"What else could I do?" Torvald demanded, his voice still charged with emotion. "Halfdan's sons were perched on the back of one of the buildings and Cyril had half a dozen Greens in trees down the street, all of them patiently waiting for the police to finish up and leave. If Garth and Wolfe hadn't gotten there first, Melantha would have been dead by morning."

"Are you trying to tell me," Roger said slowly, "that you've been holding her in protective custody?"

Torvald exhaled heavily. "What's the point?" he muttered. "She didn't believe me. Why should I expect you to be any smarter?"

Roger stared at him, feeling more adrift than ever. Could Torvald be telling the truth? Melantha had certainly been in good shape when they'd burst in on her a few hours ago; not tied or gagged, looking clean and more or less comfortable, with the remains of a good meal on a tray over on one side of the room. True, her guards had fired on them; but if Torvald was right, the most likely intruders would have been Halfdan's people, who would have taken her away to be killed. "Tell me something," he said. "Why did you move into Manhattan in the first place?"

Torvald smiled tightly. "Don't you really mean, why did I move into Manhattan a block away from a Green homestead?"

"Consider the question rephrased," Roger said. "Why did you?"

Torvald's eyes shifted past him, to the trees rustling in the breeze in the park. "The first few weeks after the unexpected contact between our peoples were very strange," he said, his voice oddly meditative. "Like a combination of cold-war posturing and slow-motion ballet. Both sides were feeling out the other, looking for strengths and weaknesses, maneuvering politically and geographically for future advantage. It seemed to me that we were heading toward the sort of frozen trench warfare that gripped Europe in the first World War."

His eyes came back to Roger's face. "People can't live like that, Roger," he said. "It saps the energy and the will, weaving an element of distraction and fear into both sides' psyches and daily lives.

Worse, it sets the stage for animosities that may never be eliminated. You've seen it happen in a hundred different places on your world. I didn't want that for my people or for the Greens."

He gestured toward the north. "So I decided to force the issue, one way or the other. I moved my family into MacDougal Alley, a street that was probably half owned by Greens at the time. I hoped that would either precipitate a full-fledged shooting war, which would settle things once and for all, or force us to learn to live in peace the way we had in the Great Valley. Either way, it would have been over."

"With one side possibly destroyed?"

"I was hoping we would find wisdom before that happened." Torvald grimaced. "Instead, the Greens found Melantha."

For a minute they walked together in silence. "All right," Roger said at last. "So you say you're on Melantha's side."

"I'm on the Grays' side," Torvald corrected him tartly. "But I also have no interest in seeing her slaughtered like a sacrificial goat." He shook his head. "But matters are out of our hands now, yours and mine both. Your upstate Greens seem to be on the move."

Roger felt his breath catch. "What do you mean?"

"There's a police alert out on five white cargo vans presumably heading this direction from the Catskills," Torvald told him. "Whatever Nikolos was building or preparing up there, he's bringing it to the city. And history suggests that Command-Tacticians never begin something until they're ready to follow through."

He gestured toward the park. "The maneuvering and posturing are over. All we can do now is brace ourselves for whatever he has planned."

Roger looked over at the gently waving trees. Powell hadn't mentioned this part. "You say you'd prefer for your peoples to live in peace," he said. "Are you willing to prove it?"

Torvald studied him through narrowed eyes. "How?" he asked.

"I don't know yet," Roger conceded. "But there may come a time in the next few hours when I'll think of something."

"You have my phone number," Torvald told him, coming to a stop and holding out his hand. "Call me any time."

"I will," Roger said, taking his hand. Torvald squeezed it briefly, then turned and started to walk away. "One more question," Roger called after him. "Is there any particular significance in Gray culture to a row of X's?"

The other turned back, frowning. "X's?"

"Specifically, a row of five with another row of four beneath them followed by three dots."

"Not that I've ever heard of." Torvald cocked his head slightly. "Does this mean you have a new message from Caroline?"

Roger hesitated. "Yes, but we haven't yet completely deciphered it. Actually, that's why I'm going to the Municipal Building."

"I see," Torvald said, eyeing him closely. "Bear in mind that both our peoples are in Nikolos's sights now. If we don't stand together, many of us will likely be dead before tomorrow morning."

"I understand," Roger said. "I'll do what I can to keep you in the loop."

"Very well," Torvald said. "In the same spirit of cooperation, it may be of use for you to know that late yesterday afternoon Nikolos was seen leaving his homestead in Morningside Park and heading south in a cab."

Roger frowned. Not north? "Where did he go?"

Torvald shook his head. "Unfortunately, Halfdan's surveillance network has become somewhat strained as of late and lost him somewhere south of Times Square." His lips compressed briefly.

"Several of his people have been pulled off sentry duty to look for your friend Jonah."

"Pity," Roger said. "It might have been helpful to know where Nikolos ended up."

"I'm aware of that," Torvald said. "I've had my people out looking for him ever since I learned he'd disappeared. So far, we haven't found him."

Roger grimaced. "Keep trying."

"We will," Torvald assured him. "Call me."

"I will," Roger promised.

With a final nod, Torvald headed away down the sidewalk.

Roger watched until he had disappeared into the flow of pedestrians. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned back and headed with new urgency toward the Municipal Building and the fax waiting there for him.

"I don't know," S.W.A.T. Commander Messerling said, tapping his teeth gently with the end of his pencil as he stared at the Manhattan map on the conference room wall. "Assuming your informant is right about a sweep from the north, the Broadway or Henry Hudson Bridges are the obvious entry points, with the Washington, the George Washington, and the Cross-Bronx as secondaries."

"That's one hell of a cover zone," Lieutenant Cerreta pointed out. "Even with the tag numbers, there are a lot of white Dodge vans on the roads."

"Personally, I'm more worried about the gang members already in the city," Messerling said. "I don't suppose you have any idea where they might be centered."

"I've got five possible leads, but no actual evidence," Powell said, opening his notebook to his list of Green restaurants. "Two months ago, these businesses sold the upstate group the vans we think they're currently using."

"Way too thin for a warrant," Cerreta commented.

"We might be able to get in under one of the Homeland Security Acts," Messerling said doubtfully.

"But that would mean bringing in the Feds."

"Detective Fierenzo was rather hoping we could avoid that," Powell said.

"That was before he disappeared," Messerling pointed out darkly. "He might be feeling differently right now."

"Assuming his disappearance and this gang war are related," Cerreta said. "Still nothing on his car?"

"It hadn't been approached during the twenty-four hours before we gave up and had it towed in,"

Powell said, an uncomfortable feeling churning in his gut. When Cerreta found out that Fierenzo was alive and well, there were going to be five circles of hell to pay. "So far, CSU hasn't found anything useful."