by Leslie Meier
“I was just about to give up on you guys,” he said, opening the gate for them. Dressed in his yellow Grunden fishing pants, he looked just as he had at home in Tinker’s Cove where he operated a lobster boat every summer. He led them through a grubby parking area filled with official New York City vehicles to the dock, and Lucy was amazed to see an assortment of small boats bobbing in the water right in the shadow of the big skyscrapers.
“What is this place?” she asked between raspy breaths. Her heart was pounding and she felt as if it was ninety degrees instead of thirty-five.
“It’s one of those odd bits that belongs to the city,” explained Geoff, leading the way to a rather dilapidated dock. “I got permission to use it because my project is partly funded by the parks department.”
The three hopped aboard Geoff’s boat, Downeast Girl. Lucy was dismayed to discover the cabin was really only a cramped cubby, equipped with a basic toilet and two small bunks filled with an amazing clutter of buckets, rope, books, and cases she assumed contained scientific instruments. They would be making the crossing to Governors Island in what was essentially an open boat.
Geoff quickly got the engine going while Lance untied the lines, but it was already starting to get dark by the time they pulled away from the dock. Lucy sat on the molded fiberglass bench, wrapping her arms around herself and trying not to shiver too violently, lest she upset the boat. It would be bitterly cold out on the water; a sharp breeze was already cutting right through her layers of clothing, now topped by a life jacket. Not that it would be much help if she was unlucky enough to tumble into the water. She’d be dead of hypothermia long before anyone could rescue her.
“Geoff,” she began. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is too risky.”
“There’s risks, and then there’s risks,” he said with a shrug, neatly steering the boat around the end of the dock and heading for open water. “Nadine’s dead, Elizabeth had a close call, and now they’re threatening Norah.”
“Yeah, I heard about the tomatoes.”
“Well, it’s a lot more serious than throwing a few tomatoes. Sidra got a phone call demanding time on the show for this bunch called OTM. If they don’t get it they said Norah would be sorry, just like her friend Nadine.”
“You think this group sent the anthrax?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re just making a threat, but I’m inclined to take them at their word. We’ve got to get to the bottom of it or it won’t stop. Who’ll be next? Sidra? You? Me?” Geoff was gazing ahead, looking out over the water. “If there’s even a slim chance they got the anthrax on the island, it’s worth checking it out.”
Lucy shivered. “There’s an awful lot of traffic on this water.”
“We’ve got lights,” said Lance, ever the optimist.
“Lot of good they’ll do,” muttered Geoff, slowing the boat and waiting for a huge oil tanker to pass. “From the bridge of that thing we’re just a little speck. Nope, we’ve got to watch out for them because chances are they can’t see us.”
“Ferry’s approaching starboard,” said Lance, alerting Geoff who was keeping an eye on a tug pushing a barge off the port side.
“Thanks,” he said, shifting the rudder and gunning the engine. The boat shot forward and dodged around a sleek, white harbor cruise boat.
“Maybe we ought to turn back,” said Lucy. She was beginning to feel very queasy.
“We’re halfway there; might as well go on as turn around.” Geoff’s voice was tight and he was straining to make out the shapes of approaching ships in the fog as he tried to navigate by the sounds of foghorns and the clang of a buoy.
The tension was horrible: at any moment they could be annihilated by one of the huge freighters headed for the docks on the Brooklyn shore.
“What’s in those ships?” asked Lucy. “I don’t want to die for bananas.”
“You name it, they’re bringing it in. Cars, computers, air-conditioners, clothing . . . have you heard about the trade deficit?” Geoff’s voice was more relaxed. “We’re out of the shipping lane now; it should be clear sailing from here.”
Now they were alone on the inky water, a large rounded shape looming over them.
“What’s that?” asked Lucy.
“Ventilator for the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel.”
