Author's notes: A special thanks to everyone who's reviewed, sent kudos, favorited, etc., the story.

So we are heading into the home stretch, with about 6-8 chapters to go before the end; this will be the final multi-parter. Regarding this particular chapter, I did as much research as I possibly could regarding the Columbia University tunnels. While I have been to the campus, I haven't been underground. It's extremely off-limits. However, I have seen footage as well as pictures and an approximative map of known and theoretical tunnels. So all of my descriptions and guesstimates on distances and widths are based on the available information. Thus, I apologize for any inaccuracies; I did my best. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the beginning of the end.


Chapter 58: Into the Tunnels, Part 1

The nearly thirty-minute ride to Harlem and Columbia University was silent and contemplative. Inside the van, Matt, Miles, and Yoshi concluded final checks of the tech while Sam assisted Pete and Bowser with unboxing, loading, and distributing an equal number of guns, ammunition, and grenades. As for Salvatore, he sat alone with a faded, wallet-sized photograph that had been taken, to his recollection, in July or August 1979 near Coney Island. It was one of his favorite photos of Giuseppe Masciarelli, who was dressed in a plain white tee-shirt and swim bottoms, timidly wading in the not-so-clean south Brooklyn water. At the time, which Sal would redress on that fateful weekend in March 1981, neither of them could afford to go upstate or the Hamptons. Joe always hated getting photographed and conveniently made up any excuse to excuse himself, even when Audenzia begged and pleaded with the obstinate Abruzzese boy to comply. Thus, the Sicilian became a professional at taking pictures of him clandestinely; some were longing, some were amusing, yet all were candid. Only after he had been ordained and had begun to go through his colossal collection of photographs did he notice that Joe habitually faced two directions: westward and toward him.

The pictures stopped in December 1982, when he killed the wrong man on Uncle Carlo's orders – a Jersey cousin of Tony and Vinny DiScala. A notorious hothead, Tony vowed revenge on the man's killer; when rumors spread that Il Mietitore had been sent the contract, he became downright uncontrollable, having taken it as an act of disloyalty from the acting caporegime, whom he had taken under his wing and taught the ropes. Already outraged that a newly-made kid had been promoted above him, the long-time soldier and hitman put out a contract on him, even when the Padrino demanded, on penalty of death, that he end the vendetta. Tony did so, only because he came up with a better idea. So fueled was he with rage, he decided to do the unthinkable – go after the young man's family. Jumpman was untouchable; not even sociopathic Mafia members wanted to risk the communal wrath of New York's Bravest. Tony was also loathe to kill women and children, which he considered barbaric and unnecessary. However, Joe Masciarelli, whom all the made guys knew to be Salvatore's closest friend and confidant, was acceptable. Unfortunately for Tony DiScala, a few wiseguys, sympathetic to the unenviable rock-and-Mafia-Boss in which il Mietitore had been placed, spilled the beans about the contract against Joe. While on the hunt, Salvatore caught an Irish gun-for-hire stalking the oblivious plumber and Lucia.

He made the piece of trash disappear, once he had tortured him for additional information.

Although he disobeyed the Boss, Tony DiScala was a respected wiseguy; killing him without a green light from the top would end in his as well as both Masciarelli brothers' deaths. He went to Uncle Carlo and Junior, requesting the go-ahead. To his disbelief and outrage, they denied it; because the DiScalas had finalized a large contract with the Irish Manhattan gangs and the Luccheses, killing Tony could potentially force the Lucchese Boss's hand. Even thirty years later, Salvatore could hear the Morano boss's cold words: "Giuseppe is not your family. He is not your blood. Like his showoff cazz' of a brother, he had the opportunity to join us. He does not deserve our protection." Furthermore, Carlo had become progressively displeased with his nephew-protégé and decided to use Joe as a means of punishment. Salvatore had turned down yet another arranged date with one of the senior most Lucchese capo's daughters. Upon learning of his refusal, the exasperated Boss had yelled, "Even my coglione of a son was married and had a firstborn son by twenty-two; you're twenty-two and still fucking around!" Worse, several of the Morano wiseguys and associates had started making lewd jokes about Salvatore's reluctance to settle down like a man, referring to him as Fuck and Duck Sal.

Perpetually drunk, enraged, and envious of Lucia's increasing presence in Joe's life, he considered abducting the latter in raptio and disappearing into the Sicani Mountains in Sicily where not even the local police or mafiosi were successful in locating either witnesses or criminals. No one would bother them in a small house among the trees, and they could just cultivate their little garden. They could just live. He hated the Mafia for forcing him to kill and shrugging at the precepts of so-called loyalty when it backfired; he hated the Church for not allowing him to confess what he really needed to; most importantly, he hated God for making him so dependent upon Giuseppe Ludovico Vincenzo Masciarelli. Joe had become his air, his sanity, his relic.Ever since his twenty-first birthday and that weekend at the Carlyle Hotel, Sal craved that normal-seeming intimacy, so nearly asking him at Natale 1981 to leave New York and the Church behind – with him, forever. Despite his fantasies, his practice runs in dark alleys, and his slurred words to the ceiling, he never got up the courage to follow through; the Mafia as well as Bensonhurst would have killed them both. That was, at least, what Salvatore told himself; the reality was he felt soul-crushing guilt, first for involving Joe in the perilous periphery of the Mafia, second for having endangered his immortal soul by initiating such an impure union that, in the words of every priest and the Bible, was an offense to God.

"We're here, I think," murmured Pete to the crew as the van came to a slow park.

As the others made ready, Salvatore gave the photo one last caress with his fingertips, silently mumbling two final prayers, beginning with a Hail Mary and ending with another to Saint Jude. Crossing himself, putting the photo away, and checking above his left ankle, the former mafioso looked expectantly at the van door, which unlocked and opened to reveal Mario and Luigi. They climbed inside and locked it to avoid any unwanted attention from the campus police or Columbia co-eds. "Aight, we're at the southern edge of the campus – 114th Street," announced Mario. "The clock's ticking, so let's get the heat sensors going."

"We're ready," affirmed Matt. "We just, uh, need you guys to get inside the tunnels. We won't get a good reading above ground – too many students and whomever."

Twisting his head in impatience, the older plumber hissed, "Guys, it's along the fuckin' sidewalk – five guys in black clothes carrying backpacks and weapons are going to attract suspicion."

"No, wait!" interjected Luigi. "Let's lower the probe down one of the manhole covers. There's a couple near the crosswalk."

Mario shrugged, nodding. "Yeah, that could work. Would the sensor pick up enough?"

"If it works, it should. Or at least tell us whether they're on this side," answered Miles.

"Fine, let's do it. Do we got an orange or yellow vest?"

Sam fished through their supplies, pulling out one small vest and two hardhats. Grumbling, Mario accepted them, tossing the vest and hardhat to Luigi. "Yo, Irish Fucknuts, lend me your jacket."

Bowser, who twirled the ever-present toothpick in his mouth, raised his eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because, right now, Weegie and I are plumbers on a job and not the fuckin' SWAT."

The redhead stared at them incredulously for a full minute before shredding his overcoat and shoving it at the portly man. "If the seams rip, Abruzzese Fuckface, you're buyin' it!"

Slipping on the ill-fitted jacket, he flashed Bowser a one-fingered salute and led his little brother outside to the manhole covers located a few feet from the crosswalk. Holding up an index finger to Luigi, Mario reached inside the cab for his own plumbing tools and jogged to where the skinnier man was standing. "I think it's this one," explained the latter.

"Yeah," he concurred, slapping on the hardhat. "Aight, now, let's get this fuckin' cover off. I'll let you go down the shitter since you're the skinny-ass Master Plumber."

Luigi rolled his eyes as his brother used the hook of his metal crowbar to pry open the heavy covering, which exposed a dark and seemingly bottomless hole. Tucking the sensor against his body, then flicking on the light strapped to his head, he grasped the small ladder and eased his way downward. A minute and roughly thirty feet later, the plumber's boots touched damp water, New York filth of all sorts, and concrete. Wrinkling his nose at the pungent, moldy smell, he rasped on his portable microphone, "Miles, Matt, come in."

