The Green And The Gray

35

"You said that was called a Reuben?" Sylvia asked, peering across the table at the sandwich in Caroline's hands.

"Yes," Caroline confirmed, taking a bite and savoring the tang. "A little messy, but delicious."

"And these are chicken fingers," Sylvia said, picking up one of the golden-brown sticks from her own plate. "You know, I believe I've seen chickens, and I remember them having claws instead of fingers."

"The name refers to the shape," Caroline told her. "Try one of those dipping sauces."

Tentatively, Sylvia touched the chicken to the top of the BBQ sauce bowl and nibbled at it.

"Interesting," she said, nodding.

"Personally, I prefer the hot mustard," Caroline told her, indicating the other bowl. "Careful, though

—it packs a punch."

"So you give me a challenge?" Sylvia said, mock-solemnly, as she plunged her chicken finger an inch into the hot mustard. Defiantly, she bit off that end—

And grabbed for her water glass, eyes bulging. "I warned you," Caroline said, unable to hide an amused smile as the other woman drained half the water in a gulp. "Roger always accuses me of having a wrought-iron tongue whenever I—"

She broke off. Without warning, Sylvia had gone rigid, her eyes locked somewhere past Caroline's shoulder. "Sylvia?"

There was no response. "Sylvia!" she repeated more forcefully, reaching over to grip the woman's hand, her heart suddenly pounding. Had the hot mustard poisoned her?

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, Sylvia blinked, her eyes coming back to focus.

But those eyes were now hard and cold, the lines of her face settled into deep wrinkles. "Get your things," she said tightly. "We're leaving."

"Now?" Caroline asked, relieved and stunned at the same time. "Sylvia, I didn't mean that—"

"Now," the older woman ordered, sliding out of the booth.

"I have to pay the bill first," Caroline protested, fumbling for her purse. "If I did something wrong—"

"Not you," Sylvia said, standing beside the booth like a statue, her eyes focused on the distance.

"The stupid fools."

"Who?" Caroline asked, staring up at her.

"Your husband is in trouble," Sylvia bit out. "Hurry."

Her mouth suddenly dry, Caroline pulled the credit card out of her wallet.

And hesitated. She'd wanted to come here today for a specific purpose. If she left without fulfilling it, she might never get another chance.

But if Roger was in danger...

Setting her teeth firmly together, she gathered up her purse and coat and slid out of the booth. It wasn't going to work exactly as she'd planned, but she could still do it. And it would only take a few extra seconds.

She could only hope that those few extra seconds wouldn't cost her husband his life.

"What do we do?" Roger murmured, his throat tight as he watched the four Greens striding toward the car.

"You've got the tel," Fierenzo reminded him, his voice icy calm. "Call it in."

Roger had completely forgotten the gadget pasted to his left hand. Now, twitching his little finger, he held it to his cheek. "Jonah?"

"Here," the Gray's voice said promptly. "What's happening?"

"We're in trouble," Roger said tightly. "There are four Warriors coming at us—"

"Six," Fierenzo corrected. "Two more behind us."

Roger swiveled to look. "We're surrounded by six Warriors," he told Jonah.

"Terrific," Jonah said. "What did you do to set them off?"

"Absolutely nothing," Roger protested. "I don't know why they're even here—"

"Save the analysis for later," Fierenzo cut him off. "Can he help, or not?"

"Can you help us?" Roger relayed the question.

There was a brief pause. "Yeah, I think so," Jonah said. "Give me a minute. I'll give you two call buzzes when we're ready."

Roger lowered his hand. "He says it'll take another minute," he told Fierenzo, eyeing the advancing Warriors. "We may not have that long."

"Then we'd better make sure we do," Fierenzo said, unfastening his seat belt and drawing his gun.

He opened the door and climbed out, leveling the weapon at the approaching Greens. "Police officer," he called. "Open your mouths, and I'll shoot."

The Warriors stopped, their expressions impassive. "Here's the deal," Fierenzo went on. "I know about the Shriek. I also know you have to open your mouths wide to use it, and if any of you so much as looks like they're about to let one off, I'll consider that an overt act and respond accordingly.

