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"Sir, with all respect. I was given the Moreno homicide to handle."
"It was your case to handle according to proper procedures. And that doesn't include bringing an interloper into the field with you."
"This was a lead. The sniper was here. I should have searched last week."
"We have to see what the--"
Poitier interjected, "Venezuelan authorities have to say."
"Do not interrupt me again, Corporal. And do not take that attitude with me."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
Rhyme said, "This is an important case, Commissioner, with implications for both our countries."
"And you, Captain Rhyme, you. Do you understand you nearly got a policeman on my force killed?"
The criminalist fell silent.
His voice flinty he added, "And yourself too. We don't need any more dead Americans in the Bahamas. We've had our share." A cool glance to his side. "You're suspended, Corporal. There will be an inquiry that may result in your termination. At the very least, you'll be reassigned back to Traffic."
Dismay flooded Poitier's face. "But--"
"And you, Captain Rhyme, you are leaving the Bahamas immediately. My officers here will escort you to the airport, along with your associates. Your belongings will be collected from your motel and given to you there. We have already called the airline. You have seats on a flight that leaves in two hours. You'll be in custody until then. And you, Corporal, you will surrender your weapon and your identification at headquarters."
"Yes, sir."
But suddenly Ron Pulaski strode forward and confronted the assistant commissioner, who was easily twice his weight and several inches taller. "No," the young patrolman said.
"I beg your pardon?"
The young officer said firmly, "We're going to spend the night at our motel. Leave in the morning."
"What?" McPherson blinked.
"We are not leaving tonight."
"That's not acceptable, Officer Pulaski."
"Lincoln nearly died. He's not getting on an airplane until he's had some rest."
"You've committed crimes--"
Pulaski unholstered his phone. "Should we call the embassy and discuss the matter with them? Of course, I'd have to mention what we're doing down here, the specific crime we're investigating."
Silence, except for the clang of the mysterious machinery in the factory behind them and the lapping of the shimmering waves.
The brass glowered. "All right," McPherson muttered. "But you take the first flight in the morning. You'll be escorted to your motel and confined to your room until then."
Rhyme said, "Thank you, Commissioner. I appreciate it. I apologize for any difficulties I've caused your force. Good luck with this case. And with the murder investigation of the American student." He looked at Poitier. "And again, I'm sorry to you too, Corporal."
Five minutes later Rhyme, Thom and Pulaski were in the Ford van, leaving the spit, with a police escort behind them to make sure they arrived--and stayed put--at their motel. The two large officers in the squad car were unsmiling and wary. Rhyme in fact didn't mind their presence; after all, the trio from the gold Mercury was still at large.
"Goddamn good job, rookie."
"Better than competent?"
"You exceeded competence."