"Yeah, we can hear you, Lou," answered Miles.

"I'm turning on the device. Moment of truth. Let me know if you need adjustments." Holding up the camera-like scanner, he held it toward the Columbia campus, walking along a northernly path until he reached an old door with a padlock.

"Yo, Luigi, I think you found one of the old entrances!" exclaimed Matt. "Yep, we're seeing … holy shit! Dude, there's, like, miles of tunnels underneath this fuckin' place! I'd heard rumors of tunnels under the Gamow Tower in Boulder, but this is, like, on a whole other level!"

"Lou," interjected the hacker, "we're getting a decent 3D map of the tunnels. We're, uh, not seeing anyone down there. Columbia's a big campus, so it could be that the device isn't strong enough or …"

"We're on the wrong side!" concluded the plumber. "Shit! How far can you see?"

"I think … yeah, we can see just past 116th Street. There are a lot of massive buildings and clusters of people in the way. Columbia's a big campus."

Luigi nodded, albeit more to himself. "Okay, Yoshi, can you get us into Pupin Hall?"

"Yeah, man," Yoshi spoke over the commlink. "Miles and I created some fake admin cards to get you inside any building on campus."

Quickly, he ran back to the manhole ladder. "We're gonna need 'em!" he cried to the command center as he ascended to the street level. "Let's scan there – most of the tunnels will meet under University Hall. If they aren't there, then they're not in the tunnels!"

Next to the manhole, Mario, who was standing around like a good union man, blinked at his breathless little brother's speedy reappearance. "Those fuckers down there?"

Shaking his head while climbing out of the hole, he gasped, "Nah. Miles and Matt saw … up to 116th Street. Nothing."

His blue eyes widened. "Let's get our asses to 120th!" Using his crowbar to close the manhole cover, he took off toward the driver's side of the van, with Luigi running two steps behind. No sooner had the younger plumber entered the cab when Mario threw the seatbelt over his body, started the engine, and sped down 114th Street, turning sharply left onto Amsterdam Avenue. After six blocks and another left turn, Mario glanced briefly in the rearview and side mirrors to perform a U-turn in the middle of West 120th Street, curb-parking across from a large staircase connected to the old brick and mortar Pupin Hall. Leaving the keys inside the ignition, the portly plumber and his lanky brother exited and re-entered the van's command center. He returned Bowser's jacket, intact, and faced the readied group. "We're at Pupin Hall. Most of the accessible tunnels are underneath this side a' campus, so let's just enter from here. Luigi's gadget will get us to where we need to be. Pete, Sal, Fucknuts, you ready?" Except for the bartender, who gave him an annoyed chin-flick, they nodded and collected their backpacks.

As Mario and Luigi arranged their gear, with the former providing a crash course to the latter on how to use a Glock 17, stating that for a beginner, it's one of the most accurate and reliable sidearms, Yoshi stood up to follow them. Miles shook his head rapidly, to which the physicist replied, "Dude, this is my building – well, one of them. I don't give a shit whether the asshole admins bust me. Fuck, most of the physics undergrads hang out here for a thrill. I'll take them to the entrance. Youse work your virus-computer shit." Eventually the blond relented, though not without pouting and ranting in several hex numbers.

Pete presented a Beretta PX4C to the Sicilian. "As I recall, the Beretta was an old favorite. A lot's changed, but something's are, you know, still the same."

Salvatore shook his head, reaching down to tie his left shoe. "No. Thanks, but, uh, it'd be too tempting."

Overhearing the conversation, Mario spoke, "Aight, Sal, if you're not gonna arm yourself, I ain't gonna force ya. You'll be in the middle with Luigi. Pete, you stick with him. John, you take the rear. And you better not light that motherfuckin' thing inside the tunnels!"

Bowser, who had replaced his toothpick with an unlit cigar, picked up one of the Uzis. "I ain't gonna light it until we bag the Crazy Bitch."

"Youse," the soldier gestured at the three remaining techies, "shut down the cameras inside so that we don't get preempted by the campus cops. If we find the Crazy Bitch down there, keep DK in the loop. This, uh, will get ugly, so getting first responders here might be a good idea. Worse case, we got grenades to barricade ourselves in to keep her and fuck-knows-who-else from escaping into the campus population. No need for Ivy League coeds to get killed for this shit, huh?"

Matt and Sam solemnly nodded while Miles blanched. The armed Luigi gently moved past Mario to stand before the shaken blond engineer. "Hey, it'll be aight, Miles. Mario's just planning worst-case scenarios. We will return. Yoshi will be back soon enough, and we … got angry principesse to appease."

Rubbing his shoulder, the skinny plumber was about to turn away from his stoic friend when two lanky arms seized him into an embrace. "Ti vog-li-o bee-ne," the hacker pronounced in very approximate, nevertheless comprehensible Italian.

"Shit, dude, that's, I think, the first non-English, non-Math, or non-hex syllables that Miles's ever said!" snickered Yoshi while donning a headset.

As the blond mouthed a fuck-off to the laughing Japanese, Luigi returned the hug and whispered, "Ti voglio bene, amico. No, fratellino."

Likewise, Pete grabbed both his son and nephew into a quick squeeze, murmuring, "I'll be back. Besides, I need to see Peyton get the Broncos another Super Bowl."

Once everyone had voiced their goodbyes and good lucks, Mario called out, "Aight. Let's go."

The five-man Wrecking Crew, plus Yoshi, stepped out of the van and onto the curb and sidewalk behind Pupin Hall – Mario in the front, followed by the magnetic card-carrying Yoshi, Luigi, Salvatore, Pete, and Bowser. Looking around for potential observers, of which there were none, they stealthily ran up the staircase to one of the side doors.

"Virus's loaded and working. Enter," rasped Sam over their headsets. Yoshi swiped the admin card into the reader; a second later, the light flashed green and the lock clicked to permit the group access. Slipping inside, they found themselves at the juncture of a white linoleum hallway and fire escape; very quietly, they made their way down three flights of stairs to the basement entrance. Using a few fingers, Mario pushed against the unlocked door, inching through the threshold, and scanned for potential Russian guards with his AR-15; once assured that the coast was clear, he gestured for the rest to follow. With his brother on the left and Pete on the right, Luigi slipped out the infrared device to examine the tunnels below them. A moment afterward, they heard an excited Matt cry, "Hells bells, we got something! Tunnels are to the left and below. There are several warm bodies, though they're a bit away from you. They could be undergrads, but, uh, I kinda doubt it."

"Any sign of Joe?" asked Salvatore using the softest octave he could manage.

"We can't see anything identifying. Just shapes," lamented the Coloradan. "But they increase as you approach … What's this building ahead called?"

"University Hall," supplied Miles.

"Yeah, that makes sense," whispered Mario. "The largest tunnels are underneath UH. Aight, we'll head over there." Motioning for Luigi and Salvatore to move behind him, his head then pivoted toward Yoshi. "Your job's done for now. Get back to the van, Dipshit."

Grudgingly, Yoshi acquiesced with a single nod. "Osu. Oh, and by the way, Mario, are you ever gonna stop referring to Miles and I as the 'Two Dipshits'? I mean, seriously."

Without facing him, the plumber replied, "Yeah, aight – when I'm six feet under, Dipshit."

While Bowser stifled a laugh, the physicist gave a warm hug to Luigi. "Fine, Italian Asshole. Just bring Luigi back safely."

