Lawyers, Guns and Money

CIVIC CENTER, MANHATTAN

"Did you know this entire area used to be a big pond?" Kane asked as Shaw turned the unmarked Plymouth Fury onto Lafayette off of Canal Street. The Jacob Javits Building housing the New York City field office of the FBI was only two blocks from Toni's old law firm, run by her father on Broadway. Or formerly run by, depending on his current whereabouts and status. They were in the midst of the criminal justice center of Manhattan with various city, county, state and federal buildings all around.

"That so?" Tucker said from the front passenger seat.

"It was called Collect Pond," Kane said, "but was filled in after it got polluted and contributed to outbreaks of cholera and typhus. Then this became the Five Points neighborhood. Lots of gangs."

"Really?" Tucker turned to look over his shoulder. "Irish gangs, right?"

"All sorts of immigrants, not just Irish," Kane said. "As a matter of fact, up until 1792, the area just south of here was the burial ground for free blacks and African slaves."

"No mixing of the bodies back then? Even in death?" Tucker asked.

"Trinity Church passed an ordinance just before the turn of the 17th century prohibiting blacks from being buried in church graveyards," Kane said.

"Christian of them, wasn't it?" Tucker said.

"Actually," Kane said, "now that I think about it, I believe the ordinance prohibited blacks from being buried anywhere inside the city limits. This was north of Wall Street, which was the city boundary at the time. I doubt they exhumed all the bodies when they leveled the area so there's probably remains all around us." Kane was on a roll. "New York had the second highest number of Africans after Charleston at the time of the Revolution. Most were slaves."

They turned right on Duane Street and then an abrupt right on a drive that descended into the underground garage of the Federal Building.

"You're full of useless bullshit, aren't you?" Shaw asked as he rolled down his window and flashed his ID at a uniformed guard. A barrier was opened and they entered.

"Depends on your perspective," Kane said. He was in the back, having agreed to accompany Tucker and Shaw and saying his farewell to Merrick, who was headed back to Fort Devens with the detonator. He'd also managed to quickly ask his former teammate for a favor having nothing to do with the current situation using the Army's powerful NCO network.

The forty-five was in its holster and he wasn't cuffed so he viewed those as positive indicators that Tucker's threat had been only that: an inducement to get him here.

This was against Kane's better judgment, but too much was going on to take a chance on a search warrant. The fact they only wanted to talk meant the FBI was as clueless as Kane suspected.

Weak fluorescent lighting maintained a dismal glow in the garage as Shaw drove to the far end and parked among the other drab federal unmarked cars marked by their blackwalls and radio antennas.

"Come on." Shaw killed the engine and exited the car.

Kane got out and followed Shaw, noting that Tucker slid in behind him. Shaw opened a metal door and revealed a bleak grey corridor lined with similar doors. They walked in silence until Shaw stopped at one. He used a large key to unlock it.

"After you," he said to Kane.

The room held several filing cabinets, two desks with chairs, a single chair in front of them and little else. Grey government issue furniture. The charred remains of an M-16 was on one desk, the plastic stock and grip melted away, leaving the blackened receiver group and barrel.