The Phantom - 8. Chapter 8

Nico did not like this new plan. Not in the slightest. What was wrong with his plan? Short, quick, to the point, and not putting anyone in harm's way.

<Bruce> he replied to the typed message, <this is crzy>
<They'll kill you!>

<No, ur going 2 get killed>
<what happened 2 passing on my message?>

Gerry made a face at the computer screen. <With GM chasing us all over the city?>
<I think not>

<:/>
<Bruce>

He frowned. The more he thought about it, the less he'd liked the Phantom's request. A bullet? And his body was elsewhere? No, no that sounded like a request for assisted suicide and damned if Gerry was going to help bring that about, not when there was an alternative. There were always choices, even if you didn't like some of them, and Gerry had made up his mind.

<We're doing this>
<Like it or not>

Gerry sat back in his seat and watched impassively (though privately a little impressed) as words scrolled all which-ever way about the screen in the Phantom's display of temper.

"Problem?" Bryce asked, peering over Gerry's shoulder.

"I'd say he doesn't like the plan," Mark commented. For a computer ghost, the Phantom could certainly spew colorful vitriol.

"It's the only way," Bryce said. Then he returned to his seat and called the next number on his list. A few tips in the right ears and every gangster in Necropolis would be on high alert. With each family expecting an impending attack, they'd all be armed to the teeth. Gerry would need the support if he was to come out of this meeting unscathed. Well, he amended, alive, anyway.

They sat in an internet cafe just off the beaten track, in a small, urban-yuppie part of downtown. Here, goths on skateboards were expected rather than abhored and guitar-playing hippies with dredlocks sat on every corner. There were probably more coffee shops in this part of town than the rest of the city combined.

The music playing around them was light and happy, and the cafe was busy, even for mid-afternoon. The counter ran a quick business, with different coffee blends puffing out into the main room every few minutes. Gerry rather liked it, even if the rather brazen staring was making him feel unnaturally self-conscious. Like high school, when he'd towered over everyone, he wanted to shrink down into his chair and push Mark on the people checking him out.

And if one more person asked him if he needed help, he was going to have to bind Mark, hog-tie him, and shove him under the table. The man did not have to keep smirking at him, damn it!

Bryce, on Gerry's other side, was completely oblivious, speaking quickly into his cell with varying voice tones and accents. Whatever he was doing, he still managed to, at the same time, type into his computer and take long gulps of hot coffee that alternately had him hissing at the temperature or sighing in caffeinated bliss.

The time for their rendezvous drew closer, hanging over all their heads like a dark cloud straight out of a classic cartoon.

While Gerry was escorted to the Vanzettis, Mark and Bryce would stay behind with Viktor and Irv. With all the attention fixed elsewhere, they would attempt to steal into the Villain's Lair labs and free the hostage.

Remote access did not surprise Bryce; their station's techies could do very interesting things with the computers they confiscated from suspects, and could make Bryce's computer do pretty much anything they wanted without once having to touch the actual keyboard. Interesting that the supposed hostage, one Nico Vanzetti, could not communicate with the family if he was somehow able to access the computers.

The Vanzettis were certainly laying low. None of Bryce's snitches had heard a thing about where they might be. He could certainly understand the lad's frustration if he had computer access but was still unable to contact his family; but there was still something about all this that bothered Bryce.

He didn't think he was getting the whole story. Then again, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. What Gerry and Mark had spent the last few hours explaining to him was enough. More than enough.

Yes, the details of the master plan were sketchy, but those were the kinds of plans that worked best, in most instances. Too many details clouded the situation and agents spent more time and energy trying to adhere to a strict plan than simply rolling with the situation as it came ... and too often did not come out alive again on the other end.

It was also true that Gerry was no cop. He was not trained for this, but Bryce didn't anticipate that to be an issue. The two reporters were still alive, after all, which spoke to a certain amount of persistent good luck, as well as natural tenacity. That neither was yet a drooling mess or just starkers was a good sign. They would keep it together. After, however ... well, that wouldn't be Bryce's problem.

Gerry had no doubts as to his courage. He was going to do this and he'd made up his mind that they were all going to come out on the other side alive and, hopefully, in one piece.

