Dark River (7 page)

A taxi pulled up to the arrival area. Aronov was sitting in the back. When he gestured with his hand, Maya came down the steps and got in beside the Russian.

“Good evening, Miss Strand. How pleasant to see you again.”

“The gun has to work or no sale.”

“Of course.” Aronov gave directions to the driver, a young man with a spiky haircut, and they pulled back onto the street. Within a few blocks, they were on Ninth Avenue, heading south.

“You brought the money?” he asked.

“No more than we discussed.”

“You are a very suspicious person, Miss Strand. Perhaps I should hire you as an assistant.”

As they crossed Forty-second Street, Aronov took a ballpoint pen and a leather-bound notebook out of his pocket as if he were about to write a memo. The Russian began to talk about his favorite nightclub in Staten Island and the exotic dancer there who had once been a member of the Moscow Ballet. It was meaningless chatter, something a car salesman would say as he guided you around the lot. Maya wondered if the ceramic gun was a fake and if Aronov was planning to steal the money. Or maybe it was nothing. He knows I’m carrying a handgun, Maya thought. He sold it to me.

The driver turned right on Thirty-eighth Street and followed signs to the Lincoln Tunnel. Rush-hour traffic converged upon the entrance, and then sorted itself into different lanes. Three separate tunnels— each with two lanes— led under the river to New Jersey. Traffic was heavy, but the cars were traveling about thirty miles an hour. Peering out the side window, she watched a power cable move up and down on the white tile facade that lined the tunnel.

Maya turned as the Russian shifted his weight on the seat beside her. He clicked the ballpoint pen and a needle emerged from the tip. Within that instant, Maya saw each detail with total clarity. Her hand grabbed Aronov’s wrist. Instead of fighting his attack, she went with its force, guiding him halfway downward, and then jerking his arm to the left.

Aronov stabbed himself in the leg. He screamed with pain, and now Maya used all her strength, punching him in the face while holding the needle in his flesh. The Russian sucked in air like a drowning man, then went limp and slumped against the car door. Maya touched his neck— still alive. Whatever chemical was in the fake pen was just a tranquilizer. She searched the outside pocket of Aronov’s raincoat, found the ceramic gun, and transferred it to her shoulder bag.

A clear Plexiglas barrier separated the front seat from the back, and she could see that the taxi driver was talking into a headset. Both doors were locked. She tried to roll down the side windows, but they were locked as well. Glancing over her shoulder, she realized that a dark SUV was directly behind the cab. Two men sat in front, and the mercenary in the passenger seat was also using a headset.

Maya drew her revolver and tapped the barrel on the Plexiglas barrier. “Unlock the doors!” she shouted. “Hurry up!”

The driver saw the gun, but didn’t obey her. There was a calm center within her mind, like a chalk circle drawn on the pavement, and Maya stayed within its boundaries. The barrier between the seats would be bulletproof. She could smash the side window, but it would be difficult to crawl out through the small opening. The safest exit was through the locked door.

She pushed her revolver into her waistband, drew her throwing knife, and forced the sharp point between the window frame and the plastic trim panel. The panel wouldn’t move more than half an inch, so she took out the push knife and jabbed it into the small opening. Forcing downward with both blades, she pried open the plastic, exposing an interior steel panel. The panel was thick enough to resist bullets, but the holding brackets looked fragile.

Maya knelt on the floor of the cab, pointed her revolver at the top bracket, and fired. The gunshot was painfully loud. Her ears were ringing as she pulled down on the steel panel— exposing the latch, a steel rod, and the power-lock actuator. Now it was easy. She pushed her knife onto the point where the rod and the actuator connected and pulled upward. The lock popped open.

She had overcome the first obstacle, but still wasn’t free. The taxi was moving too fast for her to jump safely. Maya took a deep breath and tried to push the fear out through her lungs. They were about fifty feet away from the tunnel exit. When the traffic emerged, the cars would slow momentarily while changing lanes. Maya estimated she had about two or three seconds to get out before the taxi picked up speed.

