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Chapter 11: Linking (part 2)

When Peter arrived back with a bundle of newspapers, Erica was searching around for more paper to scribble on; the shampoo wasn't the only used up thing she had snaffled from the hotel.

"Hey." Peter dumped the pile on the couch.

"Have you got any scrap paper?" she asked, "Oh, and another pencil. I've thought of a couple more strands of the web we could follow."

Peter looked amused as he went into the bedroom and shortly came back with a spiral pad and a thick-leaded pencil. "Some of the reporters at work use these," he said as he handed them to her, "Makes them feel like real hard-boiled reporters."

"What eggs."

Peter laughed. "So, whaddya want to start with - Daily Bugle, Daily Post, NY Times, NY Herald, City Voice, NY Observer…"

"Uh. The Times I think."

He sifted through the pile and pulled out a few thick papers. "Last week's Sunday edition in there too."

Erica ripped a few pages from the pad of paper and passed them to Peter. "If you read anything you think even slightly relevant, or odd, take a note of it - don't forget to write the title, date and page number, so we can find it again."

"Yes sir!"

But Erica was already sitting cross-legged on the floor, newspaper open in front of her, head down. Peter spread his lot out on the table. For a few minutes it was quiet apart from the rustling as pages turned.

The silence was broken by a snort from Erica. "Oh m'god, I can't believe some of this stuff!"

"Like what?"

"This piece about a fashion exhibition of torn and splattered t-shirts, $10 jobs - deconstructed and now priced at $400! And people buying them too!"

Peter stared at Erica. "Are you serious? You find that wacky? Man, you are so not from New York City!"

"Sor-ry! It tells me something about the city though - self-absorbed and a poseur."

"Who said otherwise? What's that got to do with Doc Ock?"

"I got distracted, O.K?" She went back to flipping through the papers. Stopped and wrote something down.

"Um, Pete?" She looked up at him.

"Yeah?"

"Why were you at the Moroney Clinic that night anyway? Was it by chance?"

"Nooo, there'd been a succession of burglaries of science and medical labs, so I was keeping a watch on a few that hadn't been hit. Call it lucky I was at the right place at the right time - or at least I thought I was."

"Did you make a list of the labs that got hit?"

"Didn't have to. I remembered them. There were three; a virology lab, a pathology lab and a medical research facility attached to Empire State U. Why?"

"There's a wee article in this one about another one. This is more recent than the Moroney Clinic."

"It might be a pattern. Let's see what else we can find."

Heads down, the two got into the newspapers again. The 'done' pile became larger until finally there were no more papers to be skimmed. Almost two hours had passed.

"Well, what have we got?"

"Not much," admitted Erica, "It's not really the way - you only find information that's been reported and printed. What about all the stuff that's not reported? You might find more on the 'net too."

"I get your drift." Peter stood up and stretched, looked down at Erica still sitting on the floor. She was quite comfortable even after a couple of hours sitting in the same position. Then he smiled at her. "I read through the Bugle - including today's edition. And guess what? You get an honorable mention."

"What, in the Bugle?" Erica was sarcastic.

"It must have been that crowd you pulled during one of your fights last night. Listen - 'We have an account of Spider-Man pounding a few low-lifes early last evening. Reports of his demise have been premature it seems. Mr Joe Chirio who witnessed the action said that Spider-Man had never appeared in better form. "I tell ya, he never hesitated - bam! And those guys were twice his size!" Some people are easily impressed'." Peter quoted.

Erica snorted in disgust. "That's a back-handed compliment."

"That's about standard for the Bugle if they can't find anything else to say. Take it with a grain of salt. Everyone else does these days. "

"Well, I guess 'Ray Man' and his associates know you're still around now - but they don't know that you're me." Erica paused, aware that she was sounding silly, "Or that I'm you? Crikey, that sounds bad! I wonder what action they'll take?"

