Page 53 of The Midnight Lock (Lincoln Rhyme 14)

“Friends: Back to New York, Have you heard about this crazy man, the Locksmith? He breaks into people’s apartments for rape and murder. Or are they just SAYING he’s crazy? I’ve heard reports he’s working for the Hidden, a soldier to rain terror down upon the citizens of the city to further the movement’s agenda of destruction.

“And does he have an ally in City Hall? If New York has the best police department in the world—as they claim—why haven’t they been able to stop him?

“I submit it’s because they’ve been infiltrated by the Hidden too. They don’twantto find him.

“I say this to those of you living in the Big Apple: Next time you hear a click or a footstep or a breath in the middle of the night, you might not be alone. The Locksmith—and the Hidden—may have come for you.

“And is the policeman you call on your side? Or theirs?

“Say your prayers and stay prepared!

“My name is Verum, Latin for ‘true.’ That is what my message is. What you do with it is up to you.”

27

Now, Labyrinth chased Brick.

Drawing a smile from Buryak.

In Kiev, teenage Viktor had a dog, a terrier mix, and leaving Let behind was the hardest part of the trip to the New World, though he walked three miles through city streets to bestow the dog on his cousin, Sasha, who loved it and who, he knew, would give it a good home.

Then animals past and present slipped from Buryak’s mind as the landline phone hummed with the tone from the intercom at the front gate.

“Yes?”

“Aaron.”

A moment later Buryak watched a man stride up the walk from the driveway in front of the garage. He was wearing a dark suit and a white shirt, a pink tie. His facial features suggested he was of mixed race, though his pallor was light—close to that of Buryak’s own. He wore headgear you rarely saw: a beret, black. He was tall, over sixfeet, and broad chested and beefy. He wasn’t overweight as such; he was simply big.

Buryak had cultivated multiple sources who would gather the information he auctioned off under the guise of tractors or smelting irons. Aaron Douglass manned a narrow but decidedly helpful conduit; it was also undoubtedly the cleverest in the organization.

“You think of that yourself?” Buryak had asked the man, speaking of his inspired idea for gathering data. “You are fucking brilliant in the head.”

Douglass was also called on from time to time to handle special assignments. As an enforcer. He came up with solutions that minimized risks to Buryak. Problems were solved and nothing ever got traced back to him.

The man was a firewall. No prosecutor or investigator would ever turn Aaron Douglass, because Buryak had information onhimtoo.

Buryak’s mansion featured two entrances. On the inside of the gate, the driveways split, the right leading to the formal front door, the left to Buryak’s office. His wife, Maria, was out, but she knew the rules. He’d instructed her to circle the block if there was a car parked in front of the office—as Douglass’s gray Cadillac presently was.

The meeting wouldn’t take long.

Douglass now walked to this office door and knocked.

Buryak rose and let him in, and, as he did with every human being who entered, he wanded him for recording devices and transmitters. Douglass scored negative; like all employees and contractors, he knew the rules and had left his phones and weapons in the car.

“Aaron.”

Douglass pulled his beret off and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. Maybe the unusual headgear made him feel like a soldier.

“Mr. Buryak. Congratulations on the case.” He eyed the cats, now preening, with the eye of someone who had never owned ananimal in his life. The bulky man sat on the couch, where Buryak indicated.

Even the laudatory comment set off a match-rasp of rage within him.

“Came close, too close. Word on the street about him? Murphy?”

“Maybe revenge for a hijacking a year ago, maybe because he was fucking Serge Lombrowski’s wife.”

“My lawyer, Coughlin, didn’t want to go there. He said it is not our job to prove who did it.” He snickered. “How desperate was Lombrowski’s wife? For Christ’s sake, look at Leon’s face.” A sip of tea. “So, the Chemist situation?”

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