“Ohmigosh,” said Lucy, who was beginning to picture the waterfront as an illustration in one of the Batman comics Toby used to love so much when he was a kid, filled with massive, threatening structures that seemed to mock the insignificant human inhabitants of the city. Bad thought, bad thought, she chided herself, switching instead to a bright Richard Scarry illustration, where cute animals rode the colorful boats and planes that filled the friendly harbor.
Downeast Girl was suddenly rocked by the wake of a passing tugboat, its powerful engine propelling it swiftly through the water without anything in tow, and Lucy held on to the gunwales for dear life. Coming out here was a really bad idea, she decided. Where was Batman when you needed him?
Chapter Twenty
ACTIVEWEAR THAT FLATTERS WHILE YOU GET FIT!
It was growing dark when they approached the dock, and Lucy braced herself as Geoff slowed the motor and Lance grabbed hold of a ladder and climbed up to make Downeast Girl fast. When he’d securely tied the boat to the dock, Lucy hauled herself up the ladder, followed by Geoff. As they stood there on the exposed pier, in the dark and whipped by the wind, the island suddenly seemed very big.
“Where do we begin?” asked Lucy.
“At the old infirmary,” said Lance. “Follow me.”
There were very few lights on the island, in contrast to the illuminated skyscrapers standing side by side on the much larger island of Manhattan across the water. There was no concern for the price of electricity there, thought Lucy, gazing at the amazing nightly spectacle of the skyline. Even the Brooklyn Bridge and the Manhattan Bridge were outlined in lights, which were reflected in the black water below. Looking in the other direction she could see the glittering and seemingly endless expanse of the Verrazzano Bridge, stretching across the Narrows between Brooklyn and Staten Island. She knew the Statue of Liberty would also be alight, but it was blocked from view by the many buildings on the island.
She was grateful for the darkness as they made their way along winding paths, staying in the shadows and trying to be as quiet as possible to avoid detection by the night watchmen. She felt a little surge of adrenaline; it was exciting to be taking part in a covert nighttime mission.
The island was much larger than it appeared to Lucy from the ferry, and she wished they had some other way of getting around besides their feet. Hers were cold, and the borrowed boots felt heavy and clumsy as she trotted along, doing her best to keep up with the two tall men. Wherever they were going was very far from where they’d docked the boat, and Lucy was beginning to wonder why they couldn’t have tied up closer. She was also beginning to think the whole mission was foolish; there were dozens of buildings on the island and they could never search them all. This was worse than searching for a needle in a haystack: how would they know anthrax if they found it? She was tired and out of breath and about to suggest they give up when she realized Geoff and Lance had stopped abruptly at the corner of a building.
She joined them and peeked around the corner where she saw a circle of light.
“Watchman,” whispered Geoff, holding his finger to his lips.
“We can’t go around, we have to go through,” said Lance, anticipating her question.
“Too risky,” said Lucy, shaking her head. “Let’s go back.”
“I’m gonna take a look,” said Lance. Before she could stop him he was gone. She and Geoff watched as he crept up to a window and slowly raised his head to peer in. A minute later he was back.
“Coast is clear. Nobody’s there.”
“If they’re not here, they’re out on patrol,” said Geoff. “We’ve got to b
e very careful.”
Lucy found herself crouching as she followed the others, although she wasn’t quite sure what good it would do. Covert operatives always crouched in the movies and she supposed it was helpful in some way; she hoped it was worth it because it was murder on her back.
They had reached an enormous round fort, towering over them like some sort of ancient Colosseum, when they heard the sound of a car engine.
“Down!” hissed Geoff.
There was no handy bush to hide behind so Lucy dropped flat on her stomach on the grass; it was prickly and stiff with frost and she liked how it felt cool on her chin. She was sweating underneath all the layers of clothing she was wearing; she should have opened her collar and taken off her hat.
They watched as the car proceeded slowly along the road at a steady crawl; occasionally the driver stopped and used a spotlight. The wait was nerve-racking. There was nothing they could do but hope that the light didn’t come their way because they would surely be discovered if it did.
