Critical Space

by Greg Rucka

  Just as I thought I was going to go well and truly stir-crazy, the door opened and Dan returned, carrying a paper sack from The Gap.

  "Clothes," he informed me, throwing the bag on the bed. "Put them on quickly, please, we have to go."

  He turned to Katrina and the two began talking as I dumped out the contents. None of my original clothes were there; everything was new. There was a set of replacement underwear still in its wrapping, and a box of Nike sneakers. The pants were black with cargo pockets, and the shirt was a simple white T-shirt with a pocket over the left breast. There was even a belt.

  Everything fit, and I was dressed before Dan and Katrina had stopped talking.

  "Where's my watch?" I asked.

  "Sorry."

  "My father gave me that watch for my thirtieth birthday. I want it back."

  "You talk to 'Tasha about the watch, okay?"

  "Am I going to see her?"

  "Soon now, very soon." He studied me with something like approval. "Katrina says you didn't touch her."

  "She's lying. We broke the bed."

  He laughed. "Sure you did, sure, okay. Now we go, you follow me."

  "I follow you," I said, and I did, right out the door and into the two men I'd seen downstairs when I'd first arrived.

  It was my own fault, I'd let my guard down and I walked right into it, and as each of the men grabbed my arms, Dan turned around and nailed me in the solar plexus. I lost my breath and most of my balance and before I'd begun to recover either, he'd taken my glasses and pocketed them. From another pocket he produced a black cloth bag, and he had it over my head, had it tied, before I could protest, yet alone resist.

  "Sorry," he said. "Saves time."

  Then something hit me on the back of the head, and instead of just seeing black because my head was in a bag, I saw a whole different darkness.

  Chapter 16

  He used ammonia to bring me back, waving the broken ampoule under my nose until the shock and pain charging through my sinuses forced my eyes open. The disorientation was instant and, for seconds, total, and my first instinct was to fight, so I tried swinging at the man who was causing me pain. The punch connected with his jaw and he grunted, dropped the ammonia, and grabbed my arms. It took another couple of seconds with him shouting at me before I understood what it was he was trying to tell me.

  "You're to meet her!" Dan was saying. "Now, you're going now, Mr. Kodiak! Stop fighting me, you're going now!"

  I stopped struggling, trying to recognize the face in front of me. I was on my back, on something hard, and when I tried to sit up, Dan shoved me back down. He was hard to see, and the space past him was utterly dark, and I knew I'd lost my glasses again.

  "You're done, yes? No more fighting?"

  "No more fighting," I agreed.

  He let me go, moving back on his haunches, his head down. From his jacket pocket he produced my glasses. I put them on, realized I was in the back of a delivery van of some kind. As I sat up the ammonia still lingering in my sinuses made me sneeze, and my head hurt so badly I wanted to weep.

  "You going to puke?" Dan asked.

  "No." I massaged my forehead, trying to soothe the pain. "You didn't have to knock me out."

  Again, he sounded apologetic. " 'Tasha's orders. We had to take you back to the street, long drive, she didn't want you making talk, you understand."

  "You could have gagged me."

  "She said knock you out, I do what she says."

  He reached past me and pushed open the doors at the back of the van, climbed out, and offered me a hand. I ignored it, swung my legs around slowly, and got out.

  It was night, though how late I couldn't tell, and at some point while I'd been out it had rained, because everything around us glistened with reflected light. The humid air stank of feces and rotten food, and I looked around and saw water and then the length of Manhattan in the distance, and I realized I was smelling the Hudson. A sign at the corner of the street said we were at Frank Sinatra Park.

  "Hoboken."

  "Hoboken," Dan confirmed cheerfully, slamming the rear doors. Then he came around to where I stood, handed me a paper lunch bag, and then passed me and climbed behind the wheel.

  "Wait," I said.

  "No. No more waiting," he replied, starting the engine with one hand and slamming the door with the other. He leaned out the open window. "Good to meet you, Mr. Kodiak."

  For some reason, I shook his hand when he offered it. Maybe it was my expression or my grip, but it gave him a last laugh, and then he put the van in gear and pulled out. I watched as the taillights went down the block, then slipped around a distant corner.

  There didn't seem to be anyone else around. A couple of boats were out on the Hudson, moving lazily on the water, and I saw the lights of a helicopter as it lifted off from the heliport on Thirty-fourth Street. Seconds later, the sound of the rotors reached me, then faded. From Hoboken I could hear traffic, automobiles on the main roads, but there didn't seem to be a lot of them, and I thought it had to be past midnight, if not later. To the north, over the river, I could see the lights spanning the GW Bridge. A couple cars were parked along the curb nearby, though there was no sign of any of the owners. One of them was a Ford Escort, and I looked at the license plate and confirmed that it was the same one I'd driven from the cemetery.

  I remembered that I had a paper bag in my hand and decided now would be the best time to open it. Inside was a key, another cheap Motorola walkie-talkie -- this one blue -- and my watch. The key went with the Escort.

  I put the watch on my wrist, the key in my pocket, and dumped the bag in a trash can at the edge of the park before switching on the walkie-talkie. Then I pressed the transmit button.

