Killer Heat

FORTY-EIGHT

The freak storm ripping through the city had sparked a massive power outage, a blackout that left Manhattan in late-morning darkness

So much for backup," Mike said.

"Doesn't change what we've got to do," Mercer said, opening the chopper door and climbing down. "What was that guy's name-the one from the Park Service who took us around?"

"Leamer," Mike said. "Russell Leamer."

"Let's make a dash for the ferry terminal. That's where his office is. Joe?"

"I've got to stay with my machine, guys. Double back if you need me."

Cell phones didn't work on Governors Island. I remembered that the ferry captain told us that. No wonder Pam Lear couldn't make good on her promise to call Lydia when she reached her destination.

I followed Mike and Mercer as they jogged the cobblestone path past Castle Williams to the office that bordered the ferry dock.

We saw no workers or rangers on our run, just the empty old barracks and the fortress that stood sentinel over the angry seas of the harbor.

By the time we reached Leamer's office, scattered lights began to dot the cityscape. Buildings with their own generators came to life- police headquarters, huge medical centers that fronted the East River- and several office towers glowed again beneath the ominous clouds.

Leamer hadn't seen the helicopter land. He was seated at a desk, on a landline phone, when the three of us surprised him by walking in, soaked to the bone despite our windbreakers and jackets.

Mercer took the lead in explaining why we had come back to the island.

Leamer got to his feet, gesturing wildly with the receiver still in his hand. "There can't be anyone hiding here, damn it. The feds searched everywhere."

"They searched on Sunday," Mercer said, knowing that they had finished their effort before Pam Lear decided to leave Fort Tilden. "They started early in the morning and were done by midday, before this girl even disappeared."

"How many men have you got working with you today?" Mike asked.

"I'm alone."

"Where are the others?"

"They went back to Manhattan an hour ago, with the last ferry."

"The last ferry?"

Leamer pointed out the window. "The surge from the harbor breached the seawall next to the dock. The tide is so high that the ramp has been lifted too steeply to meet the ferry. They can't make any trips until this passes, and there's no telling how much flooding there'll be."

The sight was terrifying. The low-lying walkway that led away from the dock was full of water, and the river had risen almost as high as the landing slip.

"We need the phone," Mercer said.

"I need it, too, Detective," Leamer said, becoming more frantic with the news that we were looking for our fourth victim. "I've got a disaster to manage here."

Mercer calmed the man and took over the phone, calling the lieutenant and asking him to send men to the Battery Maritime Building, to get them to Governors Island the moment the storm blew through. The expression on his face changed at the end of the call-tightened- with some piece of news Peterson had told him, something he didn't want to hear. "I understand, Loo."

"Aren't there a couple of firemen posted here? How do you reach them?" Mike asked Leamer.

"They were evacuated with the ranger staff. The entire power grid for the metropolitan area was knocked out, Detective. Lightning hit one of the main transformer stations."

"Shit," Mike said, ready to tear the place apart to look for Pam Lear. "Are you armed?"

"No, sir."

"Lock this door and don't open it until you see us again, okay?"

"But the water-I've got to get up to higher ground. There are government documents I've got to save and-"

"Documents? We're looking for a human being. We're hoping to find her alive, okay? You wait right here by the phone until the last possible moment-unless you're going to help with this. And if anybody from the police department calls in with information for us, you stand up by that cannon out there and scream your lungs out till one of us gets back to you."

Leamer's jaw dropped as we walked out the door.

More thunder boomed overhead, like giant bowling balls banging against each other, as we ran from Leamer's tiny office, across the roadway, onto the porch of one of the barracks that lined the waterfront.

Then a loud noise jolted me, coming even closer to us, as Joe Galiano's chopper rose into the sky over the surging river, heading away from the island.