The Green And The Gray

40

Roger had been to Staten Island only once in his life, back when he was a child and his parents had taken him to see the Richmond Town Restoration. He didn't have much memory of that trip, but he'd come away with the vague impression of a place that was pretty quiet and very unexciting.

Now, at two o'clock in the morning, the island was even quieter.

"There," Velovsky said, pointing out the window at a collection of small shapes silhouetted against the reflected glow from the waters of the Upper Bay. "Third one from the left."

"Anyone around?" Fierenzo asked.

Jonah was sweeping the area with his binoculars. "Doesn't look like it," he said.

"Let's go, then," Fierenzo said, opening his door. "Roger, leave the keys above the visor."

Roger obeyed, the weight of the hammergun wrapped around his wrist still feeling strange. He climbed out of the car, closing the door to a crack instead of slamming it, and fell in behind Fierenzo, slogging through the loose sand as Velovsky and Jonah fanned out to either side.

They reached the shed without incident. "Locked," Fierenzo muttered, digging into a pocket. "I'll have to pick it."

"Don't bother," Jonah said, reaching over and pressing his thumb against the lock. "Gray general-use locks are keyed to pressure and body temperature. All I have to do is—there," he said as the lock snicked open.

Fierenzo pulled open the door and gave the weathered wood inside a quick sweep with his penlight.

Looking over his shoulder, Roger saw that the shed was empty, with no other doors or windows.

"What now?" he asked.

"This way," Jonah said, slipping past them and going to the far corner of the shed. He reached down and got a grip on something; and to Roger's amazement, a section of floor swiveled open on invisible hinges, revealing a set of narrow steps leading downward. "Again, general-use camouflage," Jonah explained as he propped the door back against the wall behind it. Twisting his wrist, he sent his hammergun flowing into his hand.

Roger did the same, though not nearly as deftly. Jonah gave a quick look around at the others, then turned to the staircase and started down, Fierenzo close behind. Roger followed, his heart thudding painfully, with Velovsky bringing up the rear.

The stairs were trickier than expected. Roger had grown up with the American standard of riser and step dimensions, which apparently was just slightly different from the typical Gray equivalents. Half a dozen times in the first thirty steps he caught his heel and nearly lost his balance. One of those times, as he grabbed for the smooth metal of the stairway to catch himself, his hammergun clattered against it, sounding as loud as a gunshot in his ears and eliciting a quiet but heartfelt curse from Velovsky. Letting go of the weapon, he let it flow back into its wristband, and from then on kept both hands brushing lightly against the walls for support.

Finally, with a murmured warning from Jonah, they reached the bottom.

Roger stepped off the last stair to find himself pressed close to Fierenzo in a cramped metal entryway no bigger than an office cubicle, facing an elaborately tooled metal wall. "I hope there's a door there somewhere," Fierenzo murmured.

"Right there," Jonah said, gesturing to a section of the wall that looked no different to Roger than any of the rest of it. "Problem is, I don't know how to open it."

"Try to figure it out," Fierenzo said tartly. "I'd really prefer not to have to knock."

"We may not have a choice," Velovsky warned. "The outer door would have locked Melantha in.

This one might well be designed to lock everyone else out."

"I think he's right," Jonah said reluctantly, running his hand over the wall. "Okay. Everyone back up the stairway."

They reversed direction, climbing back up the steps. It was just as tricky going up, Roger discovered, as it had been going down.

"That's far enough," Fierenzo murmured after the first ten steps. "Okay, Jonah," he called softly as he turned around and drew his gun from his shoulder holster. Taking a deep breath, Roger threw his hammergun into his hand and tried to prepare himself for action.

From below came a pair of dull thuds that echoed off the stairway walls. There was a moment of silence, then two more. "Come on!" Jonah shouted. "Open up, will you?"

More silence followed. Then, abruptly, there was a faint creak of metal, and Roger felt a puff of oddly scented air flow past him. "What do you—?" a deep voice growled.

"About time," Jonah cut him off. "Hey, Garth. How's it going?"

"Wait a second—wait a second," Garth protested. "You can't come in here. Special orders from—"

"From Torvald," Jonah finished for him. "Yes, I know. Why do you think I'm here?"

"No, really, you can't come in," Garth insisted. "We've got some delicate tech work going and can't have people clumping around stirring up air currents."

Jonah's sigh was clearly audible. "Very plausible," he said. "I'll be sure to tell Torvald what a fine job you're doing. But right now, I have to get in to see the girl."

There was just the briefest pause. "Girl?" Garth cautiously.