  "I'm here," I said.

  "I know, " Drama said. "How's your head? "

  "It hurts. Are we almost finished? It's been a long day."

  "For us both. If you 're asking if I'm ready to return her, the answer is yes. Shall I tell you how this will work? "

  "Please."

  "I am sitting behind an Accuracy International AWM, which is pointed at your principal's head. As long as you do as I say, sighting her will be all that I do. However... "

  "I understand."

  "I never doubted that you would. You will keep the radio on and I will direct you to her location. Begin by turning to your left and proceeding to the corner. Stay to the sidewalk. At the corner, turn right and keep walking. I'll let you know where to stop. "

  Turning left meant leaving the park and walking down Third Street about twenty yards, putting my back to the Hudson. On my right, a chain-link fence stood about eight feet high, topped with barbed wire. Beyond it, in the darkness, I could see what had once been space for piers and warehouses, but was now nothing more than an enormous expanse of broken pavement, scattered with rusting pieces of scaffolding and some very determined weeds that had managed to push through the cracks in the concrete.

  The corner was River Street, and I made the right, still following the fence. Fifteen feet or so along, the weeds thickened, spilling through the fence, and a large sign hung on the chain-link, stating that the area was slated for development, to be "reborn" as something called The South Waterfront. I'd read about it in the papers, but never actually been down here before. A lot of construction was planned for the area, Sinatra Park being only a small part of it. Office buildings and hotels were supposed to start going up soon, financed by the likes of Trump and Lefrak. There had even been talk of attempting to move the Stock Exchange from New York to the location, but it would never happen.

  "What did you think of Dan?" Drama asked.

  "Interesting fellow," I said. " 'Tasha?"

  "Just a name. " She said it dismissively. "There's an opening in the fence another five meters or so from your position. You can make it if you crawl."

  It took another minute before I found the gap, obscured by weeds. The ground nearby was deep with broken glass and trash, and I had to belly-crawl to get through
the gap, and I took it slow. Even knowing that Drama was nearby with a rifle, I found myself more afraid of catching tetanus from a rusty nail. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been immunized.

  When I was through I got to my feet, brushing myself off, looking around. A couple of towers for power cables stood nearby, anchored to concrete slabs. Past them were chunks of abandoned machinery, broken and rusted pieces. As I came around a tower, I got a good look at the space. There was almost no cover to speak of for at least one hundred yards, and even though the streetlights didn't do much to illuminate the area, anyone looking with Nightvision or infrared would have no difficulties picking me out.

  "Walk forward, as if going to the water. "

  I picked my way around the largest piles of junk. As I crossed out into the open, there was a rumble of thunder, and distant lightning jumped clouds. My heart was surprisingly steady in my chest, and my breathing was easy, and I wondered what I should make of that. Drama had to have line of sight on me, I had to be close to my principal, and I should have been very scared. But I wasn't.

  "Stop. Turn left."

  Looking past the scattered garbage, I could see the length of the shattered pier, all the way to the far fence on the north side. Beyond its edge, maybe half a mile away, a building sat just on the water, a road running between it and a sharp slope to the east. At the top of the slope I saw the nimbus of sodium lights, but not the lights themselves.

  She had to be on the slope, on the high ground, and the odds were that I was looking right at her.

  "There's an oil drum ahead of you, " Drama said. "She's inside."

  I lowered the radio, saw the container, and walked toward it. As I approached I could see that the cover had been removed, but I was almost on top of it before I could look inside, and when I did I saw Antonia Ainsley-Hunter, shivering, bound, a black cloth bag over her head.

  "Antonia," I said. "It's Atticus, I'm here."

  She jerked at the sound of my voice, turning her head, trying to see me with her covered eyes. She made a noise, and I realized that she'd been gagged, too. The Motorola had a clip, and I hung the walkie-talkie from my belt before reaching for her.

  "I'm going to touch you," I said. "I'm going to remove the hood."

  She tried to nod, made another sound that would probably have been inaudible if not for the amplification from the metal that surrounded her. I touched her as gently as I could, knowing that she'd had unwelcome hands on her too much already, and got my fingers along the edge of the bag at her neck, feeling around until I found where it had been tied. The knot was easy, and I undid it, then pulled the bag off and threw it down.

  The look in her eyes was desperate gratitude, but there were no tears. A ball-gag was in her mouth, but I decided that could wait, and reached in to take her beneath the arms. She tried to move to assist me, but there was nowhere for her to go, and in the end I had to almost fold my upper body in with her to get a grip. I pulled her up against the edge of the barrel where I was leaning, tipping it against my body, backing up a little at a time to ease her out. I had her mostly out when the barrel finally tipped all the way, and its hollow clang on the concrete was followed closely by another roll of thunder.

  She couldn't stand, and I lowered her to the ground, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her hands and feet had been bound with cord, and again the knots weren't too difficult, and I freed her extremities, then removed the gag. When it came free she leaned forward, coughing dry heaves, and I crouched beside her, putting a hand on her back. She was choking and coughing and trying to speak all at once. I ran my hands over her body quickly, feeling for injuries. As far as I could tell, she wasn't hurt beyond the effects of having been held captive for almost thirty-six hours.

