"So the next day we get two separate groups converging on the place," Fierenzo concluded. "The Grays went up the outside and tried to get Melantha to come out of the trees by shooting at them.

When that didn't work, they started trying to break the door glass enough to get in, only they were interrupted by a set of Greens who'd gotten the building super to open the door for them."

"You've got it," Jonah agreed. "We were just lucky that Mrs. Whittier and Melantha had already left."

Fierenzo nodded. "I think that brings me up to date," he said. "Except for two questions. One, where is Melantha now? And two—" he cocked an eyebrow at Jonah "—just whose side are you on in this?"

"To answer the second: I'm on Melantha's side," Jonah said.

"And which side is that?"

"Like I said: Melantha's," Jonah repeated. "As to the first—" He shook his head. "I wish I knew.

Somebody's got her—that much I'm sure of. If she were free we would have heard from her by now.

But as to who or where, I have no idea."

"Sounds like Number One on our things-to-do-list," Fierenzo decided, unzipping his coat and fishing inside. "You'd probably better take charge of these, too," he added, pulling out the folded sketches.

"All I really wanted them for was to force the truth out of—"

He broke off in mid-word, staring at the pages in his hands. Back at the precinct house, he'd put four sheets of paper in his pocket: two pictures each of Jordan and the adult Gray.

Now, two of the sheets were missing.

He snapped open the remaining pages, tearing one of them in his haste. To his complete lack of surprise, they were both of the adult.

Jordan's pictures were gone.

"What is it?" Jonah demanded.

"We've been robbed," Fierenzo said tightly, crumpling the sheets and shoving them into his side pocket. "Somehow, while they were hauling me down the sidewalk, the Greens managed to grab Jordan's pictures."

For a split second, Jonah just stared at him. Then, abruptly, he jerked his left hand up to his cheek.

"Jordan, we're blown," he snapped. "Get out of here—go to Meeting One. And call Mom and Dad and tell them to join us."

He waited for an acknowledgment and dropped his hand. "We'd better get out of here," he added to Fierenzo, closing the supply box lids and refastening them.

"You think they'll give Halfdan the sketches?" Fierenzo asked, starting to fold up the blanket and wincing as twinges of pain shot through his shoulders.

"They probably showed them around to their own people first," Jonah said, folding the pad Fierenzo had been lying on and tucking it under one arm. "If none of them recognized him, yes, they'd certainly give them to Halfdan."

"Who will probably not be very happy with you," Fierenzo said, finishing with the blanket. "What's this Meeting One?"

"It's a place where we've met before," Jonah said, picking up the food box and getting up into a crouch. "We should be safe there, at least for awhile." He opened the lean-to flap and picked up the water box.

And froze. "What is it?" Fierenzo asked.

Jonah took a deep breath. "We've got company," he said, setting down the food box and pushing the flap all the way open. Across the roof, striding purposefully toward the lean-to, were a half-dozen short, squat men.

The Grays had found them.

27

Fierenzo's hand twitched toward his shoulder holster before he remembered his gun wasn't there anymore. "Who are they?" he asked.

"Halfdan's inner circle," Jonah said. "The one in front in the blue pea coat is Bergan, his eldest son.

He's the one Jordan clobbered yesterday morning for the car he used to get the Whittiers away from Halfdan's other son, Ingvar."

"Who I see is also here," Fierenzo said, recognizing the gray-jacketed man on Bergan's left from the crumpled sketches in his pocket. "You think they know you're the ones who snatched Melantha?"

"I can't think of any other reason why Jordan would have tried to drive over Ingvar," Jonah said grimly. "And Halfdan normally doesn't have any trouble putting two and two together."

"Well, he'll just have to do his arithmetic alone," Fierenzo said, coming to a decision. Pulling out his badge wallet, he brushed past Jonah and ducked through the flap onto the rooftop. "Afternoon, gentlemen," he called to the converging circle of Grays as he held the badge up high. "What's going on?"

Bergan stopped short, his mouth twitching at the sight of the badge. The other Grays took the cue and also stopped. "Who are you?" he called back.

"Detective Sergeant Thomas Fierenzo," Fierenzo told him, waving the badge around so that the entire circle could get a look before returning it to his pocket. "You up here for a party?"

Bergan's eyes flicked past Fierenzo's shoulder. "We came to see Jonah McClung," he said. "He's a friend of ours."

"Mr. McClung hasn't got time to chat right now," Fierenzo said, making a mental note of the name.

Jonah had said that it wasn't Gray, but he'd been careful not to say what it actually was. "He and his brother Jordan have to come down to the station with me."

The lines around Bergan's eyes deepened. "Why?" he asked. "What have they done?"

"They're possible witnesses to a felony," Fierenzo said, glancing around. "Jordan? Jordan! Damn—

where's that kid gotten to? Jordan!"

"What felony?" Ingvar asked.

Fierenzo turned to face him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the other Grays put a hand up to his cheek. Calling to have Jordan brought back before the cop got suspicious, he hoped.

"Sorry?"

"What felony are Mr. McClung and Mr. Anderson witnesses to?" Ingvar amplified.

So Jordan's last name was Anderson. Halfdan's sons were just chock full of useful information.

"They may have seen a kidnapping from the park over there," he told the other, gesturing toward the edge of the roof. "I need to get their statements and have them look through some mug books."

"So neither of them is being charged with anything?"

And that was the critical question here, Fierenzo knew, at least as far as Ingvar and Bergan were concerned. A formal charge would mean fingerprints and mug shots and all the rest of the attention these people had taken such pains to avoid all these years. Faced with that possibility, they might well decide desperate action was called for.

On the other hand, not being faced with that possibility would make the temporary loss of Jonah and Jordan seem considerably less critical in comparison. "No, of course not," he assured Ingvar. "Like I said, I just want their statements." He glanced around. "Where in hell did Jordan get to?"

"Here he is," a voice called from behind him.

Fierenzo turned to see two Grays escorting a tight-lipped youth toward him. It was the first time he'd actually seen Jordan in the flesh, but like Ingvar he was the spitting image of his police sketch.

"About time," he said peevishly, gesturing the boy forward. "Come on, come on—it's freezing up here. You too, Jonah. Leave the stuff—you can come back and get it later."

Trying to act nonchalant, he marched his prisoners through the line of Grays to the roof stairway and pulled open the door, ushering them inside. "The rest of you get out of here, too," he ordered the others over his shoulder. "There are laws against hanging out on roofs without the owner's permission." He gave Jonah a nudge. "Let's go."

No one spoke until they'd reached ground level. "Where are we going?" Jordan asked as Fierenzo got his bearings and turned toward the nearest subway station.

"Back to the Two-Four to get my car," Fierenzo told him. His muscles still twinged occasionally as he walked, but he was definitely on the mend.

"And then?"