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  She holstered her Glock and knelt before the frightened woman, talking to her softly.

  Like the dead man downstairs, the woman was Asian. She looked about thirty years old and appeared not to weigh a lot more than that in pounds. Her tension and fear burst out of her with the arrival of a sympathetic woman and the realization that she was safe. She wept hard.

  Jahn drew her out of her hiding place. When the woman stood, her flower-print dress bulged over a pregnant belly. Jahn glanced at Verrazzano, both agents hoping they were putting it together the wrong way. But they both sensed that the father was the man dead on the table on the ground floor. Jahn tipped her head toward the still, furious figure of Frisch on the floor. “Was it him?” she whispered.

  Verrazzano shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

  “Honey, what’s your name?” Jahn helped the woman sit on the edge of the bed. She knelt in front of her.

  “Mo Hui,” she sobbed.

  “We need your help to find out what happened here, Mo.”

  “Hui. Her name is Hui.” Frisch wriggled angrily as he spoke. “Mo’s her family name. They put the names the other way around from us.”

  Jahn glowered at him.

  “I heard him die.” The pregnant woman collapsed forward, bawling.

  “Do you know who did it?” Jahn pointed at Frisch. “Was it him?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, sister.” Frisch grinned.

  “No, he came later,” the Chinese woman said.

  “I bet the guy downstairs is her husband,” Frisch said. “Terrible way for a marriage to end. But maybe not the worst, eh, Verrazzano? Could be better to be dead than to have your wife say you’re dead to her.”

  Verrazzano lifted Frisch by the elbows and hauled him onto the landing. He shoved him into the bathroom and shut the door. Back in the bedroom, he went onto one knee beside Mo Hui. For a moment, he made a deliberate effort to shift his focus away from the case. He brought his mind to bear on his compassion for her and her unborn child. It was a meditation technique he used every day, and like his work at ICE, it was intended to repair the world he had done so much to damage. He knew she would hear it in his voice when he spoke. “Hui, my name is Dominic.”

  She sniffed at her tears. She linked her fingers across her bulging stomach. Then she nodded.

  “Who did you hear?” he asked.

  “My husband. Dying.” Her voice was precise and demure, every word in English requiring just a little thought, translated from her native language.

  “What’s your husband’s name?”

  “Gao Rong.”

  “What does Rong do? What’s his job?”

  “He works at Darien.”

  The room seemed to fill with the squealing brakes and the compressing metal that had sounded on every street and highway from Los Angeles to Boston that morning, from Melbourne to Milan. Verrazzano focused hard, so that the connection to the company whose cars had gone out of control wouldn’t make his questions too eager and clumsy. “What does he do at Darien?”

  “Rong is a computer programmer.”

  “How long have you been here in Dearborn?” Verrazzano said.

  “One year and a half.” She looked up with sudden urgency. “He changed the date.”

  “What date?”

  “Of the bad thing. It was the big crash. I figured it out this morning when I saw the news. We argued about it, me and Rong. He always said he couldn’t let the real attack happen. He had to give a big warning. So he changed the date. He said people would figure it out and stop the rest of it.”

  The rest of it. A picture of something bigger than the crash of all the Darien cars formed in Verrazzano’s mind. What could be bigger than the disaster that had hit the roads that morning? “When Rong did this, did it put him in danger?”

  “He thought maybe it did. The trouble started when I got pregnant. He began to talk about feeling guilty. He had to let people know somehow—let them know what would happen. His mood got worse and worse. Until a month ago.”

  “What happened a month ago?”

  “He went on a trip. He came back after a week. He was crazy. He was crying all the time. His hair was shaved. He wore a baseball cap, and he wouldn’t let me look at his head until the hair grew back. That was when he said he was going to give a warning, even if—even if it meant something bad would happen to him.” She covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Did he tell you where he went a month ago?”

  She shook her head and sobbed into her palm. “He said the trip started fine, but then it all went wrong when the big man took off his wig.”

  “When the big man took off his wig? Were those his words?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me what he meant. But that was exactly what he said.”

  “What did he need to warn people about?”

