Fury

28

Karp and Marlene squared off in the middle of the living room. Tran and two of his men stood by the door as if ready to flee, while Jojola lay on the couch. Ned sat in one of the easy chairs with Lucy on his lap, her head nestled against his chest. Giancarlo had been given a mild sedative by Dr. Le and was napping.

"I've got to call Jaxon," Karp said.

"No, please, let us do this," Marlene pleaded. "Our son's life is at stake."

"And if we don't stop these guys, thousands-no, make that tens of thousands-of other people could die," Karp said.

"You heard John, they're ready to blow it now if they have to," Marlene said. "Our only chance is to convince Grale to help. The Mole People are the only ones who know the sewers and tunnels well enough to get us close. But you get a bunch of feds crashing around down there-I don't care how good they are-and the Mole People will disappear. I'm betting there's a lot of them who don't want to be found by the police. And as soon as the terrorists get wind that there's something wrong, they'll light the whole place up."

"We can shut down Times Square and try to get everybody out of there," Karp argued.

"What makes you think that the terrorists aren't watching for that?" Marlene asked. "There's already a few hundred thousand people wandering around in Times Square-half of them drunk. If I'm a terrorist, I have someone watching the crowd; if the cops suddenly start moving people out, I take it as a sign that they're on to me, and I get however many I can by lighting the fuse before all the chickens have flown the coop."

Karp knew that what she was saying made sense in that twisted Ciampi way. Why else was he even entertaining the idea of not picking up the telephone and calling Jaxon? He was trying not to let his fears for his son enter into the equation, but between Marlene's arguments and the image of Zak in the hands of terrorists, he felt his resolve weakening. "So what makes you think you'd be any more successful?" he asked in a last-ditch attempt to stick to his guns.

Marlene felt the opening and went for it. "We'll go in as just a small group. Me, John, Tran, and some of Tran's men. The key will be contacting Grale and getting him to help."

"Wait a second. I also heard John say that Grale's gone off the deep end…or maybe I should say the deeper end," Karp said. "At best, he sees this as the forces of good-him and the Mole People-versus the forces of evil in some climactic underground battle that they either win or Times Square gets nuked. At worst, he imagines this as some biblical milestone along the road to Armageddon…'the moment we've all been waiting for, folks.' He might even try to prevent you from interfering with the will of God."

"That's why I'm going, too," Lucy interjected.

"Like hell you are," said her parents.

"If David is losing it, I'm the only one here he might still listen to," Lucy insisted, getting up off Ned's lap. "You know as well as I do that he believes-as do I-that there's some preordained connection between us, some act in a play we're in that the curtain hasn't closed on yet."

"Very poetic," Karp said, "but no way do I risk losing my daughter as well as my son."

"It's not up to you, Daddy," Lucy said softly. "I make my own decisions. Zak's my brother, but even if he weren't in danger, a lot of other people are going to die if I don't get to David."

Karp was still trying to adjust to being told by his little girl that he wasn't responsible for her safety anymore when Tran spoke up. "She's right," he said. "Our best chance is doing this the Vietcong way. A small, fast group using stealth to get behind the enemy's lines and hit him when and where he doesn't expect it. Perhaps with a diversion to draw his attention elsewhere, but not so large-like your friend with the FBI would certainly do-that the terrorists panic and set off their bomb prematurely. We have to count on Grale's belief that the leader of the terrorists intends to be long gone before the bomb is set off-that's why he has the escape route."

Karp studied Tran for a moment. The wide face was still handsome though furrowed with lines of age, as well as joy and sorrow, the once jet-black hair now more of a gunmetal blue-gray. The teacher-turned-guerilla-turned-bandit chief was an interesting dichotomy. He'd been such a loyal friend to Karp's family, especially Marlene, whom Karp suspected Tran was in love with. But he was also the head of a crime syndicate and had no compunctions about using violence, even murder, to achieve his ends. He'd known the man for more than a decade, yet knew so little about what made him tick; he was sure, however, that the man's loyalties lay with Marlene and arguing with him wasn't going to accomplish anything.

Karp turned to Jojola, hoping that as a police chief, the Indian would side with the notion of calling in law enforcement. Two hours after Karp had arrived home to find that the world had just gone to hell in a handbasket, Jojola was already looking better. His wound-an ugly, festering bite-had been cleaned and treated; a second shot of penicillin seemed to have kicked the infection, at least temporarily, and chilled his fever. But instead of siding with him, Jojola suggested a compromise.

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Lucy and…," Jojola started to say Cop, an indication of how his emotions had been warring since that moment in the tunnel. "…and Tran. We're going to need the element of surprise to take out the enemy's leadership, save Zak, and secure the bomb."

"What then?" Karp said. "So you're sitting on the bomb when these guys regroup and come to take it back. From what I've heard, these terrorists have trained men with them, too."

Jojola nodded. "Yes, that's where my plan would go a bit beyond what Marlene and Tran have already proposed."

"How so?"

"I'd say give us two hours, and then send in the cavalry." The others murmured their agreement.

