by John Case
He stood there for what seemed like a long time, with his hands at his side and his head on his chest, swaying, while a woman a few feet away slid to the deck with a hole in her throat. Then Veroushka gave the guy a little push and he fell like a tree.
People were screaming and crying as Veroushka blew a kiss to Antonio and picked up her gun. ‘Shut the fuck up!’ she yelled, as if she were trying to watch television. And the amazing thing was, they did. They shut the fuck up.
Solange was on the deck above, watching it all with a little smile, totally in control. Susannah sidestepped a rivulet of blood and pulled Stephen closer to her. ‘Yuck-a-puck!’ she whispered, feeling the stickiness on the soles of her shoes.
‘Look at that,’ Annie said, pointing.
Frank squinted. ‘What?’
‘The ferry. It’s stopped.’
Frank stared. ‘You’re right,’ he said, then changed his mind. ‘No, it’s not. It’s moving again.’ He lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes and trained them on the boat. For a moment he was puzzled. You’d think there’d be a lot of people outside, but there were only a dozen or so on deck. He turned the focal ring on the binoculars, trying to get a better look, but it was too far away to see much. All he could do was make out shapes and colors. Red, mostly.
‘Do they wear uniforms on the ferry?’ he asked.
‘Who?’
‘The people who work on the ferry?’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said.
‘Because –’
Suddenly, Gleason came running up the stairs with the ship’s commander, a young lieutenant named Horvath. ‘We’ve got a problem,’ Gleason said.
‘With what?’ Frank asked.
‘The ferry,’ Horvath replied, picking up a phone and shouting orders to the crew. Somewhere below them, a bell began to ring, and a horn sounded three quick blasts.
‘What’s the matter with it?’ Annie asked, as the ship’s engines began to turn and sailors cast off from the dock. ‘What’s happening?’
‘They’ve hijacked it.’
Annie stared at him. ‘You can’t let them go up the Hudson,’ she said. ‘I mean, you absolutely can’t.’
The Chinquateague slipped away from the dock, turned, and began to gather speed, heading into the Upper Bay. Frank leaned on the bridge’s console, steadying the binoculars. ‘They’ve got a gun or something on the bow,’ he said. ‘Like a water cannon.’
‘It’s the aerosolizer,’ Gleason said, dialing a number on his cell phone. Turning away, he spoke urgently into the phone, saying, Now, right now, then flipped it closed and put it away.
‘How do you stop it?’ Frank asked as the Coast Guard cutter pounded over the waves.
‘If I have to,’ Gleason said, ‘I’ll sink them.
‘You can’t sink them,’ Annie said. ‘There’s a couple of hundred people on the boat!’
The FBI agent ignored her and turned to the Coast Guard lieutenant. ‘I’ll have a combat helicopter here in twenty minutes. Can you stop them?’
The lieutenant looked unsure. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I guess I could ram them, if I had to, but . . . I’ll tell you what I can do: I can keep them away from the aerosolizer. I can make sure they don’t have a chance to use it.’
‘Do it!’ Gleason said, and got on the phone as the lieutenant ordered the cover removed from the 25mm gun.
Saul was the one who really caught it, Susannah thought. He was getting the aerosolizer primed when the Coast Guard ship did a sort of brodie in the water, maybe a hundred yards away. Then the fed started talking to them through the bullhorn, acting like he was their father, all reasonable and calm –
Until Vaughn and Veroushka came to the railing and emptied their clips in his face. God, that was cool, Susannah thought, the way the glass exploded on the bridge, with the megaphone going urrrrrrp and the feds or Marines or whatever they were diving every which way.
Except it wasn’t so cool, because that’s when Saul caught it, really caught it – and it wasn’t like he was doing anything. He was just standing there next to the aerosolizer, watching the show, and the cops opened up with this cannon or whatever it was, and Jesus, they just about sawed him in half. I mean, really! And the other kid, too, the kid who was with him – except he wasn’t dead, just bleeding.
And now the ferry was stopped, so it rolled a lot, and the passengers were getting seasick, sitting on the floor of the main salon, all quiet and pukey.
