Chapter 25

Normally, this would be a luxury. An entire night stretching out ahead of him, quiet hours alone with his thoughts, his computer, and his projects, uninterrupted by rambunctious siblings horsing around, arguing, or demanding to know when this or that thing around the lair would be fixed.

Donatello had never felt so bored and useless.

Raph and Mike had left an hour ago to scour the streets, as they had for the last five nights, for anything that would lead them to Saito Doshida. For the past five mornings, they had returned near sunrise, gloomy and exhausted, collapsing into a few hours of sleep as soon as they'd set foot in the door. Raphael was running them into the ground. Last night, Mike had offered to switch places with Don, to give him a break from the tedium of monitoring the Chambers residence, but also, no doubt, to give himself a much-needed reprieve. But Don had seen how his brother's eyes had glazed over just looking at the security system monitoring interface and had decided it was best that they not change spots after all.

I should be out there with them, Don thought. Doing something, anything, that might help them free Leo, instead of slouching here in the dark in front of his computer and making routine patrols around the block, feeling like some cross between an unappreciated night watchman and a stalker. Even knowing that it was what Leo would want him to be doing didn't make it much easier.

He had hope though. Ever since April had disseminated the story to the press, there had been a steady stream of journalists and policemen arriving to speak to Holly Chambers. April told him that someone from Witness Protection had been over earlier today, and Evan Chambers had been reached at some spiritual retreat on an island in the Galapagos and was on a plane back to New York. Maybe Holly was safe now.

Even though it was only mid-evening, he felt drowsy and put his head down on his arms. His sleep routine was even more messed up than usual, and being inside this cave with the lights off and blinds drawn did not help.

His computer pinged at him. He glanced up at it blearily and then blinked himself to attention. Someone had set off a sensor coming up the rear walkway behind the Chambers residence. Donatello frowned; the narrow path ran behind the luxury townhomes on one side and a row of condo buildings on the other. It could be any of the other residents cutting through the back way. However, if the next sensor went off, it meant that someone had just stepped off the path and into the garden terrace behind the Chambers home.

It went off.

Donatello grabbed his trench coat and bo. By now, he knew every feature of this square block off by heart. He ran a shortcut over a fence, across a small lawn, and along the top of a stone wall to get to the Chambers property in less time than it would take the intruder to traverse the terrace to the house. But before he'd even reached the building, he pulled to an abrupt stop, ducking quickly into the stairwell of a basement apartment. Holly Chambers, in her telltale white coat, had just come down the steps of the front entrance. She slung her purse over her shoulder, glancing up and down the street anxiously, but excitedly, as if she'd been going stir crazy for days and it was about time she got out.

Of all the times to pick, Don thought. Holly walked down the street and passed right in front of him. He saw the smattering of light freckles on her cheek as a gust of wind blew back her rusty red hair. He caught a whiff of lavender scented shampoo. She was close enough that he could have reached out and touched her. Then she continued down the sidewalk.

For a second, Donatello deliberated. Had the person who'd approached the house seen or heard Holly leave? Would they try to get in and lay in wait, or would they follow her? He could swing around to the rear of the building and try to catch the intruder now.

No, it was too risky to let her out of his sight, not when he didn't know where the possible danger was. Donatello hugged the shadows and tailed the young woman at a distance that he judged would escape her detection, but that was shorter than he'd usually consider wise, close enough that he could span the gap in seconds. They didn't walk far; Holly took the steps down into the nearest subway station.

Not good. Subway stations were full of people in close quarters, and besides, how could he follow her onto the train? He hesitated, then went down the steps after her.

He caught sight of her on the platform. As swiftly as he could without drawing any attention, he edged up against the wall behind a pair of bongo drum-playing buskers, surreptitiously taking in the details of his surroundings while others rushed past without seeing him, noticing only, if they glanced in his direction at all, the large hands of the buskers rhythmically beating away at their instruments, just another ordinary part of the background.

There was a distant rumbling, the sound of the next train pulling into the station. Waiting passengers craned their necks to look down the gaping black tunnels on either side, trying to see from which direction the train was arriving, and whether it was theirs. Donatello saw Holly take an expectant step towards the edge of the platform. Then he noticed a person weaving through the crowd, moving swiftly and determinedly towards her.

In a flash, he saw, in his mind, the four-hundred-ton train roar into the station at fifty-five miles per hour, its vortex of wind whipping the hair of all those people turned towards it, and then, the one easy, well-timed, fatal shove that Holly would never see coming.

He couldn't reach them in time, and even if he could, he couldn't fight in a crowded public place like this. Donatello vaulted over the turnstile and leapt for the fire alarm box. He drove his fist into the glass cover, shattering it, and pulled the lever down.

Immediately, a shrill, piercing siren wail blasted through the station. People stopped in their tracks, putting their hands to their ears, turning in circles. Faces of all different colors and ages wore similar conflicted expressions, uncertain whether to be merely annoyed at the false alarm disrupting their travel plans, or frightened by imminent danger.

One person did not hesitate. Donatello felt a tug of recognition as the figure that had been making its way towards Holly turned, caught sight of him, and ran for the stairs.

It was infectious. Seeing one person run, several others began shoving their way towards the exit turnstiles in panic. The arriving train screeched into the station, drowned out by the continued siren blasts. Don caught a quick glimpse of Holly, still standing at the platform, her face white with fear and confusion.

Then he ran, plowing through the crowd, jumping back over the turnstile, hearing gasps and screams following the unavoidable glimpses that some people caught of him, his trench coat billowing out as he sprinted after the fleeing figure. He caught sight of the person at the top of the subway steps and took the stairs two and three at a time in pursuit. Emerging on the street, he saw the nimble shape - grey windbreaker, black jeans, black knit hat - disappearing down the street, and took off after it.

His quarry was fast, dodging pedestrians, cars, trees, and food carts, turning sharp corners, judging astutely that Donatello would be faster over open ground and thus trying to lose him at intersections and through alleys. For four blocks he was like a shark after a minnow, gaining, then losing, then gaining ground, as his slippery prey ran behind delivery trucks, weaved around dumpsters, and dashed finally, into an open air flea market that ran the length of a crowded, narrow street, wisely diving into the one place Donatello could not follow: a crowd of people.

But there was no competing with a mutant ninja turtle for ability to navigate urban terrain. There were only two ways out of the channel of tarp tents and tables of cheap knick-knacks, and both of them were visible from the second-story apartments lining either side. A dumpster and a U-haul truck were stepping stones to the row of concrete balconies. There, shielded from street view by the river of tent roofs, he pinpointed his target backtracking through the crowd, obviously counting on Don circling the block and lying in wait futilely at the other end of the flea market.

He crouched motionless on the edge of the corner balcony, until she passed the last tent, scooted around the corner of the building, and, scanning carefully in all directions except directly above, started walking, losing the safety of the crowd. Donatello dropped to earth behind her like a jaguar from a tree.

Ninja that she was, the muffled impact of his landing, the rustle of wind that accompanied it, or the shift in light from his shadow alerted her, but too late. She whirled, going for her knife, but Donatello, not bothering to draw his own weapon, was already upon her, dashing the blade out her grip with a surgically precise wrist strike, and snapping the hard ridge of his hand into her temple. Tami crumpled, her dislodged hat sliding comically off her head, electric blue hair almost purple in the dark.