Feeling that he'd reached the best settlement under the circumstances, Karp voiced his final objection. "Okay, you do it your way, for two hours only. But I still don't like the idea of Lucy going. John, you and Tran know what you're doing, and God only knows that my wife has a certain flair for this sort of thing, though I'd hoped we'd moved beyond that. But Tran has worked with the Mole People; maybe he can persuade Grale without Lucy."

Before Lucy could answer, Jojola spoke up again. "I'm also going to side with Lucy on this one. I know this might not seem like a logical reason to you. But my dream told me that Grale was alive and that I needed to find him. I found him and now we know what we're up against.

"Lucy also has had a dream of these tunnels and Grale's role in this. Our fates seem to be tied to each other-the three of us, and I suspect you, Marlene, Tran, even the boys. Now, it could be that the end result is only that we die together, and that these dreams and the coincidences that have played out are only the spirits' way of calling us home. But I have to think that there's something more to this. Some reason that goes beyond a common death. And I think Lucy is meant to be our link to Grale."

The room was quiet except for the panting of Gilgamesh. Then Ned, who'd stayed in the background listening to what sounded like some scene out of a Hollywood spy movie, spoke up. "I'm going too."

"Sorry, Ned, but no," Marlene said. "I know you want to protect Lucy, but this isn't a good idea. I don't like Lucy going, but at least the risk makes sense."

"I can shoot."

"Tin cans and rabbits," Jojola said. "There is a difference when the target is a human being and he's shooting back at you. I don't doubt your courage, but this is not a Wild West show."

"Then I'll follow you," Ned said. He pointed to Lucy. "Wherever she goes, I go. Try to stop me, and we'll find out whether I'm any good at shooting human targets."

The older of Tran's men laughed. "Americans are all such cowboys," he scoffed. "They think they can ride in, bang, bang, the bad men are all dead. Then off into the sunset."

Tran cut him off. "Perhaps, but there is something about their cowboy mythology that you don't realize and that is they don't believe they can lose, even when they're beaten. If you haven't completely forgotten our own history, you might recall what happened to us at Khe Sanh. Yes, we eventually won our country-only to see a new tyrant take the old tyrant's place-but it wasn't due to the lack of courage or fighting ability of these American cowboys."

"And Indians," Jojola said. "When you talk about cowboys, don't forget the Indians." He meant it lightly, but Tran's face grew sad.

"No," he replied. "I will never forget the Indians, especially those who hunted us."

Jojola's face darkened. "At least we didn't murder almost every man, woman, and child in the Hmong village, or cut off their ears for the sin of 'listening to the Americans.' At least the men we hunted could defend themselves."

Tran furrowed his brow. "You think that was my doing?" he said. "I was told that was an atrocity committed by a traitor among you-a South Vietnamese officer and his men-because he suspected that the Hmong were helping us. It wasn't true, by the way, but my men and I left them alone." A light dawned on Tran's face. "Ahhh, now I know why you and your partner began taking the ears of my men. It did not seem like your way at the time."

"And what about my friend-his name, by the way, was Charlie Many Horses," Jojola said. "You killed him."

"How can you blame me for that?" Tran said. "He was trying to kill me."

Jojola was quiet. "I will need to ask Charlie what he wants me to do," he said at last. "I have lived with the hatred of Cop for so long; it is a tough thing to realize that my old enemy is also my new friend."

"In the meantime, we have a whole new set of enemies for you two," Marlene said. "When do we go?"

"We will have to wait until dark-four hours from now," Tran said. "The police are all over the area now, and a bunch of people running around with guns is going to attract more than the usual amount of attention. I have two men watching the theater now; with the two I have here our little band of sappers comes to nine."

"Ten," Karp said. "Zak's my son. I'm going, too."

"Sorry, Butch, but we need you here to call in the cavalry," Marlene said. He started to argue but she put her fingers to his lips. "Please, my love, you know I'm right. Besides, if…if something happens, Giancarlo will need you. But I think we will need a tenth member."

"Who?" Tran asked.

"Oh, I think Gilgamesh would like a little outing," she replied.

For the next three hours, the loft was turned into a staging area for guerilla warfare. Tran's two men disappeared and then returned with several suitcases, which, when opened, revealed Mac-10 submachine guns with silencers and nightscopes. Another suitcase yielded K-bar knives, Rigel night-vision goggles, and headset radios. Lucy and Marlene returned from another shopping trip with black turtlenecks and black pants. "Afraid we had to pay top dollar at Macy's," Marlene said.

As the others dressed and prepared, the older of Tran's men saw Ned cleaning his Peacemaker. He walked over to the younger man and tried to hand him a Mac-10. "You'll need a little more firepower," he said.

Ned shook his head. "I don't know the first thing about that gun," he said. "And probably couldn't hit the broad side of a barn."

"It fires a hundred rounds in the time it would take you to empty your gun," the man said.

"It only takes one to kill a man."

The man shrugged and left the cowboy inserting the.45-caliber rounds into the chamber.

They were ready with an hour to spare, a time each spent lost in his or her own thoughts, except for Lucy and Ned, who disappeared into her bedroom. Karp watched them leave but this time didn't resent it. The young will find a way to celebrate life, even in the darkest times, he thought. He glanced over at Marlene, who stood looking out the window. He walked over. "Got that key?"

"What key?"