Peter shrugged. "Who knows? But I don't think you should wait for action to come to us - we have to find it first."

"Fair enough," Erica nodded, "Any other bits from the papers?"

"Just more of that mystery virus that's been in the news for the last few weeks - Senator Ennis has been struck down with it."

"I have two different accounts of mystery viruses as well" Erica interrupted, "Two businessmen who were about to close a deal with the NY Transit Authority on the new tunnel, and a real estate developer called Dick Knowles, who lives over on the East Side. They're from Wednesday." She added.

"Ennis went down Thursday. But I also had one from Sunday - a homeless man found in a coma, no cause. Yesterday's paper had three new reports of the virus, and more coverage; some people are beginning to get worried. They'll be remembering the Anthrax scare. There's even a quote from our friend Dr. Whithead: He's confirming it as an unknown virus, but not likely to be the result of any terrorist activity. Speculation on the cause? That it's related in some way to the East Nile virus, or even something uncovered during the digging across town."

"Is that likely?"

"No. Not if it's a virus. It wouldn't survive that long. Not like anthrax spores. It must be some other source."

"You had a virus…"

"The same one?" Peter paced in front of Erica. "Maybe I had a mild dose. There may be others who have caught mild doses as well, and think they had the 'flu. That wouldn't get reported."

"No, I didn't notice anything about an increase in 'flu cases. It would take a while before that sort of statistic was published anyway. Can you ring up the Public Health Department or whatever it is you have here and ask them?"

Peter only laughed.

"Well, how about talking to a…what do you call those doctors who deal with infectious diseases and the like?"

"An epidemiologist?" suggested Peter.

"Yeah, one of those."

Erica suddenly leapt up to a standing position from sitting in one fluid motion. "Oh! An epidemiology lab was the one that got broken into on Monday. Here's a stretch of the imagination for you - could the burglaries and the virus be connected? A virology lab got hit also. What if the virus got taken - either by mistake or on purpose - and then was released?" Erica was getting excited with her deductions.

Peter calmed her down somewhat by putting his hands on her shoulders. "All that was reported as stolen in the other break ins was equipment. It wasn't specific. That doesn't mean to say nothing else was taken as well. You could suppose there was an undisclosed culture that was being worked on. People would be reluctant to talk… but I think it's extremely unlikely that there's a connection. Let's just work with what we have." Peter took his hands off Erica. She ran her fingers through her hair, making it stick up even further than it usually did. She was still agitated. Peter watched her.

"I think we need to go out," he said, "Get some fresh air. It'll be lunch soon."

He turned and fetched his jacket off the back of his chair- the day was cooler than yesterday. Erica shrugged, picked up her backpack and followed Peter out the door. While he waited for the elevator this time, she bounced down the stairs, taking them six or seven at a time. She covered the eight stories in a couple of minutes, and waited at the bottom for the lift to arrive.

"Beat ya!" she taunted when the gates opened. "Did you take the stairs often?"

Peter grinned at her enjoyment. "All the time, when not using the window. Nobody ever takes the stairs." Erica nodded. That figured, especially since there were mostly offices and studios in the old building.

Erica blinked as she went out the foyer doors - it was bright sunlight outside. "Where to?" she asked Peter.

"Thought we'd catch the subway uptown, go over the East side and show you where the Moroney Clinic is." He glanced sideways at Erica. "If you need to check it out later…"

"O.K."

They walked off companionably together. Erica enjoyed Peter's commentary - they had the same sense of the absurd. "Did you know," he was saying, "that one of our stations uses commuters to create music interactively?"

"No!"

"It's at 34th Street at 6th Ave. Hardly anyone knows about it. It'd be kinda neat to get a group of people down there one day to try it out."

They exited the subway at Fifth and 53rd. "We'll have to walk a few blocks."

"I don't mind!" Erica paced forward.

