The Green And The Gray

34

"Well?" Fierenzo asked as the five of them stood beside a tall granite boulder on the edge of the steep hill. "Does it work, or doesn't it?"

"It works, I suppose," Jonah said, sounding a little doubtful as he peered between the trees with a compact set of binoculars. "I can see a corner of the main house, if that's really the Green estate we're looking at down there. If I can see it, we can theoretically get there."

"Pretty bumpy landing from this high up, though," Jordan added, sounding even more doubtful than his older brother. "I'd vote for someplace closer."

"Get too close and you're likely to run into a picket line," Fierenzo warned. "Anyway, there's not going to be any sliding, bumpy or otherwise. You're here to watch and listen and, if necessary, make it sound like we brought a small army with us."

Beside Roger, Laurel shivered. "But that's an absolute last resort," Fierenzo added, glancing at her.

"And only on Roger's direct order."

"Understood," Jonah said. "Be careful."

"Trust me," Fierenzo said wryly. "Okay, Laurel. Your turn."

A few minutes later Laurel was curled in a sort of fetal position inside the Buick's trunk, completely covered by the old emergency blanket Caroline kept back there, the outline of her body camouflaged by the various department store bags Fierenzo had scattered strategically around her. "You okay?" he asked, repositioning the bags one final time.

"I'm fine," her muffled voice came.

"Okay," Fierenzo said. "Remember, now, you're only supposed to listen for Melantha's voice. No calling out on your own. We don't want them spotting you, and we definitely don't want them identifying you."

"I know," she said. "Let's get this over with."

"Right." Closing the lid, Fierenzo headed for the passenger door. "And you two watch yourselves," he added to Jonah and Jordan. "I don't want some Green Warrior sneaking up and sticking a knife in one of you. Let's go, Roger."

Roger got behind the wheel and turned the car back down the winding road toward the main highway below. "You've been pretty quiet the last twenty miles," Fierenzo commented as he drove.

"I've been thinking about some of the things I've said to Caroline in the past few weeks," Roger admitted. "Some of the things I've thought even when I was smart enough not to say anything."

"What sorts of things?"

Roger shook his head. "Oh, I don't know. Sometimes she just doesn't seem to think, I guess. Or we're getting ready to go somewhere and she suddenly heads off to do something at the last minute that she could have done anytime that afternoon."

"Mm," Fierenzo said. "How long have you been married?"

"Four years," Roger told him. "Seems longer sometimes."

Fierenzo chuckled. "Trust me, you're hardly even started. She's a real estate agent, right? You need a certain amount of brainpower to handle a job like that, wouldn't you say?"

"Of course," Roger said. "I didn't mean—"

"She gets along well with people, too?" Fierenzo went on. "Mixes well at parties, puts strangers at their ease—that sort of thing?"

"Yes, that too," Roger agreed.

"Remembers anniversaries and birthdays and when each of her nieces lost their first tooth?"

"Uh... yeah, I think so."

"And she's better at all this than you are?"

Roger grimaced. "Probably."

"Well, see, there's your problem," Fierenzo said. "You just don't understand how your wife thinks."

Roger snorted. "Careful," he said, only half jokingly. "You get tossed into sensitivity training these days for saying things like that."

"I'm a detective," Fierenzo countered. "Part of my job is to understand people and learn what makes them tick." He shrugged. "Not to mention twenty-two years of marriage to that same kind of woman."

"So enlighten me," Roger said. "How does she think?"

"Let's start with you," Fierenzo said. "If you're like me—and I think you are—you think in terms of numbers and facts and problems and solutions. We approach life as a set of difficulties and puzzles that have to be conquered. True?"

Roger thought it over. That did seem to be how he looked at things. "I guess so," he said. "And Caroline doesn't?"

"Nope," Fierenzo said. "I mean, she probably can do that if she needs to. But most of the time she looks at the world in terms of relationships. Relationships between people; relationships between events; how individual parts combine to make the whole. You as a contract-law paralegal probably see your job in terms of statute and case law and contract details. Caroline, if she was doing it, would probably see it in terms of who was in difficulty and how they could be helped and what the consequences would be for them and their families of her doing a good job. You see the difference?

You'd both ultimately accomplish the same thing, but you'd have approached it from different mental angles."

"Yes, I see," Roger murmured, thinking hard. This was something that had never occurred to him before.

"Like I said, my wife's the same way, and early on it sometimes drove me nuts," Fierenzo went on.

"But I've learned how to take advantage of it. Since she sees things differently, she can often fill in the gaps and blind spots in my own mental vision. I can't even count the number of times I've been discussing some brass walnut of a case with her when she's made a comment that suddenly threw light on something I either hadn't noticed or hadn't considered the right way."

