Only unlike 1931 I am insisting you shut down the entire Northeastern Interconnection for one day. Beginning at 6:30 p.m. today.

If you do this people will see that they do not need to use as much power as they do. They will see that it is their greed and gluttony that motivates them, which you are happy to play into. Why? For PROFITS of course.

If you ignore me this time, the consequences will be far, far greater than the small incidents of yesterday and the day before, the loss of life far worse. -R. Galt

McDaniel said, "Absurd. There'll be civil chaos, riots, looting. The governor and president are adamant. No caving in."

"Where's the letter?" Rhyme asked.

"What you're seeing there. It was an email."

"Who'd he send it to?"

"Andi Jessen-personally. And the company itself. Their security office email account."

"Traceable?"

"No. Used a proxy in Europe… He's going for a mass attack, it seems." McDaniel looked up. "Washington's involved now in a big way. Those senators-the ones working with the President on renewable energy-are coming to town early. They're going to meet with the mayor. The assistant director of the Bureau's coming in too. Gary Noble's coordinating everything. We've got even more agents and troops out on the streets. And the chief has mobilized a thousand more NYPD officers." He rubbed his eyes. "Lincoln, we've got the manpower and the firepower, but we need to know some idea of where to look for the next attack. What've you got? We need something concrete."

McDaniel was reminding Rhyme he'd let the criminalist take the case with the assurance that his condition wouldn't slow the investigation.

From entrance to exit…

Rhyme had gotten what he wanted-the investigation. And yet he hadn't found the man. In fact, the very condition that he'd assured McDaniel wasn't a problem had nearly gotten Sachs and Pulaski killed, along with a dozen ESU officers.

He gazed back to the agent's smooth face and predator's eyes and said evenly, "What I've got is more evidence to look at."

McDaniel hesitated then waved his hand in an ambiguous gesture. "All right. Go ahead."

Rhyme had already turned away to Cooper with a nod toward the digital recorder on which had been recorded the sounds of the "victim" moaning. "Audio analysis."

With gloved hands, the tech plugged the unit into his computer and typed. A moment later, reading the sine curves on the screen, he said, "The volume and signal quality suggest it was recorded from a TV program. Cable."

"Brand of the recorder?"

"Sanoya. Chinese." He typed some commands and then studied a new database. "Sold in about ten thousand stores in the country. No serial number."

"Anything more?"

"No prints on it or other trace, except more taramasalata."

"The generator?"

Cooper and Sachs went over it carefully, while Tucker McDaniel made phone calls and fidgeted in the corner. The generator turned out to be a Power Plus model, made by the Williams-Jonas Manufacturing Company, in New Jersey.

"Where'd this one come from?" Rhyme asked.

"Let's find out," Sachs said.

Two phone calls later-to the local sales office of the manufacturer and the general contractor that the company referred them to-revealed that it had been stolen from a job site in Manhattan. There were no leads in the theft, according to the local precinct. The construction project had no security cameras.

"Got some trace that's curious," Cooper announced. He ran it through the GC/MS. The machine hummed away.

"Getting something…" Cooper was bending forward over the screen. "Hmm."

This would normally have drawn an acerbic "What does that mean?" glance from Rhyme. But he still felt tired and shaken from the attack. He waited patiently for the tech to explain.

Finally: "Don't think I've seen it before. A significant amount of quartz and some ammonium chloride. Ratio's about ten to one."

Rhyme knew the answer instantly. "Copper cleaner."

"Copper wires?" Pulaski suggested. "Galt is cleaning them?"

"Good idea, Rookie. But I'm not sure." He didn't think electricians cleaned wires. Besides, he explained, "Mostly it's used for cleaning copper on buildings. What else, Mel?"

"Some stone dust you don't usually see in Manhattan. Architectural terra-cotta." Cooper was now looking into the eyepieces of a microscope. He added, "And some granules that look like white marble."

Rhyme blurted, "The police riots of fifty-seven. That's eighteen fifty-seven."

"What?" McDaniel asked.

"A few years ago. The Delgado case?"

"Oh, sure," Sachs said.

Sellitto asked, "Did we work it?"

Rhyme's grimace conveyed his message: It didn't matter who worked a case. Or when. Crime scene officers-hell, every officer on the force-had to be aware of all major cases in the city, present and past. The more you put into the brain, the more likely you were to make connections that solved your crime.

Homework…

He explained: A few years ago Steven Delgado, a paranoid schizophrenic, planned a series of murders to mimic deaths that occurred during the infamous New York City Police Riots of 1857. The madman picked the same locale as the carnage 150 years earlier: City Hall Park. He was captured after his first kill because Rhyme had traced him to an apartment on the Upper West Side, where he'd left trace that included copper cleaner, terra-cotta residue from the Woolworth building and white marble dust from the city courthouse, which was undergoing renovations, then as now.

"You think he's going to hit City Hall?" McDaniel asked urgently, the phone in his hand drooping.

"I think there's a connection. That's all I can say. Put it on the board and we'll think about it. What else do you have from the generator?"

"More hair," Cooper announced, holding up a pair of tweezers. "Blond, about nine inches long." He slipped it under the microscope and slid the specimen tray up and down slowly. "Not dyed. Natural blond. No color degradation and not desiccated. I'd say it's from somebody younger than fifty. Also refraction variation on one end. I could run it through the chromatograph, but I'm ninety percent sure it's-"

"Hair spray."

"Right."

"Woman probably. Anything else?"

"Another hair. Brown. Shorter. Crew cut. Also under fifty."

"So," Rhyme said, "not Galt's. Maybe we've got our Justice For the Earth connection. Or maybe some other players. Keep going."

The other news wasn't so encouraging. "The flashlight he could've bought in a thousand places. No trace or prints. The string was generic too. The cable he used to wire the doors at the school? Bennington, the same he's been using all along. Bolts are generic but similar to the others."

Eye on the generator, Rhyme was aware his thoughts were spinning dizzily. Part of this was the attack he'd experienced a short time ago. But some of it had to do with the case itself. Something was wrong. Pieces of the puzzle were missing.

The answer had to be in the evidence. And just as important: what wasn't in the evidence. Rhyme now scanned the whiteboards, trying to stay calm. This wasn't to stave off another episode of dysreflexia, per doctor's orders; it was because nothing made you blind faster than desperation.