"Whoa!" Peter trotted to catch up to her. He grabbed her arm to slow her down. Without thinking, she had set a pace almost as fast as a normal run. It was as well that none of the passers-by had noticed. She slowed down to a walk. Erica pulled a wry face at Peter. How could she forget?

The sun glinted off the facades of the tall towers and created odd refractions of light. This reflected up onto the pedestrians, giving them an almost ethereal glow. Erica felt more than ever like she was in some gigantic movie set. The air of unreality she had in New York was enhanced by this light. Not since her first couple of days in New York City had she felt that the experience of walking, of moving through the city was something that was happening to someone else. It was pretty bizarre, slipping into that hyper-real state as she did as Spidey…

Erica stopped, realising with a shock that her spider sense was buzzing in warning.

What was up?

Up.

She glanced up: a crane working on a construction site behind the building they were passing had swung out and lost it's load of steel, which was now hurtling towards the street, and them. Instantly Erica sussed out the surroundings; herself, Peter, a few other passers-by, cars moving on the street; one of them in the direct path of the beams. In the same instant as she took all this in, she acted.

In a flash, she swept Peter and the pedestrians back up along the footpath, and before they even had the chance to blink, jumped over a parked car, and out onto the road behind the approaching car. Crouching low, so that she was hidden from the bystanders by the parked car, she seized the passing car by the bumper and held it. It stopped.

The beams crashed down with a hollow metallic thud that echoed along the street. Erica let go of the stalled car and stood up to join the stunned on-lookers standing on the footpath. They hadn't even noticed her; the steel beams that now lay across the pavement and street had all their shocked attention.

"Didya see that? What a close call!"

"If I hadn't moved when I did, they woulda squashed me!"

"Holy! My guardian angel must be watchin' out fer me today!"

Erica grabbed Peter's arm and drew him away from the small crowd gathering. A white-faced construction worker ran past them to the crowd. They heard him say "Thank God no one was hurt!" but didn't turn back themselves. They walked along the street for about a block without speech. Then Erica stopped and leant back against a tiled wall, feeling shaky.

"Whew, that was close!" She sagged a bit. "Did I do all right?" she asked. She had taken a risk going into action without a costume, but there was simply no time, not if injuries or death were to be avoided. She noticed Peter had sunk down beside her, his head between his knees. She could see how his hair was curling at the back of his head - it needed cutting. He was taking a few deep breaths.

"Are you all right?" Erica was concerned. She hoped Peter wasn't suffering from shock. She needed him to be stronger than that, and, well, she thought that given his past he would be used to such things, even inured to them.

"Yeah, I'm fine. " Peter mumbled at his feet. He looked up at Erica and smiled. "It was just… you were great. I'd forgotten how quick your reaction time could be. That was the shock for me. I… I couldn't do that myself now."

Erica turned her head away from Peter. She could see he was… not exactly jealous, not self-pitying, but that and something else, a mix of conflicting emotions.

"We're working towards getting me back home…" she said hesitatingly.

Peter stood up and in a step was in front of her. "Honestly, I'm fine," he said, "You took a risk there and it turned out well. I couldn't have done better myself." He paused.

Erica turned to look at him again. "I'm proud of what you did there," he uttered quietly and sincerely. Erica felt a tight lump in her throat. She smiled.

"Thanks Pete, that means a lot coming from you."

"Hey, I said we'd work together on this, but if I'd known this would happen, I couldn't've wished for a better partner. C'mon, we've still got a way to go." They set off walking again.

"Tell me about this neighbourhood," asked Erica, as they moved into an area of once genteel apartment blocks - some still that way, and others converted into soft commercial use; lawyers' and doctors' rooms. You'd have to earn a pretty decent salary to afford to live or do business here, she thought.

"I think in the 1870's it was slums, or undeveloped. Then someone - Mr. Sutton I expect - planned to make it an upmarket place to live - especially Sutton Place right on the East River. Thing is, they had great views of Roosevelt Island, only then it was known as Blackwell's Island and it was covered in prisons, workhouses and insane asylums. Very salubrious. So it didn't really take off until the 1920's. Still a good address, though a bit snooty. Did you know that one of the few private roads in Manhattan is in the area?"

