Counterplay bkamc-18

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  As she ran, Marlene reached inside her purse for her gun. When she was almost to the intersection with Spring Street, she paused and looked back. The situation was worse than she thought. There weren’t many pedestrians on the sidewalks, and she immediately spotted the two men she’d seen selling purses on the sidewalk across Grand. They were tagging along behind her sons and their captor, trying not to look obvious. He’s got backup, she thought.

  Marlene raced ahead and crossed Crosby at Broome Street and headed back toward her boys. She saw the twins again just as they reached the mouth of an alley halfway up the block. The man in the sweatshirt said something and the boys turned and went into the alley as the man followed.

  Fearing that her children were about to be slaughtered, Marlene began to sprint, pulling the gun from her purse as surprised pedestrians made small exclamations of fear and surprise as they moved to get out of her way. Although they apparently had not seen her, the two purse sellers also broke into a run, reaching the alley thirty feet ahead of her. They hesitated at the entrance to the alley, then pulling their guns they plunged in.

  Marlene arrived and looked into the shadows. She thought that she saw figures moving in the dark and heard sounds of a struggle. She shouted for the twins to lie down and charged in, nearly stumbling over a body lying ten feet into the gloom. She looked down and could just make out the features of one of the purse sellers. His throat appeared to have been slashed, and he lay in a large pool of blood. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice spoke from the dark only two feet to her side.

  “Good evening, Marlene…. Please don’t shoot, the twins are safe.”

  “David? David Grale?” she asked as one shadow separated itself from the darker shades behind it and touched her on the arm.

  “Yes, it’s me,” he said.

  She realized that he was the man in the hooded sweatshirt. “Where are the boys?”

  “I sent them out the other end of the alley to circle around and wait for you at the Housing Works Bookstore. It’s a well-lit wholesome place; they should be safe for the moment.”

  Marlene looked down at the corpse. “Is the other one in the same condition?”

  “No, though perhaps not feeling quite up to snuff,” Grale replied. He raised his hand and several more shadows stepped forward and threw the other purse seller to the ground. “I thought you might want to ask him a few questions before I allowed my people to ‘escort’ him to his new home.”

  Marlene shuddered. She had been down into the bowels of the city where Grale and the Mole People lived and still had nightmares about being lost in the dark as thin, translucent hands reached out of damp holes for her. “Who sent you?” she asked the man on the ground.

  The man spat and looked straight ahead. Grale moved instantly and stomped a heavy-booted foot down on the man’s hand. He screamed. “Allah, curse you, shaytan.”

  “Were you going to kill my sons?” Marlene asked.

  The man again refused to answer as he held his crushed hand. Grale moved again, a blade flashed and the man howled with pain as he grabbed his wounded cheek. “I’ll carve the flesh right off of you and leave you here for the rats if you don’t start talking,” he said.

  “No, no, they were not targets…not tonight,” the man cried. “We were just supposed to follow them…learn their habits.”

  “So you could kill them some other day, right?”

  The man nodded. “In sha’ Allah.”

  “God willing? Murder two little boys? I don’t think that has anything to do with God, you cowardly piece of shit,” Marlene said in disgust. “But if you weren’t supposed to kill them tonight, who are the two white knights?”

  The man looked puzzled. “White knights? I know nothing of this.” He hazarded a look at Grale and added. “As Allah is my witness.”

  Marlene looked at Grale. “I don’t think this scumbag knows much of anything,” she said. “Kane probably hasn’t let him in on ‘the game.’ He’s all yours.”

  Grale nodded. “We’ll see how much he knows when we take him to our home sweet home and have the time to whittle it away from him…so to speak.” He raised his hand again and the shadows stepped forward and became people-emaciated with half-mad, glittering eyes, but people, not monsters. Four picked up the dead body and hauled it off into the dark. Several others grabbed the man on the ground and pulled him roughly to his feet.

  “Where are they taking me?” the man cried, recoiling at their appearance and the smell of their unwashed bodies. “Are they turning me over to the police?”

  Marlene smiled grimly. “Nah, it would just be a waste of taxpayer dollars. I believe where you’re going, even in Islam, you would call it hell.”