"So when Caroline waters plants at the last minute...?"

"She's probably got her plants connected mentally to something that also connects to the two of you going out," Fierenzo told him. "It's a convenient relationship, and it works, so she sticks to it."

"But we're always late," Roger argued.

"Are you?" Fierenzo countered. "Or are you just not as early as you'd like?"

Roger frowned. "Well... mostly the latter, I guess. So how does this connect to her always losing things?"

"Probably a matter of her focusing on one thing and not paying attention to everything else,"

Fierenzo said. "It doesn't all have to connect, you know."

"I guess not," Roger said, a stray memory flitting crossing his mind: Stephanie, in the hotel room last night, pointing out that Green and Gray minds didn't work the same way, but that neither was better or worse than the other. "Just different," he murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing," Roger said. "I'm going to have to think about this some more."

"You do that," Fierenzo said. "But do it later. Right now, concentrate on your upcoming performance."

"I'm frantic, insistent, and frustrated that you won't believe me."

"Right, but don't overdo it," Fierenzo warned. "You're also tired and scared, and that saps a lot of a person's emotional strength. In this kind of show, less is more."

Ahead, Roger could see the highway cutting across the end of the mountain road they were on.

"When should I start?"

"Right now," Fierenzo said, pulling out his gun and giving it a quick check before returning it to its holster. "They may have sentries or observers posted anywhere from this point on. They might as well get a glimpse of the Angry Citizen with his jutting jaw."

"Right." Roger took a deep breath. "It's show time."

"Check," Sylvia said, moving her bishop three squares over to attack Caroline's king. "Wait a minute. Is it check, or checkmate?"

"Let me see," Caroline said, studying the board. It was probably the latter, considering her own level of skill at this game. She'd always been terrible at chess, and this morning's matches had certainly not raised her average any. "It's checkmate, all right. Congratulations."

"Thank you," Sylvia said, eyeing her with mock suspicion. "You're not just letting me win, are you?"

"I won the first two," Caroline reminded her, starting to reset the board for another game. "I told you that this was a Warrior's game."

"That it is," Sylvia agreed, starting to reset her pieces as well.

Caroline smiled to herself. Yes, she was doing terribly. But then, the goal here had never been for her to win. She'd discovered the board and pieces tucked away in a back corner of her closet earlier that morning, along with a badminton bird and a deck of dog-eared cards with four missing, and had suggested to Sylvia that it was a game she might find enjoyable. One of the rooks turned out to be missing, but a stack of quarters from her purse had solved that problem, and they'd settled down in the library to give it a try.

As she'd expected, Sylvia had taken to the game like a cat to canaries. She'd had the moves down cold after the first game, was starting to learn the necessary strategy by the second, and had figured out counters to most of Caroline's meager repertoire of tricks by the third. Now, with the sixth game just ended, she was showing all the enthusiasm of a kid with a new toy.

"The Human who came up with this game must have been brilliant," Sylvia commented as she finished setting her pieces and swiveled the board around.

"Some of us have definitely been brilliant through the ages," Caroline agreed. Pulling her pack of gum from her pocket, she casually pulled out a stick and unwrapped it. "Games, music, art—we've had our share of geniuses."

"What's that?" Sylvia asked, eyeing the gum. "Food? Are you hungry?"

"No, this is called chewing gum," Caroline said, holding it out for her inspection. "You chew on it and get flavor in your mouth. Want to try one?"

"I suppose," Sylvia said, a bit hesitantly. "You don't actually eat it?"

"No swallowing involved," Caroline confirmed, folding the stick into her mouth and pulling out another for Sylvia. "Though it doesn't hurt humans any if we do swallow it. You've never seen Green children or teens chewing gum?"

"Never," Sylvia said, folding the stick into her mouth as she'd seen Caroline do. She blinked twice.

"Very intense. What exactly is this flavor?"

"It's a blend of various fruits," Caroline told her, putting the pack away. "Do you like it?"

"It's... different," Sylvia said diplomatically. "At any rate, it's your move."

"Right," Caroline said, moving her king's pawn two squares forward. "Maybe there's someone in midtown Manhattan right now who'll be the next human to come up with a game as brilliant and elegant as this one."

Sylvia smiled knowingly as she set her queen's pawn one square forward in response. "And therefore, we should be careful what happens to the Humans in our war?"

"I would think a good Warrior would be careful about that anyway," Caroline replied, jumping her king's knight up and over to the edge of the board.

"I wish that decision was ours to make," Sylvia said, moving her queen's bishop two squares out.

"But I'm afraid it's up to the Grays. If they choose to make their stand from residential buildings, in effect hiding behind the Humans, we'll have no alternative but to bring those buildings down."

"There are always alternatives," Caroline said earnestly. "Nikolos is a Green Command-Tactician.