"Your Christmas key," he said. "Get it, I want to show you something."

When Marlene returned from their bedroom with the key, Karp led the way out of the loft, down the stairs, and to the building across the street. He punched in a security code to get in and flicked on a light switch.

"Oooh, now this is mysterious." Marlene laughed as he led her to the elevator and hit the button to take them to the top floor. "So you've been keeping a little pad on the side for your mistresses, and now that we may all die, you were feeling guilty and wanted to show me, eh?"

"Would you stop with the mistresses," Karp said, suddenly peeved.

Marlene realized she'd chosen the wrong moment for levity. "I'm sorry, Butch, I'm trying not to think about what's happening with our son, or what could happen in the next few hours."

"That's okay, I shouldn't have snapped," he said. "I'm scared to death, too, and if I think about it too much, it might overwhelm me. I know I should be worried about all those people up at Times Square, but the only people on my mind are my family." He tried a smile. "Anyway, enough of this; come on, I have something to show you."

He led the way down a corridor to a door on the south end of the building. "Go ahead, use your key," he said.

Marlene inserted the key in the dead bolt, turned it, and then opened the door. Karp put his arm around her waist to hold her back for a moment as he reached inside to turn on the lights. "It's not quite finished," he said. "But I hope you'll like it."

He let her go and heard her gasp as she entered. Essentially the inside was one large room with a tall, vaulted ceiling. The part away from the windows had been set up as a reading area with a couch, overstuffed chairs, and a stereo. But most of the room was empty, except for an easel that stood over by the big picture windows that Marlene had admired from her own home across the street. The sun had set but the twilight bathed the room in a soft glow as though gold dust had been sprinkled in the air.

"I don't understand," she said, turning back to Karp. "You kicking me out or something, buddy?"

Karp laughed. "Not in a million years. It's just an art studio where you can get away from the hustle and bustle of the family and really concentrate on your painting. And over there," he said, pointing, "is a sink and shelves for working in clay. In case you decide to expand on your artistic endeavors. It was supposed to be done at Christmas, but you know how construction goes in New York."

Marlene was speechless for so long that Karp began to wonder if he'd messed up. Maybe I should have just stuck with the tennis bracelet idea, he thought. Then he really grew concerned when she began to cry.

"Oh, my God, Butch, I must have been a saint in my previous life-took care of lepers and fed the poor-to have deserved you as my husband," she said. She walked over and flung her arms around his neck and began kissing him with an urgency that carried them over to the couch.

A half hour later, Karp and Marlene walked back into their loft holding hands. "We were beginning to think that perhaps you'd decided to go get Zak on your own," Jojola said.

"How do you like your studio?" Tran asked.

"How did you know?" Karp asked.

"Easy. It's my construction company doing the work."

"Well, in that case, I'd like to talk to you about completion dates…missed completion dates, that is."

"Maybe if you weren't so picky with the paint colors and carpeting we might have-"

"Gentlemen," Marlene interrupted, "can we take this up some other time. I believe we have a son and a city to rescue."

Ten minutes later they were ready to go. The guns and other equipment had been repacked and taken to a van that was waiting outside. While the others trooped off down the stairs, Marlene said good-bye to Karp and Giancarlo, who'd emerged sleepy-eyed and in tears.

"Don't go," Giancarlo wept.

"I have to go get your brother, honey," Marlene said. "He sent you to get help; we can't let him down, can we?"

Giancarlo shook his head and crowded in against his father, who wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders. "Just promise me you'll come back," he sobbed.

Marlene looked up and into her husband's eyes. "I promise," she said. She turned to go, giving a silent hand signal to Gilgamesh, who jumped up and bounded out the door ahead of her.

"Momma!" Giancarlo yelled, but she was gone.

Fifteen minutes later, a white van pulled up in an alley across the street from the theater. Nine people and one very large dog jumped out and headed into a side door of the older apartment building that faced the theater and had been opened by a young Vietnamese man in the uniform of a New York City police officer. A few minutes later, they were all safely in a dark room looking out at their target.

"Two men out front," said a second young Vietnamese man, who was also dressed as a cop. "We don't think they are using radios to communicate with those inside because we've seen them using hand signals. There is another man just inside the doors. He apparently asks those who enter for a password, which may be problematic as it makes sense that they have some sort of video surveillance unit inside the theater to watch the front. Once someone goes in, they don't come back out, at least not this way, so this must be their access to the tunnels."

"Well done, Minh," Tran said. He turned to the others. "So it appears we will have to fight our way in, which will take our element of surprise."

"Maybe not," Jojola said. He'd been thinking about his dreams. Charlie Many Horses rarely spoke to him unless there was a good reason. "Remember what the bear said," he said aloud.

"What?" Marlene asked.

"What the bear said," Jojola repeated. "Lucy, what was that Arabic response?"

"Wa alaikum salaam?" Lucy replied.

"Yes, now give that to me again," Jojola said.

After he'd repeated it until Lucy gave him a nod, Jojola turned to the others. "Okay, here's my plan; if you have a better one, speak up."