  “Rong said if he went to the cops he would die for sure. If he gave the warning his way, maybe he would be okay and we could live here and have our child in America.” She pressed her hands over her belly. “But he didn’t believe it. He knew what they would do to him.”

  “Did you see anything?” Verrazzano dipped his head toward the ground floor. “Did you see anyone this morning? Apart from that man I put in the bathroom?”

  “A man with skin like a crocodile. But red. Bumpy and split, like the scales of a crocodile.”

  “What could that be?” Jahn whispered.

  “Did this man have a skin disease?” Verrazzano asked.

  “He was sick, I think, yes,” Hui said. “Rong saw him in the yard. He told me to hide. Then he went out to the man. The man’s face and hands were covered with big scabs. Like the scales of a crocodile. I could see them across the yard.”

  Verrazzano murmured, “It’s Krokodil.”

  “What’s that?” Jahn said.

  “A cheap high. Started out in Russia. You cook codeine, paint thinner, and phosphorus. Then you inject it. Soon enough your skin starts to come away in scaly lumps. You die within a year. Which means you lose some of the inhibitions most of us have about risking your life or your future.”

  “Could this have been a Russian that did this? Jesus, we’ve got China involved. Now Russia. And mass car crashes in every major city.”

  Verrazzano touched her arm to quiet her. He focused on Hui. “This man who came to find Rong, did you hear him say anything?”

  “He said nothing. Rong tried to speak to him. I heard Rong cry out, then he screamed, and then—” She whimpered and went silent.

  “When did this happen, Hui?”

  “After breakfast. Eight o’clock. Maybe after that, yes, a little bit later.”

  “Try to remember if Rong said anything more about his feelings of guilt.”

  “This morning he was calm at last. He said it happened and he had done all he could. Now it was up to other people to understand the signal he sent them.”

  Verrazzano lifted his head in understanding. It was the Darien crash. “He was part of something bad. When he tried to make it right this morning, his partners came and punished him.”

  “I think so.”

  “Did he ever tell you who those partners were?”

  “He got angry when I questioned him. He got angry when anyone questioned him.”

  Verrazzano was about to try another angle, then he picked up on her emphasis. “Anyone? There was someone else. Someone who talked about the bad thing he had been part of?”

  “His friend Su Li.”

  “Tell me about Su Li. Did he work at Darien too?”

  “Li lives in New Jersey. We visited him last weekend. I was in the garden with Li’s family. I went inside and found Rong arguing with Li.”

  “About what?”

  “Li said that Rong shouldn’t feel guilty. He said, ‘We were all thinking about our careers when we agreed to be part of this. Now you want to ruin all our careers.’”

  All. More than just Li and Rong, Verrazzano thought. How many people would be involved in a plot that caus
ed every new Darien vehicle to speed to its doom? “When he talked about ‘we,’ did he mean other Chinese people? Did he say who he meant?”

  “I think it must have been Chinese people. He spoke of training in China. He accused Rong of failing to speak up back then, when his feelings of guilt could have been easily corrected.”

  “How did Rong react?”

  “He slapped himself on top of the head. It was a strange gesture, but I remember it clearly for that reason. He shouted that he had something on his head that could never be corrected and it was very dangerous.”

  “On his head?” Verrazzano wondered if she meant that Rong’s guilt weighed on him.

  “He grabbed Li and rubbed his hand hard on Li’s head. Li pushed him away. Rong was yelling, ‘It’s on your head too.’” She seemed to return to the room in Jersey where her husband had grappled with his friend. The violence and shock of that moment overcame her. Her eyes flickered and she passed out. Jahn caught her by the shoulders.

  “She’s got to have some rest,” she said.

  Verrazzano reached for Hui’s chin as she came around. He looked closely into her eyes. “Hui, we are going to find the man who did this to your husband.”

  “He will kill you. He cannot be killed. I sensed it.”

  “Su Li lives in New Jersey?” Verrazzano said. “Do you know the name of the town?”

  She frowned, thinking hard. “Part of it was his name. Something ending in Li. Yes, Rockleigh, it was called Rockleigh.”

