New York Deep

by Andrew J. Morgan

  But he heard no footsteps. He heard no Just a sec, I'm coming! He heard no Carlos.

  Josh rapped on the door. 'Carlos, are you in there? It's me, Josh. I need to speak to you.'

  It had all come out at once. Josh hadn't intended to shout like that. He licked his lips and looked around, head ringing. Still no answer. His stomach tightened. He rapped again. 'Carlos, come on, this isn't funny. Answer the door! Carlos!'

  There was a sound, but it came from behind. Josh turned to see a bespectacled old lady peering through a crack in the neighboring door. 'Can I help you?' she asked.

  'Sorry,' Josh said. 'I was just trying to find Carlos Garcia. I work with him. You haven't seen him, have you?'

  'Well,' she said, opening the door a crack more. 'You're not the first person to come looking for him tonight. Earlier, I heard shouting out here, so I came to see what was going on, and there were these men all dressed up in business suits escorting him away. One asked me to go back inside. How rude! Can you believe the nerve? Anyway, he went with them. He didn't seem happy, but he went without a struggle.' Her eyes narrowed as she tried to make Josh out. 'Are you the police?'

  Josh shook his head. 'No, just a friend. Did you see what these people looked like?'

  'Well, my eyesight's not what it used to be I'm afraid, but I did see they were wearing those suits. You don't usually see suits like that around here! I didn't think they could be the police because the police wear those uniforms, don't they?' Then she looked worried, putting her hand to her mouth. 'You don't think he's done anything wrong, do you? He's always been such a good neighbor, always helps me with my groceries. I do hope he's okay . . .'

  'Me too,' Josh said. 'Thanks for the information.'

  'Okay then, well you have a nice evening, and if you do see Carlos, say hello from Barbara. Goodnight!'

  'Night.'

  Barbara scuttled back inside, locking the door behind her. Josh was alone in the hallway, breathing in cheap soap and piss and feeling empty. He thought the words he had hoped he wouldn't have to think: What now?

  Those men sounded just like the CIA agents he'd spoken to earlier. What would they want with Carlos? They'd not met him, but no doubt they knew about him. He'd have been on the roster for that shift. If it was just some questions, why did he have to go with them? And why had there been an argument? They had done nothing wrong, and he knew Carlos; he'd never kick off in a situation like that. He was calm, cool. It's what made him so good at his job.

  Josh couldn't think here. He needed to go home. Feet like lead, he took himself back down the stairs, back past the mattress and through the broken door. The fresh air outside was like heaven, fumes and all. Home. Go home.

  The walk back happened in something of a daze, guided by autopilot, barely anything registering. What had he felt in that room? What was that energy? What did the CIA know? Edwards had seemed sure he would find something, but he didn't seem to know what it was he'd find. A bomb, perhaps? An old government facility? A terrorist cell? A wartime bunker left buried and forgotten? There could be government secrets in there. Nuclear warheads. Maybe that's what that energy was? Perhaps they'd unearthed a secret Cold War launch platform, and the CIA had been drafted in to cover it all up. Imagine that? A nuclear weapon right under Central Park. It almost made sense. Plumes of smoke and fire billowing into the sky, blinding the people sunning themselves on their park view balconies. Soaring through the clouds, to lay waste to a country on the other side of the world. Nuclear winter, a world left in ruins.

  It had to be that.

  Josh was putting his key in the door before he even realized he was doing it. The door swung gently open. But wait—he hadn't unlocked it yet. He carefully withdrew the key and put the bunch in his pocket, balling up his fists and raising them, ready. Pushing the door the rest of the way open with his foot, he edged in, swallowed by the gloom. He didn't switch the light on, instead allowing his eyes to adjust as he scanned the space. Nothing seemed different. Nothing had been moved.

  He swept around the edge of the room, back to the wall, around the sofa and into the bathroom, quickly ducking his head in and out again. No one. On to the bedroom, he slipped in, ready, but there was no one there. As he slipped back out again and checked the adjoining kitchen, he began to question if he'd even locked the door himself. He'd been in such a rush to get out that he struggled to remember what he'd done. Perhaps he'd gone out with the door left wide open and it had blown to.

