Chapter 10
God, if only this rain would stop! It had started yesterday morning as a light drizzle, and by the time he was ready to go home, it was raining heavily. Joe had had enough rain to last him a lifetime. Standing at his office windows, he watched the water cascading down the panes. He was depressed and the dark, damp day didn’t help any. Nothing was going right. Cathy was still somewhere in the city and he didn’t know where. Stretching his back, he rubbed the back of his neck. Just as he turned to return to his desk, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. A tall, chic brunette around fifty stood in his doorway.
"Can I help you?" he asked, coming toward her.
"Joe Maxwell?" she asked. Rain dripped from the collapsed umbrella that she held at her side and beads of moisture clung to her fashionable raincoat. Leaning the umbrella against the door frame, she carefully removed her coat, carefully folding it inside out and laid it on the arm of one of the two chairs placed in front of Joe’s desk. Her suit of pale blue gaberdine was as fashionable as her raincoat, and there was hardly a hair out of place even though the air was damp. Her slightly wet low-heeled blue pumps matched her suit exactly. She settled, gracefully, into the other chair and, on his nod, she said, "I’m probably taking my life in my hands, but I finally realized what kind of a person I would be if I did nothing." Looking at him with large, frightened eyes, she said so softly that he had to strain to hear her, "Please close the door. You can trust no one."
Nodding his understanding, he complied then pulled the corner chair next to hers and dropped confidently into it. Her whole demeanor shouted fear and a shaky confidence in what she was doing. This conversation would be held in whispers and soft voices. "Now tell me what has you so troubled?"
"I know where Catherine Chandler is," she blurted out as if it was something that had been on her mind for a long time. "If I tell you, it could cost me my life."
Relief flooded through him, and he sat back in the chair with an explosive sigh. "You really know where she is?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes, I’ve seen her two or three times a week for the past few months."
"Why are you coming forward now? Who are you?"
"I’m Martha Converse; my husband was Doyle Converse."
Joe whistled through his teeth. "The Doyle Converse. One of the founding members of Hanover Norton Trust. He committed suicide, didn’t he?"
"An arranged suicide," she commented bitterly. "Arranged by the monster that is holding Cathy."
"Why? Why is he holding her? We have the book."
"Her child. He wants her child."
"She’s pregnant?" A hot wave of anger raged through him. Father had some explaining to do. Then he remembered. The day after the explosion was a day of half-recalled events. But now he heard Cathy’s proud and elated, "Yes," when she answered his supposition that she might be pregnant. Still he had to maintain the fiction that he knew nothing about it. "That explains a lot. So that’s the real reason behind the continued disappearance of Cathy." He had never thought that someone as powerful as Gabriel would want to keep a pregnant woman prisoner until she gave birth. But then Joe hadn’t known about Vincent until just a few months ago. Shows what a bad judge of character he was. "Tell me all you know. I’ll get a secretary in here to take down what you tell me."
"No! No one else, Mr. Maxwell. Just you. I got the impression from Cathy that she trusted you and could depend on your discretion."
Glowing from the unexpected praise, Joe agreed, "Ok, I’ll just take a few notes and please, call me Joe," he said, attempting to put her at ease. Reaching over to his desk, he retrieved a notebook and pen. "Start with why you think your husband was murdered."
She settled back in her chair, crossing her shapely legs. "I loved my husband, Joe, but I was a coward. Yes, I was," she said at his skeptical look.
"Forensics found no evidence of foul play, Martha," he said gently.
She laughed harshly, "Of course not. Someone who is powerful enough to have tentacles in every department of the city would have someone high enough in the department to cover up any incriminating evidence."
"Every department?" he asked, shocked.
"Yes, and some state officials as well, maybe even national, I don’t know how far it goes."
"Who is he? Where did he come from?"
"I don’t know. Suddenly he was there, buying everyone in sight. Doyle refused to go along. One day I came home and found him hanging in the garage." She stared into space, tears standing in the corners of her eyes. "All I ever heard him called was Gabriel, but you won’t find that name listed anywhere. Doyle tried to find out who he was but never succeeded."
