The Cutting Edge (Lincoln Rhyme #14)(102)

Krueger now asked, point-blank, why he’d done it. Dobprom’s goal was the same as New World’s: to keep the diamond lode secret. Why not just let Krueger handle the matter?

Rostov tossed back his bourbon and poked a toothpick Krueger’s way. “Look, my friend. You are not offensed by my saying it, I hope: But this is big fucking deal. What happen, if you fucked up? That kimberlite, oh, is sweet. I am reading assay report. You see carats per ton?” He nodded his head out the window, presumably indicating the geothermal site in Brooklyn. He whispered reverently, “That is Botswana yield.”

Although it varied considerably, the rule in the industry was that on average a mine had to process one hundred to two hundred tons of rock to produce one carat of quality diamond. In the African nation of Botswana, the diamond concentration in ore was ten times higher. The best in the world.

The New York lode was the same.

“I am so very prosti, so very sorry, kuritsa, if you are sad. But we could not take chance. So, cheer up! Here I am come to help you. You are the Batman and I am the Robin! Pat me on back!”





Chapter 52



I’m not making this call. You never heard it. And you’re not reactin’ to it. Anyway, anyhow. Got that?”

Amelia Sachs, standing in the corner of Rhyme’s lab, was listening to the caller. Fred Dellray, special agent with the FBI’s New York office.

“Okay.”

“Is Lincoln nearby?”

The hell was this all about? she wondered.

“Yes.”

Rhyme was across the parlor, speaking with Ron Pulaski.

“Can he hear you?”

“No. Explain.”

“Okay, here’s the deal, and it ain’t so nice, Amelia. I heard through the vine, Lincoln’s under investigation. Ron too. Us. FBI, Eastern District.”

She didn’t move, felt the warmth of shock wash over her. “I see. And why would that be?”

Dellray was the bureau’s expert in undercover ops. The lanky African American was the epitome of subdued, as one would have to be when playing the role of an arms dealer offering to sell munitions to a twitchy neo-Nazi, pointing a Glock his way to aid in the negotiation process. But now, she heard dismay in his voice—a tone she’d never heard before.

“They’ve been helping the defense in the El Halcón case.”

She struggled not to utter any words of shock or disappointment. “And that’s confirmed?”

“Oh, yeah. Pretty boy Hank Bishop, prosecutor going after El Halcón, he’s got all the evidence he needs for an arrest. Both of ’em. Ron and Lincoln.”

She was stunned. “I see.”

Sachs recalled that Ron had been acting secretive lately. He’d gone off on several missions that seemed unrelated to the Unsub 47 case. And there was that visitor the other day, a man who was Hispanic in appearance. Maybe he was one of El Halcón’s aides or lawyers.

“I’m thinking he signed on because there was some funny business with the evidence. Maybe an agent or evidence tech played fast and loose, just to make sure El Halcón got put away good and long. I mean, he is a triple-A-rated shit. I can see Lincoln getting in a knot about that. But…” His voice dipped. “He didn’t go to Bishop or anyone else. He just took on the defense’s case on his own and…fuck, he’s getting paid for it. Bunch o’ money. In the K’s. Makes it look bad.”

Jesus, Rhyme. What the hell have you done?

“It’s going down soon, Amelia. They’ll be in federal detention for a time. Bail’s gonna be a problem because El Halcón’s trial’s goin’ on hot and heavy now, and Bishop doesn’t want anything to fuck up the case until after closing arguments.”

“Even…” She paused, thinking of a word. “Even given his condition?”

“Yep. Medical wing in the detention center. Thom won’t be allowed. Nurses’ll take care of him.”

She glanced toward Rhyme. She could imagine how they’d treat him.

No, this couldn’t be happening…A nightmare.

“So,” Dellray continued, “I’m telling you this but I’m not telling you this. Get a lawyer fast. It might help some. And you and Lon’ll have to take over on Unsub Forty-Seven. I gotta hang up. Good luck, Amelia.”

The line went dead.

Sachs intentionally looked away from Rhyme. Her eyes would clearly reveal how troubled she was.

“Lon?” she called.

Sellitto looked her way. She nodded to the front hall, and he followed her out there.

“What’s up?”

She sighed, took a breath and in a low voice told him about Dellray’s call—that is, the non-call.

The rumpled detective rarely displayed emotion. Now his eyes grew wide and he was momentarily speechless.

“He couldn’t. It’s a mistake.”

“With Bishop?” Sachs asked cynically. “He doesn’t make mistakes.”

“No,” Sellitto muttered. “And taking money? Jesus. I know he charges a fee for his work, but from an asshole like El Halcón? This’s gonna be bad. Even if he beats the case, that’s it for consulting for us. Probably everybody.”

Then Sellitto said, “Okay. Well. Innocent until proven guilty.”