A few minutes later, the two men outside the theater watched an old bum who stood across the street facing them. The man's long hair and beard were matted and he wore a filthy Santa Claus suit with high-top tennis shoes. He'd been standing there for an hour, just watching them; their shouts telling him to move on had done nothing. Only now did he say something, and in a voice that seemed to bounce off the nearby buildings:

"AND BEHOLD, A PALE HORSE. AND THE NAME OF HIM WHO SAT ON IT WAS DEATH, AND HADES FOLLOWED WITH HIM. AND POWER WAS GIVEN TO THEM OVER A FOURTH OF THE EARTH TO KILL WITH SWORD, WITH HUNGER, WITH DEATH, AND WITH THE BEASTS OF THE EARTH."

"Go away, crazy man," one of the guards shouted, but he was distracted when his comrade tugged on his elbow and nodded to a man who was walking toward them. Their job was to watch for sudden increases in interest from people watching the theater or police activity. They'd grown more nervous as people filtered toward Times Square, but most of the celebrators had skirted the construction zone cones and yellow tape in front of the theater by crossing to the other side of the street. The stranger ducked under the tape, nodded to them conspiratorially, and hurried up the steps and into the theater.

"Must be a brother from the Philippines," one of the men said to the other. "An ugly people, if you ask me."

"Maybe. I saw some who looked like him when I was fighting for the jihad in Chechnya," the second man replied. "But he looks like a fighter, so I'm glad to have him on our side. Can you see if he made it past Ahmad?"

"He's giving him the password now."

Inside the theater's front door, Ahmad, the same large Yemeni who'd confronted the twins, stepped in front of John Jojola. "A salaam alaikum," he said.

"Wa alaikum salaam," Jojola replied.

The big man relaxed. "Why are you so late?" he asked.

"I'm supposed to report on the crowds," Jojola said, nodding in the general direction of Times Square.

"Well, you better hurry; they're almost finished with our little surprise for the infidels."

Jojola hurried in, glancing at his watch. He had three minutes to find the surveillance equipment. He saw a door marked Employees Only and, on a hunch, opened it and went up the stairs. Sitting at a monitor in what would otherwise have been the theater's technical booth were two sleepy Middle Eastern men.

"A salaam alaikum," he said.

"Wa alaikum salaam," they replied. "What are you doing here? You should be in the tunnel. There're only three hours left."

"Charlie Many Horses sent me with a message," Jojola said.

"Charlie who? What message?"

"Charlie said to say, 'Fuck you, you scumbag,'" Jojola snarled, drawing his knife from its sheath and lashing out with a foot that caught one of the men in the throat, propelling him into a wall.

The second man reacted by reaching for the radio headset he'd removed after Jojola got past Ahmad. But Jojola pinned his hand to the table with the knife. The man's scream was cut short by the bullet Jojola put in his temple with the small.380 handgun with silencer he'd secreted in a boot.

Jojola turned to the other man, who sat with his back against the wall, trying to breathe through a crushed larynx. "Happy New Year," Jojola said, pumping two rounds into his skull. He then whipped out the radio headset from his pants pocket, flipped the switch, and said, "Let's go."

Outside, a woman accompanied by a large dog came jogging down the sidewalk toward the two men out front. "Go around," they shouted and waved.

"I don't want my dog to get hit by a car," Marlene shouted back, ignoring the fact that there were no cars on the street.

The two men looked at each other and shrugged, stepping back to allow the dog and woman to pass. "Nice doggy," one said just as the woman made a movement with her hands. The next thing the man knew, the nice doggy had him by the throat. But there was hardly time for him to be frightened as with a shake of his head, the dog tore his throat out.

The second man backed away in horror but there was little to do but scream once before the dog was on him. Gilgamesh's powerful jaws smashed through the arm the man had thrown up to protect himself, then bore in at the man's neck. With a crunch, the man's neck snapped.

Marlene looked up the steps just as a large black man emerged from the doors drawing a gun. "Help me," she cried. "My dog's gone crazy."

"Stand back," the man yelled, waving her out of his line of fire at the ferocious beast that was killing his comrades. Then a surprised look came over the man's face and his gun clattered to the ground; he groped once at the hunting knife that protruded from his back and then collapsed.

Jojola appeared and wrenched his knife from the dying man and dragged the body inside. At the same moment, the white van pulled up in front of the theater and the rest of the team jumped out and hurried up the stairs, carrying several suitcases, except for the two Vietnamese "police officers" who quickly hauled the bodies of the two guards into the van.

"Nice doggy," one of them said to Gilgamesh, who wagged his tail as blood dripped from his jowls. There was a sharp whistle and the dog turned and ran up the stairs, following his mistress and the others into the theater.

The two faux police officers set up traffic cones around the front of the theater and van, which they then festooned with crime scene tape.

The two officers then sprinted into the building.

The group made their way into the basement, Tran's sappers easily taking out two guards at the entrance to a hole that had been dug in the foundation and led into an older sewer line. Electric lights had been strung along the main route, past side tunnels and holes in the walls where the brickwork had collapsed. Jojola noted tracks from many men as well as motorized vehicles. "Carrying something heavy," he said, "probably how they brought the barrels into the tunnel."

The electric lights ran out at a particular large hole in the sewer line but the tracks led through it into a large, dark cavern. The team put on their night-vision goggles and proceeded through with Tran's men, Jojola, and Gilgamesh on point.

