Author's notes: Okay, part 2 of the adventure inside the Columbia University Tunnels! Please read and review!
A general warning for a brief, non-graphic description of an active shooter near campus. Unfortunately, this has been a reality for several campuses, so I want to give notice of such an incident in the story. Anyone who's unsure can PM me for a synopsis.
And here we go ...
Chapter 59: Into the Tunnels, Part 2
The yellow and black SUV taxicab came to a stop at 115th Street and Amsterdam Avenue due to the heavily blocked off streets intersecting with the north end of Columbia University campus. Daisy and Peach gaped at the scene; there were red, blue, and white lights emanating from numerous campus police cars, at least three city fire trucks, and four NYPD vehicles. Tens of students and passers-by on the right side had lined the sidewalk to get a glimpse of potential arrests or casualties.
"Look, I can't go any further," said the driver. "Something's going down on campus, 'cause the cops have everything blocked off. That'll be thirty-five sixty."
Lucas reached into his pocket and handed him two twenties, telling him to keep the change, much to the man's grumbling over the twelve-percent tip, and exited from the left rear passenger door. Daisy and Peach shadowed him into the cool night, lights, and road across from the campus. As the car left them at the intersection, he shrugged, placing his hands in his lilac-colored pants pockets. "Well, it looks like we'll need to enter from 114th Street. I didn't see any bacon stands on the south side."
Following him down to 114th and Amsterdam and walking next to the weary Peach, Daisy called out, "I'm honestly curious – have you ever made it through one day without being an asshole?"
He glanced briefly over his shoulder as he ambled down the sidewalk. "Nope. See, I learned at a very early age, Daisy, that it's better to be an asshole than to be walked all over. Assholes have money. Assholes have fame. Assholes," he stopped, turning abruptly so that they were toe to toe and let his eyes roam over both women's bodies, and declared, "get any chick they want. Assholes are the ultimate winners." At Peach's appalled stare, he snickered and winked victoriously.
Daisy crossed her arms. "Yeah, see, that's not true, Lucas. Nice try, but I'm a lawyer in training – it's literally my job to sniff out rhetorical dogshit. And I have to say," she remarked, smirking, while he raised an eyebrow, "you never disappoint. Because you've obvious forgotten that you tried to fuck me and failed … miserably. Now, do us a favor and accept your special tiara with the capital, fucked-up L on it."
Peach had covered her mouth to avoid letting out several unladylike snorts at the red-faced Lucas's expense. Her companion, who continued to simper, escorted her past the fuming tall man. Muttering a fucking foid bitch underneath his breath, he used his scissor-like legs to flank the blonde and auburn-brunette, who in turn were mixing with the crowd of confused and inquisitive Columbia undergrads progressing toward the iron gates of the Butler Library or Broadway. Finding the gates locked with campus security guards refusing direct access, they proceeded to Broadway to head north. A few of them speculated about the sudden police and firefighter presence, ranging from harmless pranks to active shooters. Unexpectedly, the students ahead of Lucas, Daisy, and Peach took off in a sprint; the three newcomers did, as well, if only to see why. By the time they reached the intersection of Broadway and 116th Street, they observed a large crowd banging on the iron bars of the locked gates, with several of them shouting that they pay good money to use the libraries, fascist pigs!
"Hey, what the hell is going on here?" demanded the tall man to one of the yelling undergraduates.
"Don't know," responded the younger man. "The cops and FDNY shut down the entire campus. Nothing from the administration, either."
One of the women standing next to the more belligerent students at the front of the gates, whom Daisy surmised was of South Asian descent, added, "There's a rumor going around that someone's down in the tunnels. My boyfriend's a graduate student in physics; he, his team, and his PI were working late in Pupin Hall and heard weird banging below them. God, what if it's terrorism?!"
Peach closed her eyes, inhaling at the secondhand report of Mario potentially exchanging enemy fire with Polina Bowser and her Russian gangsters.
Lucas nodded in slight confusion, then looked down at Daisy and Peach. "Yeah, okay, I went to Harvard, so I don't know dick about Columbia. What and where the fuck's Pupin Hall?"
Putting reassuring hands on the blonde's shoulders, Daisy replied, "Pupin Hall is the Physics Department – north part of campus on 120th Street."
He gaped at her. "That's four blocks from here!"
"Is there any other way to get on campus?" asked Peach tearfully. "Mario could be hurt, Luigi …"
Having caught some of what she had been muttering, a couple of the students approached them, including the young man and woman with whom they had been speaking a minute prior. "Hey, do you know something? What's going on?"
The impish man in the purple suit grinned, sensing an opportunity to turn the tables in his favor. "Yeah, we might. Don't worry, it's not terrorism, so your, uh, substandard Harlem libraries will be perfectly safe. And we'll be glad to tell you more. But we really need to get on campus. So … you scratch our backs; we'll scratch yours, huh?"
Daisy glowered at the man who had succeeded in riling up the crowd; they could hear shouts of so do we, asshole and you're fucking with us, prick. After several exchanges between Lucas and a couple of the angry and frightened undergraduates, she shouted, "Okay, stop! All of you! This is not helping!" Gesturing at the Manhattanite, she spoke again, "He is a prick – I mean, look, the annoying fucker went to Harvard. However, he is telling the truth about it not being terrorism." She turned to the woman – Amita – and explained, "The sounds your boyfriend heard were … official NYPD business. It's better that you – we – give them room. There are some very dangerous people in the underground tunnels."
"What kind of danger?" Amita inquired. The rest of the crowd echoed her question; some moved closer to Daisy, Peach, and Lucas in order to hear better or be part of the action.
She bit her lip; as her father always said whenever she demanded difficult answers, perdido por cem, perdido por mil. "They're not terrorists, but … they've got guns and are criminals. They're hiding inside the tunnels. This woman's spouse is part of the team. Mine, too." Silence fell upon the gathering. Some quietened, choosing to listen; some rolled their eyes and whispered their skepticism; some gaped at the auburn-haired woman in disbelief. "Look," Daisy resumed, "you can believe this or not. It's up to you. All I ask is that you stay clear of the north side."
Murmuring to Peach that they would find another way, she began to guide her up Broadway, pushing past Lucas, when they heard Amita say, "Hey! My little cousin lives in Furnald Hall. We can get her to let you guys in."
In the curved, brick walls and steel tunnels below the Low Library, five men knelt in a line, hands up, as three armed men held handguns to their heads. The self-appointed Padrino, Vinny DiScala, shook his head at the plumber's indecision. "Time's up, Masciarelli. What will it be? Are you and the old musciada staying or going?"
Mario glanced at each man – Giuseppe, Luigi, Bowser, Salvatore, Pete – and, moving his eyes defiantly to Vinny, rasped, "As you said, I'm Special Forces. Unlike you motherfucking cowards, we never leave guys behind."
The heavy-set Italian shrugged. "Suit yourself. Boys, make their deaths quick and neat. They've earned it. As for this cocksucker," he pointed to the former mafioso with his Smith and Wesson, "I'm going to make it lengthy and painful. First, though? He'll watch the others die."
Obeying their boss, the wiseguys raised their guns to execute their prisoners when Salvatore cried out, "Vinny, I'm still an ordained priest! Can I … I just give them their last rites? Like you said, they've earned a quick death. Let their souls rest in peace, because I doubt you'll let the Masciarelli family bury them."
Their assassins grumbled and snickered. "You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me, right?!" laughed the medium-sized man behind Pete. Another muttered a marrone, raised his gun to shoot Mario at point-blank range, and started to apply pressure to the trigger.
"Aight, aight," interrupted a giggling Vinny, signaling to his men to stop. "If the boys want their last rites from a fag priest, then who am I to argue? Besides, this will make for one fuckin' hell of a story over a steak dinner – my treat. I'm just sorry that we don't got Village People costumes for 'em. They could do a little dance before we shoot 'em, eh?" His men descended into fits of laughter as Bowser chewed on his lip to keep from telling Vinny in which orifice he could shove the aforementioned costumes.
While they continued to laugh and mock their prisoners with an impromptu rendition of "YMCA," an irritated Salvatore sat upright. "Okay, I'll have to give you the, uh, shortened version. Anyone have anything to confess?"
"Yeah," said Mario, "I, uh, wish I could've been there for my brother all those years. I wish I could've been a better husband to Peach. And … I wish I could've had one more minute with Pops."
