“Recovering. And oh, let’s put some more resources into finding the guy without the nose who was at the Matchmaker’s. He might be more important to all of this than we’ve been thinking. Maybe we don’t have the Matchmaker in custody after all.”

++++

Blake was on his way back to the greenhouse when he got the call.

Before he’d left the novelist’s house, he’d told him, “I have people who specialize in taking care of situations like this, like the one you have here with this dead woman. I’ll have them come by.”

“Why are you helping me?” Sabian had asked him. “What do you want from me?”

“I want nothing from you. But her body, if it is discovered—and the way you’re treating things, that’s simply a matter of time—could eventually lead back to me. We will both benefit if the situation is satisfactorily resolved. Other than that, we have nothing more to discuss.”

Now, on the phone, he heard from Ibrahim.

“The canisters are here,” the Syrian told him.

“Have the chemicals been mixed?”

“Reese was adamant that we not prepare the Tranadyl until the plane landed.”

“I understand. Do it now. Then spray the mannequins down. They should be ready to ship five hours after that. Take all the necessary precautions. Hazmat suits. Use it all. Whatever you need.”

A slight pause. “I thought that what we’re using is inert on its own. It’s only when you snort or shoot up Selzucaine that’s been tainted with it, that it—”

“Better to be safe in this instance than put anything—or anyone—at risk.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. And then we will make a statement that will not soon be forgotten.”

“That’s right.” Blake slipped into the role he was playing of the terrorist mastermind, Fayed Raabi’ah Bashir. “That’s exactly right. One about depravity and holiness.”

“Yes.”

“Allahu Akbar,” Blake said theatrically.

“Allahu Akbar,” Ibrahim replied with genuine fanatical fervor.

From what Blake could tell, Ibrahim still believed he would be around to see the results of the shipments going out. And that naiveté played in Blake’s favor.

After the call, he thought through the route his silent ladies would take after they left the greenhouse: boarding the two semis and, from there, embarking to cities all along the Eastern Seaboard.

By tomorrow at this time, the product would be on the streets and people around the world would once again fear the name of Fayed Raabi’ah Bashir.

++++

Hospitals in New York City faced the difficult task of providing enough parking for staff and patients while also keeping out people who were simply looking for a convenient place to park.

Today, the underground garage was about three-quarters full.

I heard from Ralph that the team had pinpointed a location for Julianne Springman in the area I’d suggested.