"Gabriel," Joe mused, "that matches the initial we found on some notes in Moreno’s apartment. Please go on."
"After my husband’s death, I was contacted and told that if I pushed a murder investigation I would pay the consequences. I’m so ashamed. They made him out to be an embezzler and a crook, and I did nothing. I let them ruin the good name of a good man."
"There wasn’t much you could do," Joe paced a comforting hand on her arm.
"I could have done something," she told him forcefully, almost lunging out of her chair. Then she relaxed and smiled slightly, remembering, "Cathy said that even if no one knew that what you did was right . . . one person would know. Even if you died, you died knowing that you had done the right thing and could die in peace, if you did that you beat them."
"That sounds like Cathy, all right," Joe commented. "She believed in doing what was right, come what may."
"So you see, I just had to do something even if it costs me my life."
"I’ll do the best I can to protect you. I’ll find a safe house for you."
"No, the routine cannot be changed or Gabriel might leave with Cathy and then you’d never find her."
"But that’s dangerous," he told her.
"I know, but you know I’m right. We can’t lose her."
"All right, but you’ve got to be very careful."
"Don’t I know it?" she laughed ruefully.
"Can you give me the address where he’s holding her?"
"Yes, she’s at his estate on Staten Island. It’s 696 Staten Island Blvd."
"I don’t know how to thank you, Martha. We were up against a stone wall until you came today."
"All I ask is that you save Cathy and reunite her with Vincent. She loves him enough to die for him. And one other thing, whatever happens to me, clear my husband’s name."
"I’ll do that, Martha." Joe helped her up and into her raincoat. Handing her umbrella to her, he walked with her to the door. She walked out of the office with head held high and a spring in her step.
************
On a cloud of relief, Joe practically floated back to his desk with a happy smile on his face. Finally, everything was coming together. He knew where Cathy was and who was holding her. Now to tell Father and then to call Elliot and Diana. Just as he reached for the phone, Sammie walked in.
"What do you have today, Sammie?"
"No sandwiches today, Mr. Maxwell, just a message from you know who," he said, handing Joe a folded slip of paper.
Joe casually unfolded it then, after scanning it, sat straight up in his chair, exclaiming, "My god, Vincent’s back."
"Yeah, ain’t it wonderful," Sammie stated, grinning happily.
"When did he get back?"
"Sometime last night."
"Good, I finally get to meet him." Joe scribbled a short note. "Give this to Father, will you, please?"
"Sure will, Mr. Maxwell. You’re in for a treat. Vincent’s one special guy."
"I’ll just bet he is," Joe drily commented.
As soon as Sammie left, Joe called Elliot and Diana and asked them to meet him at ten by the Festival Fountain in Central Park as he had important news for them.
*************
Joe was a few minutes late, and when he arrived, the two of them were in a deep conversation.
Rising to his feet, Elliot asked, "What’s up, Joe?"
"I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now I need you to come with me."
There was a question in Diana’s eyes, which Joe answered with a nod.
"Ah," she breathed, hope and despair welling up in her. If what she thought was true, she would meet the man from her dreams tonight.
"Why can’t you tell us now?" Elliot demanded. He was downright sick and tired of all this cloak and dagger stuff. A straightforward fight was much more to his liking.
"Because you need to see this place I’m taking you to first."
A short time later they were in a large cement culvert, waiting for someone, anyway that’s what Elliot thought. They were standing in front of a rusty iron grill set in the wall. When Joe picked up a rock and started to pound on the pipe, Elliot blew up. Asking one question after another and getting no satisfactory answers, he was ready to leave. At last he turned to Diana. "Don’t you have any questions?"
"No," she said, coolly, "I’ll wait until we get to where we’re going to ask questions."
"Bah," Elliot blew out, slapping his hand against the culvert wall. Shaking his hand–the wall was a lot harder than his hand–he turned on hearing a door slide open.
Serious brown eyes shone out of a pleasant face as a young man in his twenties, dressed in castoff clothing, stood in the golden light that spilled through the open doorway. In his left hand he carried a long, stout wooden staff. He pushed open the grill with a tentative smile in Joe’s direction.