I figure I can get off at least two clear shots before you scramble my aim. So the question becomes which two of you want to die for nothing?"

"What do you mean, for nothing?" one of the Warriors asked, taking care to move his lips as little as possible.

"A lot of people know where we are right now," Fierenzo told him. "If we don't come back, they'll know where to look."

"We can tell them you left hours earlier," the Green countered. "There will be no evidence here for them to find."

"You'd be surprised what modern forensics can dig up," Fierenzo said. "On the other hand, we have no evidence that you've done anything illegal. If you step aside right now and let us go, there's nothing we can do against you."

"Wait a second," Roger protested, wrenching open his door and getting out. "What about Caroline?"

"She isn't here," the Green said.

"Like hell she isn't," Roger growled. "We want her. And Melantha."

"Roger, shut up," Fierenzo muttered across the roof at him. "We're at the short end of three-to-one odds here."

"I don't care," Roger said stubbornly. "I want Caroline back."

"I tell you she isn't here," the Green insisted.

"Fine," Fierenzo said, throwing a warning look at Roger. "Then if you'll step aside, we'll be on our way."

A look of consternation crossed the Green's face. "I'm sorry," he said, the words coming out with an odd reluctance. "That's a decision only the Commander can make."

Roger's left hand twitched as a tingle went through it. There was a second tingle.... "What if you and your group were in immediate danger?" he called. "Would you still have to wait for the Commander's decision?"

The Green's eyes flicked to Fierenzo's gun. "This hardly qualifies."

"Maybe this will." Hoping fervently he wasn't just blowing smoke, Roger lifted his hand to his cheek. "Go," he said into the tel. He lowered his hand, looking surreptitiously around—

And with a thunderclap that seemed to shake the whole forest, one of the tree trunks to his left exploded.

Roger jerked violently, wincing back as a cloud of splinters and sawdust rained down on them. The tree had been shattered about halfway up its trunk, and as he stared in astonishment the upper half leaned ponderously and toppled over, tearing its way through the foliage around it. It reached the ground and settled down at a sharp angle, its branches tangled with those of its neighbors.

Roger's ears were still ringing from the first blast when they were hammered by a second thunderclap, this one to their right, as a section midway up another tree disintegrated into another spray of wooden shrapnel.

He glanced across the car at Fierenzo. The detective was staring at the newly decapitated tree, his jaw and throat muscles tight. "What about it?" he called, turning back to the Warriors. "Does that qualify?"

The Green was staring at the second tree, his own face tight with concentration. Then, giving a microscopic nod, he looked back at Roger. Holding his knife up, he put his other hand onto the tip and shoved, collapsing the trassk once again into a harmless piece of jewelry. "Go," the Green said darkly, fastening the brooch onto his jacket as he and the other three Warriors stepped out of the way. "Don't come back."

Fierenzo seemed to shake himself out of a trance. He glanced once behind them and, apparently satisfied, slipped his gun back into its holster. "Come on," he said to Roger, climbing back into the driver's seat.

"Wait a minute," Roger objected. "What about Caroline?"

"I said get in," Fierenzo snarled, his voice suddenly vicious.

Swearing under his breath, Roger obeyed. He had the door only halfway closed before Fierenzo peeled out, scattering gravel in all directions. They roared past the four silent Greens, whipping down the drive as fast as Fierenzo could manage and still stay on the road. Roger held on grimly, the memory of his own frantic exit echoing through his mind, the escape where he'd run away and left his wife behind.

Which he'd now done a second time.

They were halfway back to the estate when, beside Caroline, Sylvia suddenly seemed to sag. "What is it?" Caroline asked anxiously.

"It's over," Sylvia said. She rubbed her eyes vigorously a moment, then turned to Caroline. "Don't worry, he's all right. The Warriors let him go."

Caroline took a deep breath, feeling the tension draining out of her. "Thank you," she murmured.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sylvia look sharply at her. She braced herself; but the older woman merely nodded. "You're welcome."

There were a hundred other questions Caroline wanted to ask, but she could sense this wasn't the time for them. "So," she said instead, trying to sound casual. "Shall we go back and finish our lunch?"