Why were they scared? Susannah wondered. All the pressure was on her and her friends. If you looked outside, there were a couple of police boats, two fireboats, and a Coast Guard cutter. And that wasn’t all. They had a matte-black helicopter dead ahead, swaying like a dragonfly, its gun sights pointed right at the bow. She wondered how long it could sit there like that, just hanging in the air, before it ran out of fuel and dropped to the water. Not that it would matter: they probably had frogmen, too.
She was standing on the bridge with Veroushka and Solange, listening to the Frenchman. He was pacing back and forth with a cell phone clapped to his cheek, arguing with the guy from the FBI, the negotiator.
‘Listen,’ Gleason said, talking into the phone. ‘What you’ve got to understand is, that boat is not going up the Hudson. I’ll sink it before I let that happen. In fact, maybe you noticed the helicopter. That’s what it’s for. Now, once you understand that, everything else is negotiable. So talk to me.’
The FBI agent paced as he listened, his eyes on Annie and Frank.
‘I’m glad you brought that up,’ Gleason said. ‘And I’ll tell ya what I can do. You don’t need that many hostages. You don’t even want them. They’re a logistical problem.’ He listened for a moment, then cut back in. ‘So we can make a deal. You let the women and children go, I’ll see you get some food – how’s that? Pizzas. Whatever!’
Gleason listened for a moment, then flipped the cell phone closed.
‘What did he say?’ Annie asked.
‘He’s thinking about it.’
‘Let’s go, cher.’
Susannah hesitated. ‘Stephen, too?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely, Stephen,’ Solange said. ‘Would I leave Stephen? Do I look crazy?’ Then he picked up the book bag, the one with the virus ampoules, and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Étienne,’ he said, turning to the Frenchman, ‘when you talk to him – be a pain in the ass, eh? Don’t make it too easy, or he’ll be suspicious. And tell him! Only an ambulance on the dock. Insist on it. Nothing else.’
The Frenchman – she’d never known his name – nodded. ‘Eh, bien, but . . . what if they won’t let us dock?’ he asked, pronouncing the last word duck.
Solange scoffed. ‘He wants you to dock. It’s more dangerous for you there. So negotiate with him. Tell him you’ll trade the aerosolizer for a plane to Cuba. You give him that, and he’ll give you anything you want.’
‘And afterward?’
Solange shrugged. ‘You’ve been vaccinated. Go to Cuba.’ The Frenchman looked doubtful. ‘Don’t you get it?’ Solange laughed, slapping the words on the Frenchman’s T-shirt. ‘You’ve inherited the earth, you idiot! It’s yours, man!’
‘No hard feelings,’ Gleason said as Frank and Annie got into the motor launch. ‘I did what I had to do.’
‘You really think this is over?’ Frank asked.
Gleason gestured to the ferry, which was tying up at the dock. ‘Yeah. Except for the shouting, I do. I think it’s over. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be going ashore.’
‘Right,’ Frank said, trying not to look too skeptical.
‘We’re trading pizzas for people,’ Gleason insisted. ‘I’ll take that deal every time.’
‘Who wouldn’t?’ Annie asked.
‘You watch: ten minutes from now, there’s going to be a lot of women and kids coming off that boat. And after that? We’re gonna deal for the aerosolizer. So, yeah, I can hear the Fat Lady, loud and clear.’
You are the Fat Lady, Frank thought, then waved as the
motor launch turned and nosed through the water toward shore.
Annie looked at him. ‘This is too easy,’ she said.
‘I know.’
‘So . . . what do you think they’ll try to do? Spray from the dock?’ Frank shook his head. ‘Gleason won’t let him get near the aerosolizer. He’ll cut him in half.’
‘Then . . . what?’
‘I don’t know. Something.’ Lights were winking on in the Financial District. In the east, the Brooklyn Bridge stretched across the river like a monochrome rainbow. On Gleason’s orders, the motor launch left them at a pier near the Old Slip, about a block behind the police line that began at the corner of South and Broad streets.
‘Where do you want to go?’ Annie asked.
‘Nowhere. I just want to watch the ferry.’