Once Yoshi had disappeared into the stairwell, the Wrecking Crew proceeded cautiously along the construction-site-like area below: maroon beams supporting the white-painted ceilings, bright red pipes extending down to the concrete floor, silver and ivory-colored metal pipes, and cement walls surrounding them. Using Luigi's gadget as well as Mario's memories of his and his grandfather's excursions, they walked a couple hundred feet until they reached a locked door and a video camera whose normal, functioning red light had been disabled. Pete and Mario set to work on picking the lock, which they achieved in under a half-minute. Opening the ingress, they glimpsed a dark corridor and an old iron handrailing that led downward. Mario, the head of the single-file line, halted at the top of the stairs and gestured for everyone to arm themselves before progressing further. He, Luigi, who palmed the Glock 17, the still unarmed Salvatore, Pete, and Bowser turned on their headlamps to fifty percent brightness and began the descent into the tunnel. Each man continuously scanned ahead of and behind the line for Russian gangsters as Luigi eyed the device. Save for the minimal light generated by their lamps, they arrived inside a brick-lined and completely dark space. Traversing several more feet, they heard running water and the weak hum of ventilation above them; Pete flashed his light around to reveal large, white pipes and old cords hanging from the ceiling.

"There's no one immediately ahead of you," echoed Miles's voice. "I think you're safe for another five hundred or so feet."

"Roger that," acknowledged Pete.

Negotiating the eerie shaft, the five men advanced at a medium pace, eager to reach Giuseppe, yet vigilant for danger or barriers. After picking the lock of a second door, they made their way inside a warehouse-like area; having flipped on the light switch, instead of dark brick walls, they found themselves enveloped by white-painted bricks, yellow pipes, miscellaneous wooden boards, haphazardly strewn black hoses, and open chain fences. Bowser gazed down at the track-like indentations in the floor. "The fuck is that?" he asked, sliding the cigar to the corner of his mouth.

"Columbia's an old campus – it was once coal-based," Luigi explained, gulping a little. "They built tracks to transport coal to the boiler rooms."

Unwilling to stay in one place for long, Mario cocked his head to suggest that they should keep going. The previous quiet had soon mutated into a loud mechanical buzz, the tunnel space narrowing to a two-person distance; bricks and concrete on their right, eighteen-inch-diameter heating pipes on their left. As they came to an even tighter area engulfed by heating pipes, they heard Matt say, "Okay, your path is clear so far. The nearest group of assholes down there is a ways away. They've all moved toward University Hall."

"Copy," murmured Mario. Deciding to increase the pace to outwit any potentially advancing Russians, he led the four men in a jog past the hot, red-painted steampipes and 1940s-era voltage machines to another darkened and humid area. He put up his fist to signal a halt, then assumed a defensive position, carefully checking for the enemy. The others copied his movements until they reached a wider part of the Pupin Hall tunnels. Lowering their weapons, they took a moment to examine the multicolored graffiti and pornographic figures left by undergrads over a period of fifty or more years. Many of the slogans were rather crude, causing Mario to snigger with incredulity:

"Rape Elmo with a Pogo Stick."

"B. H. has a small dick and wasn't worth the lay."

"My cock and balls are hairy."

All of this was, of course, next to locked cages containing high voltage switches and caustic chemical containers.

"Jesus Fucking-H Christ," muttered Bowser. "Seventy grand a year for the Ivy League, and this is what they get up to?! I thought NYU was bad."

Salvatore strolled to the T-shaped juncture of another tunnel and wall that exposed more graffiti, one of which provoked a few giggles from the Latin-speaking priest: "Chemistae ite domum!" Luigi, who shadowed his maternal uncle, also let out a snicker.

"What's the matter?" demanded Mario.

"Yeah, we're definitely in Physics territory," chortled his brother. "It says, 'Chemists, go home!'" From the commlink, they heard a fuck yeah from Yoshi, a snort from Miles, and an elongated fuck from Sam.

The older plumber rolled his eyes at the intra-STEM banter. "So where's all the nuclear shit? That was the one area Nonno and I couldn't get to."

"They took the cyclotron out about six or seven years ago and sealed off the area. According to the heat map, it looks like no one's there, but I'd nonetheless stay out. There's undoubtedly uranium and barium contamination, neither of which are healthy for growing boys," answered the physicist. "And we didn't pack a Geiger counter for youse."

"Well, you're no fun, Dipshit," he snarked. "Aight, what's ahead of us? Last I remember, all of this was clear toward University Hall."

"Unfortunately, they put a cinder block in your way, right at the diagonal tunnel going to that area. However … Yeah, okay, someone must've knocked a hole into it, because there's a slight change in temperature," said Miles. "Proceed with caution."

"Okey-dokey," mumbled Luigi in a higher-pitched tone, his heart beginning to thud against his chest.

Bowser lifted his Uzi. "Let's ball up and get some Russkies, gents."

Resuming their tactical, single-file positioning, they collectively marched through the lit cavern into darkness, having dimmed their lights. Foot by foot, Mario approached the partially-smashed cinder block. Waving Pete over, who flanked his right and pointed his AR-15 at the hole, Mario tapped on the concrete, listening to the echo. Receiving a go-ahead from the command center, he fished out his sledgehammer from the side of his backpack and broke through the residual part of the barrier, allowing the five men to pass unimpeded. Wiping the fresh sweat out of his eyes, he stowed the tool, picked up his weapon, and assumed the lead inside the obscured, soundless pathway.

"Okay, we've got people in your way. At the edge of University Hall," rasped Matt. "I think they're about s-seven hundred feet away, maybe?"

"Yeah, I remember bein' here. The tunnel does go to the UH in about five, six hundred feet," the older plumber spoke almost inaudibly. "Okay, silent commlink for now."

"See ya on the other side," replied Sam.

Luigi started to hyperventilate, prompting Salvatore to place a comforting hand on his shoulder from behind. Mario moved into his trembling little brother's space to whisper, "Easy, Weegie, easy, aight? You stay glued to my ass. Fire when Pete, Fucknuts, and I do, huh?" Following several deep breaths, he gave a curd nod. "Aight, let's go."

Once more, the sergeant took the lead, followed by Luigi, whose shaking hands tried to grip the Glock 17, Pete, Salvatore, and Bowser. Sneaking down the pipe-dense tunnel, he stopped midway, gesturing with his fingers to stay close to the pipes which would somewhat obscure their location in such a cramped space; after they nodded understanding, the plumber took out a Beretta with a silencer, assumed an attack stance, and resumed the path to the entrance to University Hall. About two hundred feet from the juncture, they heard Slavic-accented male voices, with Luigi picking out distinct words in Russian. He flashed a thumbs-up at Mario and Pete to confirm that they were gangsters. Bowser took the guard off the Uzi and readied the trigger as their leader tiptoed a few feet ahead to glance around the corner; holding up four fingers for each Russian man in his view, Pete slid past Salvatore to inch ahead of Luigi. Looking to them, Mario held up a full hand and palm, lowering each finger in a silent countdown. At zero, like a sniper, he jimmied his gun between the pipes and rapidly fired four shots; Luigi's eyes enlarged at the dull thuds of four bodies. The elder brother examined the scene, then quickly waved the rest of the Wrecking Crew to proceed. Directing them to hurry, they marched over the dead men and one hundred fifty feet in seconds.

More voices.

They assumed the same position; this time, Mario flashed a full hand plus two fingers. Seven. Switching to his AR-15, he gestured for Pete to take the guys on the right. Bowser glided between the Denverite and Salvatore while Luigi lined up with his elder brother. The capo showed the sergeant a small object, which he had found in Bowser's 'goodie box' – a stun grenade. Grinning, Mario nodded; Pete pulled the pin and rolled it between the group of men's legs, though away from the steampipes to prevent ricochets or shrapnel in their direction. Three seconds later, there were a loud flash and bang. The disoriented Russians whirled around to detect their origin, momentarily dropping their guard; Mario, Pete, and Bowser fired successive shots, killing four of them and leaving three who had been mildly burned from the grenade. Luigi's fingers tremored severely to the point where his index finger kept slipping from the trigger. A calm Salvatore wrapped his body around the taller man's, gliding his narrow fingers over the latter's; he helped Luigi raise the Glock and fire at the remaining Russians, hitting them squarely. Two additional men slammed their backs against the wall and pipes to shoot selectively at the Americans. Multiple bullets ricocheted against the brick and concrete; Luigi and Salvatore copied the Special Forces man as he backed up to create distance, aiming at their general direction. Pete tossed a second stun grenade at them; the resultant explosion affected their concentration and permitted Mario and Bowser to eliminate them. The five men waited until the tunnels became soundless, though they knew the third wave was taking a defensive position inside University Hall.

