"Can we leave it that we agree to disagree and hope we don't have to cross the line again—hope that we don't find ourselves in a position where we even have to think about crossing it?"
But if that moment came, Joe wondered, what side of that line would he come down on?
Lacey shrugged, reluctantly, he thought. "I guess I'm all right with that."
Carole nodded. "So am I. I pray we're never faced with that choice again."
"Good," Joe said, sagging with relief. "You two had me worried there."
"What?" Lacey said, looking up at him with a half-smile playing about her lips. "You thought we'd break up the team? Never happen. Right, Carole?"
"Never. Our work is too important. But I thought it needed an airing."
"Well, it's aired," Joe said. "Now let me air something else." He sat and took Carole's hands in his. "How long have you been wiring yourself with explosives?"
She looked away. "A while."
"Why?"
"I think that should be obvious."
It was. But for Joe it was unthinkable.
"Carole, you mustn't. . . you can't..."
"I won't," she said. "Not unless all hope is gone."
"Even then—"
She faced him. "I will not become one of them, Joseph. And didn't you tell us yourself that you jumped off the Empire State Building?"
Yes, he had, hadn't he. He wished he hadn't told them. It cut off his argument at the knees. What could he say—that it was all right for him but not for her?
"But blowing yourself up ..."
The thought of Carole being torn to pieces, bits of her splattered against the walls and ceiling of a room, or scattered up and down a street, sickened him.
Her smile was tremulous. "What better way to go? I put my hand in my pocket, I press a button, and it's over—instantaneous, painless, and, considering the straits I'll be in at that moment, I'll probably take a few of the enemy with me."
"I kind of like that idea," Lacey said. "Maybe you can wire me and—"
Joe held up a hand. "Lacey, please." He stared at Carole. "All right. What can I say? It's something only you can decide, Carole. But I beg you, when things look blackest, when you think there's no way out and the situation can't get worse, hold off pressing that button. Give it just one more minute."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to lose you. And who knows? Maybe in that one extra minute the situation will start to turn around. Promise?"
She shrugged. "Promise."
Joe leaned back. He'd thought he'd feel better confronting her about this, but he didn't.
He put it behind him for now and looked first at Lacey, then Carole.
"All right. That's settled—I hope. Now we should plan our next step. When do we leave for New York?"
Lacey dropped back into her seat. "New York? So soon? Are we ready for that?"
"I don't think we have much choice," Joe said. He got up and settled himself on the couch. "First off, I don't think there's another nest we can practice on. Second, after what we did this morning, I've got a feeling this area's going to be on the receiving end of a lot of attention. So while they're looking this way, gearing up to make a move against the church and the people holding it, I propose we sneak in under their radar and strike where they least expect it."
Carole was nodding. "I like it. And from the way things went this morning,
I believe dawn is the best time. But I assume we'll find more than three collaborators guarding the Empire State Building."
"Lots more," Joe said. He glanced at his niece. "Too many for even Annie Oakley here to take out."
Lacey smiled. "Oh, I don't know about that."
She got up and went to the dining area. She returned dragging a large canvas mail sack. She set it beside the couch and pulled open the top. Joe started when he saw the jumble of weapons inside.
"Good Lord, Lacey, what did you do? Rob an armory?"
"Almost as good. Before we left the Post Office this morning I collected every pistol and piece of ammo I could find, from Vichy and undead alike. Even picked up that sawed-off shotgun."
Joe shook his head. "It's still not enough. We're only three and there's dozens of them. We'll need another way."
Lacey looked at Carole. "Explosives? That napalm you cooked up?"
Carole shook her head. "Nothing I can make has the detonation velocity necessary to damage a building like the Empire State."
Lacey looked glum. "Then what? If we can't get inside—"
"I think I have a idea," Carole said.
Lacey brightened. "What?"
"Just the start of one. Let me work it through first. How long have we got?"
"I'd like to leave as soon as possible," Joe said. "Hit them before they find out what we did at the Post Office. Or if they do know, catch them while they're still off balance."
"I think we should make the trip by day," Lacey said. "That way the only ones around to stop us will be living. At night we'll have to dodge the undead as well."
"But I can't help you during the day."
Lacey smiled and nudged the letter bag with a toe. "I think Carole and I can handle any Vichy we meet along the way."
Joe wasn't keen on lying helpless in a car trunk while the two women took all the risks, but he couldn't fault Lacey's logic.
"All right then," he said. "We leave at dawn. Will that give you enough time, Carole?"
"I hope so. I'll need to take the car to see if I can find what I need."
"Okay. Just get back in time so we can stock up for the trip. We need to find some gas too. The Lincoln's pretty low."
"No need," Lacey said. "There's a cool convertible with a full tank sitting in the garage. We can take that instead."
"Looks like you've got all the bases covered. Only one thing left to do before we go. Carole, drop Lacey off at the church so she can tell them what we did at the Post Office and to expect reprisals. But most important, tell them the get-death secret. Have Gerald Vance get on his shortwave and start broadcasting it around the world."
"You think anyone'll believe it?"
"I hope so. Maybe in New York we'll find a way to give the world more tangible proof."
"How?"
Joe didn't answer. He was working on the beginning of an idea of his own.
BARRETT . . .
It was a little after midnight when James Barrett stepped out of the elevator into the Observation Deck atrium. A couple of Franco's get-guards pulled pistols and started for him. Where was Artemis tonight? He was usually the first to get in the face of anyone, living or undead, who set foot on the deck.
"What do you want?"
Something in their eyes, their expressions. Was it fear? What was going down here?
"Franco said to meet him here," Barrett said.
"I'll go check," said one of the guards.
As commander of the Empire State Building's human contingent, Barrett was used to being taken straight to Franco. Why this extra layer of insulation all of a sudden?
After all, he was responsible for round-the-clock security. He could have stayed around just on days—the really important time for security—but that meant he'd never get to see Franco, and Franco would never see him. So he caught a few winks here and there when he could and made sure he was around for at least some of the night shift.
He'd held the job for six months now. That meant he had nine-and-a-half years of servitude left. That was the deal with the undead: ten years of service and they'd turn him. Fine for the other slobs to wait that long, but not him. He'd risen as high as a living man could go in Franco's organization. He needed to take the next step, needed to be turned, and soon. But he still hadn't found the lever to boost him to that stage.