The Stone Monkey

crew was only seven.”
    “Damn,” offered the otherwise stiff Harold Peabody with an admiring grin.
    Later that day, spy satellites had picked up the Dragon about 280 miles out to sea, just as Rhyme had predicted.
    The Coast Guard cutter Evan Brigant, with a boarding party of twenty-five sailors backed up by twin fifties and an 80mm cannon, had gone to ready status but kept its distance, waiting until the Dragon had sailed closer to shore.
    Now—just before dawn on Tuesday—the Chinese ship was in U.S. waters and the Evan Brigant was in pursuit. The plan was to take control of the Dragon, arrest the Ghost, his assistant and the ship’s crew. The Coast Guard would sail the ship to the harbor at Port Jefferson,Long Island, where the immigrants would be transferred to a federal detention center to await deportation or asylum hearings.
    A call was patched through from the radio of the Coast Guard cutter closing in on the Dragon. Thom put it on the speakerphone.
    “Agent Dellray? This is Captain Ransom on the Evan Brigant.”
    “I’m readin’ you, Captain.”
    “We think they’ve spotted us—they had better radar than we thought. The ship’s turned hard for shore. We need some direction on the assault plan. There’s some concern that if we board, there’ll be a firefight. I mean, considering who this particular individual is. We’re worried about casualties. Over.”
    “Among who?” Coe asked. “The undocumenteds?” The disdain in his voice when he used the word that described the immigrants was clear.
    “Right. We were thinking we should just make the ship come about and wait until the Ghost surrenders. Over.”
    Dellray reached up and squeezed the cigarette he kept behind his ear, a memento from his smoking days. “Negative on that. Follow your original rules of engagement. Stop the ship, board it and arrest the Ghost. The use of deadly force is authorized. You copy that?”
    After a moment of hesitation the young man responded, “Five by five, sir. Out.”
    The line went dead and Thom disconnected the call. Electric tension flowed into the room on the heels of the silence that followed. Sellitto wiped his palms on his forever-wrinkled slacks then adjusted his service pistol on his belt. Dellray paced. Peabody called INS headquarters to tell them he had nothing to tell them.
    A moment later Rhyme’s private line rang. Thom took the call in the corner of the room. He listened for a moment then looked up. “It’s Dr. Weaver, Lincoln. About the surgery.” He glanced at the roomful of tense law enforcers. “I’ll tell her you’ll call her back.”
    “No,” Rhyme answered firmly. “I’ll take it.”

Chapter Three
    The winds were stronger now, the waves arcing high over the sides of the intrepid Fuzhou Dragon.
    The Ghost hated water crossings. He was a man used to luxury hotels, to being pampered. Human smuggling voyages were dirty, oily, cold, dangerous. Man has not tamed the sea, he thought, and never will. It is an icy blanket of death.
    He scanned the rear of the ship but could not find his bangshou anywhere. Turning toward the bow, he squinted into the wind and could see no land either, just more restless mountains of black water. He climbed to the bridge and pounded on the window of the rear door. Captain Sen looked up and the Ghost gestured for him.
    Sen pulled a knit cap on his head and dutifully walked outside into the rain.
    “The Coast Guard will be here soon,” the Ghost shouted over the raging wind.
    “No,” Sen replied, “I can get close enough to off-load before they intercept us. I’m sure I can.”
    But the Ghost turned his still eyes on the captain and said, “You will do this. Leave those men on the bridge and you and the rest of the crew go below with the piglets. Hide with them, get everyone out of sight in the hold.”
    “But why?”
    “Because,” the Ghost explained, “you’re a good man. Too good to lie. I’ll pretend to be the captain. I can look a man in the eye and he will believe what I tell him. You cannot do that.”
    The Ghost grabbed Sen’s cap. In reaction the man started to reach for it but then lowered his hand. The Ghost put it on. “There,” he said humorlessly. “Do I look like a captain? I think I make a good captain.”
    “This is my ship.”
    “No,” the Ghost shot back. “On this voyage the Dragon is my ship. I’m paying you in one-color cash.” U.S. dollars were far more valuable and negotiable than Chinese yuan, the currency