Suddenly the tiny eyes came alive, seemed to grow larger as they glittered like polished agates. The muscles in Carl Nagle's jaw contracted so quickly that his teeth came together with an audible click. He started to walk around the car, a movement that caught Vahanian's eye and caused the other detective to glance up sharply.
"Kendry, I'm warning you—!"
"No, I'm warning you," Veil said in the same low, even tone as he turned his head, smiled, and nodded at Vahanian. "If you come any closer, I'll do more than make you toss your cookies; I'll kill you. At my trial I'll bring up the fact that you killed Vito Ricci. I'll also mention the matter of you being on the Mafia payroll for years, acting as an enforcer. You're a rapist and sadist, Nagle, and my guess is that your victims will come forward in a flood once you're dead. Then, of course, I'll get off on self-defense, since your partner and the woman can see that you're about to attack me. Do I have your attention, Carl?"
Veil waited for a response, but there was none. It was as if his words were a kind of sound-Medusa that had turned Carl Nagle to stone. The detective was standing perfectly still, rigid, and the life had once again gone out of his eyes; he seemed to be staring through, or somewhere beyond, Veil.
"Outstanding," Veil continued. "Even though you appear vaguely catatonic at the moment, I'll assume that your ears still work. That bushman is still on the loose— but you're not going to kill him, and you're not going to get your hands on the idol. Now, I know that you're in trouble with your Mafia bosses, and I know that they're counting on you to get that idol for them. Tough shit. The price for having me mind my own business is for you to take a walk from this case. I don't give a shit how it's done, but do it; have a heart attack or something. Now get in the car and wait there like a nice policeman."
Nagle's eyes went slowly out of focus as his hand slowly moved toward his gun. Vahanian had stopped talking, and both he and Reyna were staring anxiously at Nagle and Veil.
"Carl, you'll be dead before you can pull the trigger," Veil said easily. "You know it's true; you can feel it in your guts. Now get in the car."
Moving like an automaton, Nagle turned, walked back around the car, and got into the rear. He sat very straight, his back not touching the seat, and blankly stared ahead. His face was the color of rotten meat.
"All finished, Lieutenant?" Veil asked as Vahanian hurried up the street toward him.
Vahanian said nothing. He glanced through the windshield at his stricken partner, quickly looked up at Veil, then got into the car behind the wheel and rolled up the windows. Veil watched as Vahanian tried to talk to Nagle, but the other man remained trapped in his raging prison of silence. Again Vahanian, a puzzled expression on his face, glanced at Veil, who smiled, nodded, and waved.
Vahanian abruptly turned the key in the ignition and drove away.
"What on earth did you say to him?" Reyna asked as Veil walked over to her.
"Nothing, really, just trying to make friends." Veil removed the map from his pocket. "Will you invite me up to your apartment?"
"Yes," Reyna replied quietly. "Of course."
He followed Reyna into the faculty dormitory, up three flights of a narrow, wooden staircase, and into a small but brightly decorated one-bedroom apartment. There were a number of paintings, most of them reflecting religious themes. On one wall hung a huge crucifix. Another wall was covered by a montage of photographs of Reyna as a child, a man and woman Veil assumed were her parents, and a gathering of tribesmen he recognized as K'ung.
Reyna went into the kitchen to make coffee. When she returned, she found Veil leaning on a table; before him was a section of a map of New York City—Manhattan, with Central Park as its rectangular, emerald-green heart.
"Toby went into the park here," Veil said, pointing to Fifth Avenue and Sixty-ninth Street. "I think we can assume he also came out about the same place, since the mugger was killed near there. He stayed in the park, near water and living on, say, dog meat until his wound had healed sufficiently for him to travel. Now he knows where he wants to go—or he thinks he knows where he wants to go. There were reported sightings all over the city, but most of those are due to the mass hysteria you mentioned." Veil paused and moved his finger to the island in the middle of the East River. "One of the reports came from a security guard on Roosevelt Island. That, I believe, was the only accurate sighting. There's no way of knowing how he got across the river; he certainly didn't get swimming lessons in the Kalahari. He could have crossed hand over hand on the tramway cable or managed to float across on debris. He may even have floated across on the Nal-toon. What I am sure of is that he's heading southeast. He's clever and incredibly strong-willed; if he needed to get across the river, he'd have found a way.
"I know a few things about so-called 'primitive tribesmen,' Reyna. Toby may be a savage on the loose in the city, but he's not lost—at least not in the sense that he's forced to wander around aimlessly. This is a man who can hunt for days in open desert and still find his way back to his tribe's camp. The sun was low in the sky when you picked him up, and it didn't set until just after you'd reached Victor's gallery. The setting sun is the only point of reference Toby needed to orient himself."
Veil unfolded another section of the map, which showed the borough of Queens. With his index finger he traced along the red line he had drawn from Roosevelt Island through Queens to a large X in the middle of a purple patch of color next to Jamaica Bay.
John F. Kennedy International Airport.
Veil glanced up at Reyna, who slowly nodded. "You do know," Reyna said softly. "Poor Toby. He thinks that all he has to do is get back to the airport in order to be transported home."
"As in most primitive tribes, K'ung learning is probably almost entirely experiential and literal. Toby will use what he knows, just as he does in the desert. In Toby's mind a plane—something he probably thinks of as magical, a device provided for his personal benefit by the Nal-toon—brought him here, so one will be waiting to take him home—if he can get to the place where it's kept. Getting there is the trial that you mentioned."
"Yes." Reyna sighed as she sat down on the floor and rested her head against a table leg. "I believe that's what Toby is thinking, and what he's trying to do. But then, I know the K'ung very well. You don't. How did you come up with this idea?"
"Dreams. Deduction. Knowledge flying on the wings of imagination. Just a bit of inspired guesswork. His route is thirteen miles as the crow flies, which is precisely the way he'll be going. We have to find him before someone else does, or before he shows up at JFK and tries to walk on a plane."
"He'll be very careful, Veil. He'll move slowly. During these past weeks I've been back and forth over that route, trying to find Toby, but also to leave totems—signs, warnings—that he can read. I'm hoping he'll read the totems, have second thoughts about what he's trying to do, go to ground, and wait for me to come around. But I don't think he will."
"I wonder what shots he had before he left."
"Lord, Veil, that's been one of my biggest concerns. He's probably already sick. He knows absolutely nothing about this environment. He'll continue to kill dogs or cats for food, which is all right, but there's no telling what he's been drinking or what he will drink. He has no resistance to most of our diseases, and whatever inoculations he was given will give him only limited protection. When Toby's thirsty, he drinks; he knows nothing about typhus. He could have drunk from the East River, or even from some sewage outlet." Reyna paused, looked up at Veil. Tears welled in her eyes, flowed down her cheeks. "I'm afraid that if Toby gets sick, he'll go to ground until he gets better—or until he dies."