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Metzger was astonished to see that the man's pleasant suburban house, where he'd had dinner two weeks ago, looked like some of the battlefield locales he remembered from Iraq, except for the lush grass and the Lexuses and Mercs parked on the street nearby. Trees smoldered and smoke dribbled skyward from Boston's windows. The smell would be in the walls for years, even after painting. And forget the furniture and clothing.
Metzger's own brand of Smoke filled him. He thought again for the hundredth time that day: How could you have done this, Spencer?
As with anybody who had affronted him--from rude coffee vendor to someone like this traitor--Metzger felt a mousetrap snap, a nearly overwhelming urge to grab them, shatter their bones, scream, draw blood. Utterly destroy.
But then, thinking that Boston's life as he'd lived it would be over with, Metzger decided that was punishment enough. The Smoke within him faded.
A good sign, Dr. Fischer?
Probably it was. But would the serenity last? Maybe, maybe not. Why did all the important battles have to be lifetime battles? Weight, anger, love...
He flashed an ID at a couple of local uniforms and ducked under the tape, walking toward Lincoln Rhyme and Amelia Sachs.
He greeted them and then learned his administrations director's motive for leaking the STO. The sin arose not from conscience or ideology or money. But simply because he was passed over for the job of head of NIOS.
Metzger was stunned. For one thing, Boston was totally wrong for the senior job. For all his scrawny physique and bland eyes, Metzger was a killer. Whatever makes your own personal Smoke go away defines you.
Spencer Boston, on the other hand, was a diligent and meticulous national security professional, an organizer, a player, a dealer, a man who got things done in the hazy streets of Managua or Rio. Who didn't own a gun and wouldn't know how to use one--or have the guts to do so.
What on earth would he do with an organization like NIOS, whose sole purpose was to end lives?
But ambition doesn't grow from logic, Metzger knew.
He now nodded a tepid farewell to Rhyme and Sachs. He'd hoped to confront Spencer Boston but Sachs had explained that the administrations director had gone to be with his wife and children in Larchmont. He hadn't been officially arrested yet. There was still considerable debate as to what crime, if any, he'd committed. The charges would be federal, not state, however, so the NYPD's involvement was marginal.
Nothing more to do here.
Spencer, how could you...
He turned abruptly toward his car.
And nearly walked smack into stocky Assistant District Attorney Nance Laurel.
They both froze, inches away from each other.
He was silent. She said, "You were lucky this time."
"And what exactly does that mean?"
"Moreno's renunciation of his citizenship. That's why the case got dropped. The only reason."
Shreve Metzger wondered if she held everyone's eyes so steadily. Probably. Everyone except lovers', he suspected. In this they were the same. And he wondered where on earth that thought had come from.
She continued, "How did you manage to pull it off?"
"What?"
"Did Moreno really renounce? Were those documents from the embassy in Costa Rica legitimate?"
"Are you accusing me of obstruction?"
"You're guilty of obstruction," she said. "That's a given. We're choosing not to pursue those charges. I just want to know specifically about the renunciation documents."
Meaning calls had been made from Washington to A
lbany dictating that obstruction charges not be brought. Metzger wondered if this was a farewell present from the Wizard. Probably not. A case like that would look bad for everybody.
"I don't really have anything more to say on that topic, Counselor. Take it up with State."
