Freedom's Ransom (15 page)

“We will need your guides, and your guards for we have no weapons, but we're not defenseless,” Zainal replied, as he held up his big hand and made a sizable fist.

Vitali cleared his throat.

“We have more wheat, if that can be tossed in to sweeten the pot,” Kris offered.

“That's a sure enough sweetener, little lady, being as it will feed everyone, and a full stomach makes people easier to live with. Okay, Zainal, you got a deal, a truck,
guide, and guard and my safe conduct for you tomorrow. Night's not a good time for going through the tunnel anyway, to mention only one hazard.”

“The Lincoln Tunnel?” Kris exclaimed.

“Yes, ma'am, that and the Holland are the only ways to get to the island. No fuel for ferries, though they may start commandeering pleasure boats soon,” Vitali said in the greatest of good humor. “We'd be pleased for you to join us for a meal here.”

“We wouldn't want to deprive you,” Kris said, having seen the dismay on several faces when Vitali made his offer. “We have enough rations on board and we wouldn't want to tap more of your resources than absolutely necessary.” Particularly, she thought to herself, if it takes more of our raw ores.

“You'll sleep on board then?” Vitali asked, beaming appreciatively.

“Yes, and be ready to move out whenever you have made the arrangements. We do need to replenish our water tanks.”

“Water's still available—and guaranteed,” Vitali said. “I'll have to check with the coords involved, as a matter of courtesy and for your security, but I can set up the transport personally,” he said, so convincingly that Zainal nodded.

“If you've someone to take charge of the metal ingots, we can unload them tonight,” Zainal said, showing goodwill.

“Our pleasure, I assure you,” Vitali said. Then he gathered several of his officers around him and gave quick, low, confident orders. The men left to obey them.

Coffee and business finished, Zainal stood, ready to make delivery of the ingots, however much he may have wanted to hold such commodities back to trade on Barevi. Kathy asked to bring John Wendell on board to look at the comm sat, which Zainal thought a good idea.

“Fine-looking lads, Zainal. They yours?” Vitali asked, rising to his feet.

Zainal nodded and introduced his sons. Peran and Bazil made courteous bows and offered limp hands to the coord, who smiled benignly at them.

“Got one about the same age,” Vitali said. “If you've got two on board for the trip, I've another I can lend you: my grandson. For the good of our relationship, of course.”

“If we were returning directly to Botany, that would be a possibility, Coord Vitali, but we go on to Barevi, and that is not a place I would suggest a young Terran visit right now. My sons travel with us for tutoring there.” Peran and Bazil regarded their father with such shock that Vitali grinned.

“I see.” There was regret in Coord Vitali's voice but he concluded the visit with a firm handshake, and the two groups separated.

“A tutor, Father?” Peran began as they started back down the stairs to the ground level.

“A tutor, Peran,” Zainal said so firmly that the boys bowed their heads in rueful acceptance.

“Oh, and Zainal, have no worries about your ship's safety while here on the ground,” Vitali said, pausing in the doorway of the VIP suite. “We have an excellent perimeter security. Sleep well and soundly.”

“We're obliged,” Zainal said, winking at Chuck, who grinned back. There was no real chance that anyone could break into the KDM. She had good external security devices, too.

ONCE OUTSIDE, A TRUCK KEPT PACE WITH them. As they neared the ship, Zainal opened the ship's comm unit to alert Gino of their return. The ramp was extended and Gino and the rest of the crew framed the open hatch as they watched the return of their crewmen. Kris noticed the pessimism on Zainal's face as he cycled the cargo holds to the one containing their metal ingots. He must have been wishing he hadn't said anything about having ores, but she felt paying for a convoy to safely acquire Eric's equipment was worth the swap. Botany did not produce much ore but the deposits were high quality. At least she thought the miners would object less to losing copper, zinc, tin, and lead even though in some instances those ores were far more useful than gold, silver, or platinum. Nevertheless, she could see how it pained Zainal to hand over the ingots and how eagerly Vitali's men received them.