"Same," affirmed Luigi. "I didn't appreciate what I had – Uncle Joe, Aunt Lucia, Mario, Peach, you, Uncle Sal," to which the Sicilian smiled genuinely, "Daisy, and Cousin Pete."
"I, uh, wish I had been a better husband to my wife. And that I hadn't been so fucking greedy from these," Pete rasped, tilting his head toward the mafiosi, "shit for brains. But I'll admit – blackmailing certain assholes in Congress was fun." Mario, Giuseppe, and Luigi chuckled in response, with Bowser offered a small, approving clap.
"Joe? Bowser?" asked Father Sal with a raised eyebrow.
"What?" John deadpanned. "Hey, I'm glad I divorced that bitch of an ex-wife. I root for the best fuckin' baseball team in the world. And my kids will be cared for. But if I need to confess my sins, then I guess … I wish I could've gotten Louie and Wendy far away from that crazy bitch. I shouldn't have listened to my asshole father. I should've said fuck it and went to the Yankees instead of stayin' at the bar. That, and fuck you, Masciarelli. Both you and your fenucca of a kid brother can burn in hell." Luigi muttered a fuck you as Mario made air kisses, causing John to shake his head.
"Joe?"
"Aight, aight, enough – get on with it!" growled Vinny, wiping his eyes from his previous giggles. "You got thirty seconds. Or I can shoot youse now and send you to Hell."
Father Sal gulped, nodding. "Alright, fine." He crossed himself and folded his hands loosely. The jokes from the wiseguys had ceased, with them crossing themselves and bowing their heads respectfully to listen to the priest's words. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name ..." Mario's and Luigi's identical blue eyes connected, resolving to be the last thing the other saw in this life. "Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven ..." Pete stilled his breath, visualizing his wife, son, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew one last time. Bowser mentally apologized to his children, Wendy and Louie included, for not being there as they grew up. "Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass ..."
No sooner had they heard the second syllable of trespass when two bangs resonated throughout the cave. Mario flinched, blinking in disbelief as, frame by frame, he perceived his and Luigi's executioner slump face-down, dead, followed by Vinny's corpulent body. A second later, they heard a third and fourth bang; the last man behind Pete and Bowser gargled, then thumped to the floor.
"… And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. I-In … the Name of the Father, the S-Son, and …" gasped Salvatore's faint voice. Mario scrambled over to his supine maternal uncle, who was lying in a growing pool of blood; in his right hand was a small Beretta.
"Sal!" screamed Joe, desperately pulling at his restraints. "Sal, goddamn you!"
Once he realized what had occurred, Luigi rushed to assist in tending to the wounded man, disarming him to avoid an accidental discharge. Mario quickly examined Salvatore's gunshot injury on the juncture between his shoulder and side and directed his brother to apply pressure while he opened his backpack for the medical kit and rope. Bowser recovered their weapons and stood guard at the entrance. Pete zigzagged over the dead mafiosi to reach Giuseppe and, using a lock pick, worked to free him from the pipe and handcuffs. Now detached from the pipe, the weakened Joe found the remaining strength to rush to the Sicilian's side. "Goddamn you, Salvatore Rigassi!" he hissed angrily.
Salvatore slowly turned his head toward irate, petrified blue eyes. "I ... I could always ... get y-your a-a-attention, Tesoro."
"Zio, don't try to talk," commanded Mario. "You gotta relax. Weegie and I are gonna make a tourniquet so we can get you outta here. Mount Sinai's right across the street. You're gonna make it, aight?"
"M-M-Mario, g-get Joe outta here. Y-Y-You can't get both of us o-out. S-s-low you d-down. It's t-t-time I … p-pay f-f-for m-my c-crimes."
Both Mario and Giuseppe yelled simultaneously, "Watch me, Zio!" and "Like hell, Sal!" The former ripped part of Salvatore's shirt and moved his vest to have a clearer view of an exit wound. Because there had been no sign of the bullet in the wall, the soldier deduced that fragments were lodged inside the man's body. Letting out a few cuss words, he rounded up as much semi-clean fabric from his assailants as he could find and, instructing Luigi to keep him still, wrapped the fabric and rope around the laceration. The man screamed at both the pressure and internal damage. Mario then announced to the group, "We got to get him above ground ASAP. The bullet didn't exit, or not completely, so there's gotta be internal bleeding. And it might've hit a rib or two." Sal weakly opened his mouth to protest, but his eldest nephew shook his head. "I wasn't bullshittin' Vinny. Special Forces never leave a guy behind!" Lifting him quickly to his feet, Mario winced at Salvatore's high-pitched grunts. "Mi dispiace, Zio. This is gonna hurt like a motherfucker. But I need ya to do some walkin', at least for a little bit. I gotta be able to shoot if needed." The man, sweaty from extreme pain, gave a curt nod. "Pete, hold onto Joe. Weegie, John, you're gonna take the lead. Weegie, you're our eyes and ears again. We need the quickest way outta here, preferably without assholes in our way."
Before Luigi could scan the area, a loud boom reverberated throughout the tunnel. Mario, Bowser, and Pete immediately turned toward the source, only to be faced with airborne rocks, concrete, and metal. The blast as well as errant fragments blew Luigi and Pete a couple feet in the opposite direction, the young man moaning as his back slammed against a pipe. Pointing his Uzi to shoot anything that moved, Bowser slid forward to inspect the damage. Once the smoke had cleared, their faces and hearts fell at the entrance that had become an unrecognizable and immovable pile of debris extending to the cracked ceiling. "God-fucking-damn it!" John bellowed, kneeling over the mess.
"John, get the fuck away from there!" Mario shouted. "That shit could buckle at any minute!"
"Oh, yes, Johnny-boy, please do get crushed, you disloyal piece of shit!" chortled a female voice from the other side of the rubble. "Helping the man who killed your brother? Die with him then!"
Bowser kicked at one of the larger fallen bricks. "Marco got himself killed, you crazy bitch!"
"Well, now, you'll get to answer to him on your way to Hell, stupid prick!" Polina screeched, though between breaths, as though she were attempting to suppress discomfort from an injury. "Since that pig Vinny couldn't get the job done while I tended to my little wound, well, as usual, I'll do it myself. There's no way out, dicks. The only tunnel from the Low Library," she giggled manically, "is to a six-inch space of boiling-hot steampipes. Unless you all, let alone Mario, go on a crash diet of air, you'll never squeeze your worthless asses through. Have fun watching the pedo priest choke on his own blood."
"Bitch!" howled Giuseppe, who picked up a small rock and threw it aimlessly at the pile.
"Ooh, temper, temper, Joe. But all's not lost – you'll die with your lover. How very … Italian. Like Act 4 of Aida – Radames and Aida buried alive. Now, see, had this been a Russian classic, you would've been blown up or thrown on railroad tracks. Or had a red-hot poker shoved up your asses in prison. Oh well. Addio, dicks."
The voice disappeared. Although tripping over his rubbery legs, a weak Joe strode to the pile to toss the smaller pieces away in an attempt to clear the rubble. "Zio," called out Mario from behind him. "We … can't go out that way. If we try to move it, the ceiling will cave in, to say nothing of how she left the way to Uris. I doubt, given the weight of the limestone, steel, brick and granite, that the whole building would buckle, but we'd be instantly crushed. As a plumber, you know that." The stubborn man ignored his nephew, continuing to work through the endless debris. Pete gently grabbed the skinny man around the waist, dragging the distraught, squirming figure back to Mario, Luigi, who grimaced as he sat up, and the laboring Salvatore.
"Basta, Joe!" Pete whispered. "Basta!" Still holding the older plumber, whose eyes had become blank, he twisted his head to the others. "Do any of you know of another way out of here? We're running out of time."
"Crazy bitch!" muttered the soldier as he briefly ignored the Denverite's question to check on his little brother. "You okay?" he asked the taller man.
"Yeah, I'll live," Luigi answered with a slight squeak. "Pete's right, fratello; we got bigger problems than my sore back and ass."
"So, what now, Abruzzese fuck?" griped Bowser softly as he put on the safety to the Uzi.
Mario sighed. "As much as I hate sayin' it, she's right. The only two main exits are either blocked or too small and hot to cross." His blue eyes suddenly widened. "No, wait – there's a third. It'll be risky, as it was sealed off back when Nonno and I were last here. It's on the other side of the steps. I don't even know if we can …"
"We don't have a choice, nipote. Sal won't make it otherwise!"
Unwilling to snap at his elder, he simply nodded. "We gotta walk a ways." He rushed to the pale Salvatore. "Yo, Zio, this is gonna hurt again. I'm sorry. But the entrance is further down the tunnel."