"Is that right?" Erica gazed up at the wall of apartment buildings. She smiled with amusement as she compared these buildings to the equivalent era and status back home in Wellington. She could see just how different colonial architecture had been.

"The next block is the Moroney Clinic," Peter pointed out. "It's somewhat different."

"What are we, tourists?" asked Erica.

"Uh, good idea. I shoulda brought my camera."

"Never mind. If anyone should approach us, I'll put on my broadest kiwi accent and ask stupid questions. 'Yeah, Gidday. What's a Moroney?'"

Laughing, they reached the building. Erica gasped. In the midst of pre-war twenty story apartments was an ornate red and ochre brick Victorian mansion. Classical figures acted as supports on the pilasters, small gargoyles sprouted from the corners of the spouting, and acanthus flourished on terra-cotta panels set into the brick. The free-standing town house was set back from the pavement, and even had a strip of garden in the front of it. A wrought iron fence surrounded the front and sides of the clinic, with gates set in the front entrance and at the side. A small driveway that once had been a carriageway entrance leading to stables, went down the side between the clinic and the smaller 12 story building next to it which was the private hospital attached to the clinic.

"How did that survive a wrecking ball?!" she exclaimed.

"Private wealthy owners who refused to sell?" guessed Peter.

The Moroney Clinic faced the East River, and from the way it had been placed it could be seen that once, before the area had become popular, there had been extensive landscaped gardens. Vestiges of these could be made out stretching across the street down towards the river's edge. This must have been a very unusual property even then, thought Erica. People must have come just to have a look. The buildings of Roosevelt Island seemed very close from here. It was not hard to imagine a group of grim Nineteenth century institutional buildings and the elegant house and gardens eyeing each other up across the river; the house flaunting it's wealth, money that the institutions could never aspire to. The sneering envy and the haughty disdain.

"…"

"What?" Erica snapped out of her reverie.

Peter patiently repeated himself, "The delivery was right outside the front entrance. I was unsure whether something would happen there or at the rear. The cupola on top was a good spot to watch from - or the roof of the hospital next door. The side entrance leads to a small courtyard with a couple of car parks and an outbuilding…"

"Oh, sorry, I wasn't paying attention before. What's in the outbuilding?"

"I didn't have a chance to investigate. Possibly plant machinery for the Clinic equipment."

"Hmmm." Erica noticed a burly security guard standing discreetly near the front vestibule. "Is he there all the time?"

Peter glanced over, then started strolling along the pavement up toward the bridge. "There was one there that night - it must have been him the raised the alarm."

Erica pointed at the bridge. "Do you think I should visit the Clinic tonight? I might learn something."

"You might. Let's go have lunch, head back - I may need to come out with you later to get some action shots now it's been in the paper about Spider-Man's return. JJJ's bound to want photos." He mimed holding a camera up to his eye and taking a photograph of Erica. She did a typical Japanese tourist type of pose; fore-finger to cheek coyly smiling.

"That'd go down well!"

Laughing, Peter made a playful lunge for her, which she adroitly avoided. She laughed also - unless she let him catch her he didn't have a show, and he knew it too. They crossed the street to the corner of Sutton and 57th, and while Erica was chatting away about where they should eat lunch, she surreptitiously checked out the hospital building of the clinic on the corner. There was nothing really to distinguish it from the apartment buildings around.

"Let's find a hot-dog stand," suggested Peter, "Food outlets around here are too pricey. Or we could visit the food counter at Bloomies - they have enough samples for tasting that you could almost have a three course meal for free."

"What are we waiting for!"

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Next: Fly-by.

A/N: Please let me know if you pick up on any NYC stuff that's not quite right… it would help me heaps!

Cheers.