Can’t tell which way the wind is blowing.

He blew on the coffee—Smoke exhaling, he imagined.

Let it go.

He began checking emails, extracted from the rabbit hole of encryption. One was troubling: Some disturbing news about the Moreno investigation, a setback. Curiously this just exhausted him, didn’t infuriate.

A knock on the jamb. Spencer Boston entered and sat.

“What’ve you got on our whistleblower?” Metzger asked without a greeting.

“Looks like the first round of polygraphs is negative. That was people actually signing off on or reviewing the STO. There are still hundreds who might’ve slipped into an office somewhere and gotten their hands on a copy.”

“So all the senior people in the command are clear?”

“Right. Here and at the centers.”

NIOS had three UAV command centers: Pendleton in California, Fort Hood in Texas and Homestead in Florida. They all would have received a copy of the Moreno STO, even though the UAV launched from Homestead.

“Oh,” Boston said. “I passed too, by the way.”

Metzger gave a smile. “Didn’t occur to me.” It truthfully hadn’t.

“What’s good for the asset is good for the agent.”

Metzger asked, “And Washington?”

At least a dozen people down in the nation’s capital knew about the STO. Including, of course, key members of the White House staff.

“That’s harder. They’re resisting.” Boston asked, “Where are they now in the investigation, the cops?”

Metzger felt the Smoke arising. “Apparently that Rhyme managed to get down to the Bahamas after all.” He nodded at his phone where certain emails used to reside. “The fucking sand didn’t deter him as much as we’d hoped.”

“What?” Boston’s eyes, normally shaded by sagging lids, grew wide.

Metzger said judiciously, “There was an accident, it seems. But it didn’t stop him.”

“An accident?” Boston asked, looking at him closely.

“That’s right, Spencer, an accident. And he’s back here, going gangbusters. That woman too.”

“The prosecutor?”

“Well, yes, her. But I meant that Detective Sachs. She’s unstoppable.”

“Jesus.”

Though his present plans would, in fact, stop her quite efficiently.

Laurel too.

Well, yes, her…

Boston’s concern was evident and the display angered Metzger. He said dismissingly, “I can’t imagine Rhyme found anything. The crime scene was a week old, and how competent could the police down there be?”

The memory of the coffee vendor came back, immediate and stark. Instead of ramming the stand, Metzger had thought about pouring hot coffee on himself and calling the police, saying the vendor did it and having him arrested.

The Smoke made you unreasonable.

Boston intruded on the memory. “Do you think you ought to give anybody else a heads-up?”

Heads-up. Metzger hated that expression. When you analyze it, the phrase could only mean that you should glance up in time to say a prayer before something large crushed you to death. A better expression would be “eyes-forward.”