The injured man blinked. "I … can handle … pain. But … if you … c-can save … yourselves, d-don't …"
"Shut the fuck up, Sal!" wheezed Joe, fists balling at his sides. "We're not leaving you behind! You stupid, self-righteous cazzone!"
Salvatore flashed a toothy grin. "Anch'io ti amo, Tesoro."
The soldier-plumber's eyes enlarged at the Sicilian's words to his paternal uncle. Luigi shrugged at his brother's stunned look while Pete and Joe said nothing. Bowser merely blinked, as he understood very little Italian. "W-wait a sec …" Mario dropped the subject at his fratellino's pointed stare. Propping Sal around him, he murmured, "Aight, let's move."
Sam and Miles waited in the darkened command center, save for the frequent police and fire truck sirens that passed by them, heading down Amsterdam Avenue to Columbia's College Walk. Having dropped most of their defenses, though leaving several virtual machines and VPNs in place, they tracked incoming network traffic. So far nothing. The Coloradan eyeballed the physical layer and firewall while looking over the blond engineer's shoulder, who nervously popped a piece of hard peppermint candy into his mouth.
"I don't fucking understand this – why isn't he jumping on us like flies on shit?" asked Sam.
Miles shrugged, sucking on the mint. "I'm guessing he's going to wait – he knows we're onto him. At least, that's what I'd be thinking."
"Or he's waiting for us to do something," he reasoned. "Let's go ahead and scan the Low Library. Yoshi and Matt have got to be there by now."
He nodded, though in a somewhat undecided manner. "Okay, let's do that. Got nothing better to do." Activating the scanner, his double monitor screen displayed both a map of the Columbia University tunnel system as well as a three-dimensional schematic of the Low Library's levels in real time. His brown eyes focused on the north end of the entrance into the circular corridor. "Woah, what the fuck happened?!"
The Colorado mafioso leaned over Miles to have a better look at the real-time picture. "Jesus, someone blew the entry point." His blood went cold. "They're trapped. Are they even … ?"
Typing a series of commands, the New Yorker breathed sigh of relief and wiped the rare sheen of sweat upon his brow. "Look – I see five, no, six figures moving to the south. They're alive. Mario? Luigi? Someone come in, damn it!"
Static and a few seconds later, Luigi's voice spoke, "Miles! We, uh, we're here. All of us – for the moment."
"Lou, what the hell happened? The exit to Uris Hall is blocked, like Rura Penthe screwed?!"
"Yeah, the, uh, Crazy Bitch blew the tunnel to trap us. Vinny DiScala and his men are dead, but ... Sal's ... hurt. Very badly. And Joe's pretty weak. We need a way out now."
Miles and Sam exchanged a worried look. "Um ..." he began, "I ... I ... Lou, I don't see one. There is a tunnel to the southeast, but it's narrow as shit and I'm reading extreme heat signatures. If you were to climb inside, assuming you even could, you'd receive second- or third-degree burns."
"Yeah, we know. Mario thinks there's a sealed door or something next to it or at least nearby," replied Luigi with an almost disconnected tone.
On a third monitor, the hacker pulled up blueprints of the Low Library interior: built upon a Greek cross according to a neoclassical design, there were three levels, of which the lowest – the ground floor – featured a vestibule and flooring made of marble and limestone. "Goddamnit! Lou, even if there is a tunnel, it's blocked by solid marble and limestone. There's no way in hell you'll be able to get through ..."
Sam, who was examining the network traffic, interjected, "Miles, we got an incoming! Our fucking friend's back!"
"Shit!" he yelled. "Lou, I'll be back, I promise!" Severing the commlink and one of his virtual machine traps, he transferred the updated heat map to a jump drive and deleted the information on the computer hard drive. "He must've already been in our systems – hiding until we re-established communications with the Away Team. He probably knows where they are. Damn it!"
"So, he's after their location," concluded the Coloradan. "If Polina blew up the tunnel to Uris, then why would he need to know that?"
Steepling his hands together, Miles mumbled, "Either it's to make sure they're dead or ... this guy's not with Polina."
"It can't be one of Vinny's guys or the Mafia. Those fuckers don't even know what a router is!" He frowned. "Is that guy – the Russian secret agent man? Or, shit, the Vor?"
The New Yorker shrugged. "Maybe. That's who I'd place my bet on, if, you know, I gambled. Even so, I don't want to do anything more until I know who this douchebag is." Humming to himself, he opened another terminal, unmasking his current IP address to attract his attention, and used a whoami command. Sam raised an eyebrow, to which the hacker explained, "Sometimes, you just gotta knock."
They watched as a request for a remote session appeared on the screen. Miles accepted the invitation while taking out his laptop that had not been connected to the system. As both he and Sam presumed would happen, the remote user locked out their access privileges, save for a chat box into which they could type answers of 280 characters or less. Sam chuckled, "Jesus, is this guy like a Twitter aficionado or something?"
"Greetings. You are the creature that just got owned by Mr. Shiitake. You like mushrooms? Pickled ones?"
"What the fuck?!" snorted Sam. "Is this guy on mushrooms?"
"Uh, hi. What are you smoking?" typed Miles.
"I don't smoke. I am, however, enjoying mushroom juice. Very healthy."
"What do you want?"
"Looking for information. It's a Saturday night and I'm done scratching my sack. Jock itch's annoying, but boring."
Miles and Sam gave each other a nonplussed glance, with the latter mouthing a wut. Leaning over the former, the Coloradan typed, "Are you fucking insane, dude? I mean, really. If you're a Columbia undergrad, GTFO."
The channel went silent, although they remained locked out of their systems. After exchanging another incredulous look, they stared at the chat once more, neither believing that the hacker had acquiesced. As Sam exhaled to control his breathing, the camera engaged, and they saw themselves on the computer screen. A moment later, they overheard buzzing and a faint thump atop the van.
"Much better. Well, I don't need to GTFO then. I'm not a Columbia grad lolz. Oh, and I brought friends to our party."
Without seeing their mystery interlocutor, both young men could envision his lunatic laughter. "Who the fuck are you?" wrote Sam.
"Now, what would be the fun in telling you? Hmm? Better question, moron: whom did I bring?" Miles and Sam could only stare at the remote chat in uneasy quiet. When they failed to communicate, the man queried, "Ask me!"
Reluctantly, the New Yorker inputted, "Okay, whom did you bring?"
"Excellent question – after all, I came up with it. I brought some, uh, minions, if you will. They've been misnamed as drones."
"Shit!" exclaimed the Coloradan, arming himself and pointing his Beretta above them.
"Oh, relax. These partygoers aren't armed. But they could be if you were to, uh, leave prematurely 😂."
Miles crossed his arms, shaking his head. "Asshole even included a goddamned emoji."
"As I said before, scratching my sack's boring. Entertainment time."
"What do you want?!" he demanded while Sam continued to scan the ceiling.
"Entertain me."
Shaking his head irritably, Sam set down his weapon next to the console and punched his fingers against the keyboard, "How old are you? Six? Fuck off!"
"As I stated previously, I am not a Columbia undergrad (or grad, ftm). So your aforementioned prerequisite has been met. I'm just playing by your group policy. Not that I give a shit about rules, but whatevs."
Miles held up an index finger to his seething colleague. "Okay, we'll bite. What are the parameters for the aforementioned 'entertainment?'"
"That's more like it! First, you remain inside your, uh, Scooby Doo centre. Very kitsch. Second, your answers must come within sixty seconds of the question being posed. Third, I'll have your complete attention at all times."
Leaning back in his chair, the New Yorker did not react to his opponent, instead watching the clock and counting to fifty-eight seconds. "Okay."
"Fifty-nine seconds? I see you're passive-aggressive, Miles. Or is it Tails? And does that make your friend 'Heads?'"
Sam watched as the hacker steepled his hands, eyeing the clock; cognizant of being observed inside the van, he nonetheless wanted to ask their mystery captor just how he knew who Miles was. At fifty-six seconds, the latter wrote, "Whichever you prefer."
Several seconds passed without a response. "Miles, I think you pissed him off," the Coloradan snickered.
"Hardly, hoser. Believe it or not, I had to use the shithouse. I did consider peeing in a bottle, but a Coke bottle wouldn't do the trick – in more ways than one 😆."
He raised an eyebrow and answered aloud, "That's plain disgusting, dude."