  The man started to cry. “I am mujahideen, a holy warrior, I have been promised paradise…I have-” His voice was muffled as one of his captors threw a cloth sack over his head. He screamed and was cuffed into silence as they dragged him off.

  Marlene turned to Grale. “I better go track down the twins,” she said. “Thanks, I owe you.”

  Grale nodded. “You’re welcome. We’ve been watching these two for a while, hoping they might lead us to Kane. But as you suspect, they are just witless pawns.” He stopped and listened. Satisfied or at least not alarmed, he continued. “Get your family out of Manhattan, Marlene, there’s death and a gathering of evil. Kane is coming…his assassins are already here. I don’t know what they’re planning yet, but it’s big, and I fear you and your family figure prominently in his designs.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she replied. “Want to come back to the loft and take a shower, get a hot meal?”

  Grale laughed. “Are you trying to tell me I stink? I guess I’ve gotten used to it. Living in hell, as you put it. Anyway, that’s the second time I’ve received such an invitation, first from your husband and now from you, and it’s much appreciated. However, that would not be for the best. Nor, as much as I love your family, should you always trust me to look out for your best interests.” He paused. “I am not…I serve a higher power whose purpose for me might not be safe for you and yours. And sometimes…sometimes I worry that I am in such constant contact with evil, willing my mind to think as they do so that I can anticipate them. It’s like standing too close to a plague victim; sooner or later you notice the buboes under your own skin.”

  Marlene felt a sudden surge of compassion for the young man. Insane or not, Grale believed that he was fighting the good fight against evil, and time and again had saved her family from tragedy. She reached up and touched his face, surprised when tears popped to the surface of his eyes. “I will never be afraid of you, David Grale; you will always be a hero to me.”

  Grale bowed. “I couldn’t ask for a better compliment. But our paths-all of us, for good or evil-are running toward each other and there will soon be a collision. Now, care to tell me the significance of your questions about the white knights?”

  For the second time that day, Marlene explained about the chess pieces.

  “Perhaps it’s not Kane who’s sending them,” Grale suggested.

  “What do you mean? It’s part of his ‘game’s on,’ threat,” Marlene said.

  “Maybe, but what if they were being sent as a warning by someone who knows Kane’s plans?” Grale said. “Maybe they can’t be any more specific…or don’t want to make it too easy on you. Maybe they’re playing their own game.”

  “I guess anything’s possible. But if it’s a warning, it’s pretty hard to decipher in time for it to do any good,” Marlene said. “I think it’s just a sick mind enjoying playing cat to our mouse. Sorry, have to run.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Grale on the cheek. His skin felt warm and dry.

  Grale mimicked looking at a watch, then exclaimed, “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late…time for me to pop down my rabbit hole.” He started to turn away, then stopped. “By the way, sorry to hear about your mother, Marlene,” he said softly. “She’s resting in the arms of the Lord now.”

&nb
sp; The comment caught Marlene off guard, and the sudden lump in her throat made it hard to catch her breath. But she mustered enough to say, “Thank you, David, I think so, too.”

  Then he was gone.

  Marlene trotted down the street to the bookstore where she found the twins hobnobbing with the owner over iced frappacinos. The Housing Works Bookstore-the proceeds of which were used to provide housing for people infected by HIV and AIDS-was a favorite hangout of the family’s. Only a couple of blocks from the loft, it was a great place to sit down peacefully with an old book and a good cup of coffee that didn’t come from one of the ubiquitous Starbucks that had sprung up all over the city.

  “Come on, you two, that stuff will stunt your growth,” she said, escorting each by an arm and calling over her shoulder to the owner. “Good night, Georgio. No caffeine for these two after six or we’re all up all night.”

  “Understood Ms. C,” Georgio replied. “But they coerced me by promising to tell me a story about terrorists and Mole Men. I’m a sucker for a good story.”

  Marlene gave the twins an extra shake when she got them on the sidewalk. “Let’s not be spreading rumors, boys,” she warned.