The driver knew that the side door was open. He glanced up into the rearview mirror and said something into his telephone headset. The instant the cab came out of the tunnel, Maya grabbed the door and jumped. The door swung outward. She held on tightly as the cab went over a bump and she was slammed back against the door frame. Cars swerved and brakes screeched as the taxi driver began to cut across the lanes. He looked back at her for an instant and the cab smashed into the side of a blue commuter bus. Maya was flung from the door and landed on the road.

She scrambled to her feet and glanced around her. The entrance to the tunnel on the New Jersey side looked like a manmade canyon. A high concrete wall was on her right, with houses perched on a steep slope farther up. To her left were the tollbooths for vehicles entering the tunnel. The SUV had stopped about twenty feet away from the cab, and a man wearing a suit and tie got out and stared at her. He didn’t draw a gun; there were too many witnesses, and three police cars were parked near the tollbooths. Maya started running toward an exit ramp.

FIVE MINUTES LATER, she was in Weehawken, a shabby commuter town with dirt alleyways separating three-story clapboard houses. When she was sure no one was looking, she scrambled over the stone wall that formed the back courtyard of a deserted Catholic church and pulled out her cell phone. Hollis’s phone rang five or six times before he answered.

“Exit high! Purest children!” During the last three months, she had come up with three escape plans. “Exit high” meant whoever was in the loft should use the fire escape to climb onto the roof. “Purest children” meant they should rendezvous at Tompkins Square Park on the Lower East Side.

“What happened?” Hollis asked.

“Just do what I say! Get out of there!”

“We can’t do that, Maya.”

“What are you—”

“Some visitors have arrived. Come home as soon as you can.”

Maya found a taxi and raced back to Manhattan. Sitting low in the backseat, she told the driver to cruise down Catherine Street. A group of teenagers was playing basketball at the public housing project, but no one appeared to be watching the loft building. She jumped out of the cab, hurried across the street, and unlocked the green door.

Maya drew her handgun as soon as she stood on the ground-floor landing. She could hear the sounds of cars passing down the street and a faint creaking noise when she climbed the wooden staircase. The moment she reached the door, she knocked once, and then raised the revolver.

Looking frightened, Vicki opened the door and Maya slipped into the room. Hollis stood a few feet away holding the shotgun.

“What happened?” he asked.

“It was a trap,” Maya said. “The Tabula know we’re in New York. Why are you still here?”

“As I said, we have visitors.”

Hollis motioned to the right. Someone had pulled back the painter’s tarps that defined the men’s sleeping area. Oscar Hernandez, the Jonesie minister who had rented the loft, sat on a folding cot with a young Latino wearing a red sweatshirt.

“Maya! Thank God you’re all right!” Hernandez stood up and gave her a big smile. He was a city bus driver who always wore his clerical collar when conducting church business. “Welcome back. We were starting to worry about you.”

An older woman’s voice came from the women’s sleeping area. Maya hurried across the loft and pulled back one of the tarps. Sophia Briggs, the Pathfinder who lived in an abandoned missile silo near New Harmony, sat on a cot talking to Gabriel. Sophia was the teacher who had taught Gabriel how to use his ability to cross over to different realms.

“Ah, the Harlequin returns.” Sophia studied Maya as if she were a rare species of reptile. “Good evening, my dear. I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Something moved in the shadows over by the radiator. Was it a dog? Had Sophia brought a pet with her? No, it was a little girl sitting on the floor, her knees up, her arms wrapped around her legs. When Maya took a step closer, a face came up, a small face that displayed no emotion. It was the Asian girl from New Harmony. Someone had survived.

** CHAPTER 7

Gabriel watched Maya’s eyes as she glanced at the little girl and then turned to Sophia. “I thought everyone was killed….”

“Everyone but Alice Chen— Joan’s daughter. I found her down in the missile silo protected by my lovely king snakes. The Tabula mercenaries came searching for us, but they only explored the main level.”

“How did you get to New York?”

“Dr. Briggs drove to Austin, Texas, and contacted a member of our church,” Hernandez explained. “A few of us still believe in ‘Debt Not Paid.’ We will protect Travelers, Harlequins, and their friends.”

“But why are they here?”

“Alice and I are both witnesses,” Sophia said. “We were passed from church to church until someone contacted Reverend Hernandez.”