"Thank you! Anyway, back to the issue at hand. As I keep you occupied, I have prepared a questionnaire of sorts. It's better than charades. R U ready?"
"Ready for what, jackass?"
"Ooh, you lose one point for unsportsmanlike conduct. Tsk tsk. If you drop below eighteen points, or ninety percent, I'm afraid I'm contractually obliged to kill you. One of the drones has a gun. Sorry. AND you go into the penalty box, Sammy."
"Motherfucker ..." Sam mouthed, not wanting to test the opponent's threat.
"Now, Tails, what is the port number for RDP? Windows."
Once again, Miles eyed the clock until the second hand reached fifty-five, then typed, "TCP 3389."
"Correct, though I have no clue why you took fifty-six seconds to answer that – a complete goal suck. I thought you were a hacker? Oh, and that is question two. And I expect a 280 character answer, just so you don't keep pulling the same shiz."
He shrugged. "Because, frankly, ur pissing me off. I mean, don't you think it's kind of rude not to give your name? I've been sitting here waiting for a social cue. If you know me, then you'll know this to be accurate. U lowballed me with the RDP question. Next, ur going to ask SSH 22?"
Silence passed over the chat once more. Ten seconds into their wait, Sam began whistling the Jeopardy theme as Miles stifled a snicker.
"Getting a snack – ketchup chips. Sweet and salty, just like my ... Ahem, anyway. A name? Well, call me Norbert Wiener."
"Fuck you!" exclaimed Miles aloud. "I'd believe Anthony Weiner!"
"Oh, geez, now you go into the penalty box and minus one point, Tails. Although ... Carlos Danger does have a nice ring to it. But alright, now I have to play with Sammy."
As the New Yorker shook his head in visible offense, Sam crossed his arms. "I'm not typing."
"Suit yourself. 280 character rule still applies, tho. Okay, question 3: what is TFTP and what's its function?"
Sam frowned for a moment, as that protocol did not come immediately to mind. He was more of a network guy – mesh, star, and bus formation; wireless, hubs, and switches. "Trivial File Transfer Protocol!" he eventually answered, snapping his fingers. "Um ...?"
"Ten seconds, suck ass."
He bit his lip and turned to Miles who was blinking rapidly. "69?"
"I'll let you get away with that one, even though I think Tails helped you cheat. But yeah, 69, heh. Question 4: Who sang 'Everyone wants to rule the world?'"
"Tears for Fears. Is that a double meaning?"
"Yes, and take it as you like, Sammy Suck-Ass. Question 5: Who wrote, 'Hereby it is manifest that during the time men live without a common power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is called war; and such a war is of every man against every man ...
'In such condition there is no place for industry, because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and consequently, no culture of the earth ... no knowledge of the face of the earth ...' Start the Jeopardy theme, bitches."
The Coloradan cursed underneath his breath. As a reader, he was partial to Tom Clancy and the occasional Japanese or Korean graphic novel. Yet based on the syntax of this particular quote as well as the hacker's fondness for flaunting his supposed brilliance, he knew that it was either philosophy or political theory – or both. His Uncle Pete would have been better at this type of trivia. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could observe Miles gazing pleadingly at him, for they had lost two points, the minimum to continue whatever sick game their opponent had in mind. Focusing on the text, he precipitously remembered his freshman-year philosophy class, which he had slept or BS-ed through to a B grade.
"Five seconds, Sammy Suck-Ass. Looks like I win the game, tee-hee."
"Not quite. Thomas Hobbes, which frankly, kind of suits you."
To their delight, the chat went quiet once more. With his left hand, Miles fist-bumped Sam, who sneered right at the camera. Yet out of their captor's view, Miles's right hand was texting a hex-message to Yoshi.
"Okay, I'm a gentleman – fair point, you got it, Sammy. Now it's time to increase the difficulty, boys."
After a few additional minutes of negotiating the growing crowds of onlookers and passers-by on Broadway Avenue and sweet-talking suspicious NYPD and campus guards into letting them through as Columbia STEM graduate students, Matt and Yoshi made their way past the Havemeyer and Mathematics Buildings. As they passed Uris Hall, they observed multiple FDNY fire trucks and NYPD personnel gathering around both the large complex and near the Low Library, whose fire alarms were still ringing. Matt opened his tablet, hacking a neighboring wireless network to connect to the command center's server. Nothing. For the first time in five or ten minutes, Yoshi felt the buzz in his pocket that he had received a message. Checking his email, he showed the encrypted file from Miles – the tunnel to Uris Hall had collapsed, trapping the Wrecking Crew inside the circular corridor underneath the Low Library. Comprehending the imminent danger, they ran full speed to the southeast corner that sat atop a ten-floor platform next to the Greek columns of the neoclassical edifice. Whereas Matt downloaded the file that Yoshi had emailed to him, the latter examined the dark grass for any old manholes or exits. "There are no fucking exits!" he cried. "I don't know how in the hell they're going to get out!"
The Boulderite enlarged a portion of the three-dimensional map. "No, wait – there actually is! It's dangerous as fuck, though. There are steampipes next to it, and maybe a water pipe of some sort? But below the ground floor is, like, a room. They've got to be underneath."
"Lemme see?" he asked. The skinny man took out a flashlight and held it up to the screen so that Yoshi could see the blueprint-like screen better. "Oh, yeah! Sonofabitch, there is! But ... that's ten to fifteen feet down. How the hell ...?"
"Hey, move away from the building!" ordered a stern man's voice. The two young men gazed up in the darkness to see the reflective material of a six-foot-one firefighter's coat. Yoshi squinted at him, then his eyes widened in recognition. At the same time, the forties-something man stepped closer, having also identified the young man's face. "You ..." he pointed at the physicist, "you were at the Masciarellis' a few months back? Luigi's friend – Yoshi?"
"Yeah, you're Captain McCollough, right?" he inquired.
"Yeah. The building hasn't been cleared, so, uh, your studies are gonna have to wait. Should be another hour, so be patient, huh?"
As he turned to head back to the library entrance, Yoshi called out, "That's, uh, not why we're here. Actually, we need your help. We know why the power just all of a sudden went out. We did it." The captain's brown eyes enlarged in surprise and anger. "Well, a friend of ours. It was to save the campus. Mario and Luigi, too."
"The hell are you talking about?" he bellowed.
"They're in the tunnels. It's a convoluted story, but a bunch of crazy Russian Mafia assholes took Giuseppe down there. Mario, Luigi, my father, and their maternal uncle went down to get him. But the, uh, leader, Polina Bowser, blew the tunnel to Uris Hall. Now we think they're trapped underneath the Low Library," explained Matt.
Captain McCollough opened his mouth to demand an in-depth account when they heard screams and tens of frightened students running eastward. "Active shooter!" someone cried.
"Someone has a gun!" another screamed while seeking sanctuary near the staircase and NYPD. "They're shooting on Broadway!" Two officers on scene ordered them to stay down, then, drawing their guns, sprinted westward.
The stupefied firefighter quickly spun to the horrified Matt and Yoshi. "Who's your father?"
"Pete Morello."
"Shit!" the man swore. "Okay, do you know where Mario and Luigi were last?" The boys nodded, holding up the tablet to Captain McCollough and pointing to the old rowing room in the sub-basement of the southeast corner. "Alright. If there's an active shooter, you should stay with me. We're gonna get some equipment to get in there." Jogging to Uris Hall and his fire chief, he fetched his radio and, with Yoshi and Matt quickly following, started shouting directives for Halligans and additional men to the Low Library.
Near the west entrance to Earl Hall, undergraduates continued to scream at the three bodies – one civilian and two police officers – on the sidewalk along Broadway. Moments prior, three burly men and a woman had appeared from nowhere and shot in the air and at the cops in pursuit. Daisy, Peach, Amita, her cousin, Jyoti, who had instead been at Earl Hall for an event, and an eyerolling Lucas could only observe the shooters escape in a black SUV. Temporarily forgetting her fear, Peach rushed out of the gate to the bodies. Her group watched as she showed her identification and credentials as a first responder to a police officer who had intercepted her; stepping aside, he permitted her to examine and treat the wounded. Daisy saw her shoulders fall upon inspecting the civilian and one of the police officers – both dead at the scene. The other was thankfully still alive; she went to work to stop the bleeding as best as she could until the ambulance arrived.
Jyoti, who was hiding behind her elder cousin, queried, "What's she doing?"
