"Do I know you?"
"All men are brothers," I said, and wedged myself into the corner at the end of the car. There were no open seats, and at the next stop more passengers came aboard, dressed for work downtown. I tried to catch as many faces as I could, but it was pointless. If Drama was in the car, I couldn't see her.
I put the radio to my ear and heard static, the weak signal. A couple people gave me looks, wondering what the hell I was doing. Most couldn't have cared less.
Then her voice, far away, saying my name, over and over again, almost singing, like she was on a playground somewhere, eight years old and taunting me from the swing set.
"…Atticus Atticus Atticus are you listening we've only got a few seconds you're taking the ferry John F. Kennedy it leaves at oh-seven-hundred go to the second foredeck by the ladder don't be late don't be late Atticus Atticus…"
Then more static, and then silence.
I switched the Motorola off. The broadcast had been weak, too weak to be from the train. I'd caught the train she'd specified, so the only thing I could think was that she had been standing on a platform, maybe at Fourteenth Street, broadcasting as I went past. Which meant she wouldn't be on the ferry, which meant she could be anywhere by the time I reached Staten Island. There was no way Moore or Dale or Corry or Bridgett was going to find her in time.
It hit me that I already felt tired, and I'd been at this for less than an hour.
It hit me that I had been doing a very good job of hiding my fear up until this point, and that I didn't want to lose that now.
There was no longer any doubt in my mind that Drama was trying to strip me of my protection, of my support. The message about taking the ferry clinched it, proved beyond doubt that she wanted to get me alone. This was worse than a fool's errand, and there was only one way that made it make sense, only one reason to jump me through all these hoops to get me alone, to keep Antonia alive.
Drama wanted a trade. My life for Antonia's.
I dumped the Motorola in the first trash can I found, then sprinted up the stairs out of the station, already trying to get someone to respond to my radio call. Three lines of automobiles stretched around the corner of the terminal, cars waiting for their turn to cross New York Harbor, and I stood and scanned the line, looking for any vehicle I could recognize.
"Somebody come in," I said. "I'm aboveground, I'm getting on the ferry, somebody acknowledge."
"I'm with you, already aboard. Second row, middle. Where are you?" Bridgett's voice.
I was so relieved to hear her that for a moment I couldn't talk.
"Atticus?"
"I'm boarding. Supposed to go to the fore, second deck, and wait for instructions."
"Should I find you?"
I debated. Even if she could have reached the terminal before me, Drama wouldn't risk coming aboard, wouldn't risk trapping herself anyplace where there was no easy exit. But that didn't mean she couldn't have eyes present, someone or something to watch.
"No," I told Bridgett. "Keep your distance."
She hesitated before responding. "Confirmed."
The ferry sounded its horn, and I followed the remaining stragglers as they rushed aboard. I kept talking to Bridgett as I followed the walkway, passing an enormous anchor crammed into a corner, to the stairs and then up to the second deck. Most of the benches were occupied, and I could see a clump of early-bird tourists gathered on the aft observation deck to get a look at Manhattan as we pulled away.
"Why am I not hearing the others?"
"They cut out about three minutes ago. Could be signal loss, could be the batteries went dead."
"You have your cell phone?"
"I do."
"Call Natalie, see if they've checked in."
"Will do."
I turned to the fore, exited through the double doors onto the observation deck. We'd already left the terminal and I was surprised I hadn't even felt us go into motion. Continuing forward, I could look over the wall at the water beneath us, the short waves slamming into the ferry. The wind off the water was surprisingly cold, and the clouds had gone high again. Although the sky made the water look green and gray, visibility across to Staten Island was clear. On the starboard side, I could see the Statue of Liberty, stoic and stern and glorious, and she looked more to me like a guardian at the gate than an usher to the shore.
Behind me, under the awning and against the wall to the main cabin, I saw the ladder Drama had directed me to, marked with a sign warning that no one was admitted above. Attached to the awning, stowed above the beams that crisscrossed above my head, were old life jackets, faded safety orange, and nothing to trust your life to, from the looks of them. Faded paint noted that they were to be used in emergencies only.
I moved to the ladder and turned to face out again, waiting, listening to the wind and the gulls. The clump of tourists from the aft had moved forward, were emerging on my right, snapping photographs and talking in broken English and fluent German.
My radio crackled, and Corry came on, saying, "Check, check, anyone read?"
"Where the hell have you been?"
"A repeater went down somewhere, something, we lost communications when we left the Island. How are you reading?"
"Five-by," I said. "Where's Moore?"
"I'm here, " Robert said.
"I'm on the ferry," I said.
"We heard, " Corry said. "Bridgett gave Natalie the update, we called in to let her know what was going on. You know your next stop?"
"Other than Staten Island, no, not yet."
"We're just getting into Brooklyn, the bridge traffic nearly killed us. We're going to try and come across on the Verrazano. Keep us in the loop. Out."
"Out," I said. Off to the port side, I could see the bridge spanning the Verrazano Narrows, linking Brooklyn to Staten Island. It would take them at least another twenty minutes to reach it, by which time we'd be pulling into the St. George Ferry Terminal. Depending on what happened next, we'd either end up moving closer together or farther apart.
The tourists decided it was too cold and went back inside, and as they did, Bridgett came out, zipping up her biker jacket. She was wearing sunglasses, and she went to the railing and leaned over it, half of her six feet one dangling over the deck below, and with the wind blowing off the water making her hair fly, she looked impressive, and I knew she was posing. Then she pushed back off the railing and reached into a pocket. I guessed Altoids, but she came out with Cherry Life Savers and started chomping them down.
Something was beeping, and it took me a couple seconds before I realized that it wasn't coming over my radio, that it was a pager going off nearby, but there was nobody nearby with a pager as far as I could see. With my earpiece in, the sound was impossible to pinpoint, and I yanked it free, listening, then looked up.
One of the life jackets was paging me. I tried reaching for it and couldn't find anything, resorted to using the ladder, and on the second rung reached again. It was on top of the life jacket at the back, beside the opening onto the deck above, and I pulled it down, looking it over. It was black, new, with an LCD readout on the side for alpha-numeric messages.
I dropped off the ladder and turned it off, then used the buttons on the side to scroll through the message.
BLACKVWPASSAT… NJNADGAR…
When I looked up again, Bridgett was at my shoulder and the St. George Ferry Terminal was looming large off the bow.
"Got all that?" I asked.