The team had stopped to discuss their next move when Gilgamesh began growling at the dark space in front of them, and then at places on each side. Where there had been no one, suddenly the goggles' infrared sensors began picking up figures moving in the shadows.

"We're surrounded," Marlene said. The team formed a circle, guns bristling and pointed at the people moving in the dark.

"There must be a hundred of them," Ned whispered. "Do we shoot?"

"No," Lucy said. "I think we've found who we're looking for…or he found us."

The figures closed in around them and now the team could pick out individual faces-strange, emaciated, hollow-eyed faces, many disfigured or covered by sores-and made more ghastly by the green imaging of the goggles. They wore an assortment of clothing that appeared to have been scavenged from Dumpsters as well as more primitive robes and sack cloths. They carried weapons although these, too, were makeshift-a few guns, spears, knives, and even clubs.

Two of them, both wearing hooded robes that covered their faces, stepped forward. "So we meet one last time at the end of all things," the taller of the two said and threw back his hood.

"David," Lucy cried.

"Hello, Lucy." He smiled but only briefly before his face grew grave again. "You shouldn't have come, unless it is your wish to die here with us."

"We might die, but first we have to stop these evil people from setting off that bomb," Lucy replied.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Grale said. "I…we've decided that this is the will of God. Jesus's kingdom on Earth cannot be established until the last battle and this will be the beginning of it."

"How can you say that when it means tens of thousands of people will die?" Lucy asked. "Innocent people, David. What happened to the good man who used to work in the Catholic soup kitchens and championed the poor?"

"Every man has to follow the path God has set for him," Grale replied. "I am just an instrument of the Lord. I have hunted the demons in the depths below the Sodom of our times, but they are gathering in ever greater numbers. This explosion will also destroy them. I know it may be hard to understand, dear Lucy, but what is it if thousands die but the world and mankind are saved?"

"You're crazy, David," Marlene said. "Who are you to say what God intends?"

"I know what I know, Marlene," Grale said. "We will not try to stop these men."

"Then step aside and let us pass," Marlene replied. "If we succeed then that, too, would be God's will."

Grale shook his head. "I will not allow it. This is the moment the Bible speaks of."

"Then you and your people will die. My son is in there, and I'm going to go get him."

"Did you ever wonder why you named your child Isaac? The child born to be sacrificed to God," Grale shouted. He raised his knife like Abraham at the altar and his eyes flashed insanely. "Leave now, while there is time to enjoy your family and lives before the end of days. But this is my kingdom and it is my will that shall be done."

The small band raised their guns and prepared to be charged by Grale and his people. But Lucy walked up to Grale and slapped him so hard the sound echoed in the cavern and dropped him to a knee in front of her.

"That's my baby brother in there, David," she screamed into his shocked face. "If you don't help, I'll hate you forever." She slapped him again, which knocked him to his hands and knees and set the Mole People to muttering and looking at each other and their downed leader for some sign of what to do.

At first there was no response. Grale's head remained down. Then his thin shoulders started to shake and a strange sound came from him. It took Lucy and the others a minute to realize that it was the sound of laughter.

Grale looked up and rose to his knees with tears streaming down his face. He was laughing so hard that he grabbed his old wound in pain. But the mad light was gone from his eyes. "Oh, God, Lucy," he said. "I tell you we're standing on the edge of the abyss, the end of the world, and you tell me you're going to hate me forever? The irony is just too delicious." He looked around at the Mole People nearest to him, who fidgeted, unsure of whether they were supposed to join in the laughter or kill the up-worlders. "Well, I certainly can't have that weighing over me for all of eternity. Now can I?"

The Mole People decided it was their cue to cheer. "No!"

Grale stood up and turned to Tran and Jojola. "Okay, before Lucy hits me again and removes the teeth I have left, what's the plan?"

A block away and ten minutes later, Al-Sistani stood as near to the bomb as he dared-not wanting to risk radiation poisoning. From above he could hear the thudding of rock bands and the faint cheers of the people gathering on Times Square. He looked at the boy, whom he'd had tied to one of the barrels, and then took a photograph on his digital camera. An award-winner for Al Jazeera, he thought happily. I'm sure his parents will appreciate knowing where their son spent his final moments.

"How are you doing, boy?" he said. "Feel honored that you will be the first to die?"

"Shove it, asshole," Zak replied. "I know why you're doing this."

"Oh?" Al-Sistani smiled. "Tell me."

"Because you're so ugly, the girls you dated wore their veils across their eyes so they wouldn't have to look at your face."

Enraged, Al-Sistani walked over to the boy and picked him up by his hair. The kid hadn't shut up since they'd caught him. At first he'd wondered if the boy had been able to alert the authorities. But after they found the tall, young basketball player-the friend of the recruit, Rashad, lurking in the theater-he realized that the boy had simply followed his friend. Now it didn't matter; the bomb was nearly ready. At eleven thirty he would give a signal to the martyr, who was working on the fuse beneath the scaffolding. The man would then wait for a half hour to allow Al-Sistani's escape, and while every television station in the world was broadcasting the New Year's Eve festivities in New York, the city would die.