"She's a surgeon," replied the auburn-haired woman. "She works at New York-Presbyterian. First responder." Her amber eyes connected with the physician's resolute blue ones. Find Mario and Luigi; I'll be along. Nodding, Daisy announced, "I'm going to the campus grounds. We need to find Mario and Luigi."
Much to their awe and dismay, she marched on the path around the narrow, red-brick Earl Hall. Amita, Jyoti, and three other curious undergraduates followed; propelling his long legs forward, Lucas soon caught up to Daisy, flanking her. "This is idiotic! We don't know how many shooters the Crazy Bitch has!"
Without facing him, she responded flatly, "You don't need to come along; feel free to fuck off." As their view to the Low Library cleared, they saw several NYPD and firefighters carrying heavy equipment into the massive structure; two slender figures ran behind one of the firemen, who was carrying something in his hand.
"They're not inside Pupin Hall," whispered Lucas. "They're in there." Grabbing her hand, he pulled the stunned woman across the green to the stone stairs and statue in front of the Low Library, the others jogging behind them. Determined to reach the entrance, Lucas failed to avoid the two uniformed officers obstructing their path.
"Hey, no one's allowed inside right now. Please stay back," spoke the rightmost policeman.
Lucas gaped at them, his hand still around Daisy's. "You're kidding, right? This is a public place! She's," he gestured to the woman, "a paying student."
"Yo, kid, don't jerk us around," warned the other officer. "It's not safe to be there right now."
At this point, Amita, Jyoti, and a few undergraduates from the original group halted just behind Lucas and Daisy. Looking behind him, he then smirked at the guards. "Alright, we'll stay right here. If you're not going to tell us about the guys in the tunnels or who's shooting at Columbia grads and your fellow NYPD, then we'll wait." More undergraduates joined their group and voiced their agreement.
"Kids, go back to your dorms!" shouted the first officer. "Otherwise, we'll arrest you for impeding official police business."
"Actually, you can't do that, Sir," interjected Daisy while releasing Lucas's hand. "We aren't disobeying you, nor are we actively or inactively interfering the rescue of those men inside the tunnels." Turning to face the stirred undergraduates, she announced, "No one move, but no one cross this line. Let the police and firefighters do their jobs. There are lives at risk. However, we are paying students, and we are thus not trespassing. Plus, the west-side dorms and buildings are not safe; there are no lockdowns or campus police." The group nodded, most taking a seat on the cold ground and keeping their hands visible to the policemen. Spinning to face the guards and Low Library, the lawyer-in-training raised an eyebrow, daring them to escalate the situation.
Discernibly angered by the woman's directive, they took a step closer to her and Lucas when Amita, Jyoti, and another undergraduate held up their phones to film their prospective actions. Unwilling to be accused of police brutality or abuse of power, they exchanged an annoyed look. "Aight, stay there. Cross this line, however, and we will arrest you!" cautioned the leftmost officer.
Sitting down next to Daisy, Lucas muttered, "Yo, Man with the Plan, why don't you get Weegie out of the tunnels, already? I don't want to get my suit and ass all damp from waiting."
For the fifth time, Mario inspected the passageway. His skin could feel heat emanating from pipes twenty-five feet ahead of him; his headlight showed thick steampipes that, allotting only six inches of clearance, would certainly yield second- and third-degree burns if they tried to slide past and, by accident, pressed against them. Bowser and Pete watched him expectantly while Luigi dripped water from a canteen into the mouths of a critically injured Salvatore and a frail Giuseppe. Using the tip of his sledgehammer, the plumber tapped against the walls, listening for an empty space. After six knocks, the sound changed from dull to sharp. Inspecting the material with his hand, he then hit the same spot once more. "C'mon, you motherfucker," he barked before slamming the tool full force against the wall, creating a large dent. Mario performed the same action a second and a third time until the dent became a hole to a long-forgotten tunnel. "I found the fucker!" he yelled jubilantly. Taking a deep breath, he motioned for Pete and Bowser to help; taking out their sledgehammers, the three started to tear into the exposed wall so that each man could easily pass through.
Asking Giuseppe to take the canteen and hold Salvatore's head up, Luigi excused himself to assist the three bigger men. But Pete put up a hand. "It's okay; we got it, son. Is your gadget functioning? We'll need to scan for the tunnel – see how far we'd need to dig."
Retrieving the gadget that he had placed next to the pale Salvatore and grim Giuseppe, the plumber checked and, seeing it was almost dead, changed the battery. A minute afterward, Luigi powered up the gadget, set the parameters for a local scan, and pointed it into the opened channel. Shaking his head to indicate that there was no path straight ahead, he gradually tilted it upward and held the position for thirty seconds.
"Did ya find something or not, Greenie?" John inquired in a somewhat annoyed tone.
Luigi bit his lip and lowered the device. "Well, do you want the bad or shitty news first?"
"Just tell us!" the redhead growled, despising their predicament of being in both a cramped and sealed space.
He ran a hand over his reddened face and sweaty mustache. "The bad news: we have to climb up to the next level; it's at an angle, like there had been a staircase at one point. About ten, maybe fifteen feet. That's not terrible. The shitty news: the ceiling's reinforced by several feet of granite, concrete, or some fuckin' solid material like that. Even if we could reach the top, our sledgehammers wouldn't generate enough force to tear through all that. We might be able to get through a few feet."
Pete and Mario closed their eyes in frustration while Bowser hissed, "God-fucking-damn-it! Maybe we should've tried to dig through to Uris Hall."
"There'd have been no way!" the portly man insisted, extending his index finger. "The whole fuckin' thing woulda collapsed, John!" He kicked one of the wall fragments. His blue eyes abruptly enlarged. "Bowser, Pete, Weegie, do you still got grenades?"
The three men traded a quizzical look. "Yeah, fratello, I have all my grenades. Bowser and Pete are short maybe two or three."
"Good," affirmed the soldier. "'Cause we're gonna use 'em to blow a hole into that fucker. You, Bowser, and Pete work on digging a hole. I'm gonna use my, uh, special talents as an 18C to build an IED. The grenades should do the trick."
John, Luigi, Pete, and Joe, who had been listening to the conversation, gaped incredulously in his direction. "Have you lost your fuckin' mind?" rasped the latter. "Aside from causing damage to a fuckin' city and state landmark, that ceiling could cave on youse! And who's gonna set that thing? You? You'll get your ass killed!"
Mario shrugged. "You got a better idea, Zio? If so, I'm all ears. But you heard Weegie – our sledgehammers can't get through that shit, especially ten feet up. And we can't turn around now. Sal's in deep shit. So are we, for that matter."
Luigi nodded, plucking one of the sledgehammers lined against the wall. "Let's do it. I don't think we have a choice, either. We've lost contact with the Miles and the others. Theoretically, the police and whomever else have arrived, but they wouldn't necessarily know that we're down here. And," he turned to the ashen Sicilian whose head was propped in a stern-looking Giuseppe's lap, "I don't think Uncle Sal's got a lot of time left. His color's blanched considerably since we left the other side of the tunnel."
Pete exhaled, eyeing the fallen man with Joe. "What the hell? If we make it out of here, it'll be a great story."
Bowser picked up his sledgehammer and smashed it overhead, causing dust and pieces to fall. "Well, don't just stand there! I want to get outta this shithole. Go build your bomb, Abruzzese fuck."
The three men hammered a diagonal path upward, resulting in pieces of softer concrete and granite to rain upon them; Mario rifled through their backpacks for grenades, rope, duct tape, and a plumber's toolkit that his little brother had stuffed in the larger flap. As the younger men worked, Joe helplessly watched Salvatore grow fainter, his brown eyes becoming heavier with every minute. "Stay awake, goddamnit!" he snapped.
"'M so tired, Tesoro. T-Time to let me s-s-sleep."
"No! It's not time! It ain't even fuckin' half 'till time! We're gonna get outta here. Including your dumb Sicilian ass."
He tried to laugh, but a high-pitched groan came from his throat instead. "I ... d-didn't ... know ... y-y-you p-p-prayed-d to J-J-Jude."
"Shut up," said Giuseppe in a broken voice, adjusting his body to wrap his arms protectively around the dying man. "Just shut up. You're pulling through ..." The plumber gazed down at him. "I can't ... I need to go first."
Weakly, Salvatore raised his left, scarred hand and grasped Joe's thinner one. "C-C-can't d-deny y-you a-any ... thing."
