“I’m telling you that this time, the righteous shall be rewarded. And it’s the Millers of the world who will get hung out to dry.”
“And just when did you acquire this gift of prophecy?”
“When I learned that our friend Beal, who you helped into the ambulance back there, is the son of one Steven X. Beal.”
“Steven Beal, the state senator?” Hayward asked, eyes widening.
Carlin nodded. “He doesn’t like people to know,” he said. “Afraid people will think he’s pulling influence to get an easy ride or something. But that crack on his head must have loosened his tongue a bit.”
Hayward stood motionless a moment. Then, shaking her head, she turned back in the direction of the Great Lawn.
“Sergeant?” Carlin asked.
“Yes?”
“Why did you ask me to step away from those punks like that?”
Hayward paused. “I wanted to show them that I wasn’t afraid. And that I meant business.”
“Would you have?”
“Would I have what?”
“You know,” Carlin gestured. “Kicked their asses back to Scarsdale, and all that.”
Hayward looked at him, raising her chin slightly. “What do you think?”
“I think—” Carlin hesitated a moment. “I think you’re one scary lady, Ms. Hayward.”
AS THE LAUNCH sliced through the dark waters of the Hudson River, Snow suited up belowdecks, feeling the hull tremble with the muffled rumble of the big twin diesels. There was barely enough room to stand amongst the loran gear, geopositioning satellite units, sonar equipment, and arms lockers. He noted that it was a wet suit, not the usual sealed dry suit the police team wore, and instantly regretted his suggestion to go in through the treatment plant.
He rubbed his forehead with a curse. It hurt, all right. So he wasn’t dreaming. He really was in a boat full of Navy SEALs, armed to the teeth, bound for God only knew what kind of mission. Fear and excitement surged through him simultaneously. This, he knew, meant a chance at redemption. Maybe his only chance. He’d make damn sure he didn’t screw it up.
He adjusted the lantern visor, snugged on the last glove, and went topside. Commander Rachlin, who had gone forward and was speaking with the coxswain, turned at his approach. “Where the hell’s your paint? And what took you?”
“The equipment is a little different from what I’m used to, sir.”
“Well, you got from now until insertion to get used to it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rachlin jerked his head toward Snow. “Donovan, get him fixed up.”
Donovan came over and wordlessly began smearing black and green greasepaint across Snow’s cheeks and forehead.
Rachlin motioned the rest of the team to gather round. “Now listen up,” he said, unrolling a plastic map on one thigh. “We’re going in via the main settling tank above the West Side Lateral. According to Snow here, it’s the quickest way in.” His finger traced a route on the map. “Once at the first riser, we’ll follow our plotted course until we reach this place, here, where the tunnels branch. That’s our rally point. Once we’re in position, teams Alpha, Beta, and Gamma will each take one of these tunnels. I’ll lead Alpha, and ride point. Snow and Donovan are Team Delta. They catch the milk run, staying in the rear and covering our asses. Questions?”
Snow had several, but he decided against asking any of them. His face burned from the rough strokes of Donovan’s gloved hand, and the thick greasepaint smelled like rancid tallow.
The Commander nodded. “We’ll go in, place the charges, and come out. Nice and simple, just like exercises at the ’phib base. The charges will seal off the lower drainage tunnels that feed into the Lateral. Another team is going down from the street, sealing access from above. Real pros, from the sound of it.” The Commander made a snorting sound through his mask. “They told us to use NVDs. If you can believe that.”
“NVDs?” Snow echoed.
“Night-vision devices, darlin’. But try wearing one over a wet suit and mask.” He spat over the side. “We’re not afraid of the dark. And anything that wants to come take a piece of us, let them try. Still, I like to see what I’m blowin’ away.”
He stepped forward. “All right. Hastings, Clapton, Beecham, you catch AW duty this mission. I want one weapons carrier per team. Lorenzo, Campion, Donovan, carry the pyros. You’ll be the candymen, along with myself. We’ve got redundant charges, so expect a heavy load. Now shoulder up.”
Snow watched as the men slung automatic weapons over their shoulders. “What about me?” he heard himself asking.
Rachlin turned toward him. “I don’t know. What about you?”
Snow paused. “I’d like to do something. To help, I mean.”
Rachlin stared at him for a moment. Then a small smile appeared briefly on his lips. “Okay,” he said. “You get
