The Cold Moon (Lincoln Rhyme 7)

But he wasn't as determined as Amelia Sachs. She wanted to give Rhyme the Watchmaker--as a present to mark their last case together.

She changed radio frequencies and said into her stalk mike, "Detective Five Eight Eight Five to ESU One."

Bo Haumann, at a staging area a block away, came on the radio. "Go ahead, K."

"He's here. Just saw a light go on in the front room."

"Roger, B Team, you copy?"

These were the officers behind the bungalow. "B Team leader to ESU One. Roger that. We're--hold on. Okay, he's upstairs now. Just saw the light go on up there. Looks like the back bedroom."

"Don't assume he's alone," Sachs said. "There could be somebody else from Charlotte's outfit with him. Or he might've picked up another partner."

"Roger that, Detective," Haumann said in his gravelly voice. "S and S, what can you tell us?"

The Search and Surveillance teams were just getting into position on the roof of the apartment building behind and in the garden across the street from the Watchmaker's safe house, on which they were training their instruments.

"S and S One to ESU One. All the shades're drawn. Can't get a look at all. We've got heat in the back of the house. But he's not walking around. There's a light on in the attic but we can't see in--no windows, just louvers, K."

"Same here--S and S Two. No visual. Heat upstairs, nothing on the ground floor. Heard a click or two a second ago, K."

"Weapon?"

"Could be. Or maybe just appliances or the furnace, K."

The ESU officer next to Sachs deployed his officers with hand signals. He, Sachs and two others clustered at the front door, another team of four right behind them. One held the battering ram. The other three covered the windows on the ground and the second floors.

"B Team to One. We're in position. Got a ladder next to the lit room in the back, K."

"A Team, in position," another ESU officer radioed in a whisper.

"We're no-knock," Haumann told the teams. "On my count of three, flashbangs into the rooms that have the lights on. Throw 'em hard to get through the shades. On one, simultaneous dynamic entry front and back. B Team, split up, cover the ground floor and basement. A Team, go straight upstairs. Remember, this guy knows how to make IEDs. Look for devices."

"B Team, copy."

"A, copy."

Despite the freezing air Sachs's palms were sweating inside the tight Nomex gloves. She pulled the right one away and blew into it. Did the same with the left. Then she cinched up the body armor and unsnapped the cover of her spare ammo clip carrier. The other officers had machine guns but Sachs never went for that. She preferred the elegance of a single well-placed round to a spray of lead.

Sachs and the three officers on the primary entry team nodded at one another.

Haumann's raspy voice began the count. "Six . . . five . . . four . . . three . . ."

The sound of breaking glass filled the crisp air as officers flung the grenades through the windows.

Haumann, continuing calmly: "Two . . . one."

The sharp crack of the flashbangs shook the windows and bursts of white light filled the house momentarily. The burly officer with the battering ram slammed it into the front door. It crashed open without resistance and in a few seconds the officers were spreading out in the sparsely furnished house.

Flashlight in one hand, gun in the other, Sachs stayed with her team as they worked their way up the stairs.

She began hearing the voices of the other officers calling in as they cleared the basement and the rooms on the ground floor.

One upstairs bedroom was empty, the second, as well.

Then all the rooms were declared clear.

"Where the hell is he?" Sachs muttered.