From the corner, Yoshi and Matt observed the crew of Engine 57 organize their set of Halligans, drills, saws, and ladders underneath the southeast staircase and next to the rickety spiral stairway leading down to the rowing facility that had been closed to the student body since the 1990s. Once another fire company and Con-Ed had temporarily restored power and shut off the alarms for the building, Captain McCollough directed the teams along the still locked door. His superior, Fire Chief Burns, as well as one of the NYPD captains had gone to locate a Columbia administrator with authority to allow them into the sub-basement. For the second time in five minutes, he anxiously checked his watch; although air was fortunately not a problem, as there should have been sufficient ventilation for six people, even with the sealed exit to Uris Hall, he was unsure of potential injuries.
Hearing the click-clack of boots and shoes across the marble floor, the firefighter pivoted in its vicinity. Three men were approaching; one was his boss, Fire Chief Burns, a man in his early sixties whose Irish brogue came through every so often in his speech; the second was a collegiate-looking, spectacled man in his late forties, vested in a suit jacket, shirt, and jeans; the third was a blue-collar man in his fifties carrying a set of keys. "Yo, Robbie, this is Doctor Jon Aronson; he's with the President's office and is authorized to speak on its behalf. And this is Bob Armstrong; he's a head custodian." They briefly shook hands, after which Aronson spoke, "What's this about? I thought it was an issue with the power?"
"No, sir, it's more than that," replied McCollough. "We've had active shooters that," his eyes darted to the young men in the corner, "may be associated with organized crime. They came out of the underground tunnels before they opened fire on innocent people. I don't know about casualties. But there could be more underground. And we have reason to believe that the tunnels connecting Low Library to Pupin Hall, via Uris Hall, may have been severely damaged, preventing any escape. The brass is going to send Rescue 1 to investigate the structural integrity from Pupin Hall down. We should know more in the morning. But right now, there are people – lawful individuals – trapped underneath this building."
Aronson stared at him and Chief Burns. "With all due respect, Captain, Chief, that's a lot of ifs. This building is an historic landmark; you can't just go tearing it up on a load of ifs."
The chief shook his head to placate the agitated man. "No, we have heat sensory equipment, Dr. Aronson. It won't hurt the building in the slightest. We just need to get down into the lower room. I think it's the, uh, ..."
"Athletic Training Area," supplied Bob. "It's normally off-limits due to structural and environmental issues."
"Yeah, that's it," nodded Chief Burns. "If there are people down there, we'll limit any damage to the floor inside that room only. The rotunda and upper floors will remain untouched and undamaged."
"Alright," conceded the administrator. He gestured to the locked door. "Let them in, Bob." Obeying his superior, the custodian walked over to the door and, selecting the correct key on a chain of about thirty, unlocked it.
"Let's go, boys!" shouted their lieutenant, leading the group down the spiral steps.
Captain McCollough nodded his thank-you to Aronson and Armstrong. He ambled to the apprehensive Yoshi and Matt. "Okay, you just stay here. Don't worry; I'm not leaving here without Jumpman's boys. No way in hell. I just need a favor – I'll need your tablet with the map. If we know where that pipe goes, they're probably in there." Wordlessly, Matt handed it over to him. "Thanks." Then he followed his subordinates down the steps to the sub-basement.
Unable to turn on the lights to the tight, musty space, the firefighters set up various lamps so that they could work. The captain activated the screen; initially a bit confused at using apps versus going to Start on a PC, he clicked on several erroneous programs and screens before arriving at the three-dimensional map.
"Yo, Cappie, havin' some problems?" teased one of the younger guys.
"Fuck off, wiseass, before I got you on doubles," he muttered in response to the communal snickering of his men. Enlarging the southeastern portion of the Low Library with his thumb and index finger and turning it so that he could orient himself with respect to the tunnel, he yelled, "Aight, ladies, listen up: the tunnel's running diagonally at a tangent to this corner." He stepped over several rowers toward the wall and concrete flooring. "It's right here. Let's get 'em ready."
Two men initiated the heat and sound sensor equipment. They scanned for ninety seconds, as their colleagues, the captain included, held their breath impatiently. "Cappie, we got something!" one finally reported. "We got sounds – banging – and ... yeah, we got six heat signatures. They're about twelve feet down."
"Nice work. You heard 'em – let's get a hole going!"
Sam internally rolled his eyes for the seventh time at the game of twenty questions that he and Miles were being forced to play. Despite his budding desire to grab his AR-15, burst out of the van, and shoot the hacker's drones out of the sky, he calmed his body and mind, willing them to be patient for just a few minutes more. Miles had steepled his hands, which the Coloradan had quickly learned was his compatriot's way of focusing his intelligence and logic as opposed to engaging with his emotions. As for their captor, by question sixteen, he had lost his temper and was becoming more and more irate at the mere possibility of losing. For this reason, Sam felt adrenaline course through his veins, knowing that they would inevitably have to fight their way free; both he and Miles had little faith that 'Norbert Weiner' would let them go after the final question.
"Well, well, well. To be honest, I didn't expect you to reach question 20. Please, feel free to take a bow. Really. Tim Horton's in your future, je pense."
"Thanks," deadpanned Sam.
"That's underwhelming, but I've come to expect that from you, hoser. Alright, question 20. I've prepared a special question for you. After all, it can't be just a freebie."
Miles raised a sarcastic eyebrow as he read aloud: "On a Sunday morning, a certain plumber named Luigi was murdered. Uncle Joe was reading the paper, his brother was in the kitchen cooking fatty bacon, and the guy's little critter BFF was playing video games. Uncle Sal was visiting and was out getting the mail. Who dunnit?"
Sam bit his lip angrily, re-reading the prompt while the other man crossed his arms to refrain from exploding at the hacker's cheap, sadistic attempt at 'humor.'
"Ah, twenty seconds. This is fun indeed!" the man taunted. "What's wrong, Tails? Can't admit when someone's smarter than you?"
The blond hacker growled, his steepled hands balling into fists.
"That means I win! HA HA HA!"
"Not quite," interjected the Coloradan aloud, putting a reassuring hand on Miles's shoulder. "I don't think it'll matter to you, but here goes: it's Uncle Sal. The mail doesn't come on Sunday."
The chat fell quiet. Enraged by the man's taunts, a tearful Miles picked up his laptop and began typing commands, including an access to the Away Team's location. "You want to mess with my friends?!" he screamed. "Here you go, asshole! Now I have your IP address, you fucking Borg prick! Location ... Seattle, Washington. Mercer Island?!"
"Bill Gates finally lost it?"
Within five feet of their van, multiple gunshots rang out, followed by pedestrians' frightened screams and fleeing footfalls. Arming himself with an AR-15, Sam unlocked the van doors and slipped outside; a shaking Miles, equipped only with his laptop, crept out behind him. "Get down!" the former Navy man ordered his colleague as he pointed his weapon at the first of six drones and fired, blowing it apart mid-air. Stomach on the ground, the hacker attempted to trace the source of the drones, disbelieving the supposed Washington State origin. Crouching near the ground and the bumper of the van, Sam hit another three drones before getting grazed in the face and punctured in the shoulder. Miles shrieked; the two drones buzzed around the top of the nearby trees and van, inching closer to take their kill shot. Whimpering silently, he tried to roll up into a ball, spine facing away from his robotic killers, hands around his head to protect himself. "I'm sorry, Sonic, Lou; I tried," he murmured.
Two shots echoed in the night. The blond hacker recoiled, yet he neither felt red-hot pierces in his body nor his vision become hazy and dark from death. Another shot and a bang. Taking his hands and arms away from his head, he saw the drones shooting at a man carrying a Sig Sauer and taking cover behind a few cars. He glanced at the still breathing Sam, whose brown eyes connected with his, pleading with them. As if possessing a mind of their own, Miles's fingers slid around the AR-15's handle; he felt himself rise slowly to his feet, his hands guide the rifle at one of the drones, and his finger press the trigger, destroying it. A second, seemingly distant pop succeeded his gunfire, obliterating the last one.
Still pointing the Sig Sauer at the sky, the man, dressed in blue jeans and a black hoodie, rushed to the injured Sam. "Central, shots fired, corner of 120th and Broadway, near Pupin Hall! Need a bus – 10-34, civilian casualty! Officer on scene; 10-13Z!" he yelled into a walkie-talkie. As he administered basic first aid to the Coloradan, Miles noticed a gold police shield around his neck – Detective, NYPD – and remarked a silent Latin American accent to his speech. "Lieutenant Kendricks thought you and Sam might be here," he explained. "He's at the Low Library right now. They think they found Mario and Luigi underground. Your, uh, friends, Yoshi and Pete Morello's son, have been very helpful to Engine 57."
