Counterplay

currents. But he vowed to swim across ‘en spijt den duyvil.’ In spite of the devil.”

Kane frowned. He did not particularly like the way this story was going. “Are you going to get to the point or bore me to death?”

Lucy smiled. “If it would bore you to death, I’d talk all night…. Anyway, Anthony dove into the water and began to swim across. However, the devil had heard his boast and reached up and grabbed Anthony’s leg. The brave lad pulled out his trumpet and blew such a blast that it drowned out the storm and startled the devil so much that he let go of Anthony. The sound of his trumpet warned the settlers far up the Hudson that danger was approaching, so they were prepared when the English arrived. But poor Anthony was so exhausted by his efforts that he drowned.”

“So the moral of the story,” Kane said, “is: don’t fuck with the devil.”

“Or use his name lightly, Mr. Kane.” Lucy smiled back. “You never know when he might reach up and grab you by the leg and pull you back to hell.”

Kane scowled but any comeback was interrupted by the sound of gunfire from across the road where he’d left a rear guard to watch for any cops. He could see flashes from the area of the park and more popping noises.

An Arab man came running up, obviously frightened. “We are being pursued by jinn,” he said. “We must leave.”

“ Jinn with guns?” Kane asked. “Why am I surrounded by such fools?”

“They move like shadows, and when you shoot at them, they aren’t there anymore. They are jinn,” the man repeated confidently, which started several of the other men murmuring.

Kane raised his gun and shot the man in the stomach. “Now,” he told the others as they watched their comrade suffering on the ground. “Let’s have no more talk about jinn and get to the boats.”

There was more gunfire. Closer. Kane looked down toward where the street rounded the corner into the park. It was hard to see in darkness through the rain, but he thought he spotted several shadowy figures run across the street.

“Move!” he shouted, suddenly afraid himself. “Get to the boats!”

“What about him?” one of the men said pointing at Fulton.

Kane considered shooting the detective. “Two hostages are better than one,” he said. “Bring him. Two of you stay here and hold them off, then join us in the second boat.”

With that they ran down the boat ramp for the floating dock. At Kane’s direction, Lucy climbed in the front boat, followed by Kane. Two terrorists brought Fulton, who they dumped on the floor; then one moved quickly to the helm while the other untied the boat. The second man was about to get in when a bullet caught him in the back and he fell into the water.

“Go! Go!” Kane shouted.

“What about the others?” the man at the wheel shouted.

“Leave them,” Kane said. “Just go.”

The speedboat pulled away from the dock with a roar. Lucy looked back and saw several men running for the second boat, firing over their shoulders at the shadow people who chased them.

One of the terrorists fell and lay still. Another was struck in the leg. He went down but got back up and was trying to hobble to the boat. But a tall shadow figure caught him. There was a piercing scream loud enough to be heard over the roar of the boat engine.

Grale, Lucy thought. And John is with him! Come on, guys. Here I am!

The last of the terrorists got to the floating dock and, throwing off the line, jumped in the boat. It looked like he was going to get away, but then another pursuer ran down the dock and leaped just as the boat was starting to pull away.

Jojola landed hard and rolled across the deck. The man at the wheel saw him land and left his post to meet him. Pulling a long, curved knife, he slashed at Jojola, who threw himself backward to avoid the blow. The man leaped for Jojola, intending to finish him, but instead impaled himself on the Indian’s upraised hunting knife.

Jojola pushed the body off and stood, just as the wet figure of David Grale, who’d dived in after the boat, pulled himself over the side. Grale rushed forward and took the wheel and gunned the engine so suddenly that Jojola was thrown back and nearly overboard.

It was difficult to see with the rain pelting their faces, and the water was getting increasingly choppy as they sped into the Spuyten Duyvil area. On the subway, Grale had told him that although the waters could look calm, they were deceptive. The Harlem River is affected by the ocean tide, he’d said. Especially at high tide, which it will be at tonight, the waters in the river actually push up against the waters from the Hudson that flow down from the north. Strong swimmers have been sucked beneath the surface and never seen again.

Now, over the roar of the boat engine, Grale pointed ahead at a dark object in the middle of the river. “That’s the Amtrak rail bridge,” he said. “It’s only about eight feet above the water at high tide. You can’t go under it, but it swivels in the middle to let boats pass and then back again for the train to pass over. I’m not sure, but it looks like it’s open for boats now. If they get through it and Kane’s men close it before we can get there, we’ll lose them.”

Up ahead, Kane saw that the Amtrak bridge was open and smiled. His men had obviously reached the control office and forced the operator, who was undoubtedly now dead, to swing it open.

Some nemesis you turned out to be, Mr. Karp, he thought, happily. Yes, you managed to save your stupid cathedral and precious Pope, but your life will be one of never-ending tears when you find your sons butchered and have to live with the idea that your daughter is my whore. I’ll ruin you politically as well when my friends in the media hear how you’re related to Russian gangsters. My new good friend Rachel Rachman will be the district attorney, and I’ll be able to return to the city…perhaps with a new face and identity.

Kane looked behind. The second boat with the shadowy pursuers would never catch him in time. We’ll scoot through and then shut the door, he thought happily. But the smirk left his face when his driver sounded the boat’s horn, which for the moment drowned out the sound of the storm, reminding him of Lucy’s story.

“What in the hell!” Kane shouted.

His man pointed ahead. The bridge was swiveling to a close, and it was going to be a race to see if they could reach the opening in time.

“Faster!” Kane shouted.

“There is no more speed,” the man shouted back.

They almost made it, but at the last minute, the driver had to cut the engine and turn the boat sharply to avoid crashing into the end of the bridge section. The drastic move caused the engine to stall and despite repeated efforts it wouldn’t start up again.

“No!” Kane howled. “How did this happen?”

As an answer a spotlight suddenly stabbed down from a helicopter overhead. “This is the New York City Police Department. Put down your weapons and remain where you are with your hands up.”

Suddenly, the lights on the bridge were turned on. Kane shaded his eyes and tried to see who was on the bridge. He could just make out three figures standing on the edge of the bridge looking down at him. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and when they did, making out the features of the tall one in the middle, he screamed in rage. “Karp! I don’t believe this!” He aimed his gun and fired until he was out of bullets, but his aim on the pitching boat was worthless and all his shots went wide.

“Shoot them, dammit,” he yelled at his driver. The man obediently grabbed his AK-47 and jumped up on the bow of the boat. He aimed the rifle but never got a shot off before there were two flashes from one of the figures on the bridge and the terrorist fell back and into the water.

Up on the bridge, standing between his wife and Ned, Butch Karp picked up a bullhorn. “It’s over, Kane,” he said. “There’s nowhere to go. The river’s sealed off in both directions. The Pope is safe. So is the cathedral. And by the way, you don’t have any money.”

“You’re lying, Karp,” Kane said, suddenly turning to point his gun at Lucy. “Open the bridge or I swear I’ll kill