Timothy Zahn - The Green And The Gray

"Relax," Fierenzo told him, holding out his badge. "I'm Detective Sergeant Fierenzo from New York City. Mr. Whittier here claims his wife has been kidnapped and is being held around here somewhere."

"Really?" the other breathed. "That's terrible."

"Oh, stop it," Roger said disgustedly. "You're not fooling anyone."

"Take it easy, Mr. Whittier," Fierenzo warned in the weary tone of someone who's already heard it too many times. "Is this one of the people you saw?"

"Not exactly," Roger admitted. "But they were similar in appearance."

"Uh-huh," Fierenzo said. "Can I ask your name, sir?"

"I'm Nestor Green," the other said, looking uncertainly at Roger. "And there isn't anyone else here.

Really."

"I'm sure there isn't," Fierenzo said soothingly. "Are you the owner, Mr. Green?"

"No, that would be my Aunt Sylvia," Nestor said. "She's out shopping."

"Good," Roger said. "That'll give us a chance to search the house."

"Be quiet, Mr. Whittier," Fierenzo said, throwing him a warning look. "Any idea when she'll be back?"

"Not really," Nestor said. "Listen, I can't just—look, do you have a warrant or something?"

"No, and we're not going to search the house," Fierenzo assured him, holding up a placating hand. "I wonder if we could come in and wait for a few minutes? See if your aunt returns?"

"Sure," Nestor said reluctantly. "Come on in."

He led the way through the door into a large and elaborate entryway. "Good-sized place," Fierenzo commented, glancing around as Nestor led the way to a pair of double doors to their left. "How many people live here?"

"Just my aunt and me and a few caretakers," Nestor said, pushing open one of the doors. Beyond was an impressively equipped library, with a massive desk in front of a pair of tall windows looking out onto the wooded hills beyond. "She's hoping to get some investors to restore the place and turn it into a lodge."

"You've sure got the view for it," Fierenzo commented, nodding toward the windows. "How long have you lived here?"

"About three years," Nestor said. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"We're fine, thanks," Fierenzo said, stopping in the middle of the library and giving it a casual survey. "Nice collection."

"I want to see the rest of the house," Roger spoke up truculently. "I know Caroline's here."

"We don't have a warrant, Mr. Whittier," Fierenzo said patiently. "I already told you that."

"So?" Roger countered. "This is a kidnapping. Exigent circumstances, remember?"

Fierenzo took a deep breath. "Do you recognize this house?"

Roger hesitated. "Well... no."

"Do you recognize Mr. Green?"

"I already told you I didn't," Roger growled.

"Do you have any proof that your wife is even in this particular county, let alone this particular estate?"

Roger glared at him. "Now, look," he warned. "I'm telling you—"

"You've already told me," Fierenzo cut him off, turning abruptly for the door. "Thank you, Mr. Green

—sorry for the inconvenience. Come on, Mr. Whittier."

"Wait a minute," Roger said again, grabbing the detective's arm as he passed. "We're leaving?"

"Yes, we're leaving," Fierenzo said, turning to look squarely into his eyes. "I told you before that if you couldn't give me something solid, this whole trip would be a waste of time. You haven't, and it has been. Now get in the car."

"No," Roger snapped, bracing himself. Here was where he had to push it just the right amount.... "I swear to you that cabin is out there somewhere. We have to find it."

"Forget it," Fierenzo said. "I'm not going to waste what's left of my day tromping through a bunch of woods."

"We have to," Roger said firmly. "You're supposed to be investigating, right? Well, investigate, damn it."

Fierenzo held his gaze another moment, then turned and looked back at Nestor. "Are there any other roads on the estate besides the one we came in on?"

"There's one that goes from behind the house through the back areas of the woods," Nestor said carefully. "But I've been over the estate a dozen times since we moved here. This is the only building on the grounds."

"I tell you it's there," Roger insisted.

"Does the other drive take us back to 42?" Fierenzo asked, ignoring him.

"Yes, about a quarter mile north of the one you came in on," Nestor said.

"Fine." Fierenzo turned back to Roger. "Here's what we're going to do," he said in a voice that left no room for argument. "We're going to leave now, taking the other road through the estate. I'll drive; you can look out the windows. If you spot your cabin—hell, if you spot any cabin—we'll stop and take a look at it. If you don't, we're getting onto 42 and heading back to the city. Take it or leave it."

Roger glared at him for another second, wanting to see how Nestor was reacting to this but not daring to look at him. The cabin would certainly be nowhere near that road—Nikolos would have seen to that when he erased all the other approaches to it. But circling the grounds pretending to look would give Laurel the maximum possible range in her search for her daughter.

"Well?" Fierenzo prompted.

Roger let his shoulders sag. "Sure," he muttered. "What do you care?"

"Thanks for your time, Mr. Green," Fierenzo said as he and Roger headed toward the library door.

"We can find our own way out."

They crossed the entryway and the porch and walked down the steps to the car. Roger got into the passenger side as Fierenzo went around the front and slid in behind the wheel. "Keys?" the detective asked as he closed his door.

"Did he seem worried about us taking the long way out?" Roger asked, digging out the keys and handing them over.

"I didn't see any reaction," Fierenzo told him. "Best guess is that they've already erased or camouflaged everything leading to the cabin."

"No kidding," Roger said sourly. "They could have taken the whole building apart for all I know. I just hope Laurel's having better luck."

The drive they were on came to an abrupt end just beyond the far wing of the house, but by the time they got there Roger could see the other road Nestor had mentioned. Fierenzo eased the car across a short stretch of grass to the patch of gravel and picked up his speed a little. "Interesting," he said, pointing ahead of them. "Tire tracks. Someone's used this road recently."

"Nestor said his aunt was out shopping," Roger reminded him.

"Sure, but I assumed he was lying," Fierenzo said. "That either Sylvia was never there to begin with, or else that she'd ducked out the back and was hiding inside a tree somewhere."

"She'd have a job hiding Caroline in there with her."

"True," Fierenzo said. "And this puts a new light on things."

Roger frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Later." Fierenzo gestured toward his window. "You're supposed to be looking for a cabin, remember?"

Roger turned back to the side window, trying to figure out which direction he was facing. Starting at the back of the house, he was thinking the road had curved west. If so, then they were now heading north....

He was straining his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of anything that wasn't tree or bush or grass, when he was abruptly slammed against his seat belt as Fierenzo stomped on the brake. "What—?" he demanded, twisting his head around to look out the windshield.

The protest died in his throat. Standing across the drive thirty feet in front of the car were four Greens, long trassk knives shining in their hands.

"I think," Fierenzo said quietly, "that we're in trouble."

"You said that was called a Reuben?" Sylvia asked, peering across the table at the sandwich in Caroline's hands.

"Yes," Caroline confirmed, taking a bite and savoring the tang. "A little messy, but delicious."