It didn’t, but they couldn’t move until the car was out of sight, and Lucy was frozen stiff by the time it was safe to get up. She was no longer overheated; the cold had penetrated her to the core and she was shivering. Geoff pulled her into the shelter of the fort’s tunnel-like entrance. It was dark and dank but at least they were out of the wind.
“Is this it?” she asked, praying that they wouldn’t have to go any farther.
“No. There’s nothing here.”
“Nothing?”
“Just old blankets and stuff.” Lance was already moving out. Geoff took her by the elbow and propelled her out of the shelter and back into the cold wind.
“How much farther?” she asked, trying not to whine.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” whispered Geoff. “Lance is the one who explored the island. I just poked around the edges, looking for worms.”
This side of the island was more crowded and the buildings were closer together with lots of leafless trees and evergreen landscape shrubs; they appeared to be in the section once devoted to housing the military personnel stationed on the island. Lucy could imagine the days when it was a bustling suburban neighborhood, with kids riding bikes and skateboards after school. Now the families were all gone and it was eerily quiet, a ghost town.
“This is it,” hissed Lance, pointing to a low, square building with a flat roof. A square metal sign with a red cross hung from a bracket above the door, creaking as it swung in the wind.
Geoff tried the door. “It’s locked.”
Lance snorted. “What did you expect? We’ll have to break in.”
Lucy was uncomfortably aware that if they were discovered, the charges would be breaking and entering instead of merely trespassing—quite another kettle of fish. On the other hand, there didn’t seem to be any other way to get the evidence they needed.
“Are you game?” asked Geoff.
“Sure.” Lucy shrugged. “Anything to get warm.”
They stood in the shadow of a holly bush, stamping their feet and rubbing their arms, while Lance worked his way around the building. Their ears were pricked for the least sound, but all they heard was the howling wind and the regular moan of a foghorn. Except for the glittering skyline they could have been back in Tinker’s Cove.
“We’re in.” Lance’s whisper startled Lucy and she gave a little jump.
“Man, you sure are quiet,” said Geoff.
“I jimmied a window.”
Great, thought Lucy. Even though the building was low, the windows were a good five feet up from the ground. She’d need a hoist for sure. This was going to be clumsy and potentially noisy, increasing their chances of discovery.
When Lance stopped at the window Lucy knew she was right. It was even higher than she thought; a small awning window opening outward.
“I can’t get up there!”
“Sure you can!” She found herself grabbed around the hips and hoisted upward in one smooth motion. It happened so quickly, however, that she neglected to grab onto the sill and slid back down.
“You were supposed to . . .” gasped Geoff.
“I know. I know. Let’s try again.”
Geoff was giving her a leg up when the silence was broken by a siren and the dark night was suddenly filled with light. Lucy and Geoff ducked down behind a bush and watched as two police cars screeched to a halt in front of the infirmary and four uniformed watchmen with flashlights ran up to the front door.
“Wha . . .” whispered Lucy, but Geoff firmly placed one hand over her mouth and signaled her to be as still as possible. She crouched lower, heart pounding, as two of the watchmen pounded past their hiding place and made for the back door. Lance was trapped, unless he could find a hiding place.
They waited for what seemed an eternity, listening to the voices of the watchmen as they worked their way through the building. Then came the cry, “Got him!” and it was all over. Lance was hustled out of the building, in handcuffs, and shoved into the back of one of the cars, which immediately took off. The other two watchmen began working their way around the outside of the building, and Geoff signaled to Lucy that they should split up and move away from the open window. Lucy crawled along on hands and knees, her shoulder against the side of the building, until she heard footsteps approaching. Then she froze, afraid to even breathe.
“Must’ve got in here,” said a voice. The bright beam from a powerful flashlight danced around the open window and one of the men shut it. “That’ll have to do for now,” he said. “Maintenance can reset the alarm in the morning.”
“Yeah, let’s get back,” said the other. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here.”
“You can say that again.”
Shivering, Lucy agreed with them. She was crouched on the ground, trying to make herself as small as possible, and trying to think warm thoughts so her teeth wouldn’t chatter noisily. Feeling a hand on her shoulder she jumped a mile.