  With a sigh, he closed the door properly and switched the light on, throwing his keys and jacket on the side and collapsing onto the sofa. He rubbed his eyes, trying to massage away what had become a full-blown headache. When he'd finished, and his vision had stopped swimming in a haze of green and magenta, he saw it. A picture frame, lying on the coffee table. The one that usually sat on the side, with the photo of him, Georgie and Joseph in it. He looked over at it, and saw that the frame was empty.

  Carefully, he picked it up and looked it over. Someone had been here, and that someone had done this to leave him a message. As Josh stared at the three of them, happy and together, he knew who that someone was, and he knew what that message was, too. They'd tried to get him, but failed. Now they had him for sure.

  Chapter 5

  Josh felt rage burning in him, bile in his throat, fire in his eyes. What kind of a game was Edwards playing? Was this supposed to be a threat? In a snap, Josh picked up a glass from the coffee table and hurled it at the wall, showering his television with a million twinkling shards of glass. He regretted it as soon as he'd done it, but it had taken the edge off his fury, and he was able to think more clearly.

  Whatever they'd found, the CIA wanted it covered up. They were rounding up everyone involved, everyone who'd been down there, and they'd clearly stop at nothing to do it. With cold realization, Josh knew he was expendable. They'd only let him go earlier because they knew that if they needed him gone, he'd be gone, and the world would continue ticking on. He was small fry to them, a bug easily squashed.

  The urge to go to Georgie was almost unbearable. It was a trap, he knew it, but he couldn’t bear to let them do . . . he couldn't even think it. It filled him with dread. He was up, heading for the door. He would call her on the way, he decided. He'd hear her voice, she'd ask him not to call unless it was an emergency, and then he could turn back home and relax a little, knowing that this break-in picture stunt was nothing more than a scare tactic.

  Walking out into the evening, down the steps to the street, cell to ear, he listened to the dial tone, then the ring. It rang long enough for his stomach to turn, and then lurch as Georgie answered.

  'Hello?'

  Josh cleared his throat, which was suddenly dry. 'Er, hi, Georgie. It's me.'

  'Hello.' Her voice sounded different somehow, thick.

  'Is everything all right?'

  'Sure.'

  'You and Joseph okay?'

  'We're both fine.'

  Georgie's short answers were making the conversation difficult, but with the picture in the back of his mind, Josh pressed on. 'Look, I've got a few days off while they get something sorted at work. I thought I'd take Joseph for a few days, give you a break for a while.'

  'Thanks, but I'm okay. I don't need any help.'

  Josh turned onto the sidewalk and headed for 82nd. 'It's fine; I'm more than happy to do it. I'm on my way over now.'

  'No. I don't want you to. We're fine.'

  Josh was starting to feel a little put out. 'Why? I want to. I'll be there in a minute.'

  'No, Josh, please—'

  Josh hung up. Something wasn't right. They may have been divorced, but they weren't on bad terms, and Georgie's bluntness was unusual. 'Come on, Lionel, let's hope you're still around . . .' Josh muttered to himself as he found his friend in his contacts and dialed the number.

  Lionel answered almost immediately. 'Now's not a good time!' he snapped, sounding almost hysterical.

  'What?' Josh replied. 'The CIA paid you a visit, too?'


  'Someone has! I went out to get some groceries and came back to find my apartment broken into!'

  'Did they take anything?'

  'Not that I can see.'

  'They did the same to me. Took a picture of Georgie and Joseph out of its frame and left the frame on the table.'

  'Shit . . .' Lionel said. 'Have you been over there?'

  'I'm on my way now. That's why I'm calling you. You've got a car, right?'

  'Yeah.'

  'I need you to do me a favor. I'm walking over to 82nd now. I need you to get over there quick. How soon can you get there?'

  'Uh, about fifteen minutes?'

  Josh thought it through. 'Okay, I'll stall until you can get there.'

  'What's going on, Josh? Is Georgie all right?'

  'I don't know. I called her just now and something was off. I think the CIA have been over there. I need you to hang back in your car and keep watch for me, call me if anyone comes in.'

  'Okay, I can do that.'