"Miles, come in?" spoke a shivering Luigi.

"Jesus, yeah, Lou?!" he whimpered, thankful that his friend was unharmed.

Looking around to account for the uninjured Mario, Bowser, Pete, and Salvatore, he breathed, "Yeah, we're all okay. Just took out … thirteen Russians. We're almost to University Hall. What do you see?"

"Um," stammered the hacker, "we've got five more that have taken a position past the entry point into UH. I think they're going to try to shoot you when you exit."

"Any sign of Giuseppe?" inquired Mario.

"Not yet. Get inside UH, and we should have a good idea as to where Polina has him."

The younger plumber nodded. "Copy." Glancing down at the bodies and small rivers of blood, he asked, "What do you want to do, fratello? They'll probably expect the stun grenades this time. We could try backtracking to Schapiro."

Shaking his head, the Army sergeant answered, "Nah. That'll give Crazy Bitch too much fuckin' time, assuming that they haven't cut us off. We got two options: charge into an ambush or draw 'em out."

"Are there any adjacent tunnels?" Salvatore queried.

"No, Zio," Luigi lamented with a huff, wiping his sweat-covered mouth and mustache. "We need a distraction. Miles, Matt, Sam, can you cut the power in the University Hall? Like the whole fuckin' thing?"

Bowser grumbled at the plumber's plan while Pete stared at him skeptically. "Son, I like the element of surprise as much as anyone, but how the hell are we supposed to see?"

"Dad," interjected Matt, "as long as Luigi's carrying the gadget, you'll be able to see location and how many. But we'll need to keep communication to a minimum."

Mario exchanged a questioning stare with his brother, the mafiosi, and Bowser who all nonverbally communicated their assent. "Aight, do it. Cut the power. Wait until we get a little past halfway to the University Hall underground." Gazing at the men meaningfully, he continued, "We won't be able to see dick. Weegie … it'll be up to you to be our eyes and ears."

His fratellino gulped, stuttering, "Y-y-yeah, heh, n-n-o p-p-pressure," to Bowser's audible groan and muttered fuckin' fenucca. Yet somewhere in the hush, Luigi heard his lioness's voice call out, "I believe in you, kerido," and the tattoo on his arm became warm to the touch.

Forming the tactical line – Mario, Luigi, Pete, Salvatore, and Bowser – and inhaling a collective Hail Mary, they began to make their way through the last hundred feet connecting tunnel between Pupin Hall and the main University Hall; at the halfway point, Mario signaled for them to halt, pending the hackers' work to cut the power. Ten, nine, eight … Luigi's blue eyes fixated upon the gadget, preparing his body to dart down the tunnel. He held up five fingers for Mario, Pete, and Bowser, then pointed straight ahead. Five, four, three … No sooner had Salvatore kissed his crucifix when they heard a hum and a click, and saw only blackness. Mario and Luigi ran as fast as they could, and the other three trailed a few feet behind them; the confused shouts of five would-be assailants echoed throughout a large cavern as the plumbers, mafiosi, and bartender exited the tunnel, opening fire and killing four instantly. Prior to succumbing to his death, however, the fifth succeeded in tagging Pete on the arm, causing him to drop his weapon, which Bowser recovered, from the force and pain. Salvatore immediately rushed to his cousin's side, who waived him off, mutely insisting that he was fine.

Above ground and inside the command center, Yoshi winced at the loud compendium of fire alarms. On one hand, he was glad that several hundred confused faculty, staff, and students were evacuating the north side of campus, now totally opaque from the sudden loss of power. On the other hand, the mysterious power issue would undoubtedly draw the NYPD's and FDNY's attention. "Jesus, Miles! The cavalry's comin' now!"

"That was the point," he replied unapologetically. "They just killed eighteen gangsters. If the police don't get their asses here, Polina will kill them! It's basic math – probability!"

"But we don't have Giuseppe yet," argued Sam. "You heard DK – the NYPD won't do shit until we get confirmation."

"Dudes, I hate to interrupt, but we got immediate problems. Someone's trying to trace us!" cried Matt. "And it's fucking not the Columbia IT Department!"

Miles turned his attention from Yoshi to the terminals in front of him. "Shit!" he exclaimed. "I'm guessing this is whomever helped Polina get into the tunnels. And they're good – really good, unfortunately for us. We're gonna have to cut communications and all transmissions for a few minutes."

"What the hell, Miles?!" shouted the physicist. "The gadget's limited; they'll be shooting in the dark without us!"

"Yoshi, if we don't, then they'll use our streaming to track and kill them!" retorted the Coloradan hacker. "We'll recalibrate and re-establish the commlink on another secure channel."

Hissing a goddamnit aloud, he turned away from the Colorado mafiosi and Miles, unable to watch as they proceeded to shut down all systems.


For the eleventh time in just under five minutes, DK let out a permutation of the expletive fuck, with Daisy, her parents, and Peach staring at him with expectant and, in the latter's case, anxious looks. He debated on how much to tell them. Officially, according to police and FDNY transmissions, the entire north end of Columbia University had lost power, including for essential systems, which incited a campus-wide evacuation. Unofficially, a few physics faculty and undergrads in Pupin Hall thought they had heard voices, bangs, and gunfire somewhere below the basement. Worse, there had been no directive from 1PP. Unfairly known among the brass as a hotheaded lieutenant who sent in his guys without "proper pre-authorization," which was a more palatable way of saying that there were uncoded double standards for non-white commanders, he was roughly two steps away from a suspension without pay over the Russian-Mafia Affair. The lieutenant had clawed his way from walking the Queens beat to Manhattan detective, endured insult after denied promotion, only to channel that inner rage into scoring among the top twenty applicants on the sergeant's and lieutenant's exams. He was loathe to give up the standing for which he fought, yet there were eight people – four of whom he had known either in childhood or were the sons of lost childhood friends – fighting to save another friend, to say nothing of hundreds of innocent Ivy Leaguers.

"Lieutenant, what's happened?" requested Peach in a strained voice, her blonde hair uncharacteristically in disarray.

DK cleared his throat, having decided to recount the official story. "Well, there's been a power outage at Columbia. The, uh, local precinct, Con Ed, and fire engines are on scene to investigate."

"Mario," she stated with absolutely certainty.

He sighed, abandoning the original plan to keep calm and carry on. "Although we don't know anything for certain, that would be my guess, yeah."

"Mamma mia," she gasped, putting a hand over her mouth. Leaping off the armchair, she searched for her medical bag, phone, and coat.

"Doctor Venier, please," pleaded the police officer, "the best thing we can do is stay out of the way and let the responders do their jobs. I promise you, I'll keep you updated with every bit of information."

Shaking her head violently, the determined woman faced the concerned group. "No. See, I know Sergeant Mario Masciarelli. He's my … dolce metà – my other half. He can be stubborn, pigheaded, and a glutton. But he's, with his younger brother perhaps, the bravest and most honest man I've ever known. And I cannot live without him, Lieutenant. I've …" her voice broke. As Daisy moved to comfort her, she put a hand up to stop her. Swallowing harshly, she went on, "I've almost lost him twice – once to my marriage to Marco, the other to … a terrorist IED. I'm going to Columbia. The NYPD need not be concerned. But I am a physician – his physician as well as my uncle-in-law's."

"Me, too," Daisy suddenly agreed.

Harry's brown eyes flashed in a mixture of anger and fear. "Absolutely not, miha! Let the cops and responders do their jobs."

Before the familial quarreling could erupt between father and daughter, DK yelled, "No one is going anywhere! Doctor, I will arrest you! Neither you nor Ms. Abravanel are trained personnel. Inasmuch as you have talents – medicine and the law – you will be in the way!" Pausing for a few deep breaths, he spoke more sympathetically, "I get it. If Rashida were in those tunnels, you'd bet your ass I'd be there. And it's taking everything I got not to go there myself! We just … gotta have faith that … Mario, Luigi, Petey, and Sal know what they're doing."

