Some muttered words she couldn't hear.
The agent's angry shout.
Then Rhyme's calm voice again. ". . . You know, Dellray, I used to be a swimmer. Swam every day."
"We've got less than ten minutes," Sachs whispered. The water lapped calmly. Two placid boats cruised past.
Dellray muttered something.
"I'd go down to the Hudson River and swim. It was a lot cleaner then. The water, I mean."
A garbled transmission. He was breaking up.
". . . old pier. My favorite one's gone now. Used to be the home of the Hudson Dusters. That gang, you ever hear of them? In the 1890s. North of where Battery Park City is now. You look bored. Tired of looking at a crip's flabby ass? No? Suit yourself. That pier was between North Moore and Chambers. I'd dive in, swim around the piers . . ."
"North Moore and Chambers!" Sachs shouted. Spinning around. They'd missed it because they'd gone too far south. It was a quarter mile from where they were. She could see the brown scabby wood, a large drainpipe backing up with tidal water. How much time was left? Hardly any. There was no way they could save him.
She ripped the headset off and started sprinting to the car, Banks close behind.
"Can you swim?" she asked.
"Me? A lap or two at the Health and Racquet Club."
They'd never make it.
Sachs stopped suddenly, spun around in a fast circle, gazing at the deserted streets.
The water was nearly to his nose.
A small wave washed over William Everett's face just as he inhaled and the foul, salty liquid streamed into his throat. He began to choke, a deep, horrible sound. Racking. The water filled his lungs. He lost his grip on the pier piling and sank under the surface, stiffened and rose once more, then sank again.
No, Lord, no . . . please don't let--
He shook the cuffs, kicked hard, trying to get some play. As if some miracle might happen and his puny muscles could bend the huge bolt he was cuffed to.
Snorting water from his nose, swiping his head back and forth in panic. He cleared his lungs momentarily. Neck muscles on fire--as painful as his shattered finger--from bending his head back to find the faint layer of air just above his face.
He had a moment's respite.
Then another wave, slightly higher.
And that was it.
He couldn't fight anymore. Surrender. Join Evelyn, say goodbye . . .
And William Everett let go. He floated beneath the surface into the drecky water, full of junk and tendrils of seaweed.
Then jerked back in horror. No, no . . .
He was here. The kidnapper! He'd come back.
Everett kicked to the surface, sneezing more wa
ter, trying desperately to get away. The man shone a brilliant light into Everett's eyes and reached toward him with a knife.
No,no. . .
It wasn't enough to drown him, he had to slash him to death. Without thinking Everett kicked out toward him. But the kidnapper vanished under the water . . . and then, snap, Everett's hands were free.