"Hi, John." Joe greeted him.
"Father’s waiting for you in the Great Hall."
"Hold on. Who is this guy and who’s Father?" Elliot demanded.
"Just be patient, Elliot, and all your questions will be answered," Diana said.
Barely holding his questions in check, the handsome architect followed Joe and Diana through the opening. John hit a switch high on the wall with his right hand and an iron door slid shut.
After a long march through the tunnels–Father still did not trust Elliot–they came to a small door set in the side of the tunnel. Opening it, John ushered them into the Great Hall, all dark but for a patch of light at the farther end where Father was waiting. Elliot would be shown nothing of the world Below until Father was certain he could be trusted. Vincent would take that decision out of his hands. He was hiding in the shadows, waiting to meet the three disparate investigators.
Joe glanced around looking for Vincent, but he was nowhere to be seen. Of course with the black shadows that filled the Great Hall, Vincent could be standing within five feet of him, and he would never know it. "Good news, eh, Father?" Joe greeted him with a hearty handshake.
"Yes, it is. More than you can imagine." He nodded to the young woman, "Diana."
"Father," she nodded in return, curious to see how this would play out.
Stiffly, he turned to Elliot, "And you must be Elliot Burch?"
Rounding on Joe, the irate man grated, "What’s going on here? Who is this man and what does he have to do with Cathy’s disappearance?"
Before Joe could answer, Father said, "Catherine is the most precious person in all the world to me after my son. It was for our benefit that she prevented your completion of Burch Tower. You were drilling into our home. Many people depend on this little world for safety."
Elliot couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "Are you telling me that people live down here permanently? I thought only transients and street people used the steam tunnels." He paused as his eyes widened with sudden knowledge. "So, that’s why Cathy knew her way around the tunnels so well."
"Yes, she has been a member of our family for the last three years, but there is something else you need to know. Our world is not the only interest she had here. She and my son share a love, a connection of the heart and soul that defies description. My son, Vincent, was kidnapped also."
Elliot was confused. Neither Joe nor Diana had told him of this Vincent. Suddenly he knew that this man was the secret in her life, why she needed the explosives. But there was something strange about this man. He had actually heard him growl. What had Cathy gotten herself into? "But why was he taken? He knew nothing about to book, did he?"
Father and Joe shook their heads and the old man answered, "No. He went to rescue her."
"Well, they could have just killed him out right."
"I know but he is special . . . different."
"How?" Elliot asked, belligerently as a glimmer of understanding began to form in his mind.
"Before I show you, I must exact a promise from you that you will never reveal anything about our world to anyone. Will you give me your promise?" Father asked, hoping that this difficult man would live up to Catherine and Joe’s estimation of him.
Elliot shrugged his shoulders, "Who would believe me, but yeah, I’ll keep your secret if just for Cathy’s sake."
"Thank you," Father said in relief. "Now, let me show you how special they are." He led Elliot, followed by Joe and Diana, to the painting. Illuminating it, he said with pride, "Catherine and Vincent."
Elliot gaped at the painting in amazement. "I can’t believe it. I can’t believe that Cathy could . . ."
"That Catherine could love someone like me?" a whispery soft voice said from the shadows. "Sometimes, I wonder myself."
Elliot spun around to come face-to-face with the living model of the painting. "That’s not what I was going to say but since you mention it . . . yeah!" he answered truculently.
Shaking his head, Vincent answered, "I don’t know. It’s just Catherine. You would have to ask her."
"I can give her the world. What can you give her?" Elliot stared hard at this strange so-called man.
"My love. All that I am, all that I can ever be."
Diana stood a little apart from them, watching the interplay between the two men. Elliot was handsome, intelligent, would be wealthy again but Vincent? Well, her dream of him didn’t even begin to measure up to the man in person. When he had stepped into the light, she had gasped, unable to hold it back. He was so much more than what she had imagined after she had her first view of the painting. He was magnificent, tall, commanding, so much more than the man confronting him that Elliot seemed to shrink, indeed, become a much smaller man. Vincent’s presence was mesmerizing, and she felt her heart beating rapidly just to see him. She wondered what would happen when she was introduced to him. Give it up, Elliot, you’re beating a dead horse, she thought, you’ll never win. Any more than I will. She had seen the softening of Vincent’s eyes with utter devotion when he had looked at Catherine in the painting. There would never be another for him. Diana wondered about Catherine but knew somehow that it was the same for her.