That means he's one of the best there is."

Something like a flash of annoyance flicked across Sylvia's lined face. "You make it sound easy," she said. "It isn't."

"Maybe not for you or me," Caroline agreed. "But surely Nikolos can come up with something better than an all-out war in the middle of a city."

"Even if such a thing were possible—" Sylvia broke off, her eyes unfocusing, and once again Caroline heard the almost-words of Green telepathic communication. The older woman's eyes came back; and to Caroline's surprise, she abruptly stood up. "But right now, it's lunchtime," she said briskly. "Shall we try a different restaurant?"

"Ah—sure," Caroline managed, glancing at her watch. She'd been racking her brain all morning trying to figure out how to get Sylvia to let her take her out for another meal. "But it's only eleventhirty."

"I'm hungry," Sylvia said, stepping away from the board. "Aren't you?"

"Oh, sure, I can always eat," Caroline assured her, scrambling to her feet.

"Then get your coat," Sylvia ordered, already halfway to the door. "I'll meet you at the truck."

"There," Roger said, pointing at the gravel drive leading off the road to the left and flicking on his turn signal. "The sign's gone, but I'm pretty sure that's it."

"Let's give it a try," Fierenzo agreed.

The drive seemed a little different beneath his wheels than on his last trip in, Roger noticed uncomfortably as he turned in. But then, that could be a result of his own rearrangement of the gravel on that mad dash out.

No one appeared as they followed the twisting path through the trees. "You suppose they've abandoned it?" Fierenzo asked as they topped a gentle ridge and started down the other side.

"More likely I've got the wrong place," Roger said, grimacing. "The turnoff we took to the cabin should have branched off before here."

"Mm," Fierenzo said, looking at the woods around them. "Maybe we should have given Jonah's tel to Laurel. At least we could have had a running commentary as to whether there are any Greens nearby."

"I think I see a house up there," Roger said, peering ahead.

"Let's take a look," Fierenzo said. "If this isn't the Green place, maybe they can tell us where it is."

The house was big and old, Roger noted as he followed the drive through the expansive lawn stretched out in front of it: three stories in places, with a pair of wings rambling out to the sides.

Caroline could probably tell at a glance when it had been built; all he could tell was that it looked rather haphazardly designed.

The front door opened as he rolled to a stop in front of the steps, and a young man stepped out onto the porch. "Can I help you?" he called as Roger and Fierenzo got out of the car.

Roger's heart rate picked up as he got his first close look at the other. Tall and dark, with black eyes and olive skin. They were at the Green estate, all right... only the Greens had somehow rearranged the drive beyond all recognition. Fierenzo had been right; he wouldn't have been able to prove his story to anyone else. "I'm looking for my wife," he bit out. "Where is she?"

The young man seemed taken aback. "I'm sorry?"

"Relax," Fierenzo told him, holding out his badge. "I'm Detective Sergeant Fierenzo from New York City. Mr. Whittier here claims his wife has been kidnapped and is being held around here somewhere."

"Really?" the other breathed. "That's terrible."

"Oh, stop it," Roger said disgustedly. "You're not fooling anyone."

"Take it easy, Mr. Whittier," Fierenzo warned in the weary tone of someone who's already heard it too many times. "Is this one of the people you saw?"

"Not exactly," Roger admitted. "But they were similar in appearance."

"Uh-huh," Fierenzo said. "Can I ask your name, sir?"

"I'm Nestor Green," the other said, looking uncertainly at Roger. "And there isn't anyone else here.

Really."

"I'm sure there isn't," Fierenzo said soothingly. "Are you the owner, Mr. Green?"

"No, that would be my Aunt Sylvia," Nestor said. "She's out shopping."

"Good," Roger said. "That'll give us a chance to search the house."

"Be quiet, Mr. Whittier," Fierenzo said, throwing him a warning look. "Any idea when she'll be back?"

"Not really," Nestor said. "Listen, I can't just—look, do you have a warrant or something?"

"No, and we're not going to search the house," Fierenzo assured him, holding up a placating hand. "I wonder if we could come in and wait for a few minutes? See if your aunt returns?"

"Sure," Nestor said reluctantly. "Come on in."

He led the way through the door into a large and elaborate entryway. "Good-sized place," Fierenzo commented, glancing around as Nestor led the way to a pair of double doors to their left. "How many people live here?"

"Just my aunt and me and a few caretakers," Nestor said, pushing open one of the doors. Beyond was an impressively equipped library, with a massive desk in front of a pair of tall windows looking out onto the wooded hills beyond. "She's hoping to get some investors to restore the place and turn it into a lodge."

"You've sure got the view for it," Fierenzo commented, nodding toward the windows. "How long have you lived here?"

