by David Dun
Quickly the man began walking down Christopher. Michael followed and immediately Grady was on his arm, the whole entourage following.
As they walked down the darkened sidewalk amongst New Yorkers and tourists, the cabs were jamming the streets and crowds were going home. The air was cold and the psychic intensity of rush hour was running high.
"Can you see him?" she said to Michael.
"Sometimes."
They were passing the Lutheran church.
"You'll need to stop in a minute while I keep going a little way ahead of you. I need some space."
"No way."
The tension in him began to mount. For reasons he couldn't fathom he felt danger.
"What's happening, Michael?"
"Ahead. The man in the dark coat will soon cross the street and go into an apartment building. I will need to go alone inside."
"You're out of your mind."
"Then let me be out of my mind. This is important."
"Let's talk about it first," she said, stalling for time.
They were walking slowly now past a commercial building. She thought she saw someone step out from between two buildings ahead and then step back. Quickly she looked behind to Yodo and the other two guards and then to the one in front. Immediately behind them and in front of Yodo walked two men in heavy overcoats that seemed more grim than the weather. Not feeling right, she nodded to Yodo, suggesting that they cross the street. Yodo turned and looked behind and her eyes followed his and she focused on two more men coming up through the crowd. And then two more to the side.
"I need to go alone."
She barely heard Michael. A man had something in Yodo's side. She suspected a gun or a knife, although there were suddenly more people swarming and she couldn't be sure. Sam had been teaching her to listen to her instincts.
"You really need to stop here," Michael was saying. "Is someone following us?" he changed his thought in mid-sentence.
"Definitely!"
Yodo nodded to cross the street before whirling and striking one of the men.
"Come on," she said, grabbing Michael's arm. Michael hesitated. She yanked and screamed, "Go." They ran across the street through a meager break in the traffic. A couple of irate cabbies slammed on their brakes, probably needlessly. Others didn't and they blocked their pursuers.
To the far side of the street, there was a building of perhaps twelve stories and a smaller one beside made of a cut stone that was an elegant off-white. There was a service entrance and a space between the buildings. Along the sidewalk were awnings and near the small building wrought iron fences, stoops, and steps, a confusing array of obstacles and hiding places depending on the motivations of the observer. Right now she wanted to escape and her eyes were scouring, looking for someplace to go. There were enough men that they could be drugged and "helped" into a car or van before the police or anyone else could do anything.
They ran down the street, dodging startled people, some of whom shouted obscenities. She headed for a side street. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw all five of their bodyguards, including Yodo, in some kind of street fight. One of the men broke free to follow across the street and was immediately tackled. A man was running down the sidewalk, pushing through the crowd toward Yodo, shouting, "Police." She wondered for a second whether he was really the police.
When she and Michael rounded the corner of the side street, Michael grabbed her arm and pointed to a heavy six-inch black pipe that went up the side of the cut stone building. It was an inch from the building held by brackets bolted into the mortar, and no doubt into the wood superstructure beneath. There was just enough room between the pipe and the building to allow space for fingers. Looking more monkey than man, Michael climbed up rapidly, hand over hand, with his feet walking up the building in an amazing display of agility. His adrenaline had to be through the roof—he showed almost no sign of the wounded thigh that had nearly killed him. His climb attracted several onlookers. Then she saw what he was doing. One story up was a fire escape ladder that he grabbed and extended downward so that she could easily climb. As she started to grab the rungs, two men came running around the corner. For a couple of seconds they slowed as if to talk and reassure her.
"Hold it, we don't want to hurt you; we just want to talk." The man had a French accent. As she climbed, they kept coming.
Banging her shins, she went rapidly and then they were at the base of the ladder climbing as well. As she reached the first landing, Michael's body hurtled past her, traveling feet-first into the lead man and knocking him into the next. Michael hit the ground on top of them and, as quick as a cat, was on them removing their guns. The two men struggled on the ground, trying to rise, obviously with broken bones. She hoped Michael hadn't crippled them. People were coming warily closer.
Michael jumped to the ladder and began to climb again.
"Wait," a man shouted. Grady looked down; the voice was familiar. There was a blond-bearded man with swarthy skin taking off an old-fashioned hat. In his long coat there was a carnation. He had just come around the corner. "There are men headed up the inside stairs of the building. You'll be trapped. Come on down." She realized it was Sam.
At that moment another two men came around the corner. Sam clipped one on the run with a straight punch to the jaw that made an audible crack and sent him to the ground on his back. With the second man Sam whirled and struck with an elbow that took the man down, but only for a few seconds; in one smooth move he was up. The man was slim and strong in the shoulders, but Sam was fast, placing straight punches to the head followed by a roundhouse kick to the jaw. Although the man rocked and teetered, virtually unconscious, Sam pressed in with more powerful punches. The unrelenting almost ballet like attack gave Grady the shivers. What moved her was that something so clean and fluid and even beautiful could be so destructive. It was the first time she had seen Sam in an all-out fight. Four men were on the ground, two completely unconscious, the other two barely moving. Sam was going through their clothes, removing guns and obviously looking for something, maybe ID. Gawkers were starting to protest at Sam's rifling through the men's clothing. Sam showed them something, she supposed his fake badge, and that seemed to calm the crowd.
