”Just one less drug-dealing bitch to worry about,” Smithers said. “We’ve got more important things to discuss.”
”Like your funeral,” Schaefer said. “You asshole, we’ve been tracking Baby for months! She could have delivered names, dates, suppliers…”
”Oh, for…” Smithers began. Then he caught himself. “You still don’t understand, do you;
Schaefer?” he said. “We have a problem, a big problem, much bigger than any drug network. We need your help, and you’re going to give it to us, no matter what.”
”I understand well enough,” Schaefer said coldly. “I understand that I liked Baby a whole lot more than I like you, Smithers.”
”We’re up against something a lot more important than drug dealers, Schaefer,” Smithers said. “Something a lot worse.” He nodded to his men. “Take him.”
”You’re worse than the dealers!” Schaefer shouted as the men with machine guns stepped up on either side and trained their weapons on Schaefer’s head. Schaefer froze.
The other man holstered his 9mm, buttoned his jacket, then stepped forward, toward Schaefer, reaching in a pocket of his overcoat as he did.
”You’re worse than all of them,” Schaefer said as the agent pulled out a black case and snapped it open, revealing a loaded hypodermic needle. “At least the people I bust know they’ve done something wrong.”
The man in the black coat slid the needle into Schaefer’s arm and pushed down on the plunger.
”You, Smithers, and the rest of you,” Schaefer said, “you just don’t give a shit about right or wrong…”
The sedative, or whatever it was, hit fast; Schaefer stayed on his feet for several more seconds before keeling over, but was unable to get out any more words or construct a coherent thought.
Even so, he thought he heard Smithers saying, “You’re right, Schaefer. We don’t care about right or wrong, or any kind of philosophy. What we care about is the country.”
He wasn’t sure, though; he decided that he might have imagined it.
As he began to fall to the floor he was just conscious enough to notice that the callous bastards weren’t even going to catch him.
Chapter 10
“Looks like he’s coming around, General.”
Schaefer heard the words, but it took a few seconds before he could attach any meaning to them or to the thunderous beating sound that almost drowned out the voice.
Then his mind began to clear. He knew he was in a helicopter, that someone was talking about him, and they’d noticed he was waking up.
”There will be some initial disorientation and minor dizziness from the drug, Detective Schaefer, but that will pass,” the voice said. Schaefer blinked and saw that a man in a U.S. Army dress uniform was kneeling over him-an officer. A captain, to be exact. The man looked genuinely concerned, which Schaefer didn’t believe for a minute.
He was, he realized, lying on a stretcher aboard a military transport copter-he couldn’t be sure what kind from here, with the pilot’s compartment curtained off. The captain was probably a doctor, and Schaefer was now awake enough to spot the medical insignia-yes, an army doctor.
Schaefer turned to look to either side. Two other men were crouched nearby-more medical personnel, in whites rather than military garb. Two others, soldiers who looked like guards, sat farther back.
And at his feet sat General Philips.
Schaefer stared at the general for a moment.
He had dealt with Philips before, when those things from outer space had come prowling the Big Apple. Philips was a bastard, no question about it, but he wasn’t such a robot as Smithers or the others. Schaefer’s brother Dutch had actually liked Philips, and Schaefer himself had seen signs of humanity in the old warhorse.
”Seems like I have fewer legal rights than I thought,” Schaefer said. His voice was weak and husky at first; he paused to clear his throat. “Maybe I’m just a dumb cop, General, but isn’t kidnapping still illegal in this country? Not to mention murder.”
Philips glowered at Schaefer.
He hated dragging civilians into this, especially unwilling ones, but when he’d been called back, after those months of inaction, and had seen what they’d left him to work with, he’d known he was going to need help.
His experts had all been reassigned; research had been stopped dead. Colonel Smithers and his men had been working counterespionage and had been pulled off that and put back under Philips’s command just the night before. Captain Lynch’s team was still intact, but they’d mostly been marking time, training in marksmanship and demolitions and unarmed combat and not learning a damned thing about the enemy they were supposed to fight.
Because with the researchers gone, nobody in the government knew, really knew, anything about the aliens. They’d given him all the staff he asked for, all the authority to call in any help he wanted, and the only person Philips had been able to think of who did know anything, and who could be located on short notice, was Schaefer.
They needed Schaefer. The fate of the whole goddamn world could depend on this man.
And Schaefer wasn’t cooperating.
”Don’t talk to me about the law, Schaefer, the general retorted. “Some things transcend Man’s laws.”
Schaefer’s eyes narrowed. “And some things don’t, General, and who appointed you God’s judge and jury, anyway? Those goons of yours blew away two citizens back there!”
”Two citizens who were selling cocaine and who had just helped murder four cops, Schaefer,” Philips replied. “I didn’t authorize Smithers and his boys to kill them, but don’t try to tell me you really give a damn about what happened to Baby or Arturo or Reggie.”
Philips wasn’t happy about how Smithers had handled matters, but he didn’t want to let Schaefer know; this wasn’t the time or place to argue about it.
”You know all their names?” Schaefer said. “Hey, I’m impressed.”
Much as he hated to admit it, he was slightly impressed-he hadn’t known Reggie’s name himself, nor that Rawlings and the others were definitely dead.
Baby and her friends had had it coming, then, but still, they should have had their fair chance. Arturo had gone down shooting, but Baby and Reggie had been defenseless; they shouldn’t have died.
”I do my homework,” Philips said. In fact, he’d been cramming desperately ever since the phone call had come.
He held up a manila folder. “For example, I read up on you, Schaefer. You grew up in Pennsylvania, you’re good with languages-fluent in Russian and French, picked up some German and Spanish on the streets.” The Russian was a lucky break, Philips thought, but he didn’t say so. “Joined the NYPD in 1978, made detective in ‘86. We’ve got your military records, your department file, hell, we’ve got your marks from grade school, right back to kindergarten-I notice you got ‘needs improvement’ for ‘works and plays well with others’ for three years straight. It looks like you haven’t changed all that much since, but I guess we’ll just have to put up with you.”
”No, you won’t,” Schaefer said. “You don’t need to put up with anything. You can just land this contraption and let me off.”
”No, we can’t.” Philips leaned forward. “I thought Smithers told you, Schaefer. We need you.”
”Why?” Schaefer started to sit up, then thought better of it as a wave of dizziness from the aftereffects of the drugs swept over him. “I seem to remember you and your boys telling me to stay the hell out of it when those things came to play in New York-in my town. Now they’re making trouble somewhere else, and you want me to get involved? Why? Maybe it’s Washington this time, and you’re afraid some senator’s going to wind up as a trophy?”
”You know they’re back,” Philips said. It wasn’t a question.
”Of course I know they’re back!” Schaefer said, sitting up and ignoring the dizziness this time. “For God’s sake, General, do you really think I’m as stupid as that? What the hell else would you want me for?”