"About three years," Nestor said. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"We're fine, thanks," Fierenzo said, stopping in the middle of the library and giving it a casual survey. "Nice collection."

"I want to see the rest of the house," Roger spoke up truculently. "I know Caroline's here."

"We don't have a warrant, Mr. Whittier," Fierenzo said patiently. "I already told you that."

"So?" Roger countered. "This is a kidnapping. Exigent circumstances, remember?"

Fierenzo took a deep breath. "Do you recognize this house?"

Roger hesitated. "Well... no."

"Do you recognize Mr. Green?"

"I already told you I didn't," Roger growled.

"Do you have any proof that your wife is even in this particular county, let alone this particular estate?"

Roger glared at him. "Now, look," he warned. "I'm telling you—"

"You've already told me," Fierenzo cut him off, turning abruptly for the door. "Thank you, Mr. Green

—sorry for the inconvenience. Come on, Mr. Whittier."

"Wait a minute," Roger said again, grabbing the detective's arm as he passed. "We're leaving?"

"Yes, we're leaving," Fierenzo said, turning to look squarely into his eyes. "I told you before that if you couldn't give me something solid, this whole trip would be a waste of time. You haven't, and it has been. Now get in the car."

"No," Roger snapped, bracing himself. Here was where he had to push it just the right amount.... "I swear to you that cabin is out there somewhere. We have to find it."

"Forget it," Fierenzo said. "I'm not going to waste what's left of my day tromping through a bunch of woods."

"We have to," Roger said firmly. "You're supposed to be investigating, right? Well, investigate, damn it."

Fierenzo held his gaze another moment, then turned and looked back at Nestor. "Are there any other roads on the estate besides the one we came in on?"

"There's one that goes from behind the house through the back areas of the woods," Nestor said carefully. "But I've been over the estate a dozen times since we moved here. This is the only building on the grounds."

"I tell you it's there," Roger insisted.

"Does the other drive take us back to 42?" Fierenzo asked, ignoring him.

"Yes, about a quarter mile north of the one you came in on," Nestor said.

"Fine." Fierenzo turned back to Roger. "Here's what we're going to do," he said in a voice that left no room for argument. "We're going to leave now, taking the other road through the estate. I'll drive; you can look out the windows. If you spot your cabin—hell, if you spot any cabin—we'll stop and take a look at it. If you don't, we're getting onto 42 and heading back to the city. Take it or leave it."

Roger glared at him for another second, wanting to see how Nestor was reacting to this but not daring to look at him. The cabin would certainly be nowhere near that road—Nikolos would have seen to that when he erased all the other approaches to it. But circling the grounds pretending to look would give Laurel the maximum possible range in her search for her daughter.

"Well?" Fierenzo prompted.

Roger let his shoulders sag. "Sure," he muttered. "What do you care?"

"Thanks for your time, Mr. Green," Fierenzo said as he and Roger headed toward the library door.

"We can find our own way out."

They crossed the entryway and the porch and walked down the steps to the car. Roger got into the passenger side as Fierenzo went around the front and slid in behind the wheel. "Keys?" the detective asked as he closed his door.

"Did he seem worried about us taking the long way out?" Roger asked, digging out the keys and handing them over.

"I didn't see any reaction," Fierenzo told him. "Best guess is that they've already erased or camouflaged everything leading to the cabin."

"No kidding," Roger said sourly. "They could have taken the whole building apart for all I know. I just hope Laurel's having better luck."

The drive they were on came to an abrupt end just beyond the far wing of the house, but by the time they got there Roger could see the other road Nestor had mentioned. Fierenzo eased the car across a short stretch of grass to the patch of gravel and picked up his speed a little. "Interesting," he said, pointing ahead of them. "Tire tracks. Someone's used this road recently."

"Nestor said his aunt was out shopping," Roger reminded him.

"Sure, but I assumed he was lying," Fierenzo said. "That either Sylvia was never there to begin with, or else that she'd ducked out the back and was hiding inside a tree somewhere."

"She'd have a job hiding Caroline in there with her."

"True," Fierenzo said. "And this puts a new light on things."

Roger frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Later." Fierenzo gestured toward his window. "You're supposed to be looking for a cabin, remember?"

Roger turned back to the side window, trying to figure out which direction he was facing. Starting at the back of the house, he was thinking the road had curved west. If so, then they were now heading north....

He was straining his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of anything that wasn't tree or bush or grass, when he was abruptly slammed against his seat belt as Fierenzo stomped on the brake. "What—?" he demanded, twisting his head around to look out the windshield.

The protest died in his throat. Standing across the drive thirty feet in front of the car were four Greens, long trassk knives shining in their hands.

"I think," Fierenzo said quietly, "that we're in trouble."