Susannah made sure that Stephen was safely in his car seat, then put the U-Haul into gear and rolled forward. First on, first off, she thought, understanding for the first time why it was so important that the U-Haul should be the first vehicle on the ferry. Solange had thought of everything.
As the truck trundled off the ferry and into the street, she could see the other women and children streaming onto the dock. The area around the terminal was deserted, except for a paramedic who stood next to an ambulance, directing everyone to a first-aid tent in nearby Battery Park.
Susannah turned onto State Street, saw the roadblock up ahead, and swung right on Water. The street was empty, but she could see the lights of police cars on the next block, and she instinctively avoided them. Turning left onto Whitehall, she found herself with nowhere to go. Up ahead, a trio of squad cars sat in the intersection, blue lights whirling. On the sidewalks behind them, a crowd jostled with a television crew to get a glimpse of the ferry.
Susannah slowed. Stopped. Rolled down her window as a cop came up to her.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘Uh-huh.’
The cop looked in the window at little Stephen. ‘How’s the little guy?’
‘Oh, he’s fine,’ Susannah said. ‘We just want to get home. It’s been scary.’ She rubbed Stephen’s hair. ‘And it’s been a long day, y’know – moving and all.’
‘Can I see some ID?’
‘Sure,’ Susannah replied, fumbling in her handbag until she found her wallet. Taking out her driver’s license, she handed it to the cop. He glanced at it and returned it.
‘You mind if I look in the back?’ he asked.
Susannah shook her head. ‘Whatever,’ she said. She watched him in the rearview mirror as he walked along the side of the truck. Reaching the back, he disappeared from view and, a moment later, she heard the shriek of the aluminum door as the cop shoved it up into the roof. There were a dozen other cops in the intersection, and all of them looked tense. But then they relaxed as the door came clattering back down again.
The cop returned. ‘We didn’t know there were any vehicles coming off the ferry,’ he said.
Susannah made a helpless gesture. ‘They said I could leave. So I got in the truck. Was that wrong?’
The cop chuckled. ‘No. It wasn’t wrong. It was just a surprise.’ Then he looked concerned. ‘Is your husband on the ferry?’
Susannah shook her head. ‘No. I’m supposed to meet him at the truck place.’
‘Well, they’re gonna want to debrief you. So, what I want you to do is this: hang a left on Bridge Street, right up there, and follow it over to the park. There’s a first-aid tent behind the memorial – you can’t miss it. Tell the officer why you’re there – tell him you came off the ferry. Otherwise, you’ll get a ticket.’
Susannah nodded, quick little jerks of her head. Her heart was beating against her chest like a woodpecker on a dead tree.
Frank and Annie were standing behind the police line at Whitehall and Pearl, looking toward the ferry, when the U-Haul drove up. They watched the cop as he talked to the driver, then walked around to the back of the truck and looked inside.
Annie’s hand tightened on Frank’s arm.
‘What?’ he asked, sounding distracted.
‘It’s like the one I was in,’ she said.
Frank didn’t know what she meant at first, and then he understood. She was talking about the truck they’d used to kidnap her. ‘Well,’ he said ‘it’s the same size, anyway.’ He wanted to get a look at the driver, who was talking to the cop again.
‘That’s not what I mean,’ Annie insisted. ‘I mean it’s really like the one I was in.’
He heard the urgency in her voice, and turned to her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s got that southwestern motif – just like the other one.’
Frank glanced at the U-Haul, which the cop was beginning to wave through the intersection. He wanted to see the driver’s face, but he was on the wrong side of the street for that.
But Annie was right about the ‘motif’. A Flamenco dancer, or something like that, was painted on the side of the truck. She held a fan in front of her face, and the way her eyes were, you could tell that she was laughing.
Then the truck was past him, and he saw that it had New York plates – which, when you thought about it, didn’t make sense, not when you saw the logo. If the truck was from New York, it should have had skyscrapers on it. Or a giant apple, or something. But not a señorita. Instinctively, he started walking after the truck, then jogging, pulling Annie along behind him. The U-Haul was signaling left, but it didn’t turn. When it got to Bridge Street, it accelerated and kept on going.
‘Putz!’ the cop yelled, throwing his hands in the air.
