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."
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."
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.
Smoke filled the place, and to see far, you ducked down to get beneath the acrid haze. What Sam could see of the ceiling was pitch black from soot. Flame from the barrels angled toward the tunnels indicating that most of the draft came from that direction.
"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."
"Let's go get the girl and get out of here at the same time."
"That tunnel is one place that Lugger and Big Dog don't go right now."
"Not even for two hundred bucks?"
"Damn, you trouble my soul with that kind of money. I came down here to get away from greed and corruption and such, and now you lay it in front of me."
"Let's go. We'll discuss greed on the way," Sam said. "Grady, you should have an extra gun." Sam handed her a 10mm semiautomatic. "Get each hand on a butt."
"I don't have a gun," Lugger said.
"I'll shoot twice as fast and that way you won't need one," Sam said.
Sam picked up Lugger's light, snapped it off, and handed it to him. "When I tell you to turn this on, give me light."
Sam used his own small light to guide the way. They walked across the old concrete floor and Sam could imagine better days sixty years ago when New York's finest made their way through a highly crafted underground structure exhibiting the proclivities of an era when craftsmen labored for hours over a few square feet of handwork. Lights in classic brass fixtures had radiated colorful tile mosaics that overlay the walls, ceiling, and floors. Signs had been created from the tile and embedded in the walls. In those days it didn't usually occur to people to mar and deface public property.
Now the place had become a haven for those left in the wake of a society committed to mass production.
There were only two or three darkened campsites in a direct line to the tunnel. Sam was concerned that soon their hunters would find a more palatable way down into the underground.
"What are the other ways in here? Tunnels?"
"Secret."
"Yeah, but what are they? It's part of the two hundred dollars."
"I'll give you a free history lesson. In the real world I operated one of the trains."
"Okay."
They came to a big drop down into the concrete well that held the track. For a moment the talking stopped as they lowered themselves off the edge of the concrete down to the crushed rock. When everyone was down, they started walking. Sam took Lugger's big light and handed Grady the smaller. The tunnel was thirty feet wide. At the sides it was packed earth.
"You have heard of the City Hall subway station. Closed down in 1945 because the curve was too tight. The cars got too long and they put the doors in the middle of the car and it didn't work on that tight curve. This station was the same thing. Happened in 1945, just like City Hall. If you look back, you'll see the curve in the track in front of the platform. The big cars wouldn't fit around the curve for offloading. With the doors moved to the middle and the longer car length, they no longer had the right fit to get people on and off. They kept the old City Hall pretty nice. It didn't get torn up and they still sometimes run a subway on the track past the platform. But they more or less forgot about this one until it was too late, and now they don't really want to get into the fact that the homeless people ripped the thing apart. All the brass fixtures are gone. All the tile is messed up, smoked up, or fallen down. At City Hall station they plugged all the stairways but didn't plug the track. Here they did both—"
"It's fascinating," Sam interrupted, "but how do people get down here?"
"I'm getting to that. Relax."
"If we want to live, I need to understand how people can get down here, either in front of us or behind us." "City officials, my ass. Who exactly is chasing you?" "No one who gives a damn about Luggers or their dogs." Despite that, Lugger walked faster, and they kept pace. "You were telling me the ways into this station." "Okay. Understand this principle. Manhattan is solid rock. So people like us don't dig in it. The stairs into the station are all cemented in. That part is like what they originally did at City Hall station. In this tunnel where we're walking, the overhead grates and emergency stair exits are sealed. Back at the station there is one more air vent that does go to a grate that is half covered by a building. In the past people have been able to get through the grate, but just recently they have a steel sheet under it. I wondered how you came down because nobody has had that grate open for the past few weeks. There's a tunnel from the building, but they boarded that up."
"We came through the wall of the building. I'm told that they drilled the hole in the concrete when they were looking for something. Maybe a steam pipe or something to do with the subway," Sam theorized.
"Nowadays people get here mostly by running down the live track. At either end of this side track, there's a cement wall. But it doesn't go all the way to the top of the tunnel in this direction. I think it's a dam for water when the side tunnel starts filling from heavy rain. Down the other direction the hole to get out of the abandoned track is really small. I don't fit."
"Is the other surface hole into the station as hard to travel as what we came down?"
"Harder to find because it isn't exposed to the outside. Easier to come down."
"How about ahead of us?"
"All operating subway tunnels have a grate every six hundred feet. The grates open with a bolt lock. You just slide the bolt out of the hole, but you can only do it from underneath. But like I said, this track was abandoned for good. Over time they just paved over the grates above the track or welded them up and put in a steel plate. So there's no getting out except over the top of the wall at the end of this tunnel, and then we'll be on the live track of the 1 and 9."
