“No,” the criminalist said adamantly. “We have to leave them where they are.”

“Prioritizing the variables,” Perkins said, “I think the answer’s pretty clear. Move them.”

But Rhyme said, “He’ll come after them wherever they are, a new safe house or the existing one. We know the turf there, we know something about his approach. We’ve got good ambush coverage.”

“That’s a good point,” Sellitto conceded.

“It’ll also throw him off stride.”

“How so?” Perkins asked.

“He’s debating right now too, you know.”

“He is?”

“Oh, you bet,” Rhyme said. “He’s trying to figure out what we’re going to do. If we decide to keep them where they are, he’ll do one thing. If we move them—which I think is what he’s guessing we’ll do—he’ll try for a transport hit. And however good security is on the road, it’s always worse than fixed premises. No, we have to keep them where they are and be prepared for the next attempt. Anticipate it and be ready to move in. The last time—”

“The last time, an agent got killed.”

Rhyme snapped back to the SAC, “If Innelman had had a backup, it would’ve gone different.”

Perkins of the perfect suit was a self-protecting bureaucrat but he was reasonable. He nodded his concession.

But am I right? Rhyme wondered.

What is the Dancer thinking? Do I really know?

Oh, I can look over a silent bedroom or filthy alleyway and read perfectly the story that turned it into a crime scene. I can see, in the Rorschach of blood pasted to carpet and tile, how close the victim came to escaping or how little chance he had and what kind of death he died. I can look at the dust the killer leaves behind and know immediately where he comes from.

I can answer who, I can answer why.

But what’s the Dancer going to do?

That I can guess at but I can’t say for certain.

A figure appeared in the doorway, one of the officers from the front door. He handed Thom an envelope and stepped back to his guard post.

“What’s that?” Rhyme eyed it carefully. He wasn’t expecting any lab reports and he was all too conscious of the Dancer’s predilection for bombs. The package was no more than a sheet of paper thick, however, and was from the FBI.

Thom opened it and read.

“It’s from PERT. They tracked down a sand expert.”

Rhyme explained to Perkins, “It’s not for this case. It’s about that agent who disappeared the other night.”

“Tony?” the SAC asked. “We haven’t had a single lead so far.”

Rhyme glanced at the report.

Substance submitted for analysis is not technically sand. It is coral rubble from reef formations and contains spicules, cross sections of marine worm tubes, gastropod shells and foraminifers. Most likely source is the northern Caribbean: Cuba, the Bahamas.

Caribbean . . . Interesting. Well, he’d have to put the evidence on hold for the time being. After the Dancer was bagged and tagged he and Sachs would get back—