“Shh, it’s only me,” said Geoff.
“What do we do now?”
“Try to think up some story that’ll convince them to let Lance go.”
“Like what?” asked Lucy, scrambling to keep up with him as he started walking back to the watchman’s post.
“I don’t know. A fraternity prank?”
“We’re kind of old for that, and I’m a girl. What about your science research?”
“I don’t think that’ll explain breaking and entering.”
“How’s this?” said Lucy. “We were doing research this afternoon but the boat wouldn’t start and it got dark and we were stuck on the island and Lance was looking for shelter for the night?”
“It might work, if they’re not too bright,” said Geoff. “Maybe we should just tell the truth.”
“That’s probably best,” said Lucy.
They walked along in glum silence. The hulking shadow of the old round fort covered them, wrapping them in darkness. Lucy felt especially low. This whole expedition had been a dumb idea. Lance was in trouble and they would soon join him. She was about to apologize to Geoff for dragging him into this mess when he suddenly stopped and put his gloved finger over her lips. She strained to listen and heard an odd, whirring sound. They dropped to the ground and waited, listening. The sound, although faint, came closer until two dark figures on bicycles whipped past them.
Geoff leaped to his feet and started after them, springing silently across the frosty grass. Lucy followed, doing her best to keep up, relying on instinct rather than sight or sound, and was startled when Geoff stepped out from behind a large tree.
“They went in that building,” he said, pointing toward a large brick rectangle punctuated with rows of dark windows. “I’m going to follow them.”
“Bad idea. We should tell the watchmen.”
“Not yet. We need more information. They’ll think we’re sending them on a wild goose chase.”
He had a point. Nobody would believe they’d seen bicyclists on the island in the middle of
the night, in December.
“I’m coming,” said Lucy.
“Okay. But let me go first.”
Lucy nodded and followed when Geoff opened the door and stepped into the pitch black interior of the building. She couldn’t see a thing, and then she saw stars.
* * *
Lucy’s head hurt and everything was blurry when she opened her eyes. Unbelievably, the image that swam before her was of a gigantic woman with long hair swirling about her face and a bird perched on each shoulder. One arm was raised above her head, holding a flashing sword. Lucy blinked, realizing it was a poster.
“Boadicea?” she asked.
“Good guess, but you’re wrong,” said a voice. “That’s Queen Medb.”
Painfully, Lucy lifted her head and turned to see who had spoken. It was Helena Rubinstein. She squeezed her eyes shut and looked again. It wasn’t actually Helena Rubinstein; it was Elise wearing oversized black-rimmed glasses and a white lab coat with her hair slicked back from her face. Lucy tried to sit up but couldn’t. A thick strap had been fastened across her chest, holding her flat on her back. Her hands were also in some sort of restraint.
“Whuh?” Her voice was thick and hoarse; it was more of a grunt than a question, but Elise was eager to explain.
“She’s the heroine of an ancient Celtic legend. A warrior-goddess.”
“Ah,” said Lucy, dropping her head back on the bed, gurney, whatever it was she was fastened to, and looking around. What she saw didn’t encourage her. She guessed she was in some sort of laboratory; there were tables and shelves holding all sorts of beakers and jars and other scientific equipment. More ominously, she noticed, the walls were entirely covered with translucent plastic sheeting; even the door was sealed. She had no way of knowing whether she was ten stories high in the sky or in a sub-sub-basement; there were no windows. Even worse, she was at the mercy of Elise, who was apparently some sort of mad feminist scientist. There was no sign of Geoff.
“Queen Medb is our symbol.” The voice was filtered through some sort of sound system and Lucy strained to see where it was coming from. She saw a figure in a white space suit, then realized it was a hazmat suit. Her heart skipped a beat, wondering why the suit was necessary, but she was reassured by the fact that Elise wasn’t wearing any sort of protection. If this was some sort of evil scientist’s lair, which is what it certainly seemed, she decided they must cook up the microbes in another room.