The Frenzy War (25 page)

On the wall-mounted TV, she saw a press conference in full swing at One Police Plaza. Craig Lindberg, the Commissioner of Public Information, stood at the podium addressing the reporters. “It's certainly not impossible, or even likely, that a major illegal narcotics organization could lay its hands on this type of ordinance, but at this time we're also investigating the possibility of terrorist activity.”

Colleen set her cell phone down.

“What's on your mind, chief?” Cheryl said.

The producer arched one eyebrow. “I've been on the phone all morning because of you. Or, rather, because of one of your fans.” She held out an envelope. “This came today.”

Cheryl took the envelope in both hands and stared at the return address: Rodrigo Gomez, c/o Sing Sing Penitentiary, Ossining, New York.

The Full Moon Killer,
she thought with an involuntary shudder.

Cheryl had met Tony while covering the serial killer's murder spree. The attention the case brought helped both their careers, especially Tony's, after he arrested Gomez for the murders of five women. Carl Rice, a tabloid reporter, sensationalized the case in a true crime book called
Rodrigo Gomez: Tracking the Full Moon Killer,
which became a surprise best seller and a cable TV movie, assuring Tony's fame while she moved on to the next story. Unlike Tony, Cheryl had read Rice's book, a poorly written but suspenseful story with a heroic protagonist and a twisted villain.

She had also watched the TV movie, which was filmed in Toronto and starred a former soap opera actor as Tony Mace. Cheryl liked to tease Tony that his TV counterpart
was taller than him. A former sitcom star portrayed Cheryl, and in TV movie fashion, the fictional Tony and Cheryl got together during the manhunt, when in reality Tony had waited until after the media frenzy surrounding the case had died down before asking Cheryl out on a date.

Tony was also featured in Rice's follow-up book,
The Wolf Is Loose: The True Story of the Manhattan Werewolf,
which was even more sensational. This one suffered for not having an ending, though Rice did his best to use the lack of resolution to terrify his readers. Cheryl was pleased not to be represented in its pages. The book was also a best seller, but no TV movie was produced, leaving Cheryl to wonder what had become of her former soap star husband and her sitcom star alter ego.

Rodrigo Gomez's letter read:

Cheryl lowered the letter, feeling a mixture of dread and excitement.

Colleen stood. “I've already been in touch with the warden there, and our legal department has too. If you're on board with this, we can make it happen: a one-hour live interview tomorrow at 8:00 P
M,
preceded by a special on Gomez's crimes and followed by a panel discussion on your interview. We'll repeat the whole block around the clock and on the weekend too. Say the word, and we'll get started on promotion.”

Cheryl folded the letter and stuck it back into the envelope. “Of course I'm on board. How could I say no to what you just described?”

“I like that you're such a team player, but don't you need to discuss this with Tony first?”

Cheryl considered the question. Tony would have definite concerns about her safety and would probably disapprove of the idea for a number of other reasons. Under
ordinary circumstances, she would discuss such an unusual proposition with him, but he hadn't discussed his new assignment at NYPD with
her.

“No. Let's do this. It will be good for all of us.”

M
ace entered the Golden Fleece restaurant a little after noon. He spotted Lou Graham sitting with his back to him and suppressed a smile. Circling the table, he looked down at the chief of detectives, who wore a light gray suit and sipped ice water. The man seemed deep in thought.

“Hello, Lou.”

The COD looked up, his smile warm but strained at the same time. “Tony, it's good to see you.”

They shook hands and Mace sat.

“I wish it was under different circumstances.”

“You could have looked me up anytime.”

Lou nodded. “You're right. I'm sorry. I meant to see how you were doing. Then I replaced Hackley, and before I knew it, two years passed. Ah, hell, who am I kidding? We both know the score. I didn't know what to say, and I knew
the bosses wouldn't let me reinstate you, and now I don't know what to say again.”

A server filled Mace's glass with ice water.

“Don't sweat it. I never expected anyone to go out on a limb for me.”

“Well, I'm sorry all the same. You know what they say: out of sight, out of mind.”

“And now we're sitting face-to-face.”

“Congratulations on digging yourself out. I've never seen that happen before.”

“I didn't do anything but say yes. They came to me.” Mace opened the menu.

“I almost wish they hadn't.”

“What's got you down?”

“You're not in a good position, and now neither am I.”

“We've known each other a long time. Speak your mind.”

“A decapitation, a kidnapping, five dead animals, and an act of terrorism. And the worst thing is Jim Mint pulling you out of mothballs and putting you in charge of a covert operation.”

“I'm sorry my reemergence has caused you such distress.”

“It's
why
they chose you that has me worried. You've been the central figure in two major cases. Rodrigo Gomez is in prison. The Manhattan Werewolf was never caught, and whoever he is, he buried a lot of careers.”

“Are you worried about your career?”

Lou leaned forward. “Who isn't? This may be Jim Mint's operation, but I'm technically responsible for you and your actions now. Who's to say I won't follow in the
footsteps of Hackley, Chu, Stokes, and Dunegan?”

“We all move where the chess masters put us. No one can control collateral damage.”