"Melantha Green?" Jonah said, starting to sound a little irritated. "The one you're guarding? Torvald wants me to bring some proof to Halfdan that we've got her."

"He told Halfdan about her?" Garth said, sounding stunned.

"The situation's starting to unravel," Jonah bit out, his voice clearly impatient now. "Or didn't they tell you about Damian?"

"They told me Whittier spun a spiderweb story for them," Garth said contemptuously. "I don't believe it any more than Torvald does."

"Well, I guess Torvald's changed his mind," Jonah said.

"He must have changed more than that," Garth countered. The initial shock of finding Jonah outside his door was apparently fading, and Roger could hear suspicion starting to edge into his voice.

"Since when are you working with him?"

"Since none of your business," Jonah said. "He doesn't tell me everything he's got on the burner, either. What, you think I just strolled over to Staten Island and came down here on a sudden whim?"

"Why didn't he tell me you were coming?" Garth demanded. "For that matter, why didn't you use your tel instead of pounding on the door just now?"

"Because I don't have one," Jonah said. "I was supposed to get one of the pair you cut up to track Whittier's trassk with. Come on, we're wasting time. You going to let me in, or not?"

"Not, I think," Garth decided firmly. "Not till I talk to Torvald."

And with that, Fierenzo jumped suddenly down the steps, the thud of his feet hitting the metal floor echoing up the stairway. "Police," he snapped. "Keep your hands where I can see them. Roger, get your butt down here."

Roger clattered back down the steps, Velovsky behind him, to find the situation just about the way he'd visualized it. Garth was standing in the middle of the open doorway, his mouth hanging open in shock, his ever-present pocketknife for once gripped motionlessly in his hand. In front of him stood Jonah; slightly to the side where he had a clear line of fire was Fierenzo, his gun pointed squarely at Garth's stomach. Garth's bewildered frown shifted over the detective's head—"Whittier?" he demanded. "Jonah, what in—?"

"Later," Fierenzo cut him off. "How many more in there?"

Garth's mouth clamped solidly shut. "Fine—we'll find out for ourselves," Fierenzo said, tossing Jonah a set of handcuffs. "Stay here and watch him, and make sure he doesn't use his tel. You two come with me."

Pushing past Garth, Fierenzo headed into the transport. Glancing furtively at the glowering Gray as he passed, Roger followed.

The transport's door led into a light-blue corridor that stretched back about ten feet to a T-junction.

Fierenzo reached the intersection and paused, giving a quick look both directions. "Short branch to the left; longer one to the right," he murmured back over his shoulder. "Any suggestions?"

"Go right," Velovsky muttered back. "We must be near the bow. Most of the transport will still be aft."

"Sounds good to me," Roger seconded.

Fierenzo nodded. "Stay sharp," he warned. "Looks like there are a couple more turns back there, and I see at least two doorways. Perfect spot for an ambush." Giving another quick glance both directions, he sidled around the corner and headed to the right.

This corridor was longer than the first, stretching back at least thirty feet. Roger stayed close behind Fierenzo, his eyes on the two doorways midway down the corridor leading off to opposite sides.

Melantha and another guard might be in one of those rooms—

"Behind you!" Velovsky barked suddenly.

Roger spun around to find that a big Gray had appeared at the far end of the corridor branch they hadn't taken and was striding purposefully toward them. Clenching his teeth, he snapped his hammergun up, peripherally aware that Velovsky was doing the same.

They were both too late. There was the familiar guitar-string whine, and suddenly Velovsky was thrown backward, slamming into Roger and sending his own shot splatting uselessly into the corridor wall. He tried to line up the weapon for a second try, but there was another whine and his arm flailed back over his shoulder as the Gray's shot caught him in his upper-right shoulder, spinning him halfway around and dropping him off-balance onto one knee. The Gray's third shot sent Velovsky careening backward into him again, throwing his aim that much farther off and leaving Fierenzo the only one still standing. With two of his opponents down, the Gray broke into a sprint, hammergun still spitting shots their direction. He reached the T they'd just passed, glanced toward the entryway as he ran through the intersection—

And was abruptly slammed sideways against the wall as Jonah's hammergun shot caught him dead center.

Roger suddenly noticed his left hand was tingling. Shouldering Velovsky off his arm, he twitched his finger and pressed the hand to his cheek. "Yeah, what?" he demanded.

"I've got this one," Jonah announced. "Keep going."

"Right," Roger said, getting shakily to his feet. He'd lost his grip on his hammergun in the fracas, he discovered; flicking his wrist, he threw it back into his hand. "You okay, Velovsky?"

"Don't worry about me," the old man wheezed, his chest heaving as he fought to get air back into his lungs. "Just move it."