  “That’s up the Hudson on the New York state line,” Jahn said. “We’d better send someone over to find the guy. Hui, do you know his exact address?”

  Verrazzano checked his watch. It was just before 2 PM. “He’s going to be at work at this time. Where does he work, Hui? I’ll get someone to go and make sure he’s safe.”

  “Li is a computer programmer, same as Rong,” Hui said. “He makes to write on computer—”

  She was exhausted and in shock. Her English was falling apart. Verrazzano repeated his question. “Do you know the name of the company where Li works?”

  “He works for Theander.”

  A Swedish car company. Jahn glanced grimly at Verrazzano, as she laid the woman on the bed. Verrazzano went onto the landing. Jahn joined him.

  “You think we’re going to get a bunch of Theanders speeding out of control next?” she said.

  Verrazzano thumbed the screen of his phone for Haddad’s number back at the New York field office. “Maybe.”

  “Everyone always says they’re the safest kind of car to drive. But even in a Theander, you won’t be safe at a hundred miles an hour and gaining when the light turns red ahead of you.”

  Haddad answered the call. Verrazzano lifted his hand to quiet Jahn. “Bill and Noelle need to head for Rockleigh, New Jersey. They’re looking for a Chinese male named Su Li. He’s an employee at Theander, the Swedish automaker. I want you to go with them. Su Li is a computer guy. It could be Bill and Noelle will need to gather cyber intel at Li’s home or office. I want you to oversee that.”

  “Will do.”

  “Get to him quick, Roula. He’s an associate of someone we believe was involved in the Darien crashes. He may have information about the incidents.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  “Okay, thanks.” He hung up.

  He turned to speak to Jahn. Hui stood in the bedroom doorway, wavering on her thin legs. “You cannot kill him,” she said. “I saw him. The crocodile man wishes to die. But his fate is to live and give to other people the death he wants for himself.”

  “We’re not going to kill him.” Verrazzano put his phone in his pocket. “We will catch him, Hui. Now go lie down. We’ll call some people to come over here and help you.” He went down the stairs.

  Jahn came with him. “She seems damned sure the guy can’t be killed.”

  “She’s right. He takes a drug that destroys you from within. He’s already dead.” Verrazzano crossed the hallway and fixed his eyes on the corpse in the dining room. “That’s why he’s so dangerous.”

  CHAPTER 7

  At the detention center in Brooklyn, Vinnie Lyons clutched the cell phone hesitantly until it slipped in the sweat of his palm. He punched up the Silent Circle app. He swiped a connection and lifted the phone to his ear. He wiped his brow and leaned his elbow on the desk. A low Southern voice answered the call.

  “Tom Frisch is dead, sir.” Lyons cleared his throat, a softly desperate sound like a corpse expelling the last air from its lungs in the moments after death.

  “I very much doubt that, boy.” The man on the line wasn’t guessing. He meant only what he said, as always. Colonel Lawton Wyatt was all about distillation. Give an order in one word. Terrorize with one blow. Kill with a single bullet.

  “I just had two ICE agents come into my office and tell me that he died this morning in the big crash. They showed me the death certificate, sir.”

  “Give me the names of the agents.”

  “Noelle Kinsella and Bill Todd. Special Agents from the New York field office.”

  “How is Frisch supposed to have died?”

  “Todd came to the detention center this morning to take Frisch over to the field office for interrogation. Somehow Frisch overpowered Todd and escaped, using his ID. He was run down by a truck over on First Avenue.” Lyons fumbled the cell phone into his other hand and wiped the sweat off his palm onto his pants. “I’m not implicated, so there’s no chance they’ll trace anything back to you, Colonel Wyatt, sir. Kinsella and me, we did a deal. Todd’s going to write a report says he had custody of Frisch when he died. To cover for me.”

  “That’s very accommodating of them.”

  He hesitated. “I guess.”

  Wyatt spoke like a sarcastic schoolteacher out of patience with the dumbest kid in the class. “Why do you think they’re being so understanding toward you, Special Agent Lyons?”