  "Just breathe," I told her. "You're going to be fine, just breathe."

  It took another minute before she could control herself enough to manage any speech at all.

  "Get me the hell out of here," she rasped.

  * * *

  She needed most of ten minutes before she could compose herself, before she was willing to try to get to her feet. Drama remained silent the whole time, though I knew she was watching, and I knew the crosshairs were still resting on Her Ladyship. When Antonia finally was willing to stand, I had to help her to her feet, and when she tried her first steps, she almost fell, and I had to catch her.

  "I'm all right." Antonia's voice was raw and disused. "I can do this."

  "Take your time."

  "No, I want to go now, I need to get out of here."

  "All right," I said, and I gave her my arm and together we started to make our way to the fence.

  "You're not going with her, " Drama said softly.

  The voice had an immediate effect on Lady Ainsley-Hunter, and despite her fatigue and her pain, she recoiled from me, looking frantically for the source of the sound. Her ankle glanced off a piece of broken pipe as she moved back, but I caught her before she tripped.

  "Walkie-talkie," I explained, helping her upright once more, seeing her confusion, her near-panic. "It's all right, I won't let her hurt you."

  "Where... where is she?"

  "No idea." Still holding her with one hand, I took the Motorola off my belt and keyed the transmitter, saying, "I'm going to walk her to the car."

  "No. " She was stern, but her voice remained soft. A teacher instructing a rebellious student. "Tell her where it is, give her the key. You're not going with her."

  I moved Antonia around so that I stood between her and the distant slope.

  "Atticus."

  "I've done everything you've asked," I said. "You'll get what you want. But I want this. I need to see her to the car, I need to see her drive away. It's my job."

  The Motorola went silent.

  "You'll get nothing," I added.

  "She goes, I'll get what I want?"

  "You have my word."

  More silence.

  "One condition. You make her promise that she goes straight to your apartment, that she stops for no one, she contacts no one, until she's there. "

  "Done."

  "I want to hear her say it. "

  I held the Motorola out for Antonia. "I need you to tell her you'll do exactly as she asks."

  "You're not coming with me?"

  "I'll follow later," I said.

  "I don't understand."

  "I need you to promise."

  "I promise," Antonia said, and then repeated, to the radio, "I promise."

  "Then go ahead, " Drama said.

  * * *

  Halfway to the car there was a percussive clap of thunder and an almost instant flare of lightning, and the rain began to pour, hammering the ground with heavy drops that soaked us both, filling my new clothes with water. Antonia stayed on my arm, concentrating on putting one step in front of the other, and though I didn't ask her, she told me anyway.

  "I remember the elevator and the lights going out and the noise. After that things get horribly disjointed. I remember waking up as she was binding me, and I tried to scream and she'd gagged me. I don't even know where I was half the time. She wouldn't tell me anything, Atticus, she wouldn't tell me why. She wouldn't tell me anything..."

  By the time we made the turn back to the park she'd forced her way through the trauma, and her legs weren't all water anymore, and she was willing to try walking on her own. When we reached the car, I took the key from my pocket, unlocked the door, and helped her get behind the wheel. On the passenger seat, Drama had left an open Triple-A map, a route highlighted on the paper. Antonia dropped into the seat and stared over the dash for a couple of seconds, massaging her wrists one after the other, then noticed the map.

  "Directions," I explained. "Back to my place."

  "What do I say to them?" she asked. The rain pounding the roof of the car made it hard to hear her.

  "I don't know," I said, because it was the truth.

  Antonia searched my face. "She's going to kill you, isn't she?"

  I di
dn't say anything. It seemed like Drama had gone through a lot of trouble just to put a bullet in my head, but I wasn't taking bets on how the night was going to end.

  "Atticus -- come with me."

  I pressed the car key into her palm. "You want to take the Holland Tunnel. You have to go now, Your Ladyship."

  She looked at the piece of metal I'd put in her hand as if she'd never seen anything quite like it before, then put it in the ignition. The engine started, and I stepped back, one hand still on the door.

  "Put your seat belt on," I said.

  She tried to laugh, but all she managed was a wobbly smile. Once she'd snapped the belt into place, she said, "Thank you."

  "For you, anytime," I said, and I shut the door, stepping back from the vehicle. Through the water streaming down the window, I thought I could see her giving me one last look, and then the headlights came on and she pulled away.

  When the Escort had disappeared into the rain and the night, I turned and started making my way to the slope, to where Drama waited for me.

  * * *

  She met me in the parking lot just past the restaurant that sat on the water. The restaurant turned out to be named after Frank Sinatra, too, and I toyed with the idea that Drama was maybe a Sinatra fan herself, and that was why she'd picked the location. But I realized it wasn't; she'd picked it because farther north and a little east was the campus for the Stevens Institute, and from there she'd had a clear view of everything going on below.

  It had taken me just over twelve minutes to make the walk, and the rain had begun to taper off, and now the thunder came in distant and irregular growls, and the lightning couldn't be seen at all. Her directions had been calm and quiet, and had given me no indication of how much farther I needed to go.