Then Rhyme said, "Mel, I want to see where the takedown's happening. Google Earth . . . or whatever it's called. Pull it up for me. Mexico City."
"Sure."
"Avenue Bosque de Reforma . . . How often do they update the images?"
"I don't know. Probably every few months. It's not real time, though, I don't imagine."
"I don't care about that."
A few minutes later they were looking at a satellite image of the area: a curving road, Avenue Bosque de Reforma, with the office buildings separated by the park where the Watchmaker was sitting at that moment. Across the street was the Jamaican consulate, protected by a series of concrete barriers--the bomb blast shields--and a gate. Rodolfo Luna and his team would be on the other side of those. Behind them were official vehicles parked in front of the embassy itself.
He gasped as he stared at the barriers. To the left was a blast shield running perpendicular to the road. To the right were six others, parallel to it.
JAMAICAN
CONSULATE
|
Avenue Bosque de Reforma
This was the letter I and the blank spaces from the package delivered to the Watchmaker at Mexico City airport.
Gold letters . . .
Little blue booklet . . .
The mysterious numbers . . .
"Mel," he said sharply. The tech's head snapped up at the urgency. "Is there any passport that has the letters CC on the cover? Issued in blue?"
A moment later Cooper looked up from the State Department archive. "Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. Navy blue with interlocking C's at the top. It's the Caribbean Community passport. There're about fifteen countries in--"
"Is Jamaica one?"
"Yes."
He realized too they'd been thinking of the numbers as five hundred seventy and three hundred seventy-nine. In fact, there was another way to refer to them. "Quick. Look up Lexus SUVs. Is there a model with a five seventy or a three seventy-nine in the designation?"
This was even faster than the passport. "Let's see . . . Yep, the LX five-seventy. It's a luxury--"
"Get me Luna on the phone. Now!" He didn't want to risk his own dialing, which would have taken some time and might have been inaccurate.
He felt the sweat again but ignored it.
"Si?"
"Rodolfo! It's Lincoln Rhyme."
"Ah, Captain--"
"Listen to me! You are the target. The office building's a diversion! The package delivered to Logan? The rectangular images on the drawing? It was a diagram of the grounds of the Jamaican embassy, where you are right now. The rectangles are the blast barriers. And you drive a Lexus LX five-seventy?"
"Yes . . . You mean, that was the five hundred seventy?"
"I think so. And the Watchmaker was given a Jamaican passport to get into the compound. Is there a car parked nearby with three seven nine in the license plate?"
"I don't . . . Why, yes. It's a Mercedes with diplomatic plates."