David Dun - Unacceptable Risk

"In the forties there was an entrance to the subway here. Now they're redoing PATH and the steam pipes and other underground conduits run all through here. Somewhere down here, Raval says, there is an old, abandoned subway station. Full of derelicts and the like, but it's a maze down there and I doubt these guys will ever find us." "Who are these guys?" Grady said. "French guys. Government, I think." "When will I talk with Raval?" Michael said. "After we save our asses, that's when. Next time, don't bring half the French Secret Service."

At that moment there was a crash and they knew the front door had been broken in.

Sam led them down a stairwell that was plugged with cement after no more than twenty feet or so. A small hole in the concrete plug had been created with jackhammers, no doubt by subway workers trying to find something in the under ground labyrinth that was Manhattan Island. It was solid bedrock. The tiny passage was uninviting in every sense- just big enough for a person to worm their way through. Sam beckoned them and dove in. Grady crawled more tentatively after him. Michael came behind her.,

They headed into the black of the New York underground and she wasn't sure which was worse-the men above or the hole. The concrete passage was black and strewn with the sort of gravel shed by unraveling concrete. It became very tight and she had to drop to her belly onto the sharp edges and slither. It had a vile smell, like rot and mold, dog faeces, and urine. They came to sheet metal of some sort that made crawling easier, but it was even tighter. When she raised her head, it hit solid concrete. There was maybe three or four inches on either side of her shoulders. She could tell Sam was struggling to continue. It got very steep and suddenly she realized there would be no backing up. Panic rose in the back of her throat and she wanted to scream. She stopped. She was shaking.

"Keep coming." It was Sam.

As she slid forward, her chin hit something putrid. Human vomit, she guessed.

"Oh God." She groaned, but she kept sliding slowly after Sam.

She heard Sam say, "There's a huge drop." Then his feet were suddenly gone. "It's okay. I'll catch you," he called.

With that, she let herself slide down through the wet and muck.

Instantly she could feel Sam's hands on her shoulders and fell into his arms. It would have been fine with her if she just stayed there. They were in a more open area and could stand. Sam turned on a tiny light that enabled her to see three or four feet surrounding.

When Michael was down, Sam pulled up his shirt and Kevlar vest to reveal a waistline holding two pistols. He fired into the concrete back up in the tunnel. It would be a major discouragement to anyone thinking about coming down.

They were in a concrete passage strewn with old toilet paper and bottles. They proceeded down a very steep incline that turned and pitched up sharply, only to turn down once again. The passage was roughly an S laid on its back, but without vertical drops. They arrived at some kind of a wall and there was a dim light showing through a hole. As they came closer, she could see that it was heavy plywood with bracing and that someone had knocked a hole in the barrier. Sam turned off his light. From the chamber below came the acrid smell of smoke.

In the distance roared a subway train. Peering through the hole and into the haze, she saw small fires and shadows of people in a large space far ahead. Some were hunched, as if under a blanket, while others stood with their hands over small barrels bristling with orange flame. They would be entering a dark corner of a large underground chamber. It was impossible to guess the number of occupants, as there were deep shadows and little light and had to be all manner of hiding places.

"Was I communicating with Raval or you?" Michael asked suddenly.

"Raval. We just figured out what you two were doing and talked him into some precautions."

"So you weren't fooling me?"

"No. And for all I knew, it would work fine and you and Raval would have your private talk."

"Now I don't know when I'll talk with him."

"We'll find him. Or he'll find you."

"What about the French guys? Do you think they'll catch him?"

"Probably not. At this point the U.S. government is likely to step in. The mere fact that the French government seems to be going nuts should be enough to set our boys off."

"Well, neither government's taking me over. That much I can tell you."

"Let's fight one battle at a time," said Sam. "I think we're in an old air vent."

But Michael wasn't done. "How did you find out about Raval?"

"That is a secret of Grogg's and cannot be revealed."

"What is Grogg?"

"He's sort of like a shaman. He can look into your soul."

Michael looked to Grady, who shrugged as if to ask if she was to speak of company secrets.

"It's dark as hell down here," she said to Sam.

"To our advantage," said Sam. "Take my hand." Grady held it and then took Michael's in her other.

"The air's bad. Smells of poison."

"Yep. Tastes like it came straight out the ass end of a diesel bus." Sam was leading them forward slowly over uneven ground. In places the cement had buckled and deteriorated.

"Get out of here," said a gravelly male voice. A dog growled low in the throat. In an odd way the human and the dog had a similar snarl. A light came on, blinding them. Then the light went flying. By chance it landed at an angle to them, casting soft light over the scene.

"You bastard. I'm gonna…" Then Grady could see Sam grabbing somebody. There came the sound of a struggle and a series of gravelly curses.

"Let's relax," Sam said.

Grady could see that the man was huge, even all hunched over, and Sam was holding the fellow by nothing more than one hand.

"All right, all right," the big guy was saying. "Just don't h urt my dog."

"Make sure it stays put or it'll be having quite a headache."

A small light appeared in the gray and the smoke and she knew it was Sam's.

"Keep your hands where I can see them." Sam released the man and stepped back. Sam's small light shone on a scraggly, bearded man who looked like he was covered in Vaseline and lived in a dirt pit. The skin of his face shone through a sheen of petroleum and grime, maybe sweat. She wondered if he even felt the chill of this cold hell.

"We don't like your kind of strangers down here."

"We'll be passing through."

"You taking her through here?"

"With your help I'll bet anything is possible."

"Why would I help?"

"A hundred bucks."

"You're right. I'd help. You got iron?"

"Enough for an anchor factory."

"Don't be shootin' down here. Ricochets are deadly."

"We only shoot those who need to be shot."

"You got a lotta balls bringing her down here… these days."

The dog began barking again. "Some unfriendly city officials are coming. How do we exit?"

The man pulled out a bottle and held it in front of him. "Singe their ass with this. Molotov cocktail. Just run it up there and light."

"Got a match?"

The man produced a lighter.

"You guys should have come down on a sheet of plastic. More hepatitis up that hole than in a whore's ass," he said as he took his dog's leash. "Now I can light that rag, but you gotta run like hell with it to get it up near the old grate."

"Go ahead," Sam said.

The man lit the rag; Sam ran to the hole in the plywood and threw it.

"You should have gone all the way up near the old grate."

"I don't know the old grate. Besides, I want to entertain them, not kill them."

Sam knew about the New York underground and the old subway stations, especially along the financial district. The city tried to keep the more obvious entrances closed, but it was like trying to keep ants out of a farmhouse.