  Josh took a breath. He was walking fast. He needed to slow down. The air was cold and burned his lungs. 'Thanks, man. I owe you.'

  'You don't owe me shit. This is for Georgie.'

  'Something's really messed up here.'

  'You're telling me. I feel like I've aged a month just this afternoon.'

  Josh felt a smile coming on. It was inappropriate, and he certainly didn’t feel like smiling, but Lionel was right. He too felt like he had aged a month just this afternoon—maybe even a year. Like all the characters in all his favorite movies had a penchant for saying: he was getting too old for this shit. 'You got that right. I'll see you soon. Be quick.'

  'I'm already walking out the door.'

  Josh hung up, slipping his cell phone away, forcing himself to slow his pace. It was torture, taking slow, aimless steps to turn a ten-minute walk into a fifteen-minute one, when really all he wanted was to sprint until his insides were raw to get there as quickly as he could.

  He tried to tell himself that Georgie was fine—after all, she'd said so herself—but he couldn't believe it. He'd known Georgie for over a decade, and he knew that wasn't her. Not the her he knew, anyway. She was hiding something.

  The first flicker and buzz of the streetlights popping on with deep sodium orange made him jump. A car whistled by, one of those electric types, and the adrenaline from being startled fizzed through his back and into his kidneys. He was waiting for the one car that didn't go past, that slowed down next to him, blacked out and sinister. It would stop, he would stop, they'd get out and that would be that. Another name in another secret file, scratched out with black marker. There would be no grave.

  It seemed odd to see other people, out and about and acting like nothing had happened. Josh wanted to scream at them, tell them to run and hide, that the big bad wolf was coming, but then he realized that for them, it didn't matter. It had nothing to do with them. He wondered for how long he'd been drifting by people caught up in the midst of something huge, only their fearful eyes telling their true story as the rest of them blended in to their surroundings as they thought the same thoughts as he did now.

  A dog barked from a high window, its call answered by another a block or two over. The wind blew cold. Night was coming.

  When his phone buzzed again, nearly overdosing him on adrenaline, he was turning onto 82nd. It was Lionel.

  'I'm parked a few doors down.'

  Lionel had come from Greenpoint, from the other end of 82nd. Josh peered down the street to see a car parked up with its lights on. 'I think I see you. Flash your lights.'

  The car's lights flashed. 'You see it?'

  'Yeah, I see it. Wait there for me, okay? Hopefully I'll be down in a while and everything will be fine.'

  'Okay.'

  Josh picked up his pace, jogging up the steps to Georgie's apartment. He still had a key, so he let himself in without buzzing her. Two flights of stairs, and he was at her door. His finger paused over the buzzer, he took a breath, then pushed. He heard footsteps, then the chain, then the lock. The handle turned and the door opened, only a crack. Georgie greeted him, although not with a smile.

  'I told you not to come,' she said in a low voice. 'Go, now!'

  'I'm not going until I know what's up,' Josh said firmly.

  'I won't tell you again,' Georgie said, closing the door. Josh wedged his foot in.

  'Let me in, Georgie. I know something's going on, and I want to help you.'

  'I don't need your help. Please go—'

  There was a sound of movement further in the apartment, and a voice called out. 'Who is that?'

  Georgie looked back over her shoulder, fearful. 'Just a sales call. I'm telling them to go,' she called in reply.

  The voice, Josh knew it. More footsteps. Josh stepped back, and as Georgie tried to shut the door, someone stopped her. It opened wide, and there he was, still in that suit. Edwards.

  'Mr. Reed,' he said, 'I've been looking for you.'

  In his pocket, Josh's cell began to vibrate.

  'I told you not to come . . .' Georgie said, her voice hollow. Her eyes met Josh's, and he realized then that she had been trying to warn him, but he'd not listened. He'd gone storming in like a fool, paid no attention and got himself caught.

  The cell continued to buzz.

  'I'm sorry, Georgie,' he told her. 'I didn't realize . . .'

  'No matter,' Edwards said, breaking him off. 'You're here now, so why don't we take a walk.'

  The cell stopped vibrating.

  'I'm not going anywhere,' Josh said. 'Not until I know my family are safe.'