  “What rumors?” Giancarlo said. “Our lives are like one big Arnold Schwarzenegger action flick. Zak and I are thinking about writing a script.”

  “We’ll insist on starring in it as ourselves,” Zak added. “At least at this age-we’ll probably have to get some actors to play us when we were little kids. Like the time Giancarlo got shot by those hillbillies.”

  “Or when Zak stuck his switchblade into the leg of that terrorist who was trying to abduct him.”

  “Or when that psycho murderer Felix Tighe tied up Lucy and-”

  “Enough! Don’t remind me,” Marlene said putting her hands over her ears. “Just let me know before the Academy Awards. I’d like to buy a new dress, something becoming for the mother of the stars.”

  “Who said you’re invited,” the twins laughed.

  Marlene made a face. She sent a curse Georgio’s way for dosing the twins with caffeine. They were bounding around her like dogs invited to go for a walk.

  “What happened with David and those guys who were following us?” Giancarlo asked.

  “Bet David sliced them into pieces,” Zak said with a sigh for missing the imagined mayhem.

  “He caught up to us when we got off the subway and told us we were being followed and needed to walk fast until we got to the alley,” Giancarlo explained. “Then he told us to run for the bookstore and not look back.”

  “I bet they died a horrible death,” said Zak.

  “You shouldn’t be so quick to celebrate violence, Zak. Violence doesn’t solve anything,” Marlene scolded, trying to sound like a responsible parent.

  “But sometimes violence is the only way to stop the violent,” Zak replied. “I’ve heard you say that to Dad.”

  “Don’t listen to me,” Marlene instructed. “I’m not a good role model.”

  “No, you’re not,” the twins agreed.

  “But you’re a lot of fun,” Zak said merrily to soften the blow.

  “Never a dull moment,” Giancarlo added somewhat less enthusiastically.

  “Gee, thanks, boys.”

  When they reached the loft, she rushed to her desk to retrieve telephone numbers for Jojola and the Sagebrush Inn, where her daughter had taken up semipermanent residence. She tried the inn first, but there was no answer. Nor did Ned have a telephone at the rustic cabin where he stayed on the ranch. She sent an angry mother thought west in the direction of her obstinate daughter.

  Next, she tried Jojola’s cell phone and was happy to hear his voice. “Hey, Marlene, were your ears burning? I’ve got Tran here in my truck, and he’s been talking trash about you. Ow! That hurt, you old gook.”

  Marlene heard something shouted about “drunk Indians.” “You drinking again?” she asked sternly. When she met him the previous summer he’d been a recovering alcoholic, dry for more than twenty years.

  “Nah, we’re just giving each other shit,” Jojola said. “So what’s up?”

  Marlene told Jojola the latest news and her fears about the implications of the white knight chess pieces. “I’m worried about Ned being one and you the other,” she said.

  “Well, I’ve seen these fed agents around a lot,” Jojola said. “They’re about as obvious as Custer at the Little Big Horn. But I haven’t noticed anybody else who struck me as something other than a local or a tourist…. However, you’ll be happy to know that we’re on our way to see the young lovebirds at Ned’s place. Tran just flew in this afternoon, and we’re trying to get there before sunset to surprise ’em. But this place is a ways out here, middle of some of the prettiest nowhere you’ve ever seen.”

  Jojola was quiet for a moment and she could hear him saying something to Tran. “Hello, Marlene, you still there?” he asked.

  “Yeah, what’s up? I thought you forgot about me with your drinking buddy there.”

  “Nah, he’s Vietcong, they were into opium,” he said. “Anyway, there’s a car pulled over on the road up here, we’re going to check it out. Looks like the one these feds have been driving around. A dark Ford Taurus four-door in truck country if you can believe that.”

  Marlene heard Jojola and Tran talking again and the sound of his truck slowing down on gravel. Suddenly, there was an exclamation that sounded like it came from Tran. Then Jojola was back on the telephone.

  “Marlene, I need you to call my office. You got the number, right?”

  “Yes, what’s going on, John?”