Kris did not seek her bed yet. She was still absorbing the import of their interview with Vitali and other, less obvious information that she had gathered. Earth's victory was a hollow one, despite evidence of recovery. The
rock squats had been worth their weight in any metal, and while they still had a few trays to spare, fresh bread might be useful to have on hand for goodwill and any unexpected “fees.” She hauled another sack of flour out of the supply locker and mixed up a triple batch of bread dough. It could rise overnight, have another quick rise as rolls, which would be easier to distribute than loaves, and be ready for their journey.

Kathy was still in heavy conference with John Wendell, who was almost drooling over the comm sat in the cargo hold. She was listening avidly to his remarks, jotting down notes and looking all too bright-eyed, Kris thought, and not the least bit reserved.

Kris was grateful to fall asleep once she hit her bunk, and answered Zainal's sleepily muttered “Who's there?” with a kiss, which sent him back to sleep with a smile on his face. She hated to be roused by the alarm the next morning but rose and flicked it off before the noise woke him. It was fair. He often let her have an extra half hour. In the galley, she started the big oven and punched down the dough, deftly separating it into convenient rolls before she made the morning's breakfast of boiled groats. She wondered if it would be hard to find cinnamon and maybe raisins somewhere in Manhattan. She had often longed for a Danish at breakfast.

It was the smell of baking bread that got folk out of their beds before the official Klaxon sounded.

Everyone was dressed and ready when the security sensors beeped a proximity alert. Chuck greeted those who arrived in a battered pickup truck. He eyed the load bed but it looked long enough to hold Eric's equipment. He also tossed in a coil of rope on top of the two lift platforms, which he and Clune carefully loaded, ignoring questions from the curious guards.

The truck had a wide front seat, which Zainal and Kris took. She was seated next to the driver, careful to keep her backpack full of rolls from being crushed against the battered dashboard. She was aware that the driver's pistol
dug into her left hip and eased her buttocks slightly to the right. The smell of freshly baked bread vied with the smells of oil, diesel fuel, and unwashed bodies. As surreptitiously as possible, she held the pack closer to her nose. Then a final passenger wedging himself next to Zainal slammed her back into the driver's holster. The door was closed only because someone outside the truck gave it a good push.

“Sorry about the squeeze,” the latecomer said, “but I'm Jelco, your official guide on this tour of New Manhattan.” He nodded amiably at Zainal and Kris. “Driver's Murray. He don't talk much but he's a good driver. We were lucky to get him for this job. I believe he claims he knows every hole in every avenue and street in the city.”

Courteously Kris nodded to her left and was startled by a toothless grin. She wondered if he knew he was driving a dentist to his old office. She also wondered if he could enjoy the nice crunchy bread they had in their backpacks. Murray hadn't so much as glanced at the backpack she held in her lap but he must have smelled the bread because his nostrils flared every now and then and he had to lick his lips frequently. Salivating, possibly. The smell of fresh bread had its own magic.

“Dover and Wylee are our guards, case you wanted to know. Good men.”

Which was what Kris hoped they would prove to be. “We'll have Kejas and Potts through the tunnel. They're actually the Midtown Coord's men this week. They wear red bands.” He pointed to the kelly green one on his upper arm. “We do a week on, a week off tunnel duty.”

Zainal nodded.

There were very few people around as Murray drove slowly out of Newark Airport, its vast parking lots empty, except for a few burned-out autos. Then Murray pulled out onto a three-lane highway. Along the weedy verge of the highway, damaged bushes and trees were showing growth with new sprouts, and the occasional forsythia had some blooms. Shortly they turned again, off the turnpike
onto the approach to the Lincoln Tunnel. Signs had been torn down but the wide highway, though pocked with gravel-filled holes, was empty except for their pickup and a cart full of what looked like potato sacks to Kris, laboriously drawn by two raggedly dressed men. The wheels were not pneumatic but wooden, rimmed by metal, and the axle squealed for lack of lubrication. Three small boys, walking behind the cart, eyed the truck. From the dirt on their faces, Kris wondered if they had dug the potatoes that were in the cart.

The New Jersey entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel had never been a prime residential area in its heyday and certainly looked wartorn now, the high sidewalls full of pockmarks. Other types of debris, probably from fighting to protect the tunnel approach, had been pushed to one side, leaving two lanes of the once six-lane approach clear, one on either side of the dividing parapet.

“Heavy fighting?” she asked, unnerved by the desolation, and needing to talk.

