“And climb all thirty stories after us, I suppose.”
Ferguson stared at her. “Obviously.”
“Carl, we’ll have the Ingram up there. Have you ever seen what an Ingram M-11 can do?”
“No, and I don’t want to. I’m sure it’s very lethal. Naturally all you can think of is kill or be killed. And what about all the other buildings? A sea of windows. Will you really start spraying high velocity bullets around? I doubt it.” He settled glumly into his chair. He was right, too. Not one of them would feel free to use that gun on a rooftop in the middle of Manhattan. Hell, you wouldn’t want to use any gun in such circumstances, surrounded by so many innocent lives. But the gun was the only real protection they had. Its value lay in the fact that it would provide accurate coverage over a wide area and do it fast. A shotgun could do that too, but they were afraid that buckshot would lack stopping power. One slug from an Ingram would knock a heavy man ten feet. They wanted that kind of punch if they were going to come up against the werewolves.
“How likely are they to spot us?” Wilson asked suddenly. He had been gobbling pizza; it had not seemed as if he was following the conversation at all. Ferguson considered. “The more senses they can bring to bear, the more likely. If scent was all they had, we’d have a chance. Unfortunately they have hearing and sight too.”
“We can be quiet.”
“How? Stop breathing? That’s more than enough sound to give you away.”
“Then we’ve gotta hope we see them first, don’t we? You spot ’em , you take a few pictures, you get the hell inside.”
Ferguson nodded. “Assuming we see them first— or at all.”
“Look, we’ve been through that. They aren’t going to come up through the building and they aren’t going to climb the balconies that overlook Eighty-sixth Street. That leaves these balconies, the ones that overlook the alley, as their only route of attack. So if each person just keeps that camera focused on that alley, we’re gonna see them if they come. That’s damn well where they’ll be.”
The disconsolate look on Ferguson’s face didn’t change. He wasn’t buying Wilson’s theory, at least not enough to improve his disposition. “Have you imagined what it’ll be like up there fooling around with that damn camera while they are swarming up the balconies? I have, and believe me it isn’t a very comforting thought.”
“You’d have a good thirty seconds before they reached the roof,” Becky said.
Ferguson leaned forward in the chair, stared at them with contemptuous eyes. “Assuming you even see them coming.”
“That’s the whole purpose of the camera, for Chrissakes! It makes it like daylight. We damn well will see them.”
“Human senses against Wolfen senses,” he replied bitterly. “Technology or no technology, there is absolutely no comparison. Let me tell you something. Whichever one of us is unlucky enough to be up there when they come is going to be in very great danger. Let me repeat, very great danger. Unless we all realize that all the time, every second, it is very likely that one or more of us will be killed.”
“Jesus Christ, we don’t need that!” Dick blurted. “I mean, what a fucking—”
“Dick, he doesn’t understand. He’s not a cop.” You don’t look at things that way when you’re on the force. Maybe it’s true, but brooding on it isn’t the kind of thing that increases a man’s effectiveness.
“He’s doing a cop’s job. Oh, no, wait a minute. No cop ever had an assignment like this before. But at least we’re prepared for it—this guy obviously isn’t”
“I don’t have to be here at all, may I remind you. In fact, I ought to be in that alley.”
Dick started to speak. Becky knew him well enough to know that he was about to get angry, to lash out—and they needed everybody, even Ferguson.
“Dick’s right,” she said quickly, “let’s not talk about it. I’m due to go up in ten minutes anyway, so enough said.”
“OK,” Dick said after a long moment. Ferguson glanced nervously at his watch and was silent.
She went into the bedroom and put a cardigan on over her heavy sweater, then wound a thick cashmere scarf around her neck and put on her pea jacket. She drew fur-lined gloves on her hands and dropped an electric pocket warmer into the jacket. She already had on three pair of socks and snow boots. She pulled a knit hat down over her ears and added a fur cap.
“Jesus,” Wilson said, “you look like a mountain climber in that outfit.”
“I’ve got two and a half hours in that wind.”
“I know, I’m not arguing. Let’s test radios.”
The concern in his eyes touched her deeply. He turned on one handset, then the other, and when they were both running they squealed. “Good enough,” he said. “I’ll be over here near the terrace. We oughta get a good signal as long as I don’t move too far back in the apartment and you stay near the edge of the roof. You got the signals straight?”
“One dot every five minutes. Two if I want to go to voice. Three if I need help.” Instead of talking they planned to signal as much as possible by pressing the mike button. It would keep the noise down.
“Right. But give us a vocal as soon as you get up there and another just before you’re ready to come down.” He glanced over her shoulder. Dick was adjusting the camera, Ferguson was facing the TV set “Come closer,” Wilson said in an undertone. She stood face to face with him and he kissed her a long moment on the mouth. “I love the hell out of you,” he said. She smiled at him, put her finger to her lips, then turned and went into the dining room. She was glad—he seemed to be recovering some of his customary strength.
“Camera’s good,” Dick said. “Just for God’s sake don’t drop it over the ledge. They’ll have my head six ways from Sunday if I don’t bring this thing back intact.”
She took it from him, carrying it in both hands. Her thermos of hot coffee was under her arm.
“Wait a minute, kid,” he said. “Isn’t something missing?”
“If you mean the Ingram, I’m not taking it.”
“You damn well are.” He went into the living room and lifted it out of the box Wilson had brought it in. “It’ll fit right up under your pea jacket, very nice and snug. Take it.”
“I’ve got my thirty-eight. I don’t want the Ingram.”
“Take the fucking thing, Becky!” She took it from him. His mouth trembled as he gave it to her. They said nothing; there was nothing more to be said.
The three men accompanied her to the elevator. It seemed unlikely that anybody would be encountered on the way up, but if they were, the presence of four people in the car would draw attention away from Becky’s strange outfit and equipment.
The elevator rose smoothly to the thirtieth floor. All four of them got out. They went into the stairwell through the gray-painted exit door. The wind could be heard above, booming against the door that led to the roof. Becky ascended the single flight of stairs, followed by Wilson and Dick. Ferguson remained below.
“OK, kid,” Wilson said, opening the door. It faced north, and as soon as he opened it a brutal gust of ice-cold wind poured in on them. Becky barely felt it under her layers of clothing. She tromped out onto the roof—and nearly fell flat. The snow had melted up here and now the melt was a layer of ice. She stood bracing herself against the jamb of the open door, staring down at the two men huddled on the steps behind her. “Icy as hell,” she shouted over the wind.
“Can you make it?” Wilson hollered back.
“On all fours.”
“What’s that?”
“On all fours.” And she pushed the door closed. At once she was plunged into a dark and alien world. The wind boomed and every move caused her to lose purchase on the ice. The roof was flat, its expanse broken only by this door and by a shed about ten feet away that housed the elevator motors. The building was large and the roof area was wide, perhaps a hundred feet on a side. This area, roughly square, was covered in gravel which made the layer of ice bumpy and even more difficult to walk across. If she stood still the wind moved her of its own accord, causing her to lean into it and stumble until she was down on all fours. Her eyes were tearing and the tears were freezing on her cheeks. Lights whirled past. She huddled against the door, her back to the wind. She pulled out the pocket warmer and cradled its fitful heat near her face. The Ingram’s butt jutted into her left breast, the coffee thermos threatened to roll out from under her arm, the walkie-talkie and camera further impeded her movements. She looked around. Lights glowed up from three sides of the building. Those were the street sides. The fourth side, which disappeared into a maw of blackness, overlooked the alley.