Stepping forward, Father said, "Enough. We have more important things to discuss."
Joe also had watched the interplay with interest. After all, Cathy was a good friend. He would have to settle for that. He found himself siding with Vincent, but it made little difference what any of them wanted, Cathy had made her choice. He stepped forward and extended his hand. "Vincent, I’m Joe Maxwell. We finally meet."
"Catherine has spoken of you many times. She cares for you very much. Thank you for your efforts to find her." Vincent took the proffered hand and shook it heartily.
Staring down at the long haired, claw tipped, lethal hand that held his, Joe swallowed then raised his eyes to the brilliant blue orbs of the man offering him a smile of gratitude and friendship. He decided that he liked this odd man and wanted to be his friend. Anyone that commanded Cathy’s love and admiration as Vincent did would necessarily be a friend of his. His friendship with her predisposed him to welcoming any of her friends into his life. "Look, man, she’s my friend. I love her, too."
Joe waved Diana forward. "Vincent, this is Diana Bennett. She’s been helping. She’s one of my top investigators."
Vincent smiled at her and her heart flip flopped in her chest. It was hard for her not to stare into those impossibly blue eyes but she finally looked away. Get a hold of yourself, she silently berated herself.
"I understand you almost got lost in the tunnels," Vincent gently teased her as if he sensed her discomfort, trying to put her at ease. A lost cause as far as she was concerned.
"No, I didn’t." She glared at Father who sheepishly glanced away. "I knew exactly where I was at all times." Here was something to return her to normal.
"The tunnels are easy to get lost in. You must be careful," he cautioned her.
"Shall sit down at one of the tables? We can talk here." Father interrupted. Silently, they seated themselves, lost in their individual thoughts. Then, as one, they all looked to Vincent to begin.
**************
After telling his story of the kidnapping and his trek from Washington back to New York, Diana looked at him with even more admiration as if that was possible. "Wow, what a story. It would make a great movie of the week."
Vincent and Father looked nonplused and Joe nodded in agreement while Elliot scowled in frustration. "Now, what have you to tell us, Joe?" Father asked, not waiting to be enlightened about what the movie of the week was.
"I have the address and name of the guy who is holding Cathy."
"Wonderful," Diana exclaimed.
"That’s great, Joe. How did you find out?" Elliot asked.
Joe told them of Martha Converse and her visit to his office.
"I know Martha," Elliot commented. "A very bitter, unhappy woman since her husband’s suicide."
"She thinks it was murder. By your friend," Joe responded.
"Hey, he’s no friend of mine," Elliot protested.
"His name is Gabriel; he lives on Staten Island," Vincent’s soft voice--harsh with repressed abhorrence--stated the hated name.
"You’re right," Joe said, "at 696 Staten Island Blvd."
At this time Stephen burst into the chamber. "Vincent, there’s an intruder in the Central Park tunnel," he shouted, breathlessly.
"I must go," Vincent said as he sprang to his feet. "Stephen, stay here with Father." He bolted out of the chamber.
Diana leaped up to follow him, to protect him. Father grabbed her by the arm. "No, stay here," he commanded. "You’ll just distract him. Only Mouse knows these tunnels better than Vincent. Joe, Elliot, the same applies to you. You will just get yourselves killed or lost. We can use you here."
When Vincent reached the Central Park threshold, he found a gaping hole where the door had been. His world had been violated in this way by the intruder to gain entrance. The anger that coursed through his veins at the unnecessary damage to the portal would have at one time brought The Other raging to the fore, but now that they were one, The Other’s strengths and abilities were his to use without the loss of reason. Tightly reining in his emotions, he hurried down the tunnel deeper into the earth, his senses alerted for any sound or movement.