Murray nodded. “Only good midtown access to the island, ma'am, and had to be defended.”

To the last man? she wondered.

“Hmmm, well done,” she said, noncommittally. And then the road on the left was free of the bombed buildings. This road had always provided a breathtaking view of New York City, as it swept around in a long right-hand curve to the tollbooths and the actual tunnel faces. But the view of New York was vastly changed from her recollection of it. It was as if all the buildings had somehow been blunted. Oh, the Chrysler and the Empire State buildings were still standing, but others, including the Radio City complex, looked as if they'd been sliced off. The once proud city had gaps in its fabled silhouette. They traveled down toward the huge entrance plaza, swinging past tollbooths that had been shattered into rubble. Pieces of burned-out vehicles had, as on the approach roads, been pushed to the sides but gave mute testimony to the fierceness of attack and defense.

“And to think I once griped about waiting in the lines,” Jelco remarked. Then armed men appeared from a galvanized shed, tucked under the shadow of the eastbound tunnel entrance. Murray slowed to a stop and turned off the engine, reaching for a sheaf of papers that had been tucked behind the eyeshade. Jelco swung down from the truck's cab and strode to the approaching guards, whose weapons were slung over their shoulders. Jelco had a slip of paper in his hand that Kris thought was decorated with seals and kelly green ribbons. Jelco had an earnest conversation with a guard, showing him the paper, while a dour man who reeked of sweat was thumbing through Murray's papers. The breeze was, unfortunately, coming across him and into the truck cab. Evidently soap and deodorant were no longer available.

“Would you like some fresh rolls?” Kris asked nervously and held one up for the man to see. She thought for a moment that the rest of his squad would rush the truck but the man with Jelco issued a sharp order and they moderated to a swift walk. She handed Murray the rolls to pass around and noticed that he dropped one into his own lap, though how he would manage without teeth, she didn't know. He simply tore a piece off the roll and popped it into his mouth, his eyes widening with appreciation at the taste.

“Thanks, miss,” said the first guard, tipping his fingers in a salute. He passed rolls out to the rest of his unit.

“Klaus?” he yelled, attracting his leader's attention, and lofted a roll, which Klaus neatly hooked out of the air. “Sorry, ma'am, but a search is required. Becky, front and center,” he yelled over his shoulder, and a woman soldier quickly advanced.

Kris had never been frisked before but, considering what she had seen of the tunnel's environs, she had no intention of protesting such a security measure. Klaus gestured for Zainal to step out so he could be checked over, too.

“She's clean,” Becky said after a fairly cursory feel of
Kris's arms and legs, back and waist. Kris offered her a roll. “Thank you. Ain't had fresh-baked bread in ages.” She bit into it with an almost savage gusto and chewed vigorously, nodding her approval. In all, a dozen rolls had been passed out before Kris was waved back into the truck. She was glad she'd made the offer, judging by the happy expressions on the tunnel guards' faces and the appreciative thumbs-up gestures as the truck was allowed to roll into the eastbound tube.

“I'm Wylee,” said a small man who came back to the truck with Jelco. “Tunnel squad. Just wanted to reassure you that the fans have been circulating the bad air out. You got anyone in your group who's asthmatic or has respiratory problems?” He looked at Kris as he spoke, trying to ignore Zainal's solid Catteni form.

“None I know of.”

“Well, the air in the middle of the tunnel ain't exactly one hundred percent unpolluted, ma'am. Anybody has any problem, call me, huh? We got respirators.” He motioned to the backpack he was wearing. His expression suggested that he didn't want to use them unless he absolutely had to. Oxygen was still free, wasn't it? Kris thought, feeling almost rebellious. She did not really know what those left on Earth had had to face so she swallowed the smart rejoinder. She felt the tilt of the truck as those in the back hauled up Wylee.

As Murray was waved to proceed into the left-hand tunnel, she had more to concern her. She wasn't claustrophobic but she really didn't like the idea of all the water over her head, and looked at the cream-tiled walls of the tunnel to see any signs of lack of maintenance. She didn't know what to look for—but cracks or moisture staining the walls would be obvious signs. Yet if this was one of the only accesses to New York City from the mainland, it would behoove them to keep it in good repair.