"What's the matter, Pizza Face, the truth hurts?" the boy said and kicked him in the shins.

Al-Sistani pulled his gun and was going to shoot the boy.

"Leave him alone!" The challenge came from the basketball player, Khalif, who lay on the ground, tied up next to one of the rows of barrels.

Al-Sistani whirled and walked over to Khalif, whom he kicked in the stomach. "Maybe I should shoot you instead?"

"Allah curse you, you son of a pimp!"

While somewhat tame by American standards, the traditional curse was one of the worst in the Arabic language, akin to saying, "Fuck you." Al-Sistani pointed his gun at Khalif's head and was about to pull the trigger when there was a burst of gunfire immediately behind him. He turned and saw Rashad pointing an assault rifle at the ceiling.

"Khalif, dammit, what the fuck you doing here, dawg?" Rashad said.

"Looking for you, brother."

"Shouldn't have done that…we're about set to blow up the New York Stock Exchange and this whole place is going to come down."

"Is that what you think? Is that what this motherfucker told you? Don't you hear that cheering up above, brother? That's Times Square. They're planning on killing all those people up there."

Rashad, whose hands shook as he pointed the weapon at Al-Sistani, asked, "Is that true? Is that what this is all about? What was all that crap about destroying the economy but not killing people?"

Al-Sistani shrugged. "This will destroy the economy…and kill infidels. But you have proved yourself not worthy of joining our glorious cause." In the blink of an eye, he raised his gun and fired. A small hole appeared in the forehead of Rashad and then a trickle of blood as the young man collapsed to the ground.

"Rashad!" Khalif cried out. "Oh God, you fucking murderer…"

Al-Sistani silenced the young man with a kick to the head. He considered killing him and the boy. Not yet, he thought, they may yet be valuable as hostages. He listened again for the celebrations above and smiled. Firecrackers, he thought. The fools will soon have a much larger explosion to add to their celebration. Then a frown crossed his face. The sounds he thought were firecrackers came from the far end of the tunnel.

Just then one of his men ran up. "We're being attacked," the man yelled.

"Police?" Al-Sistani shouted back, ready to give the order to light the fuse as soon as he had time to get away and then flee.

"No," the man said and laughed. "Not unless the New York police are using old weapons and spears. We think it is that rabble we have seen in the tunnels. The rajim."

"Quit saying that," Al-Sistani said angrily. "They are not rajim, or jinn…they are filthy infidels-murderers and thieves-who live in this cesspit because even other infidels will not tolerate them. Kill them and be done with it, or are you incompetent?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but they do seem to have a few trained men among them," the man reported. "But we still outnumber them and have better weapons. We will deal with them shortly."

Al-Sistani thought about it for a moment. Neither federal agents nor the police were likely to enlist the scum who lived in the sewers and attacked with spears. He looked back at the man working on the fuse. "How much time before you are ready?" he yelled.

"Fifteen minutes," the man shouted back.

Al-Sistani decided to go see what was occurring himself. But first he cut Zak loose from the barrel and dragged him up by his arm.

"Let go of me, you dirtbag," Zak said.

Al-Sistani struck him in the face with the back of his hand. He expected the boy to cry and was surprised when he spit out blood and looked at him coolly. "You'll pay for that." He yanked the boy and began to march with his two bodyguards toward the tunnel entrance. The man who had reported on the battle with the rajim fell in with him.

Back at the mouth of the tunnel, Marlene and Tran hunkered down as the wall behind them was hit by another spray of bullets from the men twenty-five yards beyond them. They knew where the men were because they received regular reports from Lucy, whom Grale had taken to the viewing area above the tunnel.

Before launching their attack, Jojola had asked Grale, "Is there a way to come at them from behind?"

"The leader's escape tunnel," Grale said. "It comes out in the basement of the Red Sea Lebanese restaurant on Sixty-fifth. But it is well guarded, and not just by the terrorists."

"Who else?" Jojola asked.

"The only way to come at the escape route other than from the restaurant is to swim through a flooded sewer and beneath an iron grate," Grale said.

"That doesn't sound pleasant but I've done worse," Jojola said.

"Yes, but it passes through what we call an unsecured tunnel," Grale said.

"What's not secure?" Tran asked impatiently.

"The others…my people refer to them as morlocks…or rajim, the cursed ones, as our Muslim friends like to call them. For some reasons known only to them, they seem to guard certain areas in down-world more than others, and that is one of them. We know about the sewer and grate, but no one can go there."

"I did it once," a small man in a hooded robe said, stepping forward.

"Roger, I'm glad they didn't kill you," Jojola said.

"I am too tough though I've had a headache ever since."

"No more than you gave me."

"Call it even," Roger said. "Back to this, I've been to that end before. It was some time ago, when the others weren't as numerous, but I know the way."

Jojola smiled. "Are you willing to be my guide again?"

"Six of one, half a dozen of another," Roger said and shrugged. "There are going to be a lot of ways to die down here tonight. It's pick one, and this is as bad as any."

"Take one of my men," Tran said. "In case you have to fight your way through."

Jojola shook his head. "You're going to need all of them if you're going to have any chance. The Mole People may be brave, but they're going to be up against well-trained fighters and a superior force. You'll have to at least keep them occupied long enough for Roger and me to get through."

