The Burning Wire (Lincoln Rhyme 9)

The reporter was saying to the man, "Now, I understand your students have been preparing for Earth Day for the past several months."

"That's right," the man answered, awkward but proud.

"There are a lot of different groups here in Central Park tonight, supporting one issue or another. Do your students have a particular environmental cause?"

"Not really. They have a lot of different interests: renewable energy, risks to the rain forest, global warming and carbon dioxide, protecting the ozone layer, recycling."

"And who's your young assistant here?"

"This is a student of mine, Tony Johnston."

Johnston?

"Hello, Tony. Can you tell our viewers at home the name of your environmental club at school?"

"Uhm, yeah. It's Just Us Kids for the Earth."

"And those are quite some posters. Did you and your classmates make them yourself?"

"Uhm, yeah. But, you know, our teacher, Mr. Rahman"--he glanced up at the man beside him--"he helped us some."

"Well, good for you, Tony. And thanks to you and all your fellow students in Peter Rahman's third-grade class at Ralph Waldo Emerson elementary school in Queens, who believe you're never too young to start making a difference when it comes to the environment. . . . This is Kathy Brigham reporting from--"

Under the SAC's stabbing finger, the screen went blank. He sat back. Dellray couldn't tell if he was going to laugh or utter some obscenity. "Justice," he said, enunciating carefully. "Just Us . . . Kids." He sighed. "Want to guess how much shit this office is in, Fred?"

Dellray cocked a bushy eyebrow.

"We begged Washington for an extra five million dollars, on top of the expense of mobilizing four hundred agents. Two dozen warrants were ramrodded through magistrates' offices in New York, Westchester, Philly, Baltimore and Boston. We had absolutely rock solid SIGINT that an ecoterror group, worse than Timothy McVeigh, worse than Bin Laden, was going to bring America to its knees with the attack of all time.

"And they turned out to be a bunch of eight-and nine-year-olds. The code words for the weapons, 'paper and supplies'? They meant paper and supplies. The communication wasn't going on in the cloud zone; it went on face-to-face when they woke up from naptime at school. The woman working with Rahman? It was probably little Tony because his goddamn voice hasn't changed yet. . . . It's a good thing we didn't get SIGINT hits about somebody, quote, 'releasing doves' in Central Park because we might've called in a fucking surface-to-air missile strike."

There was silence for a moment.

"You're not gloating, Fred."

A shrug of the lanky shoulders.

"You want Tucker's job?"

"And where will he--?"

"Elsewhere. Washington. Does it matter? . . . So? The ASAC spot? You want it, you can move in tonight."

Dellray didn't hesitate. "No, Jon. Thanks, but no."

"You're one of the most respected agents in this office. People look up to you. I'll ask you to reconsider."

"I want to be on the street. That's all I've ever wanted. It's important to me." Sounding as un-street as any human being possibly could.

"You cowboys." The SAC chuckled. "Now you might wanta get back to your office. McDaniel's on his way here for a conversation. I'm assuming you don't want to meet him."

"Probably not."

As Dellray was at the door, the SAC said, "Oh, Fred, there's one other thing."

The agent stopped in midlope.

"You worked the Gonzalez case, didn't you?"