<RU done?> he typed, letting go an exasperated sigh.

There was a short delay before the Phantom wrote back. <I still think ur an idiot>

<Fine> Gerry replied, muttering, "You're entitled to your own opinion."

He pulled a small scrap of paper from his pocket and smoothed out the note on the table by his keyboard. He typed in a number.

<Can you track this?>

<Yes> he answered. He would expect his captors to disable the internet but leave the intranet functional. They'd taken to doing that lately. Bastards. But he should still be able to deactivate the locks, just like he had the day before to help Gerry. It would be a totally different story if they locked everything down completely, however.

<They won't leave it unprotected> he warned, not sure if he referred to the Villain's Lair, the computer with all the 'sacred' data, or himself.

<We know>
<While I'm out distracting GM, Mark, Irv, and Viktor will go into the Lair and get you out>

<Who?>
<How?>
<Bruce, I have to be touching the circuits>
<I can't just leave>
<Or, believe me, I'd not still be here>

There was just one more thing Gerry had to ask: <Stay with me?> The worst thing would be going into the dragon's mouth, so to speak, alone, but if he knew the Phantom were around, hovering like he'd done for so many weeks, then he wouldn't feel quite so vulnerable.

Nico hadn't expected the heart-felt request and banged on his virtual prison walls in frustration. He'd never felt so completely helpless before. Grey Matter's schemes squirmed all over his consciousness like an evil parasite, oozing and sliding like oil, and not even the megabytes of random, scientific data stored in the Lair's vast databanks could give him a moment's peace.

More than anything, Nico was afraid that the Grey Lady's translated journals would make him as insane as she was. He wanted to crawl out of that computer and into Gerry's embrace, but he was still trapped, his body who knew where, and Gerry was forever out of his reach.

Gerry gaped at the screen. Like one of those stainless-steel, pin-games for children, the words broke apart randomly and formed the impression of a hand, pressing against the screen as against a window. He reached forward without even considering what he was doing, to trail the pads of his fingers over that tiny hand, but even as he moved, the image shattered and rained down letters to disappear in the bottom of the text box.

Nico wept a computer's tears, shorting out the emergency sprinkler system in a section of hallway. He never should have come back.

He was a coward; he wanted to return to Italy with his bodyguard as if none of this had ever happened. He wanted to go back to being a little boy who could run and hide away in his uncle's arms when life got too tough. He wasn't ... he'd never been any good at confrontation; his tongue would always twist up and his throat close, shrinking into himself if anyone so much as looked at him harshly.

Only his uncle had ever seen any worth in him, and here he'd let him down again.

He'd wanted to be what his father desired, strong and tough and calloused like his brothers, but pulling the wings off flies made him cry. He'd learned to shoot, but holding a pistol made him sick to his stomach. He'd learned to box, could take the punches, but could never bring himself to hit back 'like he meant it.' He was hopeless as a mobster. No good, worthless, spineless, weak.

Gerry was asking him to be the strong one, and, for the very first time since he'd given away his puppy to avoid having his brothers torment the animal, Nico wanted to be strong -- and he was stuck in the goddamned computer!

<Phantom?> Gerry typed hesitantly. <AYT?> The text box sat black and lifeless enlarged on the screen, totally blank.

Nico ignored the angry pounding of the Grey Matter agents (he refused to remember their names, he didn't want to know them as anything other than impersonal robots of a demented cause) and sent Gerry as much of a promise as he could make.

<U won't B alone>

Even if they locked him inside this cyber-prison again, Nico would go with Gerry, hoping and praying. Keep him safe for me, Papa, he thought. Keep him safe.

<TY> Gerry typed, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. He was glad that Mark would be away, that his part in all this was slightly less perilous, but was also glad to know he wouldn't be alone.

<Bruce?> He had to go soon, but one last thing needed to be said. <Bruce, if this is to work, u have to get me into physical contact with a computer>

<I don't understand>

Bryce had warned them that if Grey Matter felt like they were cornered and fled, that they'd likely try and erase all their files, all their work back at the Lair and flee with their hostage, to start again. Mark was there to see that didn't happen. The computer part, at least. They hadn't told the cop that the 'hostage' was actually inside the computer.

