The Cutting Edge (Lincoln Rhyme #14)(72)

“We’ve got a perp in town, recently, we think. My diagnosis: he’s pretty unhinged. Obsessed with diamonds. Got away with a couple million worth of rough, it’s called. Uncut stones. He murdered some innocents. Tortured, in a couple of cases.”

“Torture? What was that about?”

“Mostly to track down witnesses. But probably for his own amusement too.”

“Details?”

“Not much. Russian national, Muscovite, fluent-ish in English. White. Blue eyes. Average height and build. Fashion choice leans toward dark casual clothing—off the rack—and ski masks.”

“You’re a card, Lincoln. Why the theft? Funding terrorism? Money laundering?”

“This is the odd part. He wants to save diamonds from desecration. Our British consultant describes him as a ‘nutter.’”

“He thinking of heading back home for the Motherland’s borscht or does he have more mischief in mind?”

“Staying put, at least temporarily, we’ll assume.”

“Recently here, you said. How recent?”

“Unknown. But we’ve checked for similar MO in the databases and nothing shows up. So let’s say the past week, ten days. Though that’s a big assumption.”

“Means of dispatching people?”

“Glock, short-barrel thirty-eight and razor knife.”

“My. Any indication of military training?”

“That’d be speculation too. But he’s smart. Careful with CCTVs and evidence.”

“All right and you want to know if I can find any names of Russkies who’ve come to the U.S. in that time. Of questionable backgrounds or circumstances.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, Russian, diamonds, psycho, access to weapons. I’ll see what we can find. I’ll get the kids and the bots on it.” Rhyme heard typing. Fast as train wheels over old track.

Mulbry came back on. “Might be a while…and you might end up with quite the list. We don’t stop them at the border, those Russian folks, you know? The Cold War is over, haven’t you heard?”

Rhyme had to laugh at this.

“Now, Lincoln, as long as I have you, let me pose a question.”

Rhyme recalled what the man had said a moment ago.

More about that later…

“Hm?”

“That incident I was talking about. We wrapped up a radical cell in the suburbs of Paris. All good. But in the process our team vacuumed up some unrelated digital traffic that caught our attention. It was between Paris, Central America and New York City. That triad rings terrorist profile bells.”

Rhyme said, “Must be about a million emails a day along those routes.”

“You bet there are. But these were different. They were encrypted with duodecimal algorithms. Virtually unbreakable. Which makes us a tad nervous.”

Rhyme, who had a science background, knew the duodecimal numbering system, also called base 12 or dozenal. The binary system has two digits only, 0 and 1. The decimal has ten: 0 through 9. Duodecimal has twelve, 0 through 9 plus two extra symbols, usually ? and ?.

Mulbry continued, “The encryption package is so ‘righteous’—that’s what the geeks say—that we’re treating the software as a weapon. It’s considered munitions under the International Traffic in Arms Regulations, State Department. Since New York is one of the points of origin of the messages, I’m curious if anybody at NYPD has ever run across duodecimal encrypted emails or texts.”

“No. Never heard of it.” He looked up at Cooper. “Mel, any duodecimal encryption in cases you’ve run?”

“No.”

“Call Rodney and see if he’s heard of anything.” Back to the phone. “We’ll talk to our expert here. We’ll see.”

“Thanks. It’s got us troubled. We’re checking locations he or she or it were at when the messages were sent. Those’re hard to find too. Proxies, of course.” Another laugh. “Righteous ones.”

“I’ll let you know if we find something.”

The men said goodbye and disconnected.

Hm, interesting idea, dozenal as a basis for encryption. Though Rhyme’s background was chemistry primarily, he harbored an interest in math and he knew that a number of mathematicians believed that base twelve was far easier to learn and use in making calculations. He’d even read about a dozenal clock, in which a minute equals fifty seconds of current time. A clock reading 7:33.4? in dozenal, for instance, was 2:32.50 on a standard timepiece.

Fascinating.

But, of course, irrelevant. And Rhyme pushed the thoughts away. He hoped he could help Mulbry but Unsub 47 was his priority. His phone hummed. The number was unfamiliar.

Hoping for the caller’s sake it wasn’t a telemarketer, he answered, “Hello?”

“Mr. Rhyme? Captain Rhyme?” The accent was Spanish, and it was light.

“Yes?”

“My name is Antonio Carreras-López. I’m an attorney from Mexico. I’m in New York at the moment, and I wonder if I may have a moment of your time.”

“I’m very busy. What would this be in regard to?”

“One of my clients is presently on trial here.” The man’s voice was low and melodic. “I’d like to discuss a matter that’s come up. It involves you.”