Grady climbed quickly down and jumped to the ground. At the far end of the block a group of men turned the corner running at them. From across Christopher Street men had now broken free and were running toward them, but these were tackled by the bodyguards. Yodo was struggling with two men at once, blood pouring from his nose and cuts on his face. When Grady reached the bottom of the ladder, Sam yelled to run and they began running across the street at an angle, headed toward a large corner building that also faced Christopher Street. They ran to a door and, strangely, Sam had a key They all passed through, slamming it behind them. Inside there was another man with glasses, maybe five feet ten inches.
"No time for introductions. This is Georges Raval. He'll meet us later. Georges, follow the plan," Sam said. The slight man hesitated.
"They're all over the place," Sam said. "A virtual army." "You've got to get out of here," Raval said. "Just do the plan." Sam spoke with uncommon intensity and Raval ran for some stairs, took them two at a time, and disappeared.
Sam took the group down some stairs into a basement area with pipes and all manner of car-size blowers and ductwork. He led them to a boarded-up opening in the wall and began pulling off the boards to expose an old stairway. The sound of the subway was clearly audible.
"In the forties there was an entrance to the subway here. Now they're redoing PATH and the steam pipes and other underground conduits run all through here. Somewhere down here, Raval says, there is an old, abandoned subway station. Full of derelicts and the like, but it's a maze down there and I doubt these guys will ever find us." "Who are these guys?" Grady said. "French guys. Government, I think." "When will I talk with Raval?" Michael said. "After we save our asses, that's when. Next time, don't bring half the French Secret Service."
&nbs
p; At that moment there was a crash and they knew the front door had been broken in.
Sam led them down a stairwell that was plugged with cement after no more than twenty feet or so. A small hole in the concrete plug had been created with jackhammers, no doubt by subway workers trying to find something in the underground labyrinth that was Manhattan Island. It was solid
bedrock. The tiny passage was uninviting in every sense—
just big enough for a person to worm their way through. Sam
beckoned them and dove in. Grady crawled more tentatively
after him. Michael came behind her. ,
They headed into the black of the New York underground and she wasn't sure which was worse—the men above or the hole. The concrete passage was black and strewn with the sort of gravel shed by unraveling concrete. It became very tight and she had to drop to her belly onto the sharp edges and slither. It had a vile smell, like rot and mold, dog faeces, and urine. They came to sheet metal of some sort that made crawling easier, but it was even tighter. When she raised her head, it hit solid concrete. There was maybe three or four inches on either side of her shoulders. She could tell Sam was struggling to continue. It got very steep and suddenly she realized there would be no backing up. Panic rose in the back of her throat and she wanted to scream. She stopped. She was shaking.
"Keep coming." It was Sam.
As she slid forward, her chin hit something putrid. Human vomit, she guessed.
"Oh God." She groaned, but she kept sliding slowly after Sam.
She heard Sam say, "There's a huge drop." Then his feet were suddenly gone. "It's okay. I'll catch you," he called.
With that, she let herself slide down through the wet and muck.
Instantly she could feel Sam's hands on her shoulders and fell into his arms. It would have been fine with her if she just stayed there. They were in a more open area and could stand. Sam turned on a tiny light that enabled her to see three or four feet surrounding.
When Michael was down, Sam pulled up his shirt and Kevlar vest to reveal a waistline holding two pistols. He fired into the concrete back up in the tunnel. It would be a major discouragement to anyone thinking about coming down.
They were in a concrete passage strewn with old toilet paper and bottles. They proceeded down a very steep incline that turned and pitched up sharply, only to turn down once again. The passage was roughly an S laid on its back, but without vertical drops. They arrived at some kind of a wall and there was a dim light showing through a hole. As they came closer, she could see that it was heavy plywood with bracing and that someone had knocked a hole in the barrier. Sam turned off his light. From the chamber below came the acrid smell of smoke.
In the distance roared a subway train. Peering through the hole and into the haze, she saw small fires and shadows of people in a large space far ahead. Some were hunched, as if under a blanket, while others stood with their hands over small barrels bristling with orange flame. They would be entering a dark corner of a large underground chamber. It was impossible to guess the number of occupants, as there were deep shadows and little light and had to be all manner of hiding places.
"Was I communicating with Raval or you?" Michael asked suddenly.
"Raval. We just figured out what you two were doing and talked him into some precautions."
"So you weren't fooling me?"
"No. And for all I knew, it would work fine and you and Raval would have your private talk."