"Is there a hot rail in here?"
"No way."
"I thought this might be part of the PATH line."
"No, that's through the rock over there a piece and down. PATH runs under the 1 and 9."
Suddenly lights came on, shining in their eyes. Sam used Lugger's big light and shone back. There were seven men and four had metal pipes or chains. Three were fishing out their knives. No guns in evidence.
Sam waved everybody back, handed the light to Lugger, and walked forward alone with an automatic in each hand. He sized them up as a mean, confident crew with less dirt on the clothes than should be the norm down here. They were in various stages of growth on their beards. One was of good size, the others average. He wondered how often they came underground.
Behind them stumbled two girls, both in bad shape. Their heads hung. They had bulky coats wrapped around them, but their legs and feet were bare, probably nude under the coats.
"We just want to pass." Sam paused. "And we're taking the girls."
The leader looked around and grinned while three of the guys pulled guns. "We do the takin' down here. We'll start with the money and then we'll take her."
"You guys have six semiautomatics aimed at you. All you've got is a few relic revolvers, aside from the Beretta."
"Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!"
Sam shot. Sound exploded through the tunnel. The bullet missed the leader's head by inches. Shock etched their nervous faces, everyone leaning forward at once, ready to start a war.
The leader tried to be nonchalant but put his finger to his ear as if to check its integrity.
"The next bullet goes in the middle of your forehead."
"We're gonna die right here," the leader said.
Sam knew he had a problem. "Last I heard, gang leaders still had balls. I'll fight you. If I win, you let us pass and we take the girls."
"What if I win?"
"Then you've got one less guy to deal with."
"Killing you will be a pleasure. And after that, having her."
Sam handed one gun back and put the other in his pants.
"You still got a gun," the leader said.
"How about you?"
The leader raised his hands and turned.
"Your ankle."
The leader reached down and removed a small revolver.
Sam handed back the second gun.
"You wanna come hit me with a pipe?"
"What are you, one of those kung fu assholes?"
"Nah. No kung fu. I could teach you to pronounce it some other time. But like all good martial-arts practitioners, it is now my duty to ask you not to fight. There is no reason not to let us pass."
The other men looked a little nervous and began to spread out.
"Think about it. If you win, my friends here will have a case of the nerves and they'll start shooting hollow points out of these semiautomatics and you guys will have bullets going in the front of you and blowing holes out your backs the size of grapefruits. And your intestines will probably rupture and spew shit all over your insides and it will take, say, thirty minutes to actually lose consciousness and it'll hurt like hell as you're dying. Then you'll think back to how it was that you could have just let us walk through. Of course you'll be shooting at my guys, but they have Kevlar vests, and you don't, so you'll need a head shot. So if you're lucky, you'll lose the fistfight and just suffer some broken bones."
The bangers took another look at one another.
"You gotta pay to get through. We'll take her and some money."
"Okay. Well, let's fight then, one at a time."
Sam turned to Grady and Michael. "Now, you make sure that whoever wins gets gut shot. Unless, of course, I win. Then you don't have to shoot anybody."
"I more or less specialize in the gut shot," Michael said.
Sam had been moving closer to the lead man, the big fellow, who now had a pipe ready to swing.
"Here I am. Aren't you gonna take a swing? Or can you feel that lead blowing out your backbone?"
Sam kicked in a blur right up into the man's crotch. The man bent over clutching his privates. For the moment he couldn't breathe. Sam yanked the pipe from his hands.
"If you check carefully, you'll see that your nuts are still down mere, although they may have entered your abdominal cavity." Sam swung the pipe up between the man's legs, breaking the bones in his hands. When the man's hands dropped, Sam swung again and hit the testicles a second time, square on. "Never threaten a woman." With the man doubled over, he pinched off carotid arteries from behind the neck until he lost consciousness.
"Right on." It was one of the girls back in the shadows.
A man with a badly scarred face was near the tunnel wall, but he began moving nearer the others. He had a gun pointed at Sam.
"You can start a shooting war, but most of us will die."
"Especially you," the man said. Sam stepped closer, closing the distance. In his fear the man wasn't thinking about the metal breastplate in the flak jacket under Sam's coat. He was aiming right at it.
"Either squeeze the trigger or get out of the way," Sam said with remarkable calm. The hesitation was in the man's eyes and it was all Sam needed. In a fast kick he sent the man's gun hand up and then grabbed the gun hand on the way down. Sam jabbed his solar plexus, and as the strength left the man, Sam swiped his gun away. Quite deliberately he shot the man in the foot and left him screaming. One of the five remaining now grabbed one of the girls and put a gun to her head.