They Disappeared

57

Purgatory Point, the Bronx, New York City

Don’t lose him.

Jeff’s breathing quickened. Keeping a safe distance back, he followed the man from the restaurant, watching him turn a corner.

Two blocks later the man vanished into an alley and Jeff rushed to the entry. The narrow passage darkened between two buildings. Jeff saw the man’s silhouette at the opposite end and tried calling Cordelli.

This time the detective answered.

“Cordelli?”

Jeff kept his voice low. “It’s me, Griffin. I found them!”

He stayed on the phone, never removing his eyes from his subject, and started down the alley keeping a distance.

“What’s going on? Where are you, Jeff?”

“The Bronx in- Wait.”

The man suddenly vanished at an angle to cut across the next street. I lost him. Damn. Jeff trotted down the alley, phone pressed to his ear.

“You’re breaking up,” Cordelli said. “Where in the Bronx? Give me an address!”

At the end of the alley Jeff scanned the street, his heart rising to his throat. No trace of the guy.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

“Jeff! Can you hear me? Give me a location. Brewer and I are in the Bronx following a lead. Where are you?”

“I’m in a warehouse in Purgatory Point a few blocks from Vakhiyta’s Kitchen!”

“Say again, I didn’t get all of that! Repeat your location!”

At that instant Jeff’s focus went across the street and straight through an empty office building. Behind it he glimpsed the man making his way over a large vacant lot toward a larger building.

Reflex kicked in.

Jeff shot across the street, triggering a horn blast as he just missed being hit by a car. He lost his balance and his cell phone, which fell to the pavement. He was not hurt but the phone looked broken. The impact had knocked the battery free. Jeff collected the two pieces in time to see the man pass through a gate to a huge old building in the distance.

Jeff shoved the two pieces into his pocket and jogged along the edge of the vacant lot, using the line of small trees and brush for cover as he neared the building, an imposing four-story stone structure.

The immediate area was desolate, the dirt and gravel surrounding it a graveyard of abandoned hulks of rusting machinery. The property was protected with a ten-foot chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. The gate the man had entered through was padlocked.

Jeff moved fast along the perimeter, coming to an isolated section with a stand of trees and overgrowth. Judging from the empty beer cans, the smashed liquor bottles and fire pit, this was a drinking party spot. Someone had positioned wooden shipping pallets ladder-style against the fence. Jeff climbed it, moving with care over the razor wire, then lowered himself inside the property.

He moved quickly along the length of the aging building, searching for an entry point. Doors he came upon were locked. Windows were sealed. He traveled an entire length, moved on to the next, then the next, before he’d reached a corner where a section of wall had crumbled. It had been patched with sheets of plywood that had grayed, rotted and frayed.

Jeff pulled back on the plywood, and wedged himself through the jagged gap to the inside.

Inhaling air that was a rank mix of a chicken coop and neglected machinery, he took immediate inventory of his surroundings.

Be careful where you step.

The floor was covered with metal shards, broken glass and wood with exposed nails. Near him were pallets of lathes, crates and motors stacked haphazardly and reeking of hydraulic fluid, oil and bird shit.

He heard the hum of voices and the static-squawk of emergency scanners in the near-distance. But saw nothing. He hid among the pallets and began reassembling his phone. With his hands shaking, he replaced the battery and tried to power up.

Come on. Come on.

The phone flickered to life. Good. Battery power showed fifty percent. He silenced the ringer and vibrating features, then called Cordelli. His trembling sweating fingers caused him to misdial and he was about to try again when he heard a shout and footfalls.

Someone was approaching his area.

He shoved the phone into his pocket and moved along the pallets navigating around rotting lumber, drums of trash, some leaking with fluid, eroding concrete columns and vines of wiring flowing from the great ceiling with its aging, broken windows.

As Jeff made his way through the labyrinth of chaos, his ability to hear the voices improved. Men were speaking English and something Slavic, he guessed. Amid the double- and triple-deck rows of neglected and rusted junk, he glimpsed flashes of movement near tables with electronic equipment, yet he was not sure what he saw.

It was difficult to get closer without risking being discovered.

He kept moving along a stretch of tarpaulins draped over vehicles; a long row of them pointed to an interior driveway clear to a ramp and secured garage door. What kind of vehicles? Jeff saw the tires, but little more. He couldn’t risk looking, or making a sound. He moved beyond the vehicles until he came to a narrow wooden hallway that was open to the ceiling.

It looked makeshift.

Jeff moved along the passage quickly.

“Here!”

Jeff flinched, then froze.

The voice on the other side of the paper-thin wall startled him. He stopped and sat with his back to the wall and tried to control his breathing.

“Put the flag here, now!”

Jeff felt the thud of a hammer driving small nails, saw the nails puncture the wall.

They’re on the other side!

The only thing separating me from the killers is a quarter inch of wood!

Table and chair legs scraped on the floor.

“The camera’s set up, we’re ready.”

Feet shuffled. Jeff noticed the wall did not touch the floor. There was a four-inch gap. He swallowed and lay flat on the floor and saw movement, boots, but nothing to indicate Sarah and Cole.

“I want to do one rehearsal read first.”

Tables and chair legs scraped again.

“Ready?”

“Yes. In five-four-three-two-go.”

A throat cleared, paper rustled.

“‘Greetings from God’s slave to the United Nations. You did not start this tragic war but if you are people with courage, determination and humanity, you will acknowledge our action today as the final call to end it….’ No, stop. I want to change something before we start again.”

Jeff’s heart stood still.

They’re making a video-a demand or ultimatum for maybe an attack on the UN!

Realizing what was unfolding, he had to do something fast.

He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, knowing that he was exhausted, not thinking clearly. He couldn’t leave until he found Sarah and Cole.

He grabbed his phone and in several quick texts to Cordelli, Jeff alerted him that he couldn’t talk. He’d found the killers in a factory in Purgatory Point in the Bronx. It was extremely urgent that Cordelli give him a number by which he could relay live critical one-way information.

Jeff’s last text ended with:

It’s life and death. Time is running out!