************
Snow was enjoying himself. It had been a long time since he had been hunting, and he was glad to find that he had lost none of his edge. His instincts were as sharp as ever. Two days ago, when Gabriel had offered him this gig, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hunt anymore until he saw a picture of the quarry: a man/beast, lion most likely, beautiful and deadly. He would be a worthy adversary. There were so few anymore. Snow didn’t know why Gabriel wanted him dead–something about a child. He didn’t really care, the hunt was all he cared about.
Dressed entirely in black, he was armed with the latest technological paraphernalia: night vision goggles, sound amplification earphones, an AK-47, and a Magnum 54. He was confident no one could escape him. Yesterday, after he had decided to accept Gabriel’s offer, he had gone to the city planning office and studied the maps of the tunnels that ran under the city. Gabriel seemed to believe that the lionman lived there. With his eidetic memory, Snow knew exactly where to force an entry. The Central Park entrance was ideal as very few of the people in the park at night were the kind to run to the police when they heard the explosion that opened a hole in the metal door.
Stealing quietly through the tunnels, he came upon an old man. Grabbing him by his hair, he forced the old man to his knees. "Is this where Vincent lives?" he demanded. "Tell me and it’ll be fast. Otherwise . . ." He let the treat hang in the air.
"Yes, Vincent lives here, but he’s not here now," the frightened old man quavered.
"Don’t lie to me. I know he’s here. What’s your name?" he asked. He always wanted to know the name of his victim before he killed them. The names were some kind of twisted trophy that he collected and kept stored away in his mind.
"Old Sam," the old man managed to utter.
"Old Sam," Snow repeated with satisfaction. "Rest well, my friend." A shot rang out and Snow casually dropped the body to the floor, sauntering into the nearest tunnel entrance.
Vincent heard the gun shot reverberate through the tunnels. Now he knew the exact location of the invader. Attempting to outflank him, Vincent took a side tunnel that would let him out in front of his enemy. His plan was to lead the man away from the home tunnels.
There was a sound behind him, faint but audible with the earphones. Snow stopped, listening for more. When he heard none, he crept on going deeper into the earth. There! Now the sound was in front of him. Good, now I can track him, he thought with satisfaction.
Gliding as quietly as any cat, Vincent was leading the enemy away from his people. There was a little alcove just ahead that he could hide in. He would make a stand there.
The intruder did not bother being silent; Vincent heard him enter the tunnel. Holding, his breath, he waited until the stranger was near him. Then with an earsplitting roar, he launched himself at the nearly deafened man. Firing his AK-47 wildly, Snow evaded the rampaging man/beast and ripped off the earphones, his ears ringing and aching. He flung them to the side. When he retrieved them, they were broken and useless and Vincent had disappeared. Disgustedly tossing the broken ear phones away, Snow followed, seeing nothing but tunnel stretching in front of him.
If Vincent remembered right, there was a steam pipe up ahead that he could use as a weapon. Fading into the distance, the pipe first ran around a small waist high wall that jutted into the tunnel there. What it could have been used for had baffled him for years. He hid behind the half wall, waiting patiently for the intruder. Suddenly he heard a gravelly voice coming from the other side of the half wall. "You really should give up, my friend. You can’t defeat me."
Firing his rifle in staccato burst, Snow burst around the half wall. To counter his attack Vincent broke the steam pipe, sending a jet of scalding steam into Snow’s face. The man screamed in pain and anger and dove behind the waist high wall. In his haste to protect himself, he had clawed the goggles from his eyes and flung them from him, then he had covered his face with his hands. The goggles came flying through the air, bouncing erratically to finally land at Vincent’s feet. With great pleasure, he ground them into pieces under his boots.
When Snow staggered out from behind the half wall, he found his quarry gone. Half of his face was red and blotchy from the steam. This was turning out to be tougher that he had thought. Vincent was a worthy adversary and it excited him. He headed down a tunnel he thought Vincent might have taken when he saw a slight movement ahead. Carefully he eased through the tunnel into a shaft of bright light, so involved in the hunt, he never even wondered where the light came from.
