There was another prisoner in the cell, which the guard hadn’t known about. It didn’t make sense for him to be here. There was a second empty cell that the man should have been put into. The new prisoner was sitting off to the side, staring ahead blankly. The gaze made the guard feel uneasy. The eyes told you everything about the people here, much more than the crap they said.

And what was with Shales? He was lying on his side on the bench, back to the door. He wasn’t moving.

The guard punched in the code and with a buzz the door opened.

“Hey, Shales?”

No movement.

The second prisoner continued to stare at the wall. Scary fucker, the guard thought, and he was a man who didn’t use that phrase lightly.

“Shales?” The guard stepped closer.

Suddenly the flier stirred and sat up. He turned slowly. The guard saw that Shales was holding his hands to his eyes. He’d been crying.

No shame in that. Happened here all the time.

Shales wiped his face.

“On your feet, Shales. Got some news I think you’re gonna like.”

Chapter 83

CHAPTER 83

AT HIS DESK SHREVE METZGER HEARD the siren but thought nothing of it.

This was, after all, Manhattan. You always heard sirens. The same way you heard shouts, horns, the occasional scream, the caw of seagulls. Backfires…Well, staccato reports that were probably backfires.

Just the background tapestry of the city.

He hardly paid any mind, especially now, when he was trying to put out the raging forest fire that the Robert Moreno task order had become.

The chaos swirled around him, the tornado of flame: Barry Shales and the goddamn whistleblower and that bitch of a prosecutor and the people inside and outside the government who had put together the Special Task Order program.

Soon there’d be more tinder adding to the smolder: the press.

Then of course, hovering over it all, was the Wizard.

He wondered what the “budget conference” was deciding right at the moment.

Metzger realized the sirens had stopped.

And they’d stopped right outside his office.

He rose and looked down. At the gated parking lot, where the Ground Control Station sat.

All over with…

It sure was.

One unmarked car punctuated with flashing blue lights, one NYPD squad car, one van—maybe SWAT. The doors were open. The police were nowhere to be seen.

Shreve Metzger knew where they were, though. No doubt of that, of course.

A detail that was confirmed a moment later when the guard from downstairs called him on the security line and asked in an uncertain voice, “Director?” He cleared his throat and continued, “There are some police officers here to see you.”

Chapter 84

CHAPTER 84

LINCOLN RHYME COULD TELL THAT SHREVE METZGER, looking the criminalist up and down, was surprised to see him.