a nod toward the digital recorder on which had been recorded the sounds of the "victim" moaning. "Audio analysis."
With gloved hands, the tech plugged the unit into his computer and typed. A moment later, reading the sine curves on the screen, he said, "The volume and signal quality suggest it was recorded from a TV program. Cable."
"Brand of the recorder?"
"Sanoya. Chinese." He typed some commands and then studied a new database. "Sold in about ten thousand stores in the country. No serial number."
"Anything more?"
"No prints on it or other trace, except more taramasalata."
"The generator?"
Cooper and Sachs went over it carefully, while Tucker McDaniel made phone calls and fidgeted in the corner. The generator turned out to be a Power Plus model, made by the Williams-Jonas Manufacturing Company, in New Jersey.
"Where'd this one come from?" Rhyme asked.
"Let's find out," Sachs said.
Two phone calls later--to the local sales office of the manufacturer and the general contractor that the company referred them to--revealed that it had been stolen from a job site in Manhattan. There were no leads in the
theft, according to the local precinct. The construction project had no security cameras.
"Got some trace that's curious," Cooper announced. He ran it through the GC/MS. The machine hummed away.
"Getting something . . ." Cooper was bending forward over the screen. "Hmm."
This would normally have drawn an acerbic "What does that mean?" glance from Rhyme. But he still felt tired and shaken from the attack. He waited patiently for the tech to explain.
Finally: "Don't think I've seen it before. A significant amount of quartz and some ammonium chloride. Ratio's about ten to one."
