"I'm talking about the fact that you and your brother Jordan are mixed up with the Whittiers and Melantha Green," Fierenzo said calmly. "So far you've managed to keep your involvement a secret, mainly by creating the illusion that you've been here in Chinatown watching the park, while in fact you've been in the Upper West Side trying to stop bleeding. You've done that by having Jordan sit here feeding you reports, which you then pass on to your pal Halfdan and his surveillance coordinators."

He took a swallow of water. "Unfortunately for you, one of the Greens got a good look at Jordan yesterday during that stunt he pulled near Washington Square, and he conned us into making up some nice sketches. You knew that if the Greens got hold of them, they'd eventually find someone who recognized Jordan, at which point they would give you both the kind of long, hard look you can't really afford."

He gestured at Jonah's hands. "Oh, and whatever that radio or cell phone is you have built into your hand, you actually have two of them," he added. "One per hand, which I gather is not standard issue.

Private and party lines?"

Jonah's face had taken on a slightly sandbagged look. "Something like that," he managed. "Damn.

You are good at this."

"Come down to the station sometime and explain that to my boss," Fierenzo said. "I've been telling him for years that I deserve a raise. Jordan is your brother, then? All I could tell from the sketch was that he was a close relative."

"Half-brother, actually," Jonah said, sounding a little more on balance. "Same father, different mothers. His last name isn't Gray, either, if you're still keeping score." His face puckered. "I presume that politely asking you to fade back into the woodwork is out of the question?"

"Not until and unless I get the whole story," Fierenzo told him. "And I mean the whole story."

"But—"

"But nothing," Fierenzo cut him off sharply, letting him have the NYPD Stare with both barrels. "A

Green named Cyril said the blood of thousands of New Yorkers was going to flow in the streets.

That is not acceptable in my town. You'll tell me what's going on, or so help me I'll bring so many local, state, and federal agencies down on you that Manhattan will have to open a branch island."

For a half-dozen heartbeats Jonah didn't reply. Fierenzo held his gaze, hoping he hadn't pushed too hard and wondering what he would do if he had. If Jonah decided he needed to be shut up, the obvious solution lay no more than half a rooftop away. Even if no one ever figured out how a NYPD

detective had come to fall off the top of a building in the middle of Chinatown, it would certainly close his mouth in an unpleasantly permanent way.

And then, to his quiet relief, some of the starch seemed to melt from Jonah's body language. "I am going to be in trouble forever," he muttered. "Okay, you win. It all started a long time ago, on a world not all that different from this one...."

The early-morning sunshine had been replaced by low, gray clouds by the time Roger left the Thruway toll booth and turned the car onto Route 28, heading westward toward the Catskills. He'd never liked driving in unfamiliar areas, and as the road meandered back and forth through the hills he had to bite his lip to keep from asking every two miles if Caroline was still monitoring their progress on their maps.

It was after noon by the time they reached the turnoff onto 42 and turned north again. "It shouldn't be more than a couple of miles," Caroline said, peering at the maps spread out over her lap. "This side of Bushnellsville, past Damme Road, off to the west."

"Got it," Roger said. "With any luck, there'll be a sign."

"Yes." She paused. "Have you thought about what you're going to say when we get there?"

"Not really," he admitted, his stomach tightening as it always did when he knew there was a confrontation ahead. "I mostly thought I'd drop Nikolos's name and play the rest by ear."

Caroline shifted in her seat. Probably didn't think much of the plan, he guessed. But then, he wasn't exactly wild about it, either. "I've been trying to think what he might be up to," she said. "It's occurred to me that Cyril's the one who's come off looking the worst in this whole thing."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, from what you told me about your conversation with Torvald, it sounds like Cyril was closely connected with this whole Peace Child thing," she pointed out. "Having it blow up in his face makes him look foolish or naive, which automatically elevates Aleksander and his pro-war faction."

"True," Roger agreed. "Problem is, we know it was a Gray who took her. How could Nikolos have gotten one of them to do his dirty work?"

"Maybe he conned one of their factions into—there it is," Caroline interrupted herself, pointing a finger ahead. "E. and N. Green."

"I see it," Roger confirmed as he spotted the modest sign beside the equally modest gravel drive heading up into the woods. He flipped on his signal; and just as he started into his turn, he spotted a young man dressed in dark green standing beside one of the trees near the driveway entrance. "Uhoh," he said. "We've got company."

"Should we stop?" Caroline suggested hesitantly.

But the Green made no move, merely watching silently as they drove past. "I guess not," Roger said.

"Probably just a watchman, like the one I ran into at Aleksander's building."

"Roger," Caroline said slowly. "Was that man wearing a trassk?"

Roger glanced at the mirror, but the Green was already out of sight. "I didn't notice."

"I think he was," she said, her voice suddenly tight. "In fact, I'm sure of it. Didn't Nikolos say they only had enough trassks for the top leaders and the Warriors?"

"Yes, but so what?" Roger asked. "It makes sense for them to have a Warrior standing guard."

"With the main battle setting up to happen in Manhattan?"

"Point," he said slowly. "Unless he's expecting the Grays to attack here."

"Or else is planning for them to attack here," Caroline murmured.

"How do you plan for your enemies to attack you?" Roger objected. "Besides, an area like this would be tailor-made for Greens to fight in. The Grays would have to be nuts to walk into it without a good reason."

"Maybe Nikolos has a good reason," Caroline said. "Like Melantha."

Roger felt something twist in his stomach. "In which case, they would definitely have Warriors on duty."

"There's another one," Caroline said, pointing to Roger's left. "No—three of them."

Roger looked. All three Greens were young and tall, striding purposefully toward the road they were driving on.

All three were definitely wearing trassks.

"I'm thinking we should find a place to turn around and get out of here," Caroline said, her voice starting to tremble.

Roger looked in his mirror. Five more Greens had appeared on the road behind them. "Too late," he said.

"There's another," Caroline said.

He shifted his attention forward. Fifty yards ahead, a small road angled off to the right from the main drive. Standing unsmiling in the intersection was a Green, his hand held palm outward in the universal gesture to halt, the trassk on his jacket gleaming dully in the diffuse light seeping through the clouds. Roger let the car coast to a halt, rolling down the window as the Green stepped around to his side. "Hello," he greeted the other, trying to keep his voice cheerful and unconcerned.

"Hello," the Green replied, his voice as neutral as his face. "Are you expected?"

"Not really," Roger admitted. "But I'm sure he'll see us."

The Green lifted his eyebrows." 'He'?"

Roger felt his throat tighten. He'd banked on there being somebody obviously in charge here, and that his casually vague comment would make him sound like he knew what he was talking about.