Nodding slowly, the blond engineer stammered, "Is S-Sam g-g-going to be okay?"
"Yeah, I think so," replied the detective. "The wound to the face was surface only; he's been shot in the shoulder, but if we get him assistance ASAP, he'll recover."
"I can hear you both," snickered Sam weakly. "Nice shooting, Miles."
He flushed in a mixture of embarrassment and surprise. "It's my first time sh-sh-shooting a gun."
As a crowd lined the sidewalk, two police cars and an ambulance stopped just behind them. The detective directed the engineer to stand back as the EMTs ran to tend to Sam. He held the police badge to the advancing uniformed officers.
"You called in the 10-34?" demanded the leader.
"Yeah. I'm Detective José Hernández. I'm a UC for Major Case. My superior's Lieutenant Kendricks."
DK negotiated the campus sidewalks, flashing his lieutenant's badge to the heavy police and FDNY presence around the Low Library whenever they attempted to intercept him. Coming to the base of the stairs, he found a gathering of forty to fifty peaceable university students, with Lucas, Daisy, and Peach in the front row. Crossing his arms, he bellowed at Peach and Daisy, "Okay, ladies, we are going to have a talk about obeying all police directives!" Whereas Lucas rolled his eyes, the women gazed resolutely up at him, unapologetic for their actions. He took a deep breath and spoke in a more normal tone, "I did, however, hear that you," he nodded his head at Peach, "saved a wounded brother officer and you," he performed the same action at Daisy, "kept the students calm and compliant."
"Hey!" interposed Lucas. "I told off Tweedledee and Tweedledum over there! I helped!"
"You're a dirtbag who conspired with the very woman who got everyone into this mess!" snapped the lieutenant. "You're not getting brownie points from me, so shut the fuck up!" He inched closer to the outraged Manhattanite. "Not to mention that you might've helped that bitch down there. And if you did, I'll make sure the DA sends your skinny ass to Rikers for the duration of your trial."
Lucas rose to his feet, shouting angrily, "Hey, I did not help Crazy Lady! I ran away from her. And if I really wanted to, Lieutenant, I could've disappeared! But I didn't!"
"Yeah, bullshit!" he spat. Eyeing the assembled Columbia students, whose student body already possessed a reputation for confronting the police during protests, he weighed his options. On one hand, he wanted nothing better than to handcuff Lucas Kariolis; however, the students, believing him to be an ally of theirs, might react poorly and impede the rescue crews. On the other hand, he suspected that, once Mario, Luigi, and the others were found, Lucas would attempt to flee the scene. DK glared at the smirking man, who seemed well-aware of his predicament. "You three stay here, alright? When we got something, I'll come get you." Daisy and Peach gave a nod while the lieutenant walked past the two guards. Encountering a few plain-clothes detectives at the entrance, he briefly flashed his badge, elucidated the issue, and requested that they unobtrusively place the tall man under arrest once the missing men were located. Indicating that they had understood, the detectives moved to a spot in the corner permitting them easy access to Lucas. DK then entered the rotunda, where a fire chief was standing next to two civilians and a group of ready EMTs.
"You Lieutenant Kendricks?" inquired the fire chief.
"Yeah. You're Chief Burns?"
"That I am. These are Dr. Aronson and Mr. Armstrong with the university."
After shaking hands, Dr. Aronson was the first to speak. "Lieutenant, just what the hell's going on here? How come there are men underground?! And shots fired along Broadway? We're not just any institution – how am I going to explain to our donors that ... ?"
"Sir," he interrupted somewhat testily, "I understand that this isn't just any institution. Those men underground were, in fact, trying to save it. They're under my direction in Major Case. Russian and Mafia criminals illegally used your tunnels to enact a kidnapping and attempted murder. These guys are among the very few who could've found the individual who's a civilian and an innocent! You want answers? We'll be happy to provide them to you once we get 'em out of there. We being the NYPD, 1PP, the Manhattan DA, and the Mayor's Office."
Aronson's eyes widened. "You conducted an operation without telling us?! I'm going to have your ass for this! This put how many lives at risk, Lieutenant?!"
DK opened his mouth to retort, but Chief Burns physically moved between the arguing men. "Alright, alright! We can discuss this later. Right now, Robbie – Captain McCollough – is diggin' a hole down there. They think your men are ten to twelve feet below the sub-basement. Thanks to those lads over there." The three men looked over to the worried Yoshi and Matt who remained obediently in the corner.
The loud hacking and drilling sounds emanating from downstairs resumed, which drowned out any further conversation in the rotunda. Whereas the fire chief, administrators, and police lieutenant lingered above for news on the men trapped underground, Captain McCollough and his crew had just removed a four-foot by four-foot concrete section of floor to drill a hole into the southeastern tunnel. Every so often, the lead firefighter would examine the three-dimensional map on the tablet to ensure that they were drilling in the correct place. As he glanced at it for the fourth time, Robbie observed that the map had changed; now ostensibly live, he gasped at six figures directly below the drilling, three of which had burrowed three feet into the ceiling.
"How many feet?" he shouted above the noise.
"About four feet, Cappie," responded one of the men.
"Stop! I think they're about four to five feet between us. See if you can get a message back."
The machinery and voices immediately hushed. Grabbing a Halligan, one of the firefighters tapped loudly and rhythmically. Nothing. He repeated the bangs – still nothing. The group turned to their captain, awaiting orders.
"Dig another two feet. Then try again."
Once more, the machines whirred to life, drilling into the foundation for another three minutes before ceasing. The same firefighter dropped inside the hole, tapping harder against the surface. Nothing. He hammered the Halligan once more. Twisting to face his captain, his voice almost obscured the faint banging from below. Without needing any direction from his superior, the firefighter picked up the tool again and repeated his rhythmic thumps; a moment later, he received the same number in response. Cheers roared throughout the small space, and Captain McCollough yelped, "Those crazy motherfuckers are down there! Let's get to work!"
Reassured that there were people down there, alive, Engine 57 recommenced drilling with an increased determination. In under two minutes, they completed an additional two feet. "Shut 'er off!" shouted one of the veterans. Having deactivated the drill, they readied a firefighter via harness and a small, twenty-foot ladder.
"Can you hear us down there?" he screamed into the hole.
"Yeah! We're down here!" responded a muffled voice.
"Okay, we're coming! Stand back!"
Nodding at his captain, the firefighter slammed through the remaining foot and a half; the debris fell through, exposing six men in a cavern, one of whom, ghostly white in complexion, was laying upon a tired and weak older man. Robbie peered down into the hole to glimpse the six men: Joe was caring for the infirm Father Rigassi; Luigi and two other men were covered in blood, fragments, and dirt; and Mario was holding a makeshift bomb. "Well, fuckin' A," he called out to them, "just another day for the fuckin' Masciarellis, huh?"
Mario managed a little smile. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Cappie. Now, let's get Uncle Sal and Uncle Joe the fuck outta here."
The first fireman dropped himself into the hole and, unhooking his harness, inspected the ceiling, pipes, and trapped men. "Cappie, we've got a gunshot wound down here. We need to get him up now!"
An EMT was straightaway sent down; unclipping himself, he held out his hands for an orange medical board, which they dropped to him, and brought it over to Salvatore. After inspecting his wound and estimating blood loss, the medic placed an oxygen mask over the patient's mouth, inserted an IV, and, with the firefighter's assistance, carefully slid the board underneath him, securing him with blankets and straps. Next, they fastened a second rope to the board to ease him through the exposure. Once the hole was clear, a second board came down; despite a few initial protests, Giuseppe relented in allowing them to strap him into the board; foregoing the oxygen mask, the EMT nevertheless inserted a second IV into him and tied the newly lowered rope to the top of the orange medical slab. While the firefighters finished drawing their second rescue to the sub-basement, in order to attend to his patients, the EMT reattached his rope and held on as he was propelled upward.
Having cleared Giuseppe and the EMT from the tunnel, they threaded the ladder down, which the firefighter below set and steadied the bottom. "Aight, who's first?"
"Pete, you go first," rasped Luigi. "Then Bowser."
The tired, bleeding Pete started to climb the ladder; two-thirds of the way to the surface, Bowser made his first step upward. Mario and Luigi watched as, one by one, they reached the top and disappeared into the collective hands of Engine 57. Exchanging a brief, relaxed glint, the plumbers instantaneously clasped their left and right hands forming an intertwined fist. "Package deal," whispered the younger man to his fratello.