"Now I don't know when I'll talk with him."
"We'll find him. Or he'll find you."
"What about the French guys? Do you think they'll catch him?"
"Probably not. At this point the U.S. government is likely to step in. The mere fact that the French government seems to be going nuts should be enough to set our boys off."
"Well, neither government's taking me over. That much I can tell you."
"Let's fight one battle at a time," said Sam. "I think we're in an old air vent."
But Michael wasn't done. "How did you find out about Raval?"
"That is a secret of Grogg's and cannot be revealed."
"What is Grogg?"
"He's sort of like a shaman. He can look into your soul."
Michael looked to Grady, who shrugged as if to ask if she was to speak of company secrets.
"It's dark as hell down here," she said to Sam.
"To our advantage," said Sam. "Take my hand." Grady held it and then took Michael's in her other.
"The air's bad. Smells of poison."
"Yep. Tastes like it came straight out the ass end of a diesel bus." Sam was leading them forward slowly over uneven ground. In places the cement had buckled and deteriorated.
"Get out of here," said a gravelly male voice. A dog growled low in the throat. In an odd way the human and the dog had a similar snarl. A light came on, blinding them. Then the light went flying. By chance it landed at an angle to them, casting soft light over the scene.
"You bastard. I'm gonna ..." Then Grady could see Sam grabbing somebody. There came the sound of a struggle and a series of gravelly curses.
"Let's relax," Sam said.
Grady could see that the man was huge, even all hunched over, and Sam was holding the fellow by nothing more than one hand.
"All right, all right," the big guy was saying. "Just don't hurt my dog."
"Make sure it stays put or it'll be having quite a headache."
A small light appeared in the gray and the smoke and she knew it was Sam's.
"Keep your hands where I can see them." Sam released the man and stepped back. Sam's small light shone on a scraggly, bearded man who looked like he was covered in Vaseline and lived in a dirt pit. The skin of his face shone through a sheen of petroleum and grime, maybe sweat. She wondered if he even felt the chill of this cold hell.
"We don't like your kind of strangers down here."
"We'll be passing through."
"You taking her through here?"
"With your help I'll bet anything is possible."
"Why would I help?"
"A hundred bucks."
"You're right. I'd help. You got iron?"
"Enough for an anchor factory."
"Don't be shootin' down here. Ricochets are deadly."
"We only shoot those who need to be shot."
"You got a lotta balls bringing her down here... these days."
The dog began barking again. "Some unfriendly city officials are coming. How do we exit?"
The man pulled out a bottle and held it in front of him. "Singe their ass with this. Molotov cocktail. Just run it up there and light."
"Got a match?"
The man produced a lighter.
"You guys should have come down on a sheet of plastic. More hepatitis up that hole than in a whore's ass," he said as he took his dog's leash. "Now I can light that rag, but you gotta run like hell with it to get it up near the old grate."
"Go ahead," Sam said.
The man lit the rag; Sam ran to the hole in the plywood and threw it.
"You should have gone all the way up near the old grate."
"I don't know the old grate. Besides, I want to entertain them, not kill them."
Chapter 16
Slay the bear before sleeping in its cave.
—Tilok proverb
Sam knew about the New York underground and the old subway stations, especially along the financial district. The city tried to keep the more obvious entrances closed, but it was like trying to keep ants out of a farmhouse.
They looked across a chamber, perhaps a quarter of the size of a football field. The old tunnel disappeared into the black, and what once had been an opulent waiting area of gleaming tile and polished wood had become like a gilded carriage left to rot in the carriage house. The base of the walls seemed to be favored for campsites. Maybe that was because if a man had his back to a wall, he didn't have to see behind him. The next most popular residential areas seemed to be around the base of the pillars.
"What do you call yourself?" "Lugger. Or Dog Man."
"Dog Man is pretty apparent. How do you come by Lugger?"
"When I was a kid, I played football. I was a lineman, and when I would forget myself, I used to pick up the opposing guards and carry them. Hence, Lugger."
"How do you like it down here?"
"Beats up there. You look like a Greek or an Indian or something."
"I use liquid tan. No harmful radiation."
"Is that true?"
"No. How do we exit this place quietly and far from Christopher Street?"
"You go down the tunnel if you wanna come out a long way from here. Last day or two, the tunnel's been a bad place, though."
They were near one end of the old loading platform and so, to their left, the tunnel was maybe fifty feet. To the right it was much farther because it would be necessary to traverse the entire main hall of the station to start down the far segment.
"Right or left to get out of here?"
"You're kind of out of luck. Left tunnel has the best exit and it's a long ways to daylight. But, like I said, the meanest, craziest sons of a bitches is down there."
"What are you talking about?"
"Mostly people down here live and let live. Most are too crazy or hopeless to hurt anybody. Couple days ago, some gang guys came down. No fun. Raped a girl. I think they still got her back there."