"What's the trouble?" Powell asked, craning his neck to see what Fierenzo was doing.

"Oh, it's this report," Fierenzo said, waving at the papers in front of him. "It wasn't until I started writing it down that I realized how insane the whole thing sounds. I need to find a way to phrase it so it'll be taken seriously."

"Good luck," Powell said, standing up and snagging his coat from the back of his chair. "I guess I'll go take a look at that truck."

"Thanks," Fierenzo said, looking at his watch. "And after that, you might as well go home. It's already past five, and you weren't even supposed to be working today. Say hi to Sandy for me, and have yourselves a nice quiet evening."

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll leave your name out of it," Powell said dryly. "Just make sure you get some sleep, too." Threading his way between the desks, he left the squad room.

"Yeah," Fierenzo muttered after him. "Right." Taking a sip of room-temperature coffee, wishing he'd paid more attention during his lone creative writing course in college, he turned back to his report.

"The first few years were the hardest," Aleksander said, taking a sip of dark red wine from the delicately sculpted glass beside his plate. "Velovsky had helped us through the Ellis Island experience, but once we were on our own there was little he could do."

"I can imagine," Roger said. "Buildings were something brand new to you, weren't they?"

"They were certainly new to our generation," Aleksander said. "The Others had lived in buildings, though, and our Pastsingers had preserved those memories. Of course, our own short time in the transport had also given us a taste of what it was like to live with a roof over our heads."

"And of course, those of us who grew up here are quite comfortable with it," Iolanthe added. "There are times, especially in the winter, when our children would rather stay indoors than go out to their trees."

"Though I suspect the existence of video games has something to do with that," Vasilis murmured.

"Is that why you don't want to leave Manhattan?" Roger asked. "Because you've become accustomed to this way of living?"

"We don't want to leave Manhattan because it's our home," Aleksander said, a little tartly. "We fought for a place here; fought to learn the language and the culture; fought for jobs and livelihood and a safe place to raise our children. Why should we let ourselves be pushed out?"

"Yes, of course," Roger said. "I'm sorry."

"We don't ask for your sympathy," Aleksander said. "Just your understanding. And, if you choose, your presence at our side in this struggle."

"We'll do what we can," Roger said, wincing as a flurry of ear-piercing giggles erupted from the other end of the table. "Practicing the Shriek, are they?"

"It's more a lack of control over their vocal range," Iolanthe said, leaning forward to look that direction. "Yvonne, can you keep it down a little?"

"Sorry," the woman at the far end of the table apologized. She snapped her fingers twice. "Children: silent manners. Eat."

Instantly, the six children subsided, their chatter and quiet laughter replaced by the industrious staccato clicks of fork on plate as they returned their attention to their food.

"As you can see, they're not that different from Human children," Aleksander commented with a smile.

"You've definitely acclimated to life in middle America," Roger agreed, looking at the children.

"This setup reminds me of Christmas dinner with Caroline's family in Vermont."

"We're used to it, of course," Iolanthe said. "Do you have a large family, Caroline?"

"There are about twenty of us," Caroline said shortly, her voice studiously neutral.

Roger frowned at her. Her profile had a tightness about it, as if masking some emotion she wasn't interested in letting out. "You all right?" he murmured.

"Yes, you seem uncomfortable," Aleksander seconded. "Is something wrong?"

Caroline hesitated, then set her fork down and looked him squarely in the eye. "Yes, there's something wrong," she said. "We're all in here eating while Melantha's out there, alone and cold and hungry."

"I see," Aleksander said calmly. "And what makes you think no one's out in that cold looking for her?"

Caroline's expression cracked slightly. "Are you saying there are?"

"There are over eighty Greens right now walking the streets of Manhattan and calling to her,"

Iolanthe said gently. "Nearly everyone from Central and Morningside Parks, in fact. Does that ease your mind?"

Caroline's cheek twitched. "A little."

"Only a little?" Aleksander asked with a smile. "Please; speak on. What else can we do to quiet your concerns?"

Caroline took a careful breath. "Nikolos said you're leading the faction that wants to fight the Grays.

Is that true?"

"Absolutely," Aleksander said calmly. "Like Nikolos, I was there. I saw what the Grays did, and I don't believe there can be peace between us."

"But not all the Greens agree with you," Caroline said. "And if you're going to fight, you need all of them on your side. True?"

"Actually, I only need a majority," Aleksander corrected. "Once I have that, the rest will follow."

"The point is that you need a way to rally the other Greens to your side," Caroline said. "I was just thinking that supposed treachery by the Grays might do the trick."

" 'Supposed?' " Vasilis asked.

"I'm wondering if you might have snatched Melantha and are trying to blame it on the Grays,"

Caroline said.

Roger felt his stomach tighten. But to his relief, Aleksander didn't seem offended. "I see," the old Green said calmly. "And then?"

"And then what?" Caroline asked.

"How were we supposed to maintain the illusion of Gray treachery after Melantha had been brought back?" he asked. "Do you think Cyril and the others would ever follow me again after she'd told her story?"

Caroline swallowed visibly. "I suppose you'd have to kill her."

"Absolutely," Aleksander said, nodding. "And therein lies the flaw in your argument. Melantha is our key to victory in this battle, our ultimate weapon against the Grays. The last thing we would ever want is for harm to come to her." He shook his head. "No, Caroline. If I had Melantha, I wouldn't be pretending it was the Grays who had taken her. I would be reopening my argument and demanding another face-off with Cyril."

"We understand," Roger said quickly. "And I apologize for even suggesting you might do such a thing."

"That's all right," Aleksander said, his eyes still on Caroline. "Caroline?"

Her lip twitched, but she nodded. "I understand, too," she said.

"Good," Aleksander said, his voice almost cheerful again. "Then let's return to our meal, and hope that the searchers will find our lost child."

The sun was long gone by the time Fierenzo finally trudged out of the station house. The good news was that the report was finished: truthful enough to be legal, yet vague enough in the right places not to get him hauled in front of the departmental shrink.

The bad news was that the whole thing was little more than thin air tied together with fishing line.

And Cerreta was bound to notice.

He scowled as he strode down the sidewalk toward where he'd parked his car a block away. The really annoying part was that he had witnesses who could put substance to the whole thing if they wanted to. But Oreste Green wasn't talking, the Whittiers weren't talking, and Jonah wasn't talking.

Until one of them did, he wasn't going to be able to get much official traction on this.

He zipped his jacket a little tighter, hearing the faint crackle of the folded papers in his inside pocket as he did so. Now, though, maybe he had something to get at least one of those witnesses off the blocks.

He reached Amsterdam and turned north, looking through the tall chain-link fence beside him into the playground as he went around the corner. The place was undergoing some renovation, with a stack of long round timbers that looked like a Paul Bunyan version of Lincoln Logs piled near the fence. They were eventually going to be assembled into a new climbing structure, but up to now the only progress Fierenzo had seen had been the creation of a shallow pit entirely surrounded by orange mesh fences.