Vincent was tantalizing and teasing the hitman with occasional brief glimpses as he led the assassin even deeper into the earth, into areas that were unknown by the people above. As the killer inched his way up to the next intersection, he listened carefully for any sound. He thought that he heard someone breathing shallowly, and he carefully stuck his head around the corner to search in the darkness for an even blacker darkness. Seeing nothing, he crept forward when suddenly he was attacked by a roaring phantom. As he was flung against the wall, the pistol fell out of hitman’s holster and skittered into the darkness. He ran after Vincent firing the AK-47 wildly and only stopped when one of the ricocheting bullets almost took his ear off.
Not even trying to be silent, Vincent led Snow to the place where he would confront him. It was a large cavern filled with stalagmites and stalactites. Moisture was everywhere, dripping from the stalactites, running down the walls, and most prominently in the damp, cold mist that moved like a living thing, rising and falling with an unnoticed breeze. The tunnel protector hid behind a large stalagmite, waiting patiently for the gunman to find his way to the cavern. Suddenly, he heard Snow’s voice coming from the cavern entrance.
"I have one question I would like answered before we finish this game. The child is yours, right?"
"Yes."
Sauntering into the cavern, Snow saw Vincent standing before him. Firing a staccato burst, he blasted Vincent to pieces. When the dust settled, there was nothing but a shredded black cloak which Snow bent over and picked up. As he stared at the rags he held in his hand, he heard a muted rumble, and then with a roar, the ceiling caved in. Snow had made a fatal mistake; he had let his overconfidence carelessly lead him into unknown territory. He hadn’t known where he was, and in the exhilaration of the hunt, he had forgotten a basic rule in hunting: know your ground and, if you didn’t, proceed with extreme caution. Shouting, "No!" he was crushed as tons of rubble fell upon him.
Vincent stepped out of the shadows to where the assassin lay in his stone-covered tomb. He let go a mighty sigh, and favoring his right arm, he left Snow to the silence and whatever demons would pursue him after death.
************
After Vincent had bolted from the Great Hall, Father suggested that they adjourn to the Common Room. Mary was waiting impatiently for them, and he introduced her to Elliot. "Vincent?" she questioned. Nodding, he asked if she would get a pot of coffee for them as he didn’t think that Elliot was much of a tea drinker. She left for the kitchen knowing that once again the man she loved as a son had put himself into danger for his family. Father waved the others to seats around the council table, and as they waited for what or whom–they didn’t know–Father explained further to Elliot why this world was so important to Catherine. He told him, Diana and Joe too, how his world had begun. He related how difficult it was at first, how they had almost failed so many times, of the arrival of Vincent and how the presence of that little, tiny misshapen boy child had become the miracle that they built their world around.
The architect in Elliot realized that this world was a work in progress, never to be completely finished. "How many people live here?" he asked.
"Oh, it varies with the number of children we have at any one time. Right now it stands at 100, give or take 20." Elliot didn’t know it but he had given Father something to think about besides the danger that Vincent was in.
"But how do you survive?"
"We have Helpers, like Peter Alcott, and others who give us things, food, clothing, medicine, and with what we scavenge we live fairly comfortably. It is quiet and peaceful; we care for each other, love each other. It’s a good life, Elliot."
"Are all these natural caves?" Elliot’s curiosity was getting the better of him. Some of the marks on the walls looked as if they were manmade.
"Oh goodness, no." Father proudly told him how the men worked many hours to fashion new chambers for the constantly increasing community. Elliot wondered if there might be some way he could help, shocking himself with such an altruistic thought.
"The children," Diana asked, "where do the children come from?"
Smiling fondly, Father answered, "Some are born here, some are brought here, some find their way here accidentally, and others we find on the streets, homeless and abandoned. We teach them, love them, care for them. Some stay but the majority leave to live in your world, carrying the principles and ideals with them that we taught them as a shield against your world’s onslaughts. One of our best teachers has recently left for college. We are justly proud of our school. Our children receive a fine education."
Interested in the more mundane things of life, Elliot asked, "Where do you eat? In your chambers?"