"I'll go," Ned said. "I'm not going to be any more good here than I would be there, and besides, us cowboys and Indians need to stick together."

"I'm going, too," Lucy had said.

"No, you're not!" Tran, Jojola, Ned, and Grale shouted.

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

Five minutes later, Lucy found herself lying on top of Beach's tunnel peering down as the terrorists made their preparations. Jojola patted her on the arm and left. "Hasta la vista," he said.

"Hasta luego," she replied. "Until we meet again."

Jojola left her alone with Ned. "I love you, Ned Blanchet," she said. "You be careful."

"I love you, too, Lucy Karp. See you a little ways down the trail."

Lucy let herself sigh loudly. "You're such a cowboy."

"Vaya con dios."

"Yes, go with God."

For some reason there'd been no word from Jojola shortly after he and Ned left. Now things were looking bleak. Tran's men were dead, as were the Mole People who hadn't already faded away. Even Gilgamesh, who'd accounted for several terrorists, lay bleeding from a gunshot wound in his side.

The terrorists apparently had a side entrance to their tunnel and had used it to come around behind Marlene, Tran, and the remaining Mole People. Grale crawled over to Marlene and Tran. "There's still time to flee. We can get Lucy and retreat to our cavern where we can wait for the end."

Marlene shook her head. "We have to hold out here as long as possible and give John a chance to get to the bomb."

"He may already be dead," Grale said.

"I know, but as long as there's a chance, I have to remain."

Just then Lucy's voice came over the radio. "I see the leader; he's got Zak with him. He's almost right below me."

Marlene looked at Grale, who answered the look. "I'm going. If I can save Zak, I will." Then he was gone.

Tran popped up to give him cover, shooting until his clip was empty. He dropped down again. "I have one clip left."

"I have most of one," Marlene replied.

"Well then, I guess this is it, my friend," Tran said. "The end for you and me."

Marlene smiled and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "I could not wish for better company to take this path with."

Tran nodded. "There is one good thing. As a Buddhist, I believe we will be reborn in forty-nine days, and since we will die at the same time, we will be reborn together. I can only hope that this time you return as a Vietnamese woman."

"I think you'd make a pretty cute Italian," Marlene laughed.

"Well, shall we do this," Tran said.

"Ready when you are."

On the far end of the tunnel, John Jojola, Ned Blanchet, and Roger were also fighting for their lives. At first their trip through various tunnels large and small had progressed without incident. But as they neared the end where Roger said they would come to the sewer, they'd suddenly been attacked by the others.

The first warning had been the sound of scurrying in side tunnels and the occasional glimpse of luminous eyes through holes in the walls and thin white arms that reached out for them as they passed. They'd conserved their ammunition until a large group suddenly blocked the tunnel in front of them, charging them with spears and clubs.

Jojola's Mac-10 had killed the first three with a sound like corn popping, and Ned's.45 had accounted for two more, by comparison blasting away like a cannon. The others had melted away, but the sound of scurrying and the shrieking of insane voices grew behind.

They rounded another corner only to find the way blocked by more. Spears jabbed at them from the sides. Looking behind, they saw a large crowd-some of them gamboling forward on all fours, others sort of hopping. Jojola shot those in front, and Ned two more who reached at them from a side entrance, but it was clear that those coming from behind were gaining.

"Go on," shouted Roger. "The sewer is just ahead. Jump in and dive down about five feet until you reach the end of the grate. There is just enough room to get under. I'll hold them off."

Jojola looked at the small man and noticed that part of a spear protruded from his side. "I'm finished," Roger said. "But don't worry, I'm going to meet my God."

"Take the gun," Jojola said. "I will see you on the other side someday."

Roger smiled and took the machine gun. "I've always wanted to shoot one of these," he said. "Now go."

Jojola and Ned ran forward and had just reached the edge of the sewer when they heard the gun go off behind them. It fired over and over again until it fell silent.

"Go," Jojola shouted to Ned who plunged into the water and disappeared beneath its fetid surface. He waited a moment and jumped in after. Feeling along the grate, Jojola squeezed beneath the bottom when he felt a pair of hands and then another grab him from behind and start to pull him back. He felt himself running out of air and suddenly he saw his body floating in dark, filthy water…away from the sun.

"Come on, Jojola, are you going to let some half-wit morons finish you after all we went through," Charlie Many Horses said. "I believe you have a son waiting for you to come home."

Well, how about a hand, Jojola thought back. He extended his arm and felt a strong grip take his hand and pull him beyond the grasp of his would-be killers.

He came up on the other side, held firm by Ned Blanchet, gasping for air. "I thought you'd decided to go back and help Roger," the young man said.

"Roger's beyond our help," Jojola said, standing and drawing his knife. "But I believe he's at peace. Now, let's finish this."

Lucy jumped when Grale touched her leg. "Just your friendly local madman," he said with a smile. "They still below?"

She nodded and moved aside to let him look. He peeked through. Almost directly below him was one of the terrorists, and behind that one were three more, one of whom was holding Zak by the arm.

