"Hold it, we don't want to hurt you; we just want to talk." The man had a French accent. As she climbed, they kept coming.
Banging her shins, she went rapidly and then they were at the base of the ladder climbing as well. As she reached the first landing, Michael's body hurtled past her, traveling feet- first into the lead man and knocking him into the next. Michael hit the ground on top of them and, as quick as a cat, was on them removing their guns. The two men struggled on the ground, trying to rise, obviously with broken bones. She hoped Michael hadn't crippled them. People were coming warily closer.
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 uncon scious, Sam pressed in with more powerful punches. The un relenting 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 cloth ing. 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 under ground 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."