Even though both younger women threw pointed looks at the men in protest, they sluggishly sat down in the suite's living room, sensing the futility of arguing with them. Harry, who exhaled in relief, satisfied at the lieutenant's explicit threat to arrest them, nonetheless placed a tender hand on his daughter's shoulder. "I need some air," she rasped. Yael's eyes narrowed suspiciously, yet kept silent.

"Yeah, understandable," the lieutenant answered. "We've blocked off part of the courtyard for our use. I'll have one of my people escort you down there. Doctor Venier, maybe you'd like to join her?" Mutely, she nodded. "Alright, the detective will be with you in a moment. I'll, uh, keep you posted about what's happening at Columbia. I promise you both."

After arranging for one of the remaining junior detectives to accompany them, the three women rode one of the service elevators down to the sectioned space. Peach sat forlornly on the bench while Daisy occupied the spot next to her. Giving them a bit of privacy, the detective leaned against one of the corners, far enough away to prevent overt eavesdropping, yet sufficiently close where she could intercept any unauthorized foot traffic.

"Despite having married a New Yorker and being the current partner of another, I had never actually wanted to live in New York," the blonde abruptly began. "I wanted to see the world, true, but I had always planned to return to raise my children in Venice, so that they'd know their grandparents. That was one reason why I … never answered Mario's proposal." Closing her eyes, she sniffed, "God, it seems so bloody trivial now."

Daisy smiled a little. "Luigi's always telling me that he'll go wherever I want to go – Harvard, Yale, Stanford. I'd have thought that … Mario would be the same way."

Peach snorted. "He is and has been since 2007. It was me, Daisy. Honestly, I never thought that I was quite good enough for him. And I didn't want to lose myself to him if it didn't work. Now, I shall be thirty-five next month, and … the mere idea of losing Mario … is killing me."

"Me, too. For Luigi. He's the most gentle man I've ever met. And yet so honest and brave." She snickered, adding, "It runs in the family."

Wiping her blue eyes, she murmured, "You've been good for him. Believe me when I say that … I'd tried for years to reach him. I hadn't known the full extent of Luigi's anxiety and post-traumatic stress; even so, he pushed everyone away, Mario too, until you came round. These past few months, he's … become his age, you know? He's no longer the teenage boy that relied upon everyone else to be his caretaker. I think you saved this family."

Seizing the physician's free hand in hers, Daisy reacted, "You did, too, Peach, first and foremost. I've, uh, noticed that the Masciarelli men love strong women. They depend on them for strength, I think. I haven't met Nonna Maria, but I've watched Lucia, Cousin Maria, and you …"

Peach giggled. "Nonna Maria is, uh, impetuosa. When she thinks I can't hear her, she calls me Cat-Eater." At Daisy's amused, though confused gaze, she elaborated, "It's a Southern Italian insult for a Venetian. As for Lucia, my God – the screaming match she and Giuseppe had at my office! Not that I could blame her, given the circumstances. He's quite stubborn – Abruzzo's known for it. And then Mario and I have had our rows. God, sometimes, I get so mad at that fucking pigheaded plumber! Always thinks he needs to save everyone!" Daisy laughed in semi-sympathy. "When I saw Lucia and Giuseppe, it was like holding up a mirror to my relationship with Mario. I understood why she got so cross. Long time lovers … spouses."

"You never saw that with your parents?" asked the younger woman.

She shook her head. "No. My parents are, uh, of the Italian and French nobility. Old family with old money. Divorce is out of the question, so while they remain married to keep up appearances, privately, they've led separate lives since was I about eight or nine. Hence why my mother was … disappointed in me for seeking divorce from Marco. He, uh, died before it was finalized."

"My parents divorced when I was six. I barely know my biological mother. She's never been well, and has sought comfort in Buddhism as a nun. Last I heard, she was living in a monastery in San Francisco. It's always been my father and I. Yael first came into the picture when I was nine. That's why … I get where Luigi's coming from. Giuseppe and Lucia more or less raised him, just as Yael raised me. My parents fight, though it's nothing like the Masciarellis' arguments."

The physician smiled. "They're passionate. Very Southern Italian. But, uh, Luigi takes after his mother, I think. The Rigassis. What I've seen of Father Salvatore and Pete Morello, they're introverted … calculating. I'm not saying he's the latter; he's just …"

"Anxious," finished Daisy. "He is passionate. He loves Mario and you. And me. But he's afraid of losing us. That's," she sighed heavily, "why he's – they're – down there." Chewing on her lip, she lowered her voice to avoid being overheard by their protector. "There's got to be a way we can get to Columbia. I don't know about you, but I am not sitting by while that psycho bitch harms our plumbers."

"I agree. However, we would be rather useless to them in jail."

As the women lamented their circumstances, several floors above, the bored Lucas paced back and forth in his suite. Despite his cajoling and various attempts at manipulation, the bastard NYPD refused to let him out of his room. Since the regular television line-up was dull, and he could not even go downstairs for a complimentary cocktail, which in his opinion violated the eighth amendment against cruel and unusual punishment, he was limited to room service. Although he truly had little appetite, it was something to do. A knock thumped against the door; a moment afterward, a gray-haired, Eastern-European server and his detective-jailer entered with a tray containing a chocolate sundae in a crystal goblet and a side cup of coffee. The latter inspected the food and the top and sides of the tray. Wordlessly, the server set it down, arranging it carefully, and departed with the detective. Huffing at the sheer boredom of having to eat middle-class ice cream, he apathetically approached the tray, only to see it tilt ever so slightly.

"Dude, what the fuck's wrong with this tray?" he mumbled. "I mean, really, how can you fuck up a tray?!"

Lifting it to see if the plastic bottom had been warped, his eyes enlarged at a thin, flat black pouch taped to the bottom. Carefully removing the goblet, coffee, and tableware, he turned it over, removed the tape and pocket. He set the platter aside and, glancing at the door for possible police intruders, unzipped it. His fingers extracted three items: a keycard, two hundred fifty dollars in fresh twenty-dollar bills, and a functioning iPhone. Weary of the Secret Santa, Lucas inspected the phone's number and settings – all were his?! Yet this wasn't his iPhone. "Gee, Daddy Dearest, did you do this for me? No way in hell …" Even though it certainly contained some sort of malware, he recognized that his present options were limited: stay and die of tedium or find out just what the fuck Weegie was doing with his shithead brother and equally shitty Colorado cousins. "Okay, fine, I'll play, whomever you are; I'll accept your obvious malware to find my idiot bestie." He pocketed the cash and keycard in his pocket and, sipping the coffee, looked inside the goblet at the semi-melted ice cream. Dipping the silver spoon into the dessert, he brought it to his lips, only to grimace. "Jesus Ass-Fucking Christ, it's not even real vanilla! Like, you guys are in fucking New York! Vanilla beans aren't that scarce!"

Coffee cup still in hand, he tiptoed to the door and peered through the hole. The detective was outside. He made a face of consternation before remembering that Detective Dick-Cheese smelled of stale cigarettes. Ah, just need him to take a smoke break, and I'm outie. He sipped his coffee patiently, watching for any movement; five minutes at the door, he noticed the man's hands tremoring for his nicotine fix. Lucas grinned evilly, downing the last of the obviously instant brew and setting the cup gently behind him. Unable to wait any longer, the man took off, grumbling about that asshole being late. Waiting for him to disappear around the corner, the tall man quickly opened the door and slipped out, jogging to the stairwell and, rolling his eyes, proceeded to take two stairs at a time to the lower floors where he would ride the public elevator to the main floor. "I hope this is entertaining for you!" he hissed at the iPhone. Two-thirds down, he called for an empty elevator which he took to the second floor and raced down the final flight of stairs. He kept to more shadowy corners, conscious of his height being an immediately perceptible characteristic. Once he was certain no one was looking, Lucas decided to check the courtyard, where he saw Daisy and Peach sitting on a bench. One of the other detectives was babysitting duty, much to his chagrin. Should I leave them? Honestly, he was fifty-fifty; Peach was a typical blonde bimbo and Daisy was a pain in the ass.

