The Watchmaker’s Hand

   Subject was white male, in jeans, sunglasses, cap, sweatshirt (possibly throwaways). Medium build.

   Turned when it appeared that Talese and bodyguard might have seen him. Unknown if another watcher took his place.

“We got it wrong, I think,” Rhyme said, angry.

“How’s that?”

“If he used C4 on the crane, he could’ve placed a device in a drone and killed Talese that way. No, the drone was about tracking Talese, not killing him. And when the Watchmaker found out we’d made the drone and he couldn’t use it anymore, he switched to human surveillance to follow the senator... Why? He knows where Talese lives, he knows where his office is...”

Silence.

“But he wouldn’t know where the meeting was this afternoon. Who Talese was meeting with. That’s

what he wanted to find out. Call him. We need to know now.”

Sellitto pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolled, then made a call.

The senator answered on the second ring.

“Detective, what’s the news?” came the irritated voice out of the speaker.

“Senator, I need to know something,” Rhyme said.

A pause.

Sellitto said, “You’re on with Lincoln Rhyme.”

“Oh.” Irritation had given way to reserved admiration.

That again...

“You were on your way to a meeting today and you noticed someone was following. What was the meeting about? Who was there?”

The hesitation ended with the cautious words “There’s a national security component here.”

“I don’t need state secrets. I just need to know who was at the goddamn meeting.”

An exhalation of surprise, probably at Rhyme’s sharp tone. “I was just saying, Mr. Rhyme, that I can’t.”

“The perp isn’t targeting you. He’s after the person or persons you were going to meet. He was using you to find them.”

“Oh, Jesus. I didn’t know... I was meeting with the president.”

“I assume of the United States.”

“That’s right.”

Sellitto said, “Okay, it’s all making sense. There’s some radical outfit, in Philly, that made up the Kommunalka Project. Which wants the city to do something it can’t — transfer that property because it’s toxic.

“That gives them the excuse to sabotage the cranes. The first two were just for show. The last one’s all that really mattered: blocking the Holland Tunnel. The president’s got to use an alternative route the Secret Service doesn’t have time to clear. And Hale’s planted bombs along them. Fuck, maybe that’s what Eddie Tarr’s in town for!”

Mel Cooper said, “Boyd, you know how unpopular he is. There’ve been threats... Something about an infrastructure bill he’s trying to push through Congress. The Secret Service’s already stopped three or four plans to assassinate him.”

Rhyme was hardly aware of the conversations unfolding as Sellitto called the Secret Service and Cooper got in touch with the Visitor Security Division of the NYPD, a name that sounded like a public relations office for touring Boy Scouts, but in fact coordinated protection for domestic and foreign officials.

Holding the phone away from his ear, Sellitto said to Rhyme, “A decoy motorcade’s going to LaGuardia. The real one’s going to the helipad by the U.N. Damn, that’s why he had Gilligan steal the diagrams and maps from DSE — all the tunnels and foundations. He’s going to plant under the route.”

The criminalist’s eyes were on the whiteboard on which were taped the very stolen documents Sellitto was talking about.

“Linc, you with me?” Sellitto was brandishing the phone like a pistol.

“Hm.” Eyes on the charts.

The detective held up his phone. “Linc! The Secret Service knows you understand Hale. And you know the city... The motorcade’s in motion. Where do you think it’s safe for them to go?”

“Lon, please. If you don’t mind? Could you move a little to the left? I can’t see the board.”

61

The calls he was listening to on the police scanner were in shorthand, but there was no doubt about their meanings.

The translation was assisted by the urgency in the voices.

Priority Deliv... Traveler One... Need a corridor west from Avenue A, and Eight to special loc at Port Authority. CC sending texts. EOTD, for route. Clear intersections, sweep shooting sites. Report to unit commanders...

EOTD...

Encryption of the day.

Charles Hale wondered if the authorities thought the new route for the presidential motorcade would actually be safe.

Or were they jittery and nervous and sweaty, wondering if they’d been double-bluffed again?

After all, they were responsible for the life of the most powerful man in the world.

Dozens of voices called in, some zipping to other frequencies...