The naked edge

THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE KNIFE
1

"So far, we know almost one thousand people died," Dawn Finch told him, "including forty Federal agents and fifteen GPS operators."

Cavanaugh was too overwhelmed to reply. He sat in a Coast Guard office, where a patrol boat had brought him after he was transferred from the tug. Although he clutched a blanket wrapped around him, he shivered-only partially because of his wet clothes.

Jamie brought him a steaming cup of coffee. "At least, another two thousand needed medical care, enough to fill the emergency wards in every hospital in the area."

"But it could have been significantly worse," an FBI agent said. "The canisters were so carefully sealed, none of the toxin detectors in the crowd registered what was in them. If the conference had occurred, if all the protestors had remained in the area, if all the knapsacks had been detonated and all the gas released…"

"The preliminary estimate is that at least fifteen thousand protestors would have died, plus the thousands of tourists and business people in the downtown area" another agent explained. "Lord knows how many others would have needed medical attention. This came close to being the worst-"

Outside the office, boat engines rumbled. A door opened. Everyone turned toward a Coast Guard officer who entered. Rutherford and Mosely followed, neither of them looking happy.

The Coast Guard officer reported, "No luck finding him. We're beginning to think he might have been hit by boat traffic on the river. Perhaps he was knocked unconscious and drowned."

"He didn't drown," Cavanaugh said.

"One of our men saw you chase him," an FBI agent reported. "Our man was too far away to help, but he managed to see both of you go into the water. Only you came up."

"Maybe he struck his head on something under the water. Maybe his body's caught on something down there," the Coast Guard officer hoped. "We're dragging the area. We sent for divers."

"And you're searching the banks all the way up and down the river?" Cavanaugh asked. "Using helicopters as well as boats?"

"Of course."

"Still think you're running things?" Mosely demanded.

The hostile interruption made everyone turn.

"Just contributing to the conversation," Cavanaugh said.

"Sure."

Except for the rumbling of the boat engines, the room became silent.

"Don't mind me," Mosely said.

Cavanaugh told the Coast Guard officer, "Carl's an expert swimmer. In high school, he was state champion. On our Delta Force team, it was one of his specialties. I once saw him swim under water for a minute and forty-five seconds. Given the current, he could easily have gone quite a distance downstream before surfacing, probably using a boat for cover. He's miles away by now."

"We'll explore every possibility."

"Yeah, definitely running the show," Mosely said.

Again the room became silent. Next to Mosely, Rutherford's dark face brooded.

"Have you got a problem?" Cavanaugh asked.

"Yeah. But you've got a bigger one." Mosely turned to the Coast Guard officer. "Does this office have a DVD player?"

"On this computer."

"Then let's take a look at this." Mosely handed him an unlabeled disc.

The officer inserted it and pressed buttons on the keyboard.

Everyone stepped close.

For a moment, the screen was blank. Then it showed a corridor. At the far end, elevator doors were visible.

"This is from the Delta Queen hotel's security-monitor system," Mosely explained. "Very up-to-date technology. No blur. No haze."

The screen continued to show the corridor and the elevator doors at the end.

"Not too interesting so far," William said. "How much of this do we need to-"

"I'm just setting the scene, counselor. Building suspense. The camera's on the hotel's maintenance-room level. There's also a camera at the end of the corridor, near the elevator doors, and one on the stairwell leading down. Those cameras had their lenses spray-painted, but I guess you didn't know about this one," Mosely told Cavanaugh.

"There's no way you can prove my clients had anything to do with spray-painting those cameras," William protested.

"Keep watching, counselor."

A man appeared at the end of the corridor. Crouching, moving past the elevator doors, he aimed a can and sprayed paint at something above him.

"This still proves nothing," William said. "That man is so far away, he's impossible to identify. He could be anybody."

"I knew you'd say that, counselor, so for your edification, I had the image magnified."

The man at the end of the corridor now filled the screen.

"A good likeness, don't you think?" Mosely asked.

The man was unmistakably Cavanaugh. He finished spraying paint at something above him. Then he used lock picks to open a panel next to the elevator. He pressed a button inside the panel, causing the elevator doors to open. The floor of the shaft was empty, the elevator at a higher level. After flicking a switch on a box, he lay on his stomach and stretched down to set the box at the bottom of the shaft. Finally, he closed the doors and stepped out of sight.

"This proves nothing. The image could have been manipulated," William insisted. "With fifty dollars of software from a computer store, I could make it seem as if you opened those elevator doors."

"Yeah, but the person who magnified that image is an FBI computer technician who'll testify under oath that the face wasn't altered."

"I can't wait to cross-examine that agent."

"Not in this state, counselor. You're not licensed. Also, I did some checking about your famous brother-in-law. The great defense attorney Lester Beauchamp is on vacation in Europe."

On the monitor, a green-tinted image showed a flat roof.

"The green comes from a night-vision camera," Mosely said. "At the Southern Belle. That hotel has a state-of-the-art surveillance system, also. The management even put a camera on the roof. Those are air-conditioning units you see in the background. And here comes our co-star, who spray-painted the surveillance cameras on the stairway to the roof but who didn't know about this other camera."

On the screen, silhouetted by the lights of the city, a far-away woman came into view. She knelt, removed a knife from her belt, and unscrewed its cap. Abruptly, the image was enlarged. The woman was clearly Jamie.

"No objections this time, counselor?" Mosely asked.

"I'll save them for court."

"You do that."

The group watched as Jamie pulled tools from the knife's handle and used them to unscrew an air-conditioning duct. Next, she flipped a switch on an object and put it inside. Finally, she used the tools from her knife to close the duct.

"The switch activated a timer on a tear-gas bomb," Mosely said. "The switch Cavanaugh tripped was on a smoke bomb. Naturally, he and his wife used latex gloves. No fingerprints. But seeing's believing, don't you think?"

"You already know my opinion about that," William responded.

"Well, here's my opinion. Cavanaugh or Stoddard or whoever you are, you got lucky. The trade minister who broke his leg needed a pin put in it. The one who had a heart attack is still in intensive care. The people whose cars hit the emergency vehicles are still in the hospital, also. You put four hotels out of business for the days it'll take to repair the damage. Millions of dollars have been lost."

"Now you sound like you belong to the Chamber of Commerce," William said.

"Counselor, shut your mouth. You have no legal authority here." Mosely stared at Cavanaugh. "You're under arrest."

"Don't do this," Cavanaugh said.

"You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed-"

Cavanaugh turned toward Rutherford. "John, isn't there any way you can stop this?"

"The time for him to have stopped this was last night," Mosely interrupted. "Trusting civilians is one of the first things an agent learns not to do."