Then again, partying with Weegie's and the Sergeant Major's bitches might be fun.

The Manhattanite silently worked on a plan to distract Detective Debbie Dallas, all the while griping at the women to fucking make this easier on him by powdering their nose or some shit, when Daisy walked inside to use the ladies' room. Glancing in each direction, he counted seven seconds before following her into the frankly decent semi-public bathroom. Moving in front of the group of five gray stalls, he found a pair of feet inside the one nearest to the door. He smirked and stepped into the opposing corner. "I've never visited the ladies' room," he called out, "but it's true – compared to the urinals and guys spraying their piss everywhere, it's a step up."

Hearing a surprised weight rise and slam against the toilet seat, Lucas snickered at the enraged female voice yelling, "You motherfucker! Don't you have any common decency?! Get out!"

"Hey, I am bored to tears! And I just escaped from jail which, of course, they don't know yet! So they won't exactly look for me here. Anyhoo, I was going to go north … Harlem isn't one of my favorite places, but hey, I'm more interested in my bestie."

He inwardly smiled at the contemplative pause. "You're going to Columbia? I'd think you'd be trying to escape the city."

"Jesus, Daisy, where could I go? Hmm? Plus, I am not at all pleased with Luigi's choice of getting his head blown off. Crazy Lady's cray-cray. C'mon – you can even bring what's-her-name."

Daisy scoffed, her pants rustling upward to indicate that she had finished. "Yeah, like I'd bring the very woman whom the Crazy Lady attempted to murder. And need I remind you that Crazy Lady's your colleague, by the way?!"

The toilet flushed, and the irritated woman exited the stall, ambling in front of an available sink to clean her hands. Lucas sauntered to her right and leaned against the sink next to hers. "Hey, I did not know she was fucking my father! Not to mention this whole shit was created by Weegie's extended family! And as I said before, for which I did apologize, the whole Dubai thing was a misunderstanding." Shrugging, he added, "It's up to you. You can trust me or not. And even if you don't, the offer's still on the table. I'm getting a taxi and going to," he made a gagging noise, "Harlem."

Drying off her hands, Daisy weighed her options carefully. Regardless of anyone else's best intentions, Lucas would escape and have several minutes on the cops as he headed to Columbia University campus. Worse, there was no telling what were his actual motives; she doubted that his trip was out of sheer concern for his so-called best friend, whom he tried to have murdered in a foreign – Arab – country and whose uncle was being held by gangsters in an environmentally unsafe place, in no small part thanks to him. She could not underestimate his penchant for being a treacherous fuck-up; worst-case scenario, he would alert Polina as to Mario and Luigi's whereabouts in the tunnels. She took a deep breath; saving the lives of her new-found family as well as countless fellow undergraduates and graduates were worth a night in a Manhattan jail cell and incurring the wrath of Harry and Yael Abravanel. "Alright," she relented, "I'm in. On one condition – Peach comes along. She's a physician."

His lips turned up in victory. "No objection – hell, I even suggested it. But how are we going to get her away from the, uh, babysitter?" Talking to his iPhone, he barked, "Yo, Mister Man with the Plan, why don't you lead the police away so that we can actually blow this taco stand?! Otherwise, what the fuck's the point?"

She raised her eyebrow at the scene. "Have you gone completely mental?"

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Only on my off days, babe." Ignoring her muttered pig, he cracked the door open to an empty hallway. "Just … get what's-her-name ready. I have a sneaking suspicion from my lucky crystal ball that we're about to get help." He waved her toward the exit with his hand. "Well? Go on and shake that booty, Ms. Gold-Ass-Meir. I'll meet you on the corner of West 36th and 8th Ave."

Flipping him the bird, Daisy made her way from the restroom to the courtyard where the two women were sitting or standing. As she resumed her previous position next to Peach, the police detective received a phone call, hissed several obscenities, and moved to bring them inside when her partner, smelling of cigarettes, rushed inside and announced, "Yo, Lou wants us looking for Kariolis." Tipping his head toward Daisy and Peach, he added, "He said he'd come for them."

"What? How did he …? Fuck, alright," she reluctantly answered, and they left the courtyard.

Seizing upon the brief moment of opportunity, the auburn-haired woman leapt to her feet, dragging Peach by the hand. "C'mon! Hurry!"

Before she could inquire as to where they were going, Daisy stealthily led her out of the sectioned area and past the front doors of the hotel. Running in the direction opposite traffic on West 37th Street, they turned right, continuing south along 8th Avenue until they came to a four-lane boulevard. The lioness stopped, scanning each side and worrying whether the taxi was already waiting across the street. "Daisy, what are we doing?" asked a confused Peach. Taking the blonde's hand once more, she pulled them along the vast crosswalk so that they were moving with traffic. A taxi SUV came up alongside them; the rear passenger door opened to a simpering Lucas. "Why, bonsoir, mesdames. Going my way?"

Peach's blue eyes flashed like lightning bolts. "Daisy, what the hell?!"

"Just go with it. I'll explain later," she responded with a groan.

The angry physician followed her into the backseat, closing the door behind them. "Alright," chortled Lucas. "The entire party's here." Turning to the driver, he ordered, "Now, if you please, me and my bitches are heading up to 116th and Amsterdam."

A crunch of elbow against nuts and a strangled, male whimper resounded inside the cab.


Fifteen minutes seemed like fifteen hours in the pitch-black cavity underneath University Hall. There had been no communication whatsoever from the command center; worse, Luigi's gadget had ceased transmitting data. Having no reliable way to navigate without giving away their positions, the Wrecking Crew decided to jam themselves along the entry point to the connective tunnel to Pupin Hall. Not wanting to make any sound, Mario swore in his head, losing a little more hope that Giuseppe would be found alive. Since the last assault, the enemy had ceased its offensive; the Special Forces soldier knew there were only two possibilities: they had regrouped near Uncle Joe's location or they had killed him and fled. Without the gadget or intel above, there was no way to decide which was more likely, to say nothing of where the Russians had relocated. Twisting to his little brother, he watched as the latter fumbled with the circuitry in vain due to a lack of light. Mario felt his brother's eyes on him, beseeching for even the dimmest light. Gesturing to Pete and Bowser to guard against an incoming attack, he faced Salvatore and tapped his head to request him to turn on his overhead light. Light now on, Sal moved next to Luigi to give him all available light while his eldest nephew pointed his AR-15 at the open space.

The youngest man set to work, reprogramming the gadget to provide them with a sense of navigation, albeit limited to a hundred feet at a time. A smile spread across his face when it powered up and gave readings. Then he frowned nervously. Except for Pete, Bowser, and a few active steampipes, there were no large heat signatures. Mario glanced down at it, muttering a fuck. Trading a questioning look with his brother and the tense Salvatore, he gave a final and loath hand signal that they were going forward. Arranging themselves into formation, and Sal flicking the light off, they marched further into University Hall, though staying along the wall, both to navigate as well as for protection against a potential flank on the left. Every hundred feet, Luigi scanned for Russians; so far, there were none.

Eventually, they came to a long concrete and brick wall that, to Mario and Luigi's recollection, served as a divider between the current structure and more massive Uris Hall. With another couple hundred feet to the entrance, they travelled the partial perimeter, tracing three sides of a square with respect to their original position. Luigi signaled for a halt; holding up the gadget, he showed them three possible entrances into Uris Hall. Indicating that they needed to check each one, Mario grumbled, yet held the lead, followed by Pete and Bowser to the rear. The first revealed nothing; the middle nothing. However, the younger plumber's eyes widened at the farthest tunnel. Retreating to the side, he held up five fingers. They nodded. As he switched to the Beretta for a silent kill, Mario pointed to the first tunnel, then to the second. Salvatore, who had bent over to check his left ankle, frowned, puzzled as to why they were splitting up, until it dawned on him that the tunnels were much narrower and smaller; five men inside such a cramped space would result in their demise – like shooting fish in a barrel. The leader divided them up: he and Luigi in the first tunnel, Bowser in the second tunnel. Pete, who had already been wounded once, would remain with the unarmed Salvatore. Pushing the latter against the wall, Pete carefully pointed his weapon at the first tunnel, nodding that he was ready. Bowser signaled with his fresh, though unlit cigar. Finally, a gulping Luigi bobbed his head. Mario held up his hand in a countdown from five, four, three, two, one. Another gulp and a pant later, Mario and Luigi marched softly through the seventy-five to hundred-foot tunnel; within ten feet, the elder plumber picked up the pace, spun left and opened fire with his silencer, hitting all five. Bowser immediately came through the second tunnel, Uzi at eye level, scanning for additional attackers. When the area became quiet again, Pete and Salvatore joined the others.