  “There’s a couple of dead agents sitting in a car out here. We’re about five miles from Ned’s place. I need backup, but there’s a big mesa in between here and the res, and I usually can’t reach them. Use your land line and tell whoever answers, ‘Jojola needs you ASAP at the old…cabin…and come ready for a war party.’ It’s going to take them more than an hour as it is.”

  “What was that?” Marlene asked. “Your phone cut out. What was the cabin?”

  “The Josh…Steers…,” Jojola yelled. “They’ll understa-”

  Marlene heard Tran shout, “Shots fired.” She heard the truck accelerating.

  “Make the call, Marlene. Got…go.”

  As soon as Jojola hung up, Marlene hit the speed dial for the Taos Pueblo’s police department. A young woman answered and Marlene relayed her message. “I think he said the Josh Steers cabin, but I’m not sure.” The other woman didn’t waste time with pleasantries and hung up.

  Not knowing what else to do, Marlene called her husband. Or, more accurately, she called Murrow because her husband was just as much a Luddite as her damn daughter and wouldn’t carry a cell phone.

  17

  The unmistakable call of the William Tell Overture brought the work going on beneath the array of portable floodlights in Emil Stavros’s backyard to a momentary halt. Murrow quickly snatched the cell phone from the holder on his belt and flipped it open.

  “Hi, Marlene,” he said. “You really should stop calling me like this. Your husband is standing right here.” His smile disappeared as he listened and then handed the telephone to Karp. “It’s your wife. Sounds like trouble…again.”

  “My wife’s number is programmed into your cell phone, Gilbert? The Lone Ranger’s theme music?” Karp asked with an arched eyebrow. “Is there anything I should know?”

  Murrow blushed. “She’s always riding to the rescue…shooting guns out of the bad guys’ hands-”

  “-or if she misses, the bad guys themselves,” Karp said dryly. He put the phone to his ear. “Hi, babe, what’s the trouble?”

  Like Murrow, Karp’s smile quickly turned into a frown. “The twins are okay?” he asked. “Good. Look, Jojola and Tran are on the way, and Lucy’s got Ned with her. That’s a pretty tough combination. I’ll be right home.” He flipped the telephone shut and turned to Guma, who’d walked over from where he was keeping a log-book.

  “Sorry, got to go,
” Karp said. “Looks like you’ve got this in the bag. You don’t need me.”

  “Trouble at home?”

  “Yeah, and maybe in New Mexico. But everybody’s all right, you just keep on this and call me when you know something.” Karp left with his driver in tow.

  Guma watched him go. New Mexico…hope everything’s okay with Lucy, he thought before turning back to the gaping hole in the ground above which a petite middle-aged woman knelt brushing away at something below his line of sight.

  Early that morning, he and the two scientists from 221B Baker Street arrived at 10 °Centre Street to meet with Judge Paul Lussman and ask for an expanded search warrant. With Clarkson’s expertise on the technical stuff, Guma presented the results of the GPR investigation.

  Your Honor will find in the sheaf of papers I handed you a compilation of instances in which this supposedly “pseudo-science” has aided law enforcement in locating clandestine graves, Guma said. While this is a relatively new use for geophysics equipment, the science and technology have been used for decades. The anecdotal evidence I’ve given you demonstrates that this is more than some carnival act.

  Lussman patiently sat through Geophysics 101 and asked several probing questions of his own that indicated that he understood the basics. When Guma was finished, the judge bowed his head and appeared to be thinking. Very well, he said, looking back up at both parties. I’m going to grant the amplified warrant as the people request, but on the condition that any disturbance of Mr. Stavros’s backyard be limited to the excavation of this one “anomaly.” Consistent with what the scientists have stated. Is that sufficient, Mr. Guma?

  Yes, Your Honor, thank you, Guma had replied with a nod. Then he and the 221B scientists rushed from the courthouse building. By the time the team could be reassembled again at the Stavros home, it was midafternoon.

  It now included a New York City public works department employee, who when introduced to Swanburg, a criminologist, and Clarkson, a geologist, declared himself a jackhammer-ologist. There ain’t a man in this city can handle a ’hammer better than yours truly, Norris A. Marshall the Fourth.