Sylvia snorted a chuckle. "I rather expect the waitress has cleared it away by now, don't you?"

"Yes, probably," Caroline admitted. "Well, there's always dinner."

"Perhaps," Sylvia said, a little grimly. "Right now, I need to have a long talk with my Warriors."

"Of course," Caroline said. Stretching still-tense shoulders, she settled in to drive.

And wondered why quiet alarm bells were suddenly going off in the back of her mind.

They had gone three miles down the highway, about halfway to the side road leading to where they'd left Jonah and Jordan, when Roger finally broke his silence. "When are we going to let Laurel out of the trunk?" he asked.

"When I say so," Fierenzo said shortly, checking his mirrors. The good news was that there was no sign of pursuit. The bad news was that with this crowd, that didn't necessarily mean anything.

"What about Jonah and Jordan?" Roger asked. "We going to pick them up when you say so, too?"

Fierenzo threw him a quick sideways glance. The other was staring straight ahead, his expression rigid. Feeling angry and frustrated and guilty, no doubt, at the fact that he'd once again had to abandon his wife.

But they'd had no choice, and he was pretty sure Roger knew it. Which was a long way from accepting it, of course. "Yeah, better give them a call," Fierenzo told him. "Tell them we'll be getting to their road in about ten minutes."

"Sure." Roger put his hand up to his cheek and began to talk.

Fierenzo checked his mirrors again, his mind racing. Something strange had happened back there, something that was setting all his detective's instincts on edge, but something which he couldn't get a handle on.

"Hold it a second," Roger cut into his thoughts, waving a hand toward the steering wheel. "Jonah says to pull over."

"What, here?" Fierenzo asked, frowning as he looked around. There was nothing around them but more forest. "There could be an ambush sitting inside any of those trees."

"Just pull over," Roger said sharply. "Jonah says they've moved, and that they can rendezvous with us right here."

"Fine," Fierenzo gritted. Ahead was a slightly wider spot just off the shoulder, and he pulled over and stopped. "Tell them to hurry," he added, leaving the engine running.

"He says to hurry," Roger said. He held the tel in place another moment, then twitched his little finger and lowered the hand. "You always this surly afterward?"

"I'm not surly," Fierenzo insisted. "I'm wondering what the hell happened back there."

"I'll tell you what the hell happened," Roger bit back. "What the hell happened was that we ran off like scared puppies and left Caroline behind."

"You'd rather have stayed and fought?" Fierenzo asked, turning his Official Police Stare on the other.

For once, the stare did no good. "What, you don't have six bullets in that gun?" Roger retorted.

"Actually, I've got seventeen," Fierenzo said icily. "But that's irrelevant. You've never been hit by a Green Shriek, have you?"

The anger in Roger's face cracked slightly. "No," he said, a fraction less truculently.

"I have," Fierenzo told him. "And I was being very optimistic when I said I'd get off two rounds before they introduced me to the dirt. If we'd fought, we'd have lost."

"Even with Gray backup?"

Fierenzo grimaced. "Yeah—Gray backup," he murmured. "You know, I've been attacked by the Greens twice now, and both times it's been the Grays who pulled me out of it. That's left kind of a soft spot in my heart for them... and up to about ten minutes ago I'd have taken their side against Cyril and Aleksander and Nikolos in a New York second." He shook his head. "But after that little display..."

He looked away from Roger, scanning the area around them. "We've been concentrating—at least, I've been concentrating—on Melantha and this Groundshaker thing as the biggest threat to the city," he said. "Now, I'm not so sure. It's one thing to hear Jonah describe how a hammergun round gets more powerful the farther it travels. It's something else to watch one blow the top off a tree."

"So now you're wondering where the real threat lies?"

"I know where the real threat lies," Fierenzo growled. "It's this whole damn war of theirs. And I'm this close to rounding up every one of them I can find—on both sides—and digging up, thinking up, or trumping up enough charges to hold them."

"You do that and you'll condemn them to perpetual slavery," Roger warned, his voice grim. "They'll never pass whatever medical tests they get put through in prison. You really think the Feds wouldn't snatch them the second they found out who and what they really were?"