"Quiet," Fierenzo admonished them both.

They continued on to the first door. It opened at a touch on a white plate set in the wall beside it, and Fierenzo and Roger looked cautiously inside.

The room was dark, but there was enough light spilling in from the corridor to show a dozen rows of dusty-looking padded seats, arranged airline style. "Passenger compartment," Velovsky identified it, peering past Roger's shoulder. "Those seats probably fold down for sleeping."

"Should we check it out?" Roger asked, trying to see around the chairs. "They could have Melantha on the floor behind that last row."

"You couldn't hide a Gray back there," Fierenzo pointed out, shining his flashlight into the compartment. "Not enough room."

"What about that storeroom?" Velovsky asked, pointing his hammergun toward a darker archway opening off the far side of the compartment. "Plenty of room in there for her and a couple of guards."

"Yeah, but all the comfortable seats are out here," Fierenzo pointed out, shining the light at the archway.

"They could have moved her when they heard us coming," Roger suggested.

Fierenzo shook his head. "Dust on the chairs; nothing floating in the air. Let's keep going."

The next door opened into a second compartment arranged in a mirror image of the first, and just as deserted. Beyond the two doorways, the corridor ended in another T-junction, this one with equallength branches leading off to both sides. "Should we split up?" Roger offered as Fierenzo hesitated.

"Bad idea," Fierenzo said. "Let's try right."

"No," Velovsky said suddenly. "Go left."

Roger looked at him. The old man was staring into space, frowning hard in concentration. "Any particular reason?" Fierenzo asked, his voice wary.

"Just go left," Velovsky repeated sharply, gesturing with his hammergun.

A memory flashed into Roger's mind: Caroline in the cab Saturday morning, listening to the Greens as they communicated silently with each other. Could he be hearing Melantha's call? "Let's do it," he said, turning down the left-hand branch. Five paces ahead the corridor bent to the right; not bothering to look first, he charged around the corner.

He caught just a glimpse of the Gray kneeling marksman-style in the center of the corridor as the hammergun shot slammed into his chest, throwing him backward against the wall. He tumbled down onto the deck, vaguely aware of Fierenzo diving flat onto the floor around the corner in front of him as Velovsky leaned his right arm awkwardly around the corner—

"Roger. Roger!"

With a start, Roger came to. Fierenzo was crouched over him, slapping at his cheek. "You okay?" the detective demanded.

"Yeah, I think so," Roger told him. His head and chest ached fiercely, but not with the sharp stabbing pains he would have expected from broken bones. "You get him?"

Fierenzo nodded, getting a grip on Roger's arm. "Come on—Velovsky's gone ahead."

With the detective's support, Roger managed to stagger down the corridor. The Gray was lying on the floor a few feet back from a doorway opening off to the right, his hands cuffed securely behind his back. Roger got a grip on the edge of the doorway, and he and Fierenzo stepped through into another of the passenger compartments they'd seen farther forward.

Propped up on her elbow on one of the flattened-out seats, her eyes heavy-lidded with interrupted sleep as she gazed nervously at Velovsky, was Melantha. "Melantha?" Roger called, taking another tentative step inside.

Her dark eyes turned toward him and abruptly widened. "Roger!" she gasped. Hopping off the seat, brushing past Velovsky, she ran toward him. Roger braced himself—

And then she was in his arms, her own arms wrapped tightly around him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"I knew you'd come," her muffled voice came from his jacket as she cried. "I knew you and Caroline wouldn't leave me."

"We're here, honey," Roger soothed, feeling embarrassed yet strangely comfortable as he held her close, trying not to wince as her arms squeezed his new set of bruises. "I'm sorry it took so long, but we're here."

"And we need to get moving," Fierenzo put in, touching the girl's shoulder. "Do you know how many Grays are in here with you?"

Melantha lifted her face from Roger's shoulder just far enough to look warily at the stranger. "It's all right," Roger told her quickly as she clutched him a little tighter. "He's a cop, and he's on our side.

How many Grays are there?"

"Three," she said, still sounding nervous. "One was with me, and there were two more somewhere else."

"All accounted for, then," Roger said, feeling a trickle of relief.

"But this one probably had time to call it in," Fierenzo reminded him. "Come on."

Melantha held onto Roger the whole way back through the transport, letting go only long enough to fling herself at Jonah for another quick bear hug when they reached him at the entrance. "Is Jordan okay?" she asked as they started up the stairs. "They said Halfdan would do something terrible when he found out who helped me."

"He's fine," Jonah assured her. "He's mostly been worried about you."

"Did they hurt you at all?" Velovsky asked, an ominous undertone to his words.

