Percey’s eyes grew distant for a moment. “We met in the navy, Ed and I. Both fighter pilots. When he proposed… See, the traditional way to propose in the military is you say, ‘You want to become my dependent?’ Sort of a joke. But we were both lieutenants j.g., so Ed said, ‘Let’s you and me become each other’s dependents.’ He wanted to get me a ring but my father’d disowned me -”

“For real?”

“Yep. Real soap opera, which I won’t go into now. Anyway, Ed and I were saving every penny to open our own charter company after we were discharged and we were completely broke. But one night he said, ‘Let’s go up.’ So we borrowed this old Norseman they had on the field. Tough plane. Big air-cooled rotary engine… You could do anything with that aircraft. Well, I was in the left-hand seat. I’d taken off and’d got us up to about six thousand feet. Suddenly he kissed me and wobbled the yoke, which meant he was taking over. I let him. He said, ‘I got you a diamond after all, Perce.’ ”

“He did?” Sachs asked.

Percey smiled. “He throttled up, all the way to the fire wall, and pulled the yoke back. The nose went straight up in the air.” Tears were coming fast now to Percey Clay’s eyes. “For a moment, before he kicked rudder and we started down out of the stall, we were looking straight up into the night sky. He leaned over and said, ‘Take your pick. All the stars of evening – you can have any one you want.’ ” Percey lowered her head, caught her breath. “All the stars of evening…”

After a moment she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, then turned back to the engine, “Believe me, you don’t have anything to worry about. Lincoln’s a fascinating man, but Ed was all I ever wanted.”

“There’s more to it than you know.” Sachs sighed. “You remind him of someone. Someone he was in love with. You show up and all of a sudden it’s like he’s with her again.”

Percey shrugged. “We have some things in common. We understand each other. But so what? That doesn’t mean anything. Take a look, Amelia. Rhyme loves you.”

Sachs laughed. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

Percey gave her another look that said, Whatever… and began replacing the equipment in boxes as meticulously as she’d worked with the tools and computers.

Roland Bell ambled inside, checking windows and scanning the shadows.

“All quiet?” he asked.

“Not a peep.”

“Got a message to pass on. The folk from U.S. Medical just left Westchester Hospital. The shipment’ll be here in an hour. I’ve got a car of my people behind them just to be on the safe side. But don’t worry that it’ll spook ’em and be bad for business – my guys’re top-notch. The driver’ll never know he’s being followed.”

Percey looked at her watch. “Okay.” She glanced at Bell, who was looking uncertainly at the open engine compartment, like a snake at a mongoose. She asked, “We don’t need baby-sitters on the flight, do we?”

Bell’s sigh was loud. “After what happened at the safe house,” he said in a low, solemn voice, “I’m not letting you outa my sight.” He shook his head and, already looking airsick, he walked back to the front door and disappeared into the cool late afternoon air.

Her head in the engine compartment, studying her work carefully, Percey said in a reverberating voice, “Looking at Rhyme and looking at you, I wouldn’t give it much more than fifty-fifty, I’ve got to say.” She turned and looked down at Sachs. “But you know, I had this flight instructor a long time ago.”

“And?”

“When we’d fly multiengine he had this game of throttling back one engine to idle and feathering the prop, then telling us to land. Lot of instructors’ll cut power for a few minutes, with altitude, just to see how you can handle it. But they always throttled up again before landing. This instructor, though – uh-uh. He’d make us land on one engine. Students’d always be asking him, ‘Isn’t that risky?’ His answer was, ‘God don’t give out certain. Sometimes you just gotta play the odds.’ ”

Percey lowered the flap of the engine cowl and clamped it into place. “All right, this’s done. Damn aircraft may actually fly.” She swatted the glossy skin like a cowgirl patting a rodeo rider’s butt.

Hour 32 of 45

AT 6 P.M. ON SUNDAY they summoned Jodie from Rhyme’s downstairs bedroom, where he’d been under lock and key.

He trotted up the stairs reluctantly, clutching his silly book, Dependent No More, like a Bible. Rhyme remembered the title. It had been on the Times bestseller list for months. In a black mood at the time, he’d noticed the book and thought cynically, about himself, Dependent Forever.

A team of federal agents was flying from Quantico to Cumberland, West Virginia, Stephen Kall’s old residence, to pick up whatever leads they could, hoping they might track him to his present whereabouts from there. But Rhyme had seen how carefully he’d scoured his crime scenes and he had no reason to think the man would have been any less careful in covering his other tracks.

“You told us some things about him,” Rhyme said to Jodie. “Some facts, some nutritional information. I want to know more.”

“I -”

“Think hard.”

Jodie squinted. Rhyme supposed he was considering what he could say to mollify them, superficial impressions. But he was surprised when Jodie said, “Well, for one thing, he’s afraid of you.”

“Us?” Rhyme asked.

“No. Just you.”

“Me?” he asked, astonished. “He knows about me?”

“He knows your name’s Lincoln. And that you’re out to get him.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” the man said, then added, “you know, he made a couple of calls on that cell phone. And he listened for a long time. I was thinking -”

“Oh, hellfire,” Dellray sang out. “He’s tapping somebody’s line.”

“Of course!” Rhyme cried. “Probably the Hudson Air office. That’s how he found out about the safe house. Why didn’t we think about that?”

Dellray said, “We gotta sweep the office. But the bug might be in a relay box somewheres. We’ll find it. We’ll find it.” He placed a call to the Bureau’s tech services.

To Jodie, Rhyme said, “Go on. What else does he know about me?”

“He knows you’re a detective. I don’t think he knows where you live, or your last name. But you scare the hell out of him.”

If Rhyme’s belly had been able to register the lub-dub of excitement – and pride – he’d have felt that now.

Let’s see, Stephen Kall, if we can’t give you a little more to be afraid of.

“You helped us once, Jodie. I need you to help us again.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dellray barked. “And listen t’what the man’s sayin’, hokay? Hokay?”

“I did what I said I would. I’m not doing anything more.” The whine really was too much. Rhyme glanced at Sellitto. This called for people skills.

“It’s in your interest,” Sellitto said reasonably, “to help us.”

“Gettin’ shot in the back’s in my interest? Gettin’ shot in the head’s in my interest? Uh-huh. I see. You wanna explain that?”

“Sure, I’ll fucking explain it,” Sellitto grumbled. “The Dancer knows you dimed him. He didn’t have to target you back there at the safe house, right? Am I right?”

Always get the mutts to talk. To participate.Sellitto had often explained the ways of interrogation to Lincoln Rhyme.

“Yeah. I guess.”

Sellitto motioned Jodie closer with a crooked finger. “It woulda been the smart thing for him just to take off. But he went to the trouble to take up a sniper position and try to cap your ass. Now, what’s that tell us?”

“I -”

“It tells us that he ain’t gonna rest till he clips you.”

Dellray, happy to play straight man for a change, said, “And he’s the sort I don’t think you wanna have knocking on yo’ door at three in the morning – this week, next month, or next year. We all together on that?”