  “I guess—I thought they—” Wyatt didn’t have to explain. Lyons saw it now. He’d been duped, and he couldn’t call Kinsella on it without admitting to a cover-up that was almost as bad as letting Frisch escape.

  “Tom Frisch won’t be dead until I kill him,” Wyatt said. “That’s the way things are with operatives on my team. I choose them because they’re indestructible. They don’t sit behind a desk in an office in Brooklyn.” He put an effortless mountain of scorn into his voice. “They certainly do not get run down on First Avenue, Special Agent Lyons.”

  “So you’re going to try to find Frisch?”

  Wyatt ignored the question. “Who else was at your facility today from the New York field office?”

  Lyons scrolled through the names of Mexicans and Guatemalans visiting their cousins as they awaited extradition hearings. Then he saw it. “Special Agent Verrazzano was here in the morning.”

  “Todd and Kinsella are on Verrazzano’s team.”

  “How do you know—?” Lyons caught himself. Wyatt knew everything.

  “So my guess would be that Frisch is with Verrazzano right now,” Wyatt said. “The Darien crash is the biggest case around. Verrazzano will be on it.”

  “But that doesn’t have anything to do with Frisch. He’s been in here for months. In the detention center. He couldn’t be part of it.”

  Wyatt was quiet. Lyons waited, knowing the colonel would be figuring out angles far beyond his own understanding.

  “Frisch did a deal with Verrazzano,” Wyatt said. “Which means he must have information strong enough to persuade Verrazzano to bust him out. How would Frisch get a hold of such information, Special Agent Lyons?”

  It was the Detroit address check; Lyons knew it. Frisch had forced him to go out to Dearborn and fake an immigration interview with a young married couple. He hadn’t known why Frisch would care about two sweet kids from China. But Frisch threatened to kill Lyons’s family if he didn’t go. It was hard to see how the prisoner could get at them. Still there was enough menace in him that the ICE agent was too terrified to risk it. F
or an instant, he considered telling Wyatt about his Detroit excursion. Then he felt the danger in it, nameless and barely understood. “I can’t imagine what it could be, sir.”

  “Was Verrazzano alone?” Wyatt spoke slowly.

  Lyons went back to his computer screen. He checked the credentials column beside the names on the list near to Verrazzano. “There was an FBI agent who arrived at the same time. The desk guard logged them in together. Special Agent Gina Jahn, National Security Branch, New York field office.”

  “Wipe them.”

  “You don’t mean—You mean, wipe them off the computer, right?”

  “If I meant ‘kill them,’ I’d ask someone else, believe me, Special Agent Lyons. Same with Todd and Kinsella. Wipe them too.”

  “Okay, sure.” Lyons talked himself through the computer commands. “Select. Delete. Yes, I want to delete. Okay. Confirm? Right, confirm. It’s done.” Lyons listened to the quiet on the line. Slowly he put it together. Wyatt came to him when Verrazzano brought Frisch to the detention center. He had kept the colonel apprised of anything learned about Frisch’s interrogations and even tried to get information from the guy himself, though he hadn’t mentioned the Dearborn trip. Now that Frisch was gone, Wyatt didn’t need Lyons anymore. Maybe the Detroit lead wasn’t a danger. Maybe it was information that would buy him a little credit, keep him safe. “I performed one service for Captain Frisch. I guess you should know about it.”

  “What kind of service?”

  “I went out to Michigan. Interviewed a Chinese guy who works for Darien as a computer engineer. I don’t know why Frisch wanted to know about them.”

  Wyatt was silent a moment. “Them?”

  “Guy’s wife was pregnant. Really sweet couple. I don’t know what Frisch’s interest was, but I figure you should know.” He waited. “Colonel, you there?”

  “Mmn-hmmn.” Those two syllables were loaded with contempt. Lyons sensed that the Colonel understood why Frisch had been interested in the Chinese couple. Somehow the information Lyons had given him had spoiled the colonel’s plans or highlighted a mistake. The way Wyatt had said “them” gave Lyons the hint. The colonel hadn’t known the programmer was married. He wondered how that might have undermined his plans. Then the colonel said, “What kind of car do you drive, Special Agent Lyons?”