"No, I'm all right," she said, giving him a curious look. "They said they'd only hurt me if I tried to run or use the Shriek on them. Are you Velovsky?"

"That's right," he said. "Why?"

She clutched Roger's arm a little tighter. "I thought you were on Aleksander's side," she murmured.

Roger looked back at Velovsky, caught the brief quirk of his lip. "We can talk about it once you're safe," he assured the girl.

"If there is any place that's safe," Velovsky grunted as they reached the shed and climbed up through the trap door.

"Oh, I think we can come up with something," Fierenzo told him, opening the outer door and giving the area a quick scan. "Come on, and I'll show you."

The Buick was pretty crowded with the five of them jammed into it. But it didn't stay crowded for long. Barely a mile after Fierenzo directed Roger onto Richmond Terrace, he ordered him to pull over again. "Here we are," he announced. "Everybody out except Roger and Velovsky."

"You're kidding," Roger said, peering at the building straight ahead down the street and then turning to look at Fierenzo. "You are kidding, right?"

"Not at all," Fierenzo said, nodding across the street to their left. "It's a perfectly respectable motel.

More to the point, it's got a very nice stand of trees surrounding the play area out back."

Beside him, Melantha suddenly stiffened. "Mom and Dad are here!" she breathed.

"Which is even more to the point," Fierenzo agreed quietly. "Room 22, I believe. Your family's in the adjoining room, Jonah," he added, looking at the Gray. "I figured that after all you'd been through, you all deserved a little time together."

"And if Torvald tracks them here?" Velovsky countered darkly. "We can't be more than a couple of miles from their transport."

"Torvald's going to expect us to head back to Manhattan as fast as the laws of Richmond County allow," Fierenzo said. "Which is where you and Roger are going, by the way, in case they've got spotters on the Bayonne Bridge. I'll bring the rest of the group in tomorrow when there's more traffic to hide ourselves in."

"Very clever," Velovsky growled, clearly still not convinced. "And if Torvald isn't cooperative enough to follow your little red herring? Are you and a few Grays going to protect Melantha singlehandedly?"

"I don't think single-handedness is anywhere in the picture," Roger told him, pointing out the windshield at the building that had first caught his eye. "I gather you hadn't noticed where we are."

"The old 120th Precinct," Fierenzo identified it, a sort of malicious nostalgia in his voice. "I was here for two years before they transferred me to Manhattan. Still know quite a few of the guys." He cocked an eyebrow at Velovsky. "You think even Torvald's got the gall to try for a kidnapping on a police station's doorstep?"

"Can I go now?" Melantha asked anxiously. "Please?"

"We can all go," Fierenzo assured her. "Roger, you've got my cell number—call immediately if you spot trouble. Otherwise, I'll let you know when and where we'll be meeting. I'm not sure exactly when, but it won't be before noon."

Roger nodded. "I'll be ready."

"I just hope you know what you're doing," Velovsky muttered.

"I guess we'll find out, won't we?" Fierenzo said, popping open his door. "Now vamoose, you two.

And don't pick up any hitchhikers."

Velovsky didn't speak again until they were on the Bayonne Bridge, heading into New Jersey. "We going back to that hotel?" he asked.

"Might as well," Roger said. "The room's paid for, and Fierenzo arranged for a late checkout, so we've got it until two. You have someplace else you'd rather go?"

"Yes—my own apartment," Velovsky retorted.

Roger shook his head. "Not a good idea. If Garth or the other Grays recognized you, your apartment's the first place Torvald will come looking."

"I suppose," Velovsky conceded reluctantly. "I just never sleep very well anywhere except my own bed."

"Personally, I'm not going to have any trouble sleeping," Roger said, yawning prodigiously. "It's been a really long day."

Velovsky was silent another minute. "They're not really in Room 22, are they?"

Roger shrugged. "I have no idea."

"In fact, they're probably not even in that particular motel," Velovsky persisted. "Fierenzo still doesn't trust me."

"I don't think he trusts a lot of people right now," Roger told him.

"He seems to trust the Grays."

"Only the ones Melantha trusts."

"He trusts you," Velovsky said pointedly.

"Maybe." Roger shot a glance at Velovsky. "And before you start in on the Grays, you might want to remember that it's your Green friends who are holding my wife hostage."

"So you say," Velovsky muttered, his veiled outrage subsiding a little. "If they are, it's for a good reason."

"Yeah," Roger said. "Sure."

"I'm sure they'll let her go unharmed," Velovsky insisted. "They're good people, Roger. They really are."

"Yeah," Roger said again. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

Velovsky didn't reply.