"Go ahead," he told the CBI agent, forcing himself to turn away from the evidence boards.
There was a click.
"Rodolfo," Dance said. "Lincoln's on the line. I'll leave you two to talk. I've got to see TJ."
They said good-bye to her.
"Hello, Captain."
"Commander. What do you have?"
"Arturo Diaz has four undercover officers in the office complex I was telling you about. About ten minutes ago Mr. Watchmaker, dressed as a businessman, entered the building. From the lobby he used a pay phone to call a company on the sixth floor--on the opposite side of where the fire alarm was yesterday. Just like you thought. He spent about ten minutes inside and then left."
"He vanished?" Rhyme asked, alarmed.
"No. He's now outside in a small park between the two main buildings in the complex."
"Just sitting there?"
"So it seems. He's made several mobile calls. But the frequency is unusual or they're scrambled, Arturo tells me. So we can't intercept."
Rhyme supposed rules about eavesdropping in Mexico might be somewhat less strict than in the U.S.
"They're sure it's the Watchmaker?"
"Yes. Arturo's men said they had a clear view. He has a satchel with him. He still is carrying it."
"He is?"
"Yes. We still can't be sure what it is. A bomb, perhaps. With the circuit board detonator. Our teams are surrounding the facility. All plainclothed but we have a full complement of soldiers nearby. And the bomb squad."
"Where are you, Commander?"
A laugh. "It was very considerate of your Watchmaker to pick this place. The Jamaican consulate is here. They have bomb barriers up and we're behind those. Logan can't see us."
Rhyme hoped that was true.
"When will you move in?"
"As soon as Arturo's men say it's clear. The park is crowded with innocents. A number of children. But he won't get away. We have most of the roads sealed off."
A trickle of sweat slipped down Rhyme's temple. He grimaced and twisted his head to the side to wipe it on the headrest.
The Watchmaker . . .
So close.
Please. Let this work out. Please . . .
And again squelched the frustration that he felt from working on such an important case at a distance.
"We'll let you know soon, Captain."
They disconnected the call and Rhyme forced himself to focus on Raymond Galt once again. Was the lead to his whereabouts solid? He looked
like an everyman, approaching middle age, not too heavy, not too slim. Average height. And in the paranoid climate he'd created, people were undoubtedly primed to see things that weren't there. Electrical traps, arc flash risks . . . and the killer himself.
Then he started, as Sachs's voice snapped through the radio. "Rhyme, you there, K?"