"Package deal," echoed Mario, touching his forehead to Luigi's. "Now, get your ass up there."
Slowly, the sore plumber limped to the ladder and ascended. Once he was safely to the top, the soldier – always first and last at his post – followed him, summiting to the damp sub-basement where Pete, Bowser, and his brother waited off to the side next to Captain McCollough and his lieutenant. Wordlessly, they walked to the entrance and went up the old staircase to the rotunda, encountering the euphoric expressions of Chief Burns, DK, Matt, and Yoshi. Dr. Aronson and Bob merely stared in visible relief.
"Dad!" cried Matt, who rushed into his father's waiting arms, though the latter winced at his wound. Pete did not reply, unable to verbalize his elation at holding his only child. Bowser gave them a light, albeit forced smile, feeling cheated in that moment of his reunion with Wendy and Louie, who presumably remained in his sister-in-law's clutches.
Yoshi embraced Mario and Luigi, mumbling, "Thank Christ youse made it!"
"And miss another chance at kicking your ass at B-Ball, Dipshit? Fuck that shit," retorted the older plumber.
DK, Dr. Aronson, and Chief Burns ambled toward the pair of plumbers. "Jesus Christ!" exclaimed the former man. "What the hell happened down there?"
"We were able to get Uncle Joe out, but ... Wendy and Louie – the two kids – weren't there. Polina also escaped; she blew the entrance from Uris Hall so we couldn't go back the way we came. I wounded her. And, uh, we killed multiple Russian and Italian Mafia guys, including Vinny DiScala," described Luigi. The administrator's eyes enlarged to fill his eye sockets.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," swore the fire chief. "Alright, we'll let the NYPD handle the investigation. Rescue 1 will inspect the tunnels and recover any dead men inside." Facing Captain McCollough and a few of his veterans, he added, "Well done, lads."
"Thank you for finding us," said Mario solemnly, offering his hand to the captain. "For findin' Uncle Joe and ..."
Robbie's lips tremored slightly, accepting it. "We couldn't ... find Jumpman. That was my father's deepest regret which he, unfortunately, had to take to the grave. I wasn't gonna lose you, either."
Each shaking his, the fire chief's, and their crewmen's hands in gratitude, Mario, Luigi, Pete, and Bowser filed past them, with DK, Yoshi, and Matt, to whom the firefighter returned his intact tablet, walking directly behind, to the front exit where FDNY EMTs were standing ready to examine and take them to the hospital if needed. Whereas Mario and Luigi were cleared to leave, they ordered a hospital visit for the injured Bowser and Pete. Escorting them to the ambulance bound for the emergency room across Amsterdam Avenue, the plumbers, Matt, Yoshi, and DK continued outside to the loud applause and cheers of college students who had assembled on the green. In the front row stood a tearful Peach, a victorious Daisy, and a smirking Lucas. Upon seeing her unharmed spouse, Peach rushed past the two policemen, taking two steps at a time, and crushed her lips upon his.
"Mi fai impazzire, Mario Masciarelli!" she hissed to the silent man who buried his head into the crook of her neck.
In spite of the pain radiating from his bruised back, Luigi jogged to Daisy, who met him halfway on the staircase, and pulled her into his arms. Afterward, he pressed his lips to hers, whispering against them, "I told you that I'd return, kerido. I'll always come back to you – never doubt that. We did it – we got Joe out."
She kissed him in return. "I love you, Luigi Masciarelli. And I'm so proud ... to be with you."
"Hey, I'm here, too, Weege," interrupted Lucas petulantly, walking up the stairs to where Luigi and Daisy were standing. "Yes, I'm glad to see you, too, you know."
Yoshi, whose eyes blackened upon spotting the tall man, charged across the platform, passing Mario, Luigi, Daisy, and Peach, and slugged him across his chiseled jaw, the force knocking him to the cold granite steps. DK and Matt immediately moved to restrain the physicist from attacking the man in purple further.
Lucas sat up and dabbed at the blood seeping from his split lip. "What the hell's wrong with you?"
"Other than wanting to beat your ass for being an all-purpose douchebag?" he cried. "Nothing – I'm fuckin' dandy!"
Tottering to his feet, the Manhattanite took a step forward to stand next to Luigi. Mario broke his embrace with Peach to intervene, wedging himself between Yoshi and the tall man. "Unbelievable! Weegie is my bestie! Do you really think I'd harm him?!" shouted the latter.
"Gee, fuckhead, it's curious that your father's nowhere to be seen. And neither's Polina, for that matter!" spat the older plumber.
As Lucas started a mixture of self-defense, retort, and lies, two men darted up the granite staircase. Mario's, Luigi's, Yoshi's, Lucas's, and Matt's eyes widened at the sudden appearance of Miles and the Latino man with him. "Miles, what the hell? Where's Sam? And José, what are you doing here?" demanded Luigi. Then four sets of eyes noticed the man's gold shield around his neck.
"Aight, DK," bellowed Mario, "just what the hell is this?!"
The lieutenant smirked a little. "Meet our loaner and favorite UC – Detective José Hernández. We were investigating the LCN's hold on the plumbing union and your shop, so, uh, we've been using José here as a plant for the past couple years. Well, Major Case, the Office of the Assistant U.S. Attorney, and the FBI."
"Jesus Christ ..." breathed the master plumber, pacing a few steps next to Daisy. "Is he even a legit plumber?! It's our – no, my ass – if he's not!"
"Lou, I can assure you that I am," assured José. "I was indeed a plumber – as was my father in Honduras – before I became a cop. And I am licensed in New York City."
As Lucas and Matt turned away, a guilty look passing over their faces, DK chuckled, replying to the plumbers, "Relax, kids. José was chosen for that reason. You're in the clear; we were trying to get the Moranos, not you. Mr. Kariolis, however, is not."
"Hey, I don't know what he's talking about!" insisted the man in question, "I thought I was helping a guy in need! He sold me a chickenshit story about his grandmother and crack addicts!"
Hernández rolled his eyes, muttering a lying, racist prick underneath his breath.
"Aight, so where's Sam?" inquired Mario.
Miles and José exchanged an uneasy look, after which the former responded, "Sam's been taken to the hospital ..."
"What?!" cried Matt. "Where and what happened ...?!"
"And in fact, we got a big problem," resumed the blond hacker. "Polina or someone," he glared at Lucas, "sent someone with considerable skill after us. And I do mean considerable!"
While an uproar broke out among them, with Mario, Yoshi, Miles, and Daisy directing several accusations at Lucas, including attempted murder, to which the latter offered various denials and insults, DK waved over the two detectives who had been watching the tall man. "Enough of this bullshit!" he hissed, effectively quietening the building ruckus. Once his subordinates had arrived, the lieutenant faced the sneering Manhattanite and groused, "Read this slippery little shit his rights and arrange his accommodations at Central Booking."
"You got it, Lou," answered one of them. Lucas stared disbelievingly at the simpering group as he felt his arms pulled behind his back and the cool metal of handcuffs slapped around his wrists, and a man's voice mirandize him.
"C'mon, Weegie, this isn't funny! We're best friends, man! I didn't try to kill anyone!" he pleaded with the visibly unsympathetic man who put a protective hand at the small of Daisy's back.
Yoshi, Mario, Miles, and Matt applauded, gave the umbrello, or otherwise jeered the angry man struggling against the detectives who were leading him down the steps to a police vehicle parked along Amsterdam Avenue. Several students filmed the arrest just in case, though they were less inclined to believe that it had been excessive force given that their rescuers had approved of the action. Whereas Lucas continued to resist arrest, the Wrecking Crew inched away from the Greek columns of the Low Library, triggering a roaring ovation from the crowd located at the base of the staircase. The noise concealed the whiz and hum of four hovering drones, two flying to the detectives and Lucas and two lining up with the large staircase. A moment later, they simultaneously opened fire, causing the students' joy to turn to screams. Whereas everyone hit the ground, the detectives' lifeless bodies thudded to the sidewalk; the still cuffed Manhattanite seized his opportunity to sprint in the opposite direction, across the green, and to Broadway. The two drones pursued him past Earl Hall; two uniformed officers positioned themselves to stop Lucas when the machines each fired a kill shot. As he cleared the campus, a black SUV halted directly ahead along Broadway. The drones stopped just shy of the curb, and the door released welcomingly. Smiling, Lucas jumped inside before allowing the vehicle to take him elsewhere.