Unexpectedly, the room brightened with a dim light. Mario straightaway slid in front of Luigi, and Bowser, raising his Uzi once more, flanked the other two.

"Well, well, well, the Plumbing Turds finally floated to the surface," chuckled a woman's voice. "And you even brought my piece of shit brother-in-law. Marco would be disappointed, you rat!" Their eyes adjusting to the new brightness, they saw a man-sized cage two hundred feet away. Thirty feet in front of them stood a cold-eyed blonde in a designer suit holding a gun to a tall and slender figure in a blue hoodie, whose face was obscured by a black hood. Salvatore's breathing became restricted and, in that moment, he saw nothing but red. "Drop your weapons. Otherwise, I'll paint these walls with Giuseppe's brain matter."

"I'm going to give you to the count of three to give me Joe," snarled Mario. "I ain't playin,' Polina!"

"Forget three, asshole, I'm gonna waste this sorry puttana right here, right now!" Bowser hissed, aiming the Uzi at her head. "Where the fuck are Wendy and Louie, you crazy bitch?!"

"Shoot me, and you'll never know," she stated coldly. "Now drop your weapons, dicks."

As Luigi focused on the hooded man's shoes, Pete, Mario, and Bowser nonverbally debated the issue and, much to the latter's visible anger, began to lower their weapons. Polina chuckled in victory, nodding at their obedience, when the younger plumber lowered the gadget, only to unholster and raise his Glock 17 and fire two shots. A woman's shriek echoed throughout the space; the men looked on in horror as the man slumped to the ground and Polina's hand was covered in blood. Before Luigi could fire a third wounding shot, his gun clicked, signaling that the clip was empty. She took the opportunity to escape into the adjacent tunnels to their right.

"Niputellinu, what the hell did you do?" rasped Salvatore irately, his brown eyes blazing rage and heartbreak.

"It's not Joe. Look at his shoes – there's no way in Dante's Hell Giuseppe Masciarelli would ever wear a designer brand. And they're brown! His are the scuffed white ones from the Tottenville mall that I'm fairly sure he bought for twenty bucks … three or four years ago."

Mario quickly tore the hood off the dead man's head, exposing an unknown face. Underneath the familiar blue hoodie was an accessible semi-automatic handgun. Pete and Salvatore blinked in stunned silence. Bowser peered down at the dead Russian, then smirked, "Well, I'll be damned. But Jesus, only a fenucca would've noticed the guy's wearin' designer shoes." Whereas Luigi glared at the redhead, Pete slapped the latter upside the head, causing him to moan a aight, aight!

Readying his AR-15, the plumber growled, "Alright, enough of this shit. It's go time!"

Lining up once more, with Salvatore briefly kissing Luigi's sweaty forehead as a silent apology and Pete proudly reloading the latter's gun, they bolted down the rightmost tunnel. Halfway inside, they saw two Italian wiseguys emerge from each side at the end to shoot at them with Sig Sauers. They quickly divided to seek cover from the walls and pipes; one bullet ricocheted off one of the tubes, nicking Bowser's torso. Mario and Pete returned fire, killing their assailants instantly. John bit his lip in extreme pain while Luigi held his Glock to protect him and Salvatore, who examined the exit wound only to discover that it was, like Pete's, a severe abrasion. Stepping out of the tunnel, there was no sign of Joe or anyone. Holstering his Glock, Luigi took out the gadget; to his visible surprise and joy, the viewscreen showed their location relative to Havemeyer, Uris, and part of two tunnels extending to their southeast. Unfortunately, they were alone.

"Guys, come in!" cried Miles.

"Jesus, Dipshits, where the fuck have youse been?!" demanded Mario.

"We may have to go offline again in a moment, as someone's on our ass. Polina hired some black-hat asshole."

"Aight, let's use the time we got to find Joe. Anyone ahead of us?"

"Let me check – one moment," spoke Matt. "No, I don't see anyone."

"But she was here," interjected Salvatore, who knelt to the ground and dipped his index and middle fingers into droplets of blood, holding them up for the rest to see.

"Uris? Schermerhorn?"

"Negative, Mario."

Pete and Bowser lowered their weapons to rest from their aching wounds. "So it could be that Joe's not here," the former lamented, kicking a rock in frustration. "To say nothing of the goddamned kids."

Luigi shook his head. "No, I think Joe's here – somewhere. They wouldn't have just used his blue hoodie if they had him stashed somewhere or," he swallowed painfully, "killed him. The only place we haven't checked is …"

He and Mario exchanged a knowing look. "Low Library! Andiamo!" Both plumbers taking off down the tunnel toward Uris Hall, the three men commenced a pursuit. Luigi raced toward the corner of the cavern, bringing the gadget closer to the entrance of a long-sealed-off tunnel that had been obscured behind the cage upon their first appearance. To their surprise, it had been hacked open with saws and a sledgehammer. He held the screen so that the others could see; about three hundred feet away were four figures, one of which was sitting or kneeling, the second, third, and fourth flanking him on each side.

While they silently lined up for their final approach, a voice rebounded against the brick, concrete, and pipes, "I thought youse would never get here. Took a wrong turn, did ya, cocksuckers?"

Bowser mouthed a who the fuck is this guy to Luigi. However, Mario's, Pete's, and Salvatore's eyes flared with unspoken rage.

"You fucking snake, Vinny!" shouted Pete.

From the other side of the tunnel, the man chuckled a little. "Yeah, welcome to the Cosa Nostra, huh, Petey? C'mon, now. Get over here. I ain't gonna shoot youse. At least, not yet."

"Go fuck yourself! Come and get us, you Mafia piece of shit!" yelled Mario.

"You know, I'd have a little more respect, Masciarelli. 'Cause, I got someone who belongs to ya. G'head, say hello?" They heard a man's grunt. "Hey, show some manners. Say hello!"

"Kiss my ass, you piece of Mafia dogshit," rasped the familiar tenor of a middle-aged Brooklynite, his throat rough from dehydration.

"Bene. Now, youse out there, show yourselves like men. Or I," he cocked a gun, "will kill Giuseppe. Start walking. Because if I reach ten … One … Two … Three … Four … Five …"

Mario and Salvatore moved inside the tunnel. "Aight, you win, Vinny. We're coming." The rest trailed after them, reaching the end in a minute's time. Inside the circular channel was the jeans and leather-jacketed Vinny DiScala, two of his men, and a weak, blindfolded Giuseppe in dirty clothes. Vinny gestured for them to drop their weapons and show their hands. They obeyed; the two wiseguys removed their weapons, forcing them to their knees.

"You know, I don't give a flying fuck about you, Masciarelli. I don't even care about the cancer patient here. Or," he smirked at the bartender, "this Irish loser. Youse can leave. The rest will stay, however, for a little chat."

"Go, Mario!" insisted Pete lowly. "Get Giuseppe to safety."

"Like hell!" the soldier barked. "Not without my brother or the rest of my family! None of them did anything to you! Stop working with that Crazy Bitch. It's getting you nowhere!"

Before Vinny could retort, Giuseppe let out a pained moan. "Mario, your brother's … Polina killed him."

Everyone – including the capo and wiseguys – frowned in either disbelief or confusion. "Zio," Luigi spoke from his kneeling position, causing the man to gasp, "she lied to you. I'm right here. Alive. Vinny, do that much. Show him!"