Fierenzo sighed, some of the anger draining out of him. "Of course they would," he conceded.

"Which is why I'm not going to do it unless I absolutely have to. Especially not to people who've lived in my city this long without causing any trouble."

Abruptly, he reached down and popped the trunk release. "Keep your eyes peeled," he said. "I'm going to let Laurel out."

She was still lying obediently still under her blanket as he lifted the trunk lid. "We're clear," he told her, pushing the clothing bags out of the way and pulling off the blanket. "Anyone nearby?"

"If they are, they're not talking," Laurel said, squinting a little in the sunlight.

"Yeah," Fierenzo said, letting his gaze harden. "Now. You want to tell me what you did back there?"

"What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.

"Don't play me, Laurel," Fierenzo warned. "I'm not in the mood. You weren't just listening there at the end, were you?"

Her eyes shifted guiltily away from his stare. "I'm sorry," she said in a low voice. "I know you told me not to. But I didn't hear anything from Melantha, and no one had mentioned her. So I decided to take a chance. I didn't think they would even notice my voice among all the others. I certainly didn't expect them to react so quickly. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," Fierenzo said pointedly. Still, it was hard not to feel a certain degree of sympathy for her. If it had been one of his daughters who'd been kidnapped, he might not have paid much attention to someone else's orders, either.

There was the sound of a car door opening, and Roger appeared around the side of the trunk.

"They're coming," he reported. "You okay, Laurel?" he added, offering her his hand.

"I'm fine." She took his hand, and with his assistance climbed out onto the ground. "I'm didn't hear Melantha, though." She looked furtively at Fierenzo. "I even gave a quick call to her, just before we were stopped. But there was no answer."

Roger nodded heavily. "Well... we all knew it was a long shot."

"But she did hear something," Fierenzo said, the pieces finally starting to come together.

"What do you mean?" Roger asked, frowning.

"They knew who we were the minute we drove in," Fierenzo said, trying to put his intuitive logic train into words. "They also had to know we were there to spy on them."

"Granted," Roger said. "So?"

"So they didn't seem all that worried when they thought we were spying for ourselves," Fierenzo continued. "Otherwise, they'd have grabbed us while we were still in the house. And it didn't even seem to bother them all that much when the hammerguns went off."

"They looked startled enough to me," Roger said.

"Startled, yes, but not bothered," Fierenzo pointed out. "There's a difference. That implies they weren't even that worried when they realized we were spying for Grays."

He looked at Laurel. "But they did care when Laurel made that quick call for Melantha and they suddenly realized we had a hidden Green aboard. They cared a lot, in fact. So the question is, what was going on back there that they wouldn't want a Green to overhear?" He lifted his eyebrows in invitation.

"I don't know what to say," Laurel said, her forehead tight with concentration. "They were monitoring our progress through the forest, and there were bits of other conversations—just the casual sorts of things people talk about all the time. There was also a Farspeaker keeping in touch with their Commander, who must have been out of normal range."

"Aunt Sylvia," Roger murmured. "I wonder if she's the same Sylvia I met at Aleksander's place."

"I don't know." Laurel looked at Fierenzo. "But you were right. The minute I gave my call, they suddenly went from very calm to very excited. I went quiet again immediately, but it was too late."

"Wait a minute," Roger said, frowning. "You say she heard something that worried them. But after a couple of minutes they went ahead and let us go. Doesn't that mean they concluded she hadn't heard anything?"

Fierenzo thought it over. "You may be right," he conceded reluctantly. "Damn. I thought we might be onto something."

"We might still be onto half of it," Roger offered. "Because their reaction shows there was something they thought she might have heard."

"Could be," Fierenzo agreed. "Any ideas, Laurel?"

Laurel shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't think of anything—"

She broke off as the sound of something brushing through tree branches came from their left.

Fierenzo looked that direction, his hand automatically going for his gun.

But it was only Jordan, flying rapidly through the air toward them as he angled downward on his invisible tension line.

Beside him, Fierenzo felt Roger twitch as he caught sight of the flying Gray. "It's all right," Fierenzo soothed him, wincing as Jordan's outstretched feet slammed hard into the tree trunk anchoring the other end of the tension line. A pair of broken ankles right now would not be good.