"No, we have a dining chamber and a large kitchen run by William, an excellent cook."
Elliot nodded, his curiosity satisfied for the time being. He rose and began to wander around the chamber, examining the books, leafing through the pages of the ones that caught his eye, the papers on Father’s desk, his mementos, and finally the maps of the tunnels.
Too nervous to sit any longer, Father was pacing back and forth when Joe said, "If you’re not careful, you’ll wear a groove in the floor."
"When Vincent is in danger I can’t sit still," he explained.
"I agree." Vincent stood at the top of the little stairs.
"Vincent! You’re all right." Father clasped him fiercely to his heart. "My god son, you’re hurt. Come here, sit down." He pulled the younger man to a chair and firmly pushed him into it. "Mary, get my bag, please."
"It is just a flesh wound," Vincent protested. "It went clear through."
"Did you get him?" Diana asked.
"Yes," was the simple answer, but she knew that it was not as simple as that.
Joe asked, "Do you know who he is?"
"No. But I think Gabriel sent him to kill me."
Elliot sauntered over to stand beside Vincent. "I heard here and there about a brilliant hitman, one who enjoyed the hunt more than the money."
Taking Vincent’s injured arm, Father rolled up the sleeve and tended to the wound. Diana watched avidly, not able to take her eyes off the injured man. Joe and Elliot launched into a spirited discussion about what had happened and the best way to rescue Catherine. Belatedly, realizing what she was doing, Diana joined in.
"I think we should begin the rescue early in the morning, say somewhere around five? Maybe catch him off guard," Joe said.
"You won’t catch him off guard, Joe. If any of his sentries do not perform above average they are eliminated," Vincent informed him.
"Then what do you suggest?"
"I’ve been that way before. I can get into the basement through the tunnels then open the gates from inside." Vincent was rolling down his sleeve already involved in the discussion. "Then I can find Catherine and protect her. Understand this: Gabriel will kill her if he thinks his plans for our child have gone awry."
The implications of Vincent’s words dawned on Elliot and he gasped. "Cathy is pregnant? My god."
"Yes, that is why he is holding her and the only thing that has kept her alive," Vincent answered, ignoring Elliot’s obvious amazement.
Joe glanced over at Vincent with a teasing glint in his eyes. "Yeah, I think I was the first to know. I used my deductive reasoning to figure it out and Cathy said I was right."
Diana snorted, "Ha, what deductive reasoning?"
"I’m an uncle," he protested proudly, "and I’m an old hand at dealing with pregnant women."
Vincent studiously ignored Joe’s teasing, taking some of the fun out of it for him.
As Joe was about to take another shot at the leonine man, Diana interrupted, "I want to go with Vincent." She would see that he was kept safe for Cathy. It was the least she could do for them.
Vincent shook his head. "No, it is too dangerous."
"Look. I’m a cop. I can take care of myself. Beside, it might be easier for me to open the gates when Vincent distracts the guards."
"She has a valid point," Joe agreed.
"It’s decided then, I go with Vincent," Diana stated before there could be any more objections.
"There are few people in the police department that I can trust," Joe said, ‘But I know I can trust Greg Hughes. Elliot, can you help?"
"Yeah, I think so, I’ll get Manning and his crew. We can be your backups."
"Ok, now when exactly?" Joe asked.
"As soon as possible," Vincent said. "We cannot wait; Gabriel knows I am in the city and will come for her."
"Well, there’s no time like the present. How about five this morning?" Joe replied. "I think it will give me enough time to get a search warrant. If I have to I’ll camp on the judge’s doorstep until I get it. Nobody’s going to get much sleep tonight."
Everyone nodded, even Father who would be left behind to worry. It seemed that that was all he did.
It was up to him to convince the tunnel dwellers to remain Below. With the fire fight that the rescuers figured would take place, Father’s family would not be safe. They were no match for the criminals Above.
Vincent and Diana left immediately so that they would be at Gabriel’s when Joe and Elliot arrived. It would take all the rest of the night for them to get there. Father awakened Mouse and had him guide Joe and Elliot to the Central Park threshold.