Jack squeezed his finger through a small bullet hole in his sweater. “These should do the trick.”
“I’d put on a Newcastle United shirt if it meant a chance to kill Anthony,” I said.
Jack smiled. “Come on, Harry. Don’t exaggerate.”
Newcastle United were the rivals of our football team, Sunderland, and such an action would previously have been seen as sacrilege. I would never get to feel the pure adrenalin rush of the ball smashing in the back of Newcastle’s net again. Too bad; it was better than any commercially available drug.
Getting to City Island unseen in broad daylight looked impossible by car. The island had a single road leading to it, which posed obvious problems. We’d easily be seen if anyone watched the route or indeed used it at the same time we approached. City Island shielded Eastchester Bay from Hart Island; the obvious solution was to take a small boat across Eastchester Bay under the cover of darkness, but we’d have to move quickly to make our meeting time. The plan was to head just north of Throgs Neck Bridge and find a suitable vessel. We’d land on the west side of City Island and make the short journey across the place on foot to the boatyard next to the cemetery.
Confident we had a workable solution and time to implement it, we took a pair of mountain bikes from the locker room and headed off.
Robert F. Kennedy Bridge ended up being an impassable mangled mess. The railway crossing to our right still stood, so we crossed through a park, carried the bikes along the tracks, and rejoined our planned route on the Bruckner Expressway, which led very close to an ideal coastal launch point. I needn’t explain the state of the roads. The carnage was standard fare.
As we passed through Soundview, two explosions boomed in the distance, followed slowly by a rising cloud of thin black smoke from the Queens area.
“I hope that’s GA,” Jack said.
“Why’s that?”
“Because it means they’re miles away from us.”
Jack’s conduct and general mood had continually improved since we’d left Monroe. I think something clicked inside of him after spending hours in the pit. It focused rather than disturbed him, and he had that old look of steely resolve in his eye. Determination had overridden his worrisome temper. I shared his optimism.
I recalled the importance of the Allied victory at the Battle of El Alamein, when Sir Winston Churchill said, “Before Alamein we never had a victory. After Alamein we never had a defeat.”
I was hoping we’d be able to say the same thing about Hart Island and Genesis Alliance. The war would be far from over, but it could be a crucial first victory and a turning point. Without the threat of GA locally, we could gather an army and continue fighting. I believed Headquarters was only here to deal with the Monroe goons’ incompetence. They wouldn’t stay forever.
A lone voice repeatedly shouted from a park on our left as we passed Schuylerville. I couldn’t see anyone in the long swaying grass and didn’t feel the need to investigate. We knew from Lea that other areas had had a different kind of second activation. New York would be a poor recruiting ground in the future, but we’d have our revenge for that tonight.
We exited the parkway, past a tired old sports field on our right, and headed down Ampere Avenue. An Italian restaurant had a smashed front window, and a moldy flap of pizza hung from a jagged shard. A red brick church had “Save Our Souls” painted on its open green door, and six of the houses were burnt to blackened block shells.
A sparkling bay greeted us at the end of the road. Water lapped the hulls of twenty boats, secured to moorings in the marina. I felt confident we’d get one working and gazed over the water to the houses dotting the coastline of City Island.
I peddled to the marina entrance and propped the bike against a car. My thighs felt stiff from the exertion, but in a good way. Exercise has a positive effect on me. I’d heard it had to do with endorphins being released in the body. They sounded like sea creatures to me.
Jack made his way to a sleek white Sunseeker with a corpse slumped over the stern. I scanned five ubiquitous wood-clapboard houses overlooking the boats. Satisfied there were no signs of immediate danger inland, I fished out the binoculars and surveyed the bay.
The boat’s engine rumbled into life, and water bubbled from the back of it.
“We’re in business,” Jack called.
I hopped onto the wooden decking at the back. “Clear out here. So far, so good.”
Inside, the Sunseeker felt luxurious. It had a small recreational area with white leather seats and polished chestnut tables and cupboards. We avoided the temptation of a stocked mini bar, although I slipped two whiskey miniatures into my pocket for a post-operation drink. A small internal staircase led to a raised cockpit. From here, through slightly pink-tinted windows, we had a good view of our evening route.
During the last hours of daylight, only a single vehicle flicked in and out of vision along the route, heading onto the island.
At eight in the evening, when darkness enveloped the bay, Jack fired up the engine, and we drifted away from the marina. I’d taken a compass bearing that would lead us to the center of the western shoreline, which looked to be a mixture of pontoons that lined a long beach. We planned to ground on the sand.
Jack increased the throttle as we broke into the free water, and the Sunseeker cut through dark shadows of vessels at anchor. He kept a steady course and headed for the black silhouette of City Island. After ten minutes, with the island looming large, our hull crunched against land and slid to an abrupt halt several yards short of the shore. Without hesitating, we left the cockpit, jumped from the side of the boat into waist-deep water, and waded to dry land, with our rifles above our heads.
I led us straight to Bay Street, past the dark shapes of previously expensive large properties.
A figure moved to our front.
“Cover,” I whispered.
We ducked into a front garden and hid behind two large tropical trees.
A woman stumbled between two houses in a nightgown.
She shuffled stiffly in our direction, holding her arms rigidly by her side, palms open and fingers spread. She closed in on our position. Moonlight reflected off her pale face, staring vacantly ahead.
A dark stain splashed across the front of her nightgown, which stuck to her stomach. Probably blood. She moaned and wailed in low tones.
We edged around the trees as she made her way past us. When she reached the end of the road, she turned around and started making her way back up the street. I checked my watch. We still had twenty minutes.
“Cut across to another street,” I whispered. “It’s like a grid system here, so we won’t get lost in the dark.”
“Looks like she’s on another planet.”
“Just another one of GA’s victims.”
The woman shuffled past us again, up the street and back between the two houses from where she’d first appeared.
“It’s like she’s walking a circuit,” Jack said.
“Perhaps it’s all she knows. I’m not waiting for her to come back.”
He nodded and we moved purposefully down William Avenue and turned right on Tier Street in the direction of the boatyard. Within five minutes, we arrived. Adrenalin pulsed through my veins at the thought of our imminent attack and facing Anthony and Jerry again.
“Last chance for a weapons check,” Jack said.
I quietly tested the working parts of my rifle, took the Glocks out of my pack, and handed one to Jack. “Hopefully, we won’t be needing these.”