'Where are we going?' she cried.
'To meet a ship.'
'Jack, I'm so frightened. Don't play games with me. What's this have to do with Vicky?'
Jack looked at her hesitantly, then past her to Abe.
'You'll both think I’m crazy. I don't need that now.'
'Try me,' she said.
She had to know. What could be crazier than what had already happened tonight?
'All right. But just listen without interrupting me, okay?' He glanced at her and she nodded. His hesitancy was unnerving. He took a deep breath. 'Here goes...'
29
Vicky is dead.
As Jack drove and told Abe and Gia his story, that inescapable fact stabbed at his mind. But he kept his eyes fixed on the road and held himself away from the agony of grief that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment.
Grief and rage. They mixed and swirled within him. He wanted to pull over to the curb and bury his face in his arms and weep like a baby. He wanted to ram his fist through the windshield again and again.
Vicky! He was never going to see her again, never do the orange-mouth gag, never paint up his hand like Moony for her, never
Stop it!
He had to stay in control, had to look strong. For Gia's sake. If anyone else had told him that Vicky was missing, he might have gone berserk. But he’d remained calm for Gia. He couldn't let her guess what he knew. She wouldn't believe him anyway. Who would? He'd have to break it to her slowly...in stages...tell her about what he’d seen, what he’d learned during the past week.
Jack drove relentlessly through the near-empty streets, slowing but never stopping for red lights. Two A.M. on a Wednesday morning and still traffic about, but not enough to matter. He was headed downtown...all the way downtown.
His instincts insisted that Kusum would not leave without the Mother rakosh. He wouldn’t want to wait too far from Manhattan. To sail on, even at bottom speed, would mean outdistancing the Mother and leaving her behind. According to Kolabati, the Mother was the key to controlling the nest. So Kusum would wait. But he didn't know that the Mother wasn't coming.
Jack was coming instead.
He spoke as calmly as he could as he raced through Times Square, past Union Square and the Flatiron Building, past City Hall, past Trinity Church, ever southward, all the while telling them about an Indian man named Kusum— the one Gia had met at the UK reception—whose ancestors were murdered by a Westphalen well over a century ago. This Kusum had come to New York with a ship full of seven-and eight-foot creatures called rakoshi that he sent out to capture the last members of the Westphalen family.
Dead silence in the cab of the panel truck when he finished his story. He glanced over to Gia and Abe. Both were staring at him, their expressions alarmed, eyes wary.
'I don't blame you,' he said. 'That's just the way I'd look at somebody who told me what I just told you. But I've been in that ship. I've seen. I'm stuck with it.'
Still they said nothing.
And I didn't even tell them about the necklace.
'It's true, damn it!' He pulled the Mother's scorched fangs and talons from his pocket and pressed them into Gia's hand. 'Here's all that's left of one.'
Gia passed them over to Abe without even looking at them. 'Why shouldn't I believe you? Vicky was taken through a window twelve stories up!' She clutched at Jack's arm. 'But what does he want with them?'
Jack swallowed spasmodically, unable to speak for a moment. Vicky's dead! How could he possibly tell her that?
'I-I don't know,' he said finally, his vast experience as a liar standing him in good stead. 'But I'm going to find out.”
And then they ran out of island left—they’d reached Battery Park, the southern tip of Manhattan. Jack sped along the west side of the park and screeched to the right around a curve at its end. Without slowing, he plowed through a cyclone gate and hurtled across the sand toward the water.
'My truck!' Abe yelled.
'Sorry! I'll get it fixed for you.'
Gia let out a yelp as Jack swerved to a stop in the sand. He leaped out and ran to the bulkhead.
Upper New York Bay spread out before him. A gentle breeze fanned his face. Due south, directly ahead, lay the trees and buildings of Governors Island. To the left, across the mouth of the East River, sat Brooklyn. And far off to the right toward New Jersey, on her own island, stood Lady Liberty with her blazing torch held high. The bay was deserted—no pleasure boats, no Staten Island ferries, no Circle Line cruisers. Nothing but a dark wasteland of water. Jack fumbled the binoculars out of the case slung around his neck and scanned the bay.
He's out there—he's got to be!
Yet the surface of the bay was lifeless—no movement, no sound but the lapping of the water against the bulkhead. His. hands began to tremble as he raked the glasses back and forth over the water.
He's here! He can't get away!