And that’s when it hit Frank. He didn’t know why, but suddenly he got the joke and knew that he had to catch the truck.
‘It’s the Spanish Lady,’ he said. ‘It’s a señorita, but –’
‘I get it,’ Annie shot back, hurrying to keep up with him.
When they reached the next corner, Frank glanced left and right, looking for a car or a cab, then spotted a black limo waiting outside a restaurant on Stone Street. The chauffeur was sitting on the front fender, reading a newspaper. Frank walked past the car and, seeing the keys in the ignition, told Annie to get in the passenger’s seat and lock the door.
‘But –’
‘Just do it,’ he said, and watched as she complied, her reluctance almost palpable. The door slammed shut.
‘Hey!’ the chauffeur exclaimed, surprised to hear the car door slam. ‘Hey, lady! Whattaya doin’? This ain’t your car!’ Irritated, he slid off the fender and came around to the passenger’s side, just as Annie locked the door. ‘Get outta there!’ he ordered, knocking on the window. ‘You can’t be in there!’
‘Sorry about that,’ Frank said, going around to the driver’s side and pulling open the door. ‘Let me talk to her.’ Then he climbed in, pulled the door shut behind him, and turned the key in the ignition. The limo started with a roar. The chauffeur yelled ‘Muh-thuh-fuhhh?!’ And the car leapt from the curb.
In his rearview mirror Frank could see the chauffeur running down the street, screaming for the police. And then they turned a corner and he was gone.
The whole thing had taken less than a minute, but even so, it was sheer luck that they caught sight of the U-Haul – and that it was the right U-Haul. Maybe the driver had gotten lost in the maze of streets around the World Trade Center, or maybe she was just slow. But after a minute or so they spotted it about a block ahead of them, rumbling down Fulton toward the FDR.
The lights were all wrong, turning red just as Frank hit the intersections, but it didn’t matter. He’d have welcomed a police car’s lights but, naturally, there wasn’t a cop in sight.
There was, however, a car phone, and Frank told Annie to call Gleason.
‘How?’ she asked. ‘I don’t know his number.’
‘Just call him,’ he said. ‘Call the FBI’s Washington field office. Tell them it’s an emergency. Tell them it’s about Solange. That’ll get their attention. Do the same with FEMA and the Coast Guard. One of them will p
ut you through.’
‘But how do I get their numbers?’ she asked.
Frank groaned. ‘Five-five-five, one-two –’
‘But how will they call us back? We’re in a stolen car.’
He took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, ‘You don’t like making phone calls, do you?’
‘I mean it!’ Annie said defensively. ‘How do I tell them to get back to us?’
‘It’s the FBI,’ Frank replied. ‘They probably have Caller ID. In fact, they could probably sequence your DNA over the phone, if you hung on long enough.’
With a deep, mistrustful frown, she picked up the phone and began dialing, regarding the instrument as if it were a snake.
Meanwhile, Frank drove, or tried to. He kept the U-Haul in sight beneath the elevated highway, then followed it up the ramp, with numerous cars now between them. Traffic on the FDR was bumper-to-bumper, surging from fifteen to twenty-five miles per hour and back again. Even so, he could see the U-Haul, maybe a hundred yards ahead.
‘Where is it going?’ Annie asked, putting her hand over the receiver.
Frank shook his head. ‘Uptown . . .’ he replied, leaning forward to turn on the radio. He found a news station right away, but there was nothing about the Staten Island Ferry, the Temple, or anything else. They passed the Williamsburg Bridge.
‘That’s Gleason,’ Frank remarked, gesturing at the radio. ‘Gleason and FEMA. If it was up to them, you’d need a Q-clearance to get a weather report.’
The Lower East Side rolled by, and then the Midtown Tunnel. When they came abreast of the U.N., Frank thought he had a chance to close the gap, but a motorcyclist cut him off, and that was that. Soon they were on the Upper East Side, and the U-Haul’s turn signal began to blink. At Ninety-sixth Street it exited the highway, and so did Frank and Annie.
But once again the lights betrayed them. The U-Haul rumbled through an intersection on yellow, but there wasn’t any way Frank and Annie could make it. A wall of traffic surged across their path and –
