The Coffin Dancer (Lincoln Rhyme 2)

"Promise?"

"Yes."

Pliers out . . . unbolt the latch . . . twist the knob.

Glock up. Apply poundage. Now!

The door flew outward.

But there was no bomb or other trap. Just the pale, blood-slicked body of John Innelman, unconscious, tumbling to her feet.

She barked a soft scream. "He's here. Need medics! He's cut bad."

Sachs bent over him. Two EMS techs and more agents ran up, Dellray with them, grim faced.

"What'd he do to you, John? Oh, man." The lanky agent stood back while the medics went to work. They cut off much of his clothing and examined the stab wounds. Innelman's eyes were half open, glazed.

"Is he . . . ?" Dellray asked.

"Alive, just barely."

The medics slapped pads on the slashes, put a tourniquet on his leg and arm, and then ran a plasma line. "Get him in the bus. We gotta move. I mean, move!"

They placed the agent on a gurney and hurried down the corridor, Dellray with him, head down, muttering to himself and squeezing his dead cigarette between his fingers.

"Could he talk?" Rhyme asked. "Any clue where the Dancer went?"

"No. He was unconscious. I don't know if they can save him. Jesus."

"Don't get rattled, Sachs. We've got a crime scene to analyze. We have to find out where the Dancer is, if he's still around. Go back to the storeroom. See if there are exterior doors or windows."

As she walked to it she asked, "How'd you know about the closet?"

"Because of the direction of the drops. He shoved Innelman inside and soaked a rag in the cop's blood. He walked to the elevator, swinging the rag. The drops were moving in different directions when they fell. So they had a teardrop appearance. And since he tried leading us to the elevator, we should look in the opposite direction for his escape route. The storeroom. Are you there?"

"Yes."

"Describe it."

"There's a window looking out on the alley. Looks like he started to open it. But it's puttied shut. No doors." She looked out the window. "I can't see any of the trooper's positions, though. I don't know what tipped him."

"You can't see any of the troopers," Rhyme said cynically. "He could. Now, walk the grid and let's see what we find."

She searched the scene carefully, walking the grid, then vacuumed for trace and carefully bagged the filters.

"What do you see? Anything?"

She shone her light on the walls and she found two mismatched blocks. A tight squeeze, but someone limber could have fit through there.

"Got his exit route, Rhyme. He went through the wall. Some loose concrete blocks."

"Don't open it. Get SWAT there."

She called several agents down to the room and they pulled the blocks out, sweeping the inner chamber with flashlights mounted on the barrels of their H&K submachine guns.

"Clear," one agent called. Sachs drew her weapon and slipped into the cool, dank space.

It was a narrow declining ramp filled with rubble, leading through a hole in the foundation. Water dripped. She was careful to step on large chunks of concrete and leave the damp earth untouched.