The server returned, and they placed their orders.

“Did you know Terry Wright?” Lou said after the server had left.

Mace tried to place the name. “I don't think so.”

“He worked vice for ten years, made a big name for himself mopping up Times Square. He retired to Tampa and never even came back to visit as far as I know. Anyway, back in the day, when crack was doing a major number on the city, the bosses called Terry and his crew in and offered them an assignment not so different from the one you have now. They told them to clean up Forty-second Street … by any means necessary. ‘Leave no stone unturned, no body in plain sight, no paperwork to be filed.' They had a mandate to bury bad guys and answer to no one. Terry told me they were game: they set up shop above a bar on Forty-fourth Street and selected their targets—an actual hit list. Just when they were about to pull the trigger, one of the higherups pulled the plug instead.”

Mace sipped his water. “What happened?”

“Some people would call it progress. The city planners got together with some developers and mapped out the future: theme restaurants and megaplexes and trademarked cartoon characters. When the money came through, the big boys decided that a real cleansing of Forty Deuce could backfire and damage their investment. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened? It was a different time
then. Fingerprints were still stored in metal filing cabinets, not on hard drives and in clouds. There were no video cameras at major intersections, no satellites studying us from afar, no twenty-four-hour news cycles, no real Internet. In other words, Terry's gang might have pulled it off.”

Mace smiled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“It would have been a long shot even before your perps blew up that house. Now you've got cops hunting cop killers, feds hunting terrorists, every news organization hunting a major story, and you and your people expect to conduct a covert operation. The opportunity for this to blow up in all our faces is astronomical. I hope you'll exercise caution.”

Mace hoped his expression did not betray his thoughts or emotions. “I've been sitting on my ass on Floyd Bennett Field for two years. Now that I'm off it, I have no intention of exercising caution, and I have every intention of getting results.”

Valeria sat in the chair beside Eun's bed and looked down at the wounded woman, who opened her eyes and blinked, her head wrapped in bandages like a mummy.

“How do you feel?”

“Hurts,” Eun said in a whispery voice.

“I can give you more morphine.”

Eun shook her head, which caused her to wince. “Later.” Valeria touched her comrade's arm. “There's no reason for you to be in pain. We can manage it with drugs.”

Eun swallowed. “Face?”

Valeria had dreaded this question but knew it was
inevitable. “You need plastic surgery. I did what I could, but you know I'm no doctor.”

Eun closed her eyes, and tears pooled in her lashes. Valeria knew the salt in the tears would cause Eun additional pain if they soaked through the bandage and reached her wounds, so she dabbed at her eyes with cotton balls.

Eun opened her eyes again, and her lips curled, revealing her teeth. “Fight.”

Valeria managed a smile.
“Sleep”

Eun sighed, and Valeria rose and exited the room. Closing the door behind her, she shivered. The warehouse was cold, the expense of heating it too great, so they turned on space heaters in the rooms they used and wore their coats everywhere else. She carried handfuls of tissues in her cargo pants to blow her nose. In the dining area, she served herself stew from a pot and joined Michael and Henri at the picnic table.

“Where's Angelo?” she said, tearing a piece of Italian bread from a loaf.

“Staking out the funeral home,” Michael said. “An old friend of ours showed up at their doorstep: Elias Michalakis.”

“We killed him.”

“Apparently not.”

Valeria suppressed her astonishment. From the back window of a fleeing van, she had seen the explosion which tore the werewolf cell asunder. “Have you made a decision about the funeral home yet?”

“Let's see how the day goes. Circumstances will dictate our next move.”

“I think we should take a day to rest.”

Michael sipped his juice. “We need to keep hitting the beasts hard. A different method each night to throw them off guard. Now that Michalakis has joined them, they have intel on our ways.”

“If the bitch doesn't talk and we hit the Dominis tonight, we won't have a target tomorrow. The effect will be the same.”

“Except that every day we remain here increases the chances of the authorities storming in. We need to take advantage of every night.”

Valeria dipped her bread in the stew. “Maybe we should relocate.”

“No. We're safer here than moving.”

“We're only four strong now.”

“We were four strong last night, and it took only two of us to kill two of them and three police.”

“We need reinforcements.”

Michael's expression turned to one of annoyance. “I contacted Tudoro. He arrives tomorrow. Maybe he'll have our apprentices with him; maybe he won't. I'd like to have one more victory to report when he gets here.”

Valeria felt a sense of relief. The priest Tudoro was a reassuring presence in her life. He would assess the situation and advise Michael as to the best path to follow.

“How's Eun?” Henri said.

“She's in pain but refusing morphine. She needs real medical attention. Surely Father Tudoro can put us in touch with—”

“Tudoro will make a decision about Eun when he gets here,” Michael said in an even tone.

“I think we should all leave. Separate, then reunite at another target zone and take the beasts there by surprise, just as we did here. That will give us time to make sure our apprentices are ready for combat.” Valeria glanced at Henri, who sat watching the confrontation in silence.

“Your job is to follow my orders. If you can't do that, return to Rome. You don't
have
an apprentice.”