Sam found another man trying to hang on to Michael, felt his ribs, lined up and delivered a powerful kick that broke several. Sam was careful not to puncture the lung with the free-floating ribs. The bodies rolled free now and Sam fol lowed the booted feet to grab Michael, who still had one gun. He could feel the lethargy in Michael's body from the beating. Grabbing him and leading him, he joined with Grady.
He found Lugger by sense of smell. Like Michael, Lugger was held down by three suits. Quickly he broke ribs and left two men in misery, both with a sliced Achilles. Once he got Lugger to the wall, Lugger's dog came on a sharp whistle. In the dog's mouth hung a new plaything, a piece of bloody fabric. They moved a hundred feet down the wall and turned on the lights long enough to grab the girls. They were beat up and didn't look like they could run far. Michael and Sam each carried one. They walked several hundred feet before coming to the wall that now separated the 1 and 9 track. It was an easy jump through a hole to get onto the live track. They went only a short distance before they came to an emer gency escape. They went to the platform below the grate, where Sam got a signal on the cell phone. They called Yodo, who was bandaged and functional, to bring men and sur round the grate. It required a wait of thirty minutes. Grady and Michael took the girls, opened the grate, and emerged onto the sidewalk, surrounded by ex-cops with guns. Sam slipped out another exit twelve hundred feet away.
His next order of business was to find out what a powerful law firm wanted with Michael Bowden-and who they wanted it for.
'What do you suppose is going on, Figgy?' Sam was on the New York end of a conference call with Jill in LA, and Figgy on another phone allegedly at the French offices of the United Nations.
'The guys on the street got by the police pretty fast-that tells me it was something like diplomatic immunity,' Sam continued. 'The police call it a bizarre misunderstanding. They say people from the foreign service of an unnamed government saw Americans in trouble, followed them to an underground passage, and were injured by parties unknown. Which is a lie.'
'Well, it could have been any foreign government.'
'Yeah, that speaks French.'
'Sam, I hear what you're saying, but either you trust me or you don't. It wasn't France.'
'Tell me how you know that.'
'I'm on both sides of the ocean. I have it on good authority from both places.'
'Uh-huh. Do I have it right that your clients have you at the UN at the moment?'
'That's right.'
'In New York, then. This choice of location wouldn't be because Michael Bowden is here or because you think Georges Raval is here.'
'I guess it wouldn't be illogical about Bowden. Raval, I don't think so.'
'You gonna tell me what your people are doing?'
'Same as you. Looking for Gaudet. Stop him before he hurts somebody.'
'What's the latest from Benoit Moreau? When am I going to get that interview?'
'I'm sure any day now. But you know she's told all she knows. She can't help us catch Gaudet any more than she already has.'
Benoit Moreau had moved into a sublet apartment in Manhattan's garment district-an area where there were few apartments. The usual occupant was on a trip to Europe. Benoit was calling herself Jacqueline Dupont because worldwide there were thousands by that name. From the apartment she used the phones to set up the escrow arrange ments in Switzerland, kept track of Baptiste, placated the ad miral. Constantly she had to keep in mind what Baptiste knew and what the admiral didn't know, and vice versa. Good news that this would be her best and last exercise in duplicity.
She called Gaudet, who was getting impatient.
'When will I see you?'
'Soon, when I've arranged everything. At the moment I'm having trouble with Raval and trying to make a deal with Bowden for the 1998 journal.'
'How do you know it is 1998?'
'All that matters is that I convince the French government that it is 1998 and tell them the page.'
'Why does Bowden sell this to you?'
'He doesn't own the rights to the Chaperone process. This is his best chance to make money and be done with it.'
'I am hungry for you. It has been a long time. I hear that prison has not aged you.'
'Be patient. We have bigger things to do now.'
'When you can come, I will need advance notice. There are many precautions.'
'I understand.'
Next she wrote an e-mail to Sam. Finally she dressed to meet Georges Raval for the first time in more than a year.
Chapter 17
The cougar stalks while the fawn eats.
The law firm was a short cab ride from Greenwich Vil lage, where Sam was staying. Instead of having the driver stop in front of the building, Sam had him drive past the front entry and drop him off a block down the street. In this area the buildings were truly huge and walking in the con crete canyons seemed like something out of a Tolkien fantasy. It was cold and he wore a dense sweater with a heavy wool topcoat-all purchased by Anna. It was hard to stop thinking about her and he made no particular effort
The weather, like his mood, was troubled, and above the city the sky loomed pitch dark. Ground Zero was still a cav ernous, empty space in the skyline. All the buildings were lit and the neon was everywhere, making twilight across the pavement and deep shadows along its borders. As Sam walked down the crowded sidewalks, he kept to the shadows and scanned the street.
Automobiles filled Broadway, taxis crept and honked while motorcycles weaved in and out, playing tag with death or dismemberment.
Sam eyed the entrance to the law firm's building and noted that people were leaving in ones and twos, not in a steady stream. All walked briskly, no doubt anxious to get home.
There did not seem to be anyone hanging around near the doorways to the main lobby. Sam approached the building's covered portico through a break in the foot traffic. He carried a sizable briefcase with the tools of his trade. Four revolving doors were set to allow exit while, given the hour, only one was set to allow entry. As he stepped close to the entryway door, it began to move as if it had a mind, and he stepped in between the glass sections and was whisked into the building. Once inside, he went to the security man, glanced at the board, and saw that main reception for the firm of Binkley, Hart, amp; Rove was on the tenth floor.
'I'm Michael Bowden. I'm meeting Mr. John Stephan at Binkley, Hart, and Rove.' He handed the man a fictitious Michael Bowden passport, which matched his artificially bearded face. He looked nothing like himself after an hour with makeup and the beard.
'Go on up to the second floor.'
Sam looked down at the listings under the law firm, let his eye travel to S, and found no Stephan, only a Stevens, a Smith, and a Stewart. Bowden had recalled that the managing partner on the project was Stewart. The law firm occupied floors 10 through 13, not the second floor. No office number was listed for Stewart.
'I don't see a Mr. Stephan listed.'
'I was told you would be meeting Mr. Stephan and that you would meet him on the second floor in the lobby of the restaurant.'
'I see. Okay. Well, thanks.'
Sam emptied his pockets, went through a metal detector, then walked around the corner to elevator banks for the lower floors 1 through 20, and immediately found the stairs and noted with satisfaction that they could be