But the young Gray's legs merely bent with the impact, absorbing the momentum like a pair of coiled springs. A second later he had let go of the line and dropped onto the ground, clearly none the worse for wear. A second later Jonah slammed into the same spot on the tree and also dropped to the ground. Turning around, he waved his hand back and forth twice as if directing traffic and then held it steady.

Fierenzo looked back in the direction the two Grays had come from. A moment later he spotted the tiny tension line projector flying toward them like a small kite being reeled in, its manta ray/airfoil shape keeping it high above the ground and any potentially entangling branches. It shot toward Jonah, and Fierenzo wondered suddenly if the Gray was going to wind up with a set of broken knuckles when it hit.

But Jonah obviously knew the proper technique. Just before the projector reached him, he swiveled a hundred eighty degrees around to let it shoot past, burning some of its speed as it braked along its retrieval thread. The projector made a U-turn and finished its trip to his hand at a much more manageable speed. "Everyone okay?" he called as he and Jordan jogged to the car.

"Thanks to you," Roger said, shaking his head. "Velovsky mentioned tension lines, but it didn't sound nearly as impressive as it looks."

"Yeah," Jonah said distractedly, his eyes on Laurel. "Laurel?"

"I didn't find Melantha," she said tiredly. "I'm sorry."

"Then where is she?" Jordan asked anxiously, looking at Fierenzo.

"I don't know," Fierenzo told him. "But we won't find her hanging around out here. Everybody in the car."

"We going back to the city?" Roger asked as they all climbed in.

"Not yet," Fierenzo said, retrieving the mental thread he'd been working on back at the estate before the Warriors had so rudely interrupted. "Nestor told us Sylvia was out doing some shopping. Laurel corroborated that a minute ago when she said their Commander was out of range of everyone except the Farspeakers. Given that, what's the simplest thing for them to have done with Caroline?"

"Sylvia took her along?" Jordan suggested.

"Exactly," Fierenzo said. "And there's just a chance that Caroline might have been permitted to do a little shopping of her own."

He looked at Roger, who was frowning blankly at him. "And if she was clever," he added, "she might even have used a credit card."

Roger's eyes widened as the light finally dawned. "Of course," he said, fumbling out his phone and his wallet. "How do I do this?"

"Call the company—number's on the back of your card," Fierenzo instructed, glancing in the mirrors and pulling out onto the highway again. "Tell them your wife may have lost her card and ask where the last place was she used it."

They had made it back to Shandaken and the intersection with Route 28 when Roger finally turned off his phone. "Got it," he announced. "The Minute Cafe in Bushnellsville."

"A restaurant?" Jonah asked incredulously. "She bought lunch?"

"As I said, clever," Fierenzo said, taking a left into a grocery store parking lot and turning around back toward 42. "Let's go see how clever she actually was."

"Afternoon, gentlemen," the waitress said cheerfully as she came up to Roger and Fierenzo. "Two for lunch?"

"No, thank you," Roger said, pulling Caroline's photo out of his shirt pocket and holding it up for her inspection. "We're looking for this woman."

The waitress's eyes went suddenly wary. "Oh, yes?" she asked, her voice neutral. "Who wants to know?"

"Her husband," Fierenzo said, nodding toward Roger. "And the NYPD," he added, holding his badge wallet up beside Caroline's photo. "Was she in here today?"

The woman's eyes flicked to the badge and then back to the photo. "Yes," she said, a little reluctantly. "She and her mother."

Roger frowned. Her mother?

"Where were they sitting?" Fierenzo asked.

"Back there," the waitress said, pointing at the rearmost booth. "They left in an awful hurry, too.

Hardly touched their food."

"Find me her charge slip, please," Fierenzo said, starting toward the booth. "Her name's Caroline Whittier. Come on, Roger, let's take a look."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Roger asked as they sat down on opposite sides of the booth.

"Something Caroline might have left behind," Fierenzo said, picking up the napkin dispenser and rifling through the napkins. "A note slipped into a menu, say, or dropped on the floor during lunch."