“Well, you’ve come to the wrong place. I won’t accept an obligation for you or this child.” Maya walked over to Alice Chen. “Do you have grandparents? An aunt or uncle?”

“Alice has stopped talking,” Sophia said. “It’s clear that she’s been through a traumatic experience.”

“I heard her talk at New Harmony.” Maya stood over Alice and spoke slowly. “Give me a name. I need the name of someone who can take care of you.”

“Leave her alone, Maya.” Gabriel got up from the cot and crouched down beside the little girl. “Alice…” he whispered, and then he felt the aura of grief that enveloped her. The feeling was so powerful and so dark that he almost fell to his knees. For a moment he wished he had never become a Traveler. How had his father endured such pain from others?

Gabriel stood up and faced Maya. “She stays with us.”

“These two people will slow us down. We have to get out of here now.”

“She stays with us,” Gabriel repeated. “Or I’m not leaving this loft.”

“We won’t have to take care of them for long,” Vicki said. “Reverend Hernandez has some friends who live on a farm up in Vermont.”

“They live completely off the Grid— no credit cards, no phones, no attachments at all,” Hernandez said. “You can stay there as long as you want.”

“And how are we supposed to make this journey?” Maya asked.

“Take the subway to Grand Central Terminal. A train leaves on the Harlem Line at eleven twenty-two tonight. Get off at a town called Ten Mile River and wait on the platform. A church member with a car will pick you up and take you north.”

Maya shook her head. “The whole situation has changed now that the Tabula realize we’re in New York. They’ll be monitoring everywhere— it will be dangerous to move around. There are surveillance cameras on the street and in each subway station, and the computers will scan for our images and target our exact location.”

“I know all about the cameras,” Hernandez said. “That’s why I brought a guide.”

Hernandez raised his hand slightly and the young Latino sauntered to the middle of the room. He was wearing a baseball cap and loose athletic clothing that advertised various sports teams. Although he tried to swagger, he looked nervous and eager to please.

“This is my nephew, Nazarene Romero. He works in the maintenance division of the New York Transit Authority.”

Nazarene adjusted his extra-large pants as if that were part of the introduction. “Most people call me Naz.”

“Good to meet you, Naz. I’m Hollis. So how are you going to get us to Grand Central?”

“First things first,” Naz said. “I’m not in my uncle’s church. Understand? I’ll get you out of the city, but I wanna be paid. It’s a thousand for me plus another thousand for my friend Devon.”

“Just to travel to a train station?”

“You won’t be tracked.” Naz raised his right hand as if he were swearing an oath in court. “I guarantee it.”

“That’s not possible,” Maya said.

“We’re going to a station with no cameras and traveling on a train with no passengers. All you gotta do is follow my directions and pay me when it’s done.”

Hollis stood up and approached Naz. Although he held the shotgun with his left hand, he didn’t need the weapon to be intimidating. “I’m not a church member these days, but I still remember a lot of the sermons. In his Third Letter from Mississippi, Isaac Jones said that anyone who takes the wrong path would cross a dark river to a city of endless night. Doesn’t sound like the kind of place you’d like to spend eternity….”

“I’m not selling anybody out, man. I’m just gonna be your guide.”

Everyone looked at Maya and waited for her to make a decision. “We’ll take you and the child up to the farm in Vermont,” she told Sophia. “After that point, you’re on your own.”

“As you wish.”

“We leave in five minutes,” Maya said. “Each person can bring a knapsack or one piece of luggage. Vicki, distribute the money so that you’re not carrying all of it.”

Alice remained on the floor, silent but watching as they quickly sorted through their belongings. Gabriel stuffed two T-shirts and some underwear into a canvas shoulder bag along with his new passport and a packet of hundred-dollar bills. He didn’t know what to do with the Japanese sword that Thorn had given to his father, but Maya took the weapon from him. Carefully, she placed the talisman in the black metal tube she used to carry her Harlequin sword.

While the others continued to get ready, Gabriel brought a cup of tea over to Sophia Briggs. The Pathfinder was a tough old lady who had spent most of her life alone, but she looked exhausted from the cross-country trip to New York.

“Thank you.” Sophia reached out and touched his hand. Gabriel felt like they were back in the abandoned missile silo in Arizona and she was teaching him how to free his Light from his body.