From the opposite sidewalk, I stared up at the Explorer’s Society’s headquarters, barely containing my disgust. The more I saw it, the more it served as a stark reminder of simpler, happier times. Times spent laughing with Diane. Living in Manhattan. Working as a respected archaeologist. Living a life free of guilt, free of regrets.
Living a life without the constant reminder of death.
Sheets of rain engulfed the building and the surrounding area. Dark shadows plagued everything. It was early morning and yet it didn’t look like it.
I gulped in a few mouthfuls of cold moisture-filled air. Then, I crossed the street and started up the staircase. I kept my eyes low to avoid the rain, deliberately ignoring the stained glass, the white marble, and those creepy statue heads.
At the pair of heavy oak doors, I paused. My instincts told me to trace my fingers along the grooves, just like I did as a boy. But I ignored them. Instead, I shoved the doors open and stepped into the interior.
Despite the relatively early hour, a few people milled around the Great Hall. I didn’t look at them although I sensed their eyes on me, staring, wondering, evaluating. Without pausing, I marched forward, barely noticing the dark wood floor, the oriental carpets, or the exhibits. I had no interest in the Society itself, not anymore.
At the rear of the Hall, I angled right and hurried down the long corridor. As I passed Diane’s painting, I wanted to stop, to drink it in. But I averted my eyes and continued walking.
The door at the end of the corridor was closed. As soon as I reached it, I grabbed the knob, twisted, and flung it open.
“What the hell?”
The gravely, gritty tone brought a smile to my face. It felt good to smile. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done it. “Long time no see.”
Graham spun around in his chair and flashed me a tired grin. “Well, well, look who decided to show his face. After yesterday’s little debacle, I thought I’d never see you again.”
“What’s a little fight between old friends?”
He chuckled. “I wish I’d taped it. One minute you’re toe to toe with Standish. The next, you’re gone and he’s tripping over a seat trying to grab you. The poor bastard fell flat on his face.”
“It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
“What was that all about anyway? You mentioned Colombia and caciques?”
I sat down in a chair. “He bribed his way into ownership of a dig site and proceeded to clean it out.”
Graham frowned. “You should lodge a complaint against him. The Society takes that kind of thing very seriously.”
“Yeah right,” I replied. “Who’s going to listen to me? I’m persona non grata around here.”
Graham shrugged. “So, what’s new? You still working for Chase or did you finally wise up?”
“I’m sort of in hiatus.”
“What are you doing for him anyway?”
I hesitated. “I signed a non-disclosure agreement so I can’t say much. But I do have a favor to ask.”
“What’s that?”
I reached into my pocket and closed my fingers around the hard, sharp object. No one else knew about it but me. Not the doctor who examined my wounds a few hours ago. Not Chase. Not even Beverly.
Extending my hand, I opened my fingers. “Have you ever seen something like this before?”
He took the tooth and examined it. A frown spread across his face. “Where did you find this?”
“Never mind that. Do you recognize it?”
Graham stood up. Wobbling slightly, he retrieved a book from the bookshelf and scanned it. “I thought so,” he said at last. “Here it is.”
He placed the book on the desk and flipped it around to face me. Leaning in, I noticed a photo of a tooth that looked quite similar to the one I’d found. My eyes drifted to the caption and I felt my heart skip a beat.
“It’s an alligator tooth,” Graham said. “The American alligator to be exact. And a massive one too from the looks of it.”
“But that’s impossible.”
Graham settled back into his chair. “I answered your question. Now, you answer mine. Where’d you find it?”
“In a sewer tunnel.”
“I thought I smelled something rancid in here.”
“I guess one shower wasn’t enough to erase the stench.”
Graham grimaced. “You guessed right. So, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on here or not?”
“I haven’t seen an alligator if that’s what you’re wondering. But the tooth did come from a sewer tunnel.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe someone flushed it down a toilet for some reason. Hell, if you looked closely enough, I’d bet you’d find all sorts of strange shit in those sewers.”
“Could an alligator even survive in the sewers?” I asked. “I mean, I’ve heard the stories but I always considered them urban legends.”
“There was one gator back in 1935. Some folks found it in a Harlem sewer. But if my memory is correct, it didn’t actually live in that sewer. It escaped and took refuge in it. By the time it was discovered, the reptile had nearly starved and frozen to death. I can recall a few other discoveries since then. But most of those alligators were small, maybe a foot or two long.”
He tipped his head back, deep in thought. “I also recall hearing about a guy named Teddy May. They used to call him King of the Sewers. He achieved some fame in the 1940s and 1950s for his supposed exploits under New York. He once claimed to have led a sewer safari to wipe out an alligator colony. Of course, Teddy was renowned for his tall tales so who really knows for sure?”
I thought for a second. “You’ve hunted alligators before. Do you think one could survive in Manhattan’s sewer system?”
“Well now, that’s a tough question to answer. Our cold winter climate isn’t really conducive to an alligator. The sewers would give it some degree of warmth but I don’t know if they could provide enough food.”
“What if it, uh, ate people?”
He gave me a questioning look. “Well, gators are man-eaters, no question about that.”
Did that explain it? Were Kolen, Adcock, and the others attacked and consumed by a hungry alligator? The thought made me nauseous. “So a gator could survive on humans alone?”
“Not without being noticed.”
“What other food could it find in New York?”
“Rodents.” He tapped his jaw. “Pets. Fish too. But it would have to get outside to find them.”
His last few words rang a bell. “I remember reading a story in the New York Times about some guy who fished for carp in the basement of his building.”
“That’s a bunch of nonsense.”
“Assume that it’s not for a moment. Where would the fish come from?”
He sighed. “You’ve spent a lot of time researching New Amsterdam. Well, back then the rest of Manhattan looked quite different as well. Dozens of streams and brooks carved their way across the landscape. I couldn’t name them all. In fact, I’m not even sure all of them had names. But I remember a few. For example, Minetta Brook cut across what we now know as Greenwich Village and emptied into the Hudson. Supposedly, it was great trout fishing.”
“How about in midtown? What rivers ran through that area?”
Graham rose to his feet again and dragged himself to another bookshelf. He rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a large, colorful map. “Back in 1860, a civil engineer named Egbert Viele began tracing the remains of Manhattan’s original waterways. This map, the Viele Map, is the result of his efforts.”
Graham spread the map across his desk. “Viele’s primary concern was disease. He wanted to provide drainage for active springs covered up by construction. These days, engineers use it to avoid building on top of groundwater.”