"But she couldn't have known we'd even be up here," Roger objected, leaning over and studying the floor under the booth.

"No, but she could address it to you and assume someone would find it," Fierenzo pointed out, pulling out the stack of menus and fanning through them.

"I don't see anything," Roger said, poking his fingers carefully along the gap between the cushion and the padded seat back. "Maybe Sylvia caught her trying to do it."

Fierenzo grunted. "Let's hope not."

The waitress appeared beside them. "Here's her bill," she said handing it to Fierenzo.

"Thank you." He glanced it over; and to Roger's surprise, a corner of his lip twitched in a lopsided smile. "Well, well," he said, handing it across the table. "You definitely underestimate your wife's brains."

Roger frowned at the slip of paper. Date, time, amount, Caroline's signature... and the tiny word table scrawled just beneath her name." 'Table'?" he asked. "What does that mean?"

"I believe it's what's known as a clue," Fierenzo said, bending over and peering beneath the table.

"Ma'am, did she pause by any of the other tables on her way out?"

"I don't know," the waitress said. "I was filing away the bill and wasn't really watching."

"But you did say she was in a hurry," Fierenzo said, sliding out of the booth and heading toward the door.

"Yes," the woman said, clearly puzzled.

"You think she put something on one of the tables on her way out?" Roger asked, hurrying to catch up.

"I've already cleaned all those," the waitress called after him.

"That's okay," Fierenzo called back as he stopped by the last table by the door and dropped down into a crouch. "Not on the table," he added to Roger as he peered at the underside." Under it."

Reaching up, he pulled out a folded silver gum wrapper with a wad of chewed gum attached to it.

"Hey, she was pulling out some gum while I was running her card," the waitress said, jabbing a finger at the gum.

"Thank you." Fierenzo dropped into one of the chairs and motioned Roger to join him. For a moment he just examined the gum and wrapper as they were. Then, carefully, he pried the gum off and unwrapped the paper.

And as Roger watched, the detective's mouth tightened. "What's the matter?" Roger asked anxiously.

"Is she all right?"

Wordlessly, Fierenzo handed it over. Turning it around to face him, Roger read the tiny note.

"Roger: Damian Groundshaker, ready move on NYC—time unknown. Melantha not here. Sylvia Group Com in charge. Don't bring Grays. I love you, C."

He looked up at Fierenzo, a hard knot in the pit of his stomach. "So they were wrong," he said.

"Damian is indeed alive and well."

"So it would seem," Fierenzo said heavily. He looked up pointedly at the waitress, who took the hint and drifted away. "That would explain what happened back at the estate, too," he went on. "Group Commander Sylvia was afraid Damian might have identified himself, or that someone might have mentioned him by name. As soon as she realized that hadn't happened, there was no reason to keep us there."

Roger reread the note. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Somehow, I'm not convinced." He looked over at the waitress, busying herself at the counter. "Ma'am, you said Caroline was in with her mother. Can you describe this other woman?"

"She was old," the other offered. "White hair, really dark eyes. Darkish skin, too—looked kind of Greek or Italian. They didn't look much alike, actually—I figured she was a stepmother or mother-inlaw."

"Did you notice any jewelry?"

"She had this really nice pin on her jacket," the waitress said, gesturing to her own upper-left shoulder. "Silver filigree, big green stone in the middle. That's all I noticed."

"Thank you." Roger turned back to Fierenzo. "That sounds like my Sylvia, all right. And my Sylvia was absolutely insistent on getting Melantha back."

"Maybe she was lying," Fierenzo suggested. "If they're trying to keep Damian a secret, they have to pretend they still need Melantha."

"Or else she's been lying to Caroline," Roger countered. "I mean, face it—how many kidnappers have you run across who take their victims out to a public restaurant?"

"And then let them put lunch on a traceable credit card?" Fierenzo shrugged. "You have a point. But we can't afford to take the chance."

"I wasn't suggesting we should," Roger said. "I'm just trying to figure out how we find out for sure without the Grays maybe charging into a trap."

"Well, we're not going to figure it out here," Fierenzo said. "Let's get back to the city."