  'They're fine,' Edwards said, almost jovially. 'See? All we want is you.'

  Josh, hesitant, looked to Georgie. 'Is he telling the truth?'

  Georgie nodded.

  'And Joseph?'

  'He's fine. Tucked up in bed.' Her expression turned, fear becoming sadness. 'What did you do, Josh? This man says he's from the CIA!'

  'I haven't done anything wrong, I swear,' Josh pleaded.

  'He's right,' Edwards confirmed. 'We just want to talk to him.'

  'About what?' Georgie said, looking between them, the fear creeping back.

  'I'm afraid that's classified,' Edwards said, 'and time is short. Come now, Mr. Reed; we need to be leaving. Let's not have a repeat of our visit with Mr. Garcia.'

  Josh hardened. He wasn't giving in that easily. 'Promise me my family will be safe.'

  Edwards's face fell to stony seriousness. 'I can't promise you that,' he said, 'but should anything befall them, it will not be at our hand.'

  Josh wasn't sure what to make of that, and by her expression, neither was Georgie, but it sounded sincere, and really, there was nothing Josh could do. 'Okay,' he said, relaxing his balled fists. 'Let's go.'

  Looking back as Edwards led him from the building, he saw Georgie watching him from the doorway. She didn't have to say anything; her body said it all. Fear, anger, confusion—it was all there. And then they rounded the stairs, and she was gone.

  'What's going on?' Josh demanded as they exited onto the street.

  'That's a question you're going to have to learn to stop asking,' Edwards said, as he led him to the black SUV now parked up at the curb. 'The only things you need to know are the things I tell you.' He opened the door and indicated to get in. Did he look anxious? 'Come on,' he said. 'We need to get going.'

  Josh looked down the street in hope that Lionel would be there to intervene, but he had gone. He had called Josh to warn him, then made his escape. Josh didn't blame him.

  As he climbed in and Edwards shut the door behind him, he realized that this was no police vehicle: there was no cage, and Josh had not been restrained in any way. Edwards climbed into the passenger side and the driver pulled away.

  'So what will you tell me?' Josh asked as they whipped smoothly down 82nd and back onto Northern Boulevard, turning east and away from Manhattan.

  Edwards, without turning, said, 'I suppose you've guessed that this is about the roo
m.'

  'No shit,' Josh said. 'What is it, some Cold War bunker or something?'

  Edwards let out what seemed to be an involuntary laugh.

  Josh frowned. 'Something funny?'

  'My apologies, Mr. Reed, but that was most unexpected.'

  'So it's not Cold War then?'

  'No.'

  'Government?'

  'No.'

  Josh sat back in his seat and raised his hands in defeat. 'I don't know then. What is it?'

  'We don't know.'

  It was Josh's turn to laugh. 'What do you mean you don't know? You must have some idea of its origin?'

  'We have theories.' Edwards's tone was a touch aloof. 'This isn't the first room we've found.'

  'Then why don't you know anything about it?''

  'Because the others were dead. Empty. This is the first we've found with—with something in it.'

  Josh pondered the idea of these other rooms, what they might be. 'How many others have you found before this one?'

  'Five.'

  'And what was in them?'

  'I told you, nothing,' Edwards snapped. His professionalism was waning, his temper showing through. He was straining under pressure. 'They were empty, long abandoned.'

  Josh could tell from Edwards's demeanor that this endeavor had some personal connotation for him. 'What do you need me for?'

  'You and your team are the only ones who've been in there. For others, there have been . . . problems.' He looked out of the window, watching as they passed by a gas station, forecourt glowing.

  Josh knew he was the only one of his team who'd actually entered the room, but he wasn't going to share that—not yet, anyway. 'What do you mean?'

  'It doesn't matter. That's all you need to know until we arrive.'

  'Arrive where?'

  But Edwards didn't have a chance to answer, because they were all thrown into their seatbelts as tires squealed and headlights flashed bright. The driver swerved, just missing an oncoming car that was headed straight for them. They clipped a parked truck, spinning into it and burying the nose of the SUV deep into its cabin. They'd been traveling at quite a pace, and the impact was hard.