Grale carefully slid the rest of the cover back, revealing a three-foot-square hole. "What are you doing?" Lucy whispered.

Grale looked at her and put a finger to his lips. "Going to make like Batman, my little Robin."

"What…?" Lucy began to ask but there wasn't time to finish her question as Grale looked down once more, then leaped through the hole.

Lucy scooted back to the hole just in time to see Grale stand and lift the man he'd landed on to his feet. The other surprised terrorists had jumped back and looked on in terror as Grale spun the man around and, with a vicious slash of his long, curved knife, decapitated the hapless man, who stumbled forward before collapsing into a puddle of water.

The remaining terrorists-including the one leading the way, who pulled Zak-retreated. She could hear them beseeching Allah for protection.

Lucy scrambled up and crawled as fast as she could to the next viewing spot. She looked down as a terrorist turned and tried to shoot Grale, screaming, "Shaitan!" But he panicked and his shots went wide. He had no time to shoot again.

In a fury Grale closed, his knife arced through the area, and the man's head rolled from his body. "Hurry, he's coming," shouted the leader to the last man behind him.

However, the third man stumbled and fell against an opening in the tunnel that gave way to a dark space. Suddenly, thin white arms reached out and grabbed him. "Help me, the rajim have me!" Then the man was pulled back into the dark space where he screamed again. There was the sound of scurrying and a whispering, excited voice; then the screaming stopped.

The man with Zak retreated back to the end of the tunnel and turned to face Grale. "Stay were you are, Iblis," the man shouted.

Lucy could see the muscles of the man's pitted face twitching with fear; his eyes, as wide and luminous as twin full moons, were almost insane with hatred and terror. He pulled Zak's head back with one hand and with the other pulled a knife from his belt.

Lucy screamed. "Zak!" But no one heard her.

Grale advanced toward the man, his knife held loosely in his hand. He tensed to pounce, but a shot rang out and instead he fell to his knees.

To Lucy's horror, several more terrorists ran up and surrounded Grale.

Down on the tunnel floor, Al-Sistani smiled and shoved the boy down to the ground. "Good work, men," he said, recovering from his own fear of the dark-robed man. He walked up to Grale and kicked him in the head, sending him sprawling, unconscious.

"What news from the tunnel entrance?" he asked the men surrounding the wounded man.

"Allah be praised, only two still lived when we left," one man said with a grin. "They are warriors, and fighting fiercely, but our men were preparing to rush their position. We heard firing just before we arrived. They must be dead by now."

"Excellent. Now see how the enemies of Allah die," he shouted and turned to shoot Zak, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. Then he looked over to where the basketball player knelt facing him. Al-Sistani could see the boy hiding behind him.

"Murderer," Khalif spat. "You shouted for Iblis. Well, he waits for you in the eternal fires."

Al-Sistani laughed and raised his gun. But suddenly there was the sound of a dozen angry bees and his men crumpled to the ground. Al-Sistani looked up and immediately knew that his chances of escaping had evaporated.

Advancing in short runs up the tunnel, black-clothed men wearing bulletproof vests came toward him. "Hands up," shouted their leader, a middle-aged man with short gray hair. "Get your fucking hands where I can see them."

Al-Sistani whirled toward the man with the fuse. I hope it's true there are seventy-two virgins in paradise for every martyr, he thought, then shouted, "Light the fuse!"

Then to his shock, the man beneath the scaffolding pulled the mask off his face. "Sorry, pendejo," the man said, "no can do." He held up a man's head. "You looking for this guy, maybe?"

Another, younger man walked out from behind the scaffolding. Al-Sistani couldn't believe what he was seeing. The young man wore his handgun slung low like a stupid American cowboy.

"My friend John just called you an asshole, you asshole," the cowboy said.

"Yep, looks like it's over…asshole," a tall man said, coming out from behind the line of federal agents.

A wild cheering and the sound of explosions came from above the tunnel. Karp looked up and smiled. "Sounds like the ball just dropped."

A short woman with dark hair also pushed through the federal agents. "Hey, Butch, how about my New Year's Eve kiss," she said and embraced the tall man. "Even if you lied."

"Only a little," Karp said. "I waited a good half hour before I called Jaxon."

"Good thing you did," Jaxon said. "Marlene and her pal were just about toast, not to mention the rest of the city. By the way, where is the Vietnamese guy? Man, he could teach us a few things about guerilla warfare."

"He's gone," Marlene said. "And you're right, he could. Now, don't you think someone should disarm that creep?"

Al-Sistani still stood with the gun at his side. He considered, for a moment, surrendering; then he thought of a lifetime spent in a federal penitentiary. Kill the Karp boy. Make his Jew parents suffer, he decided and quick as a snake turned to where Khalif was shielding the boy and lifted his gun.

A shot rang out, but it wasn't from Al-Sistani's weapon. So fast that the federal agents and others who saw it later said there was no discernible moment between when Ned Blanchet's gun was in its holster and when it blew a hole the size of an orange in the terrorist's head.

"Holy shit, nice shooting, cowboy," Jaxon said.

A small voice came down from the ceiling. "My hero." The group looked up and began to laugh at the adoring face of Lucy Karp as she looked down on the group like one of the angels in the Sistine Chapel.