"Yeah, sure, why not?" As the wiseguys watched the kneeling men carefully for any movement, the mafioso untied the blindfold, allowing it to fall from Giuseppe's unfocused eyes. Wincing at the abrupt exposure to even dim light, he blinked a few times, and, spying the familiar figure of his beloved son, started to sob uncontrollably. "As much as this, uh, family reunion's touching, youse got a choice to make. The Masciarellis and the Mick can leave. Everyone else stays."

"Luigi's my son, goddamnit!" screamed Joe between sobs. "I ain't goin' without him! He's a Masciarelli – mine!"

Vinny rolled his eyes in pure annoyance. "He's Gabriella's figlio. A Rigassi! But you've always wanted to be a Rigassi, didn't ya, you fuckin' disgrace?! You know, I ought to do your wife a fuckin' favor and end you!"

"What the fuck is this?" commanded Mario. "What the hell are you talkin' about, DiScala?"

He chuckled coldly. "Yo, Sal, would you like me to tell 'em? Or would you?" Salvatore's icy brown orbs fixated upon the heavy set Italian's face, yet he refused to utter a single word. "Hold up his hand." One of the wiseguys forced the Sicilian to his feet and twisted his left hand so that it was palm-up, showing a diagonal scar. The capo grabbed Joe's left hand and did the same. "Well, what do you know? They match."

The kneeling soldier shrugged as much as he was able. "They're blood brothers. So the fuck what?"

"Mario, you're a Special Forces guy – a real man. A man's man. Of course, you wouldn't get it. Now, on the other hand, this fuckin' guy – Salvatore Rigassi – is a pretender. He pretends to be a priest. Back in the day, he pretended to be one of us. Il Mietitore. Heir-fuckin'-apparent. In both cases? He's pretending to be a man. 'Cause, in reality," he ambled over to the hostile man so that he was inches from him, "he's a fucking fenucca! And I'm gonna enjoy killing him and shoving a stick up his cold, faggoty ass. Petey covered for him. Carlo covered for him, in addition to having my fuckin' cousin and brother whacked!" He then slapped Salvatore across the face, knocking him to the ground. While the latter grunted from the explosion of pain in his cheek, Vinny seized a fistful of the man's hair, lugging him toward the aghast Giuseppe.

Tasting blood in his mouth, Salvatore felt comforted by the sign of his prospective death. He rapidly slid in front of Joe and flipped over so that he was looking up at the capo. "Vinny, you keep saying how much of a man you are. You helped Jackie's bastard kidnap two kids, a sick man fighting against cancer, and a young man who has nothing to do with what happened thirty years ago! You want to kill me?! Huh?! Well, you got me! Right here!" He sat up and spread his arms. "If it makes you feel better, I'll take the bullet like a man. I won't fight! You're right; I've been on borrowed time for three decades. But I'm askin' you, stai uomo – let Joe, Luigi, Mario, and Bowser go. You don't need 'em."

Nodding a little, the capo responded, "As I said before, the Masciarellis and Irish trash can go. But the kid – Luigi – stays. He's Carlo's heir. And if there's going to be a … reorganization, we can't have another fuckin' Rigassi survive. Plus, he's shown himself to be like his brother, like his crazy motherfucker of an old man."

"We're all staying!" interjected Mario angrily. "You think you can just take six bodies outta here? Or even hide them? Without anyone noticing? The power went out; people will be here soon enough. Not to mention the NYPD, FDNY, and a base full of pissed-off Green Berets will be out huntin' your ass – good luck running!"

Vinny snickered at the men's shouts and pleas. "Ah, Mario, you're still the stupid Abruzzese fuck. I didn't just align myself with Junior, George Kariolis, and the Russian Dame for shits and giggles. And now that Junior's been, uh, retired, I am now the Boss of the Morano Famiglia. You think I'm afraid of a bunch of Army Grunts, idiot firemen, and jackass cops? Huh? Personally, I'd get Joe here some help – let the piece of shit enjoy his last months. Don't be a hero."

"Mario, take Joe and John and get the hell out of here," rasped Pete.

Joe pushed against his handcuffs, growling, "Nipote, I'll never ever forgive you if we leave without Luigi, Sal, and Petey!"

Hastily, the soldier weighed his options. Ideally, remaining would be the safest option, as five against three were better odds than three against three. Furthermore, he had little faith that Vinny would just let them go; they were witnesses to the inevitable execution of a rival caporegime, Brooklyn priest, and up-and-coming master plumber. Most importantly, this was his family, and he was a package deal with his little brother. Senza alcun dubbio. That being said, they were weaponless and defenseless.


"Goddamned fucker!" hissed Miles after the fourth attempt to reinstate the commlink without the threat of intrusion. "This guy needs to eat Borg balls!"

Typing away at his own multi-screen console, Matt groused, "Jesus, this guy's good. I mean, really good. Is he Russian or some shit?"

Shaking his head, the blond hacker leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands in order to consider a new avenue of attack. Sam checked the incoming network traffic for the fifth time to assure himself that they were no longer the hunted. Yoshi wiped his mouth, suddenly wishing for a bag of green onion chips or green tea KitKat bars to keep his mind and mouth occupied. Outside of the van, they overheard several confused octaves of students and faculty passing by, who were speculating as to the reason behind the blackouts – a broken power line, fraternity pranks, terrorism. "Well, Miles, it looks like you're famous," deadpanned Yoshi, to which he scoffed mirthlessly.

"Dude, I fucking hate playing blue team," griped the skinny Coloradan. "I always play red in Boulder. Better to fuck up than be fucked."

"That's it," Miles gasped flatly. "We need to, uh, get fucked. Give him what we wants."

Matt, Sam, and Yoshi stared at him incredulously. "He'll know where we are! He'll know where they are!" exclaimed Sam.

He nodded nervously. "Yeah, I know. But Mario and the others were already on their way toward the Low Library. Polina already knows they're inside. Yoshi, you still got that spare admin keycard, right?"

"Yeah, man."

"Matt, you and Yoshi head over to the library. Blend in with the crowds. It'll be much harder for this guy to track two groups, especially as the, uh, Away Team surfaces, probably from the basement or Uris Hall. Sam and I'll stay behind as a decoy. If …" he panted, "If I'm successful, then I'll backdoor and perhaps force him to abort."

Yoshi guffawed, crossing his arms. "And if you're not?!"

"Well, Sam and I will fly away at warp speed?" Miles offered in a light-hearted tone.

"Oh, you're fucking insane!" he yelled while jabbing his index finger at his best friend. "No way!"

Fetching one of the pre-loaded AR-15s and a Beretta, Sam set them on the console next to him and responded, "Inasmuch as I hate this plan, it's the best one we have. The objective is to ensure Mario, Luigi, Uncle Pete, Cousin Salvatore, Bowser, and Giuseppe make it out alive. We knew the risks when we accepted the mission."

"Agreed," said Matt, grabbing a tablet and Denver Broncos-logoed stylus. "I'm ready."

Three pairs of eyes anxiously focused on the physicist, who rubbed his mouth and hissed an audible kuso. "Aight, fuck it, I'm in. This plan is fucking stupid, but just for you, Miles, I'll do it. And fuck you, by the way."

As Miles rolled his eyes at the familiar insults, the skinnier Coloradan and Brooklynite slipped on their blue and bright green puffer jackets. Sam took the seat directly next to the blond, who was typing a few commands on his terminals. "Alright, guys. We're going to give you a," the cowboy checked his watch, "ten-minute head start. You'll probably have to book it to the Low Library. If we can communicate with you, we will."

A forlorn Matt gave a single nod to his older cousin and protector while Yoshi strode to his best friend and seized him in a hug. "We're walkin' out of this, man. You, me, Luigi, and Mario. Brobot Boys forever."

"I won't let you down – any of you," he vowed, returning the embrace.

Sam approached the doors of the van and, cracking them a tad to check for any onlookers, motioned a go-ahead to his cousin and Yoshi. "Saddle up, lock, and load, gents!" Giving the two remaining men a last, resolute glance, Matt and Yoshi jumped out of the vehicle and sprinted down 120th Avenue toward Broadway.