The Burial Hour (Lincoln Rhyme 13)

Thom hit a button. With another squeak, not unlike that of the brakes, the door beside which Rhyme sat slid open.

"The ramp?" Thom asked.

"No. I'm staying put. He can come to us."

Mulbry disconnected the call and put his phone away. He walked to the van. Without waiting for an invitation he pulled himself up inside and sat directly in front of Rhyme.

"Hey there," he said to them all, an amiable voice, the dusting of Southern accent upon both words, the second of which was pulled into two syllables.

Sachs asked, "Busy day for public relations?"

Mulbry smiled. "After that news story that the Composer vanished from the country, journalists have been pelting us with requests. Positively pelting."

Rhyme said, "You wrote that story. You're one of Charlotte McKenzie's associates."

"Her boss, actually. I'm director of Alternative Intelligence Service."

Ah, the New York actor. Yes, Rhyme could see him getting great notices for a character part. Probably stealing the show.

Rhyme asked, "Is anybody in your business who they seem to be?"

Mulbry laughed once more and wiped sweat.

"One question?" Rhyme asked.

"Only one?"

"For the moment. Ibrahim."

Mulbry grimaced. "Ah, yes. Ibrahim. Aka Hassan, our 'trusted' asset in Tripoli. Ibrahim's real name is Abdel Rahman Sakizli. Freelancer. Mercenary. He'll run ops for ISIS, he'll run ops for the Lord's Resistance Army, he'll run ops for the Mossad. He's loyal to whoever pays him the most. Sadly, Hill had more money than we did, so Ibrahim chose to cheat on us." Mulbry clicked his tongue.

"Where is he?"

A frown, but an exaggerated frown. "Good question. He seems to have disappeared."

Rhyme chided, "And you, the kinder, gentler face of national security."

"'T'wasn't us. Last we heard he was in the company of a couple of women who were charming and beautiful and, coincidentally, rumored to be members of the Italian external security agency. Now, Captain Rhyme--"

"Lincoln really is fine. If you're going to detain us at least use my first name."

"Detain?" He seemed genuinely confused. "Why would we detain you?"

"Because we handed Mike Hill over to Dante Spiro for trial here without a fight."

"Oh, that. We'll let him float in the soup here for five to ten years. You knew we couldn't bring a case on the terrorism charges. Since we don't exist. Dante'll get justice enough for both countries. Damn smart, charging Hill for the explosives only. You have a hand in that?"

Rhyme's expression: Don't know what you mean.

Mulbry continued, "As for his buddy, the senator from Texas?"

Sachs asked, "You're aware of him?"

Mulbry settled for a sardonic smile. "Some folks in Washington'll take him out to the woodshed on the QT. Y'all might appreciate this: I had a thought last night: Compared with Mike Hill, Stefan Merck was the saner of the two. More interesting too. I'll tell you, I'd have a beer with that fellow. Now, I'm sure you're wondering, what exactly am I doing here?"

The interior of the van was hot and getting hotter, with the full-on sun taxing the lethargic AC. Mulbry dried his brow yet again. "Want to hear a story? You know that years ago CIA technical services tried to build a fake dragonfly? It's in the museum at Langley. It's quite something. A work of art. Equipped with an early miniature video camera, an audio system, a flight mechanism that was revolutionary for the time. And guess what? It didn't work worth squat. The least headwind would send it all over the landscape. But a few years later, the inspiration behind those dragonflies gave us drones. S'all about refinement. Story of life.

"Now, you could say that the AIS is an attempt to build a dragonfly. The Composer project would have worked pretty well. Except for one thing."