They figured, if they could keep the computer on and locate Nico's body, that he'd be able to get out, however it was he'd gotten in originally.

Three people knew the true extent and limitations of Nico's ability. That night, when he was fifteen, he hadn't driven the car, but he'd driven the car ....

That was the first time he'd ever done anything like that. Nico had always known he had a knack with electronics; he beat every video game he played as a child without half seeming to try; computers just did what he wanted, but not like that.

He'd physically been the car, gone inside the tiny, computer brain and controlled the vehicle in ways impossible to human-defined limitations. They'd successfully evaded his uncle's assassins, for a price, and the older man had picked at Nico without rest until they'd figured out what he'd done, because Frankie knew he'd lost control of the vehicle. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out how they'd gotten away, and the broken, limp body of his beloved nephew had seemed entirely too high of a price to pay.

Marcell knew, he'd had to, to protect Nico in all the years since. They were distant cousins, but had grown as close as brothers over the years. Nico trusted him above anyone, but there were still things he couldn't share with the man, like why he couldn't seem to develop an attachment for any of the women pushed his way, or his secret need to feel protected and safe, to find someone who could give him that.

His father was the third person, but Nico didn't have to worry about him any more. He worried about what his brother knew, however, and his circle of un-asked for confidantes now included Gerry and Mark, to a point. He'd cross the line by admitting all, and he logically knew he shouldn't say anything. Let Gerry get to his uncle and pass on the message, let Grey Matter wipe these computers, it was what he wanted, wasn't it?

<Phantom?>
<What's wrong?> Gerry drummed his fingers on the tabletop. Drat the man for continuing to drop off like this! How could he relax and convince himself this was going to work out if the Phantom kept ratcheting up his anxiety? He didn't like this plan, either! Couldn't he see that? Stupid, frustrating, computer-infesting supers!

<sry>
<I just>
<Forget it>

<No>
<What is it?> No way was Gerry letting him off the hook, not when it was plain that something was bothering him.

<Call my uncle 'Frankie'> he answered. <That will get his attention. Then tell him that Marcell has to get me back to the access point> Any computer would do, really, but that would take time, time that Nico didn't want to spend.

<I will do my best to keep it free>

Gerry nodded, smiling a little. <OK>
<I can do that>

<TY> He wanted to tell Gerry to be careful, wanted to say something supportive or encouraging, wanted to say goodbye, just in case, but he couldn't. The demands on him from Grey Matter were escalating rapidly, and he didn't have the time, didn't know the words, anyway.

<CU> he wrote at last, and exited the program.

The first half of the plan went off without a hitch. Gerry didn't have the itchy-crawly sensation between his shoulder blades as if someone were watching him, so he wasn't absolutely sure that Grey Matter was out there, but he knew they were.

Viktor Giarabaldi wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting, being quite small, but with a sneering grin that made Gerry wonder if he didn't have rabies, or was otherwise slightly insane. Then again, he was a Giarabaldi, wasn't he? Of course he was insane.

And Gerry was positive he saw a bite mark on Irv's neck, partially hidden by his collar.

They sat outside in the Plaza by the singing fountain, pretending to chat amiably and drink coffee from the little shop a few feet away. This time, the ambient music did little to distract them.

With the early evening in that uncertain time after sunset but before true twilight, and the thick, after-work crowds, they didn't see the Vanzetti thug until he was right on them. The mobster wore a business suit with extra padding around the shoulders and chest.

Gerry had to bite back a groan. He's wearing a bullet-proof vest!

The cops stared at the mobster like a dog denied a bone; he ignored them to look at Viktor. At his nod, the steely gaze drifted briefly to Mark before settling on Gerry.

"Vieni con me."

Gerry looked over at Viktor, who gave him a little wave.

"Go with him."

He left his drink without another word, pressing his lips tightly together and trying not to glance around too obviously. He couldn't say for sure if Grey Matter was out there; nor could he decide if the Phantom were there.

"Wait!"

He turned back, barely catching a thrown object.

"Take that with you," said Bryce. "Call me if something changes." He settled back down in his seat, as if they really planned to wait there until Gerry got back.

He managed a nervous smile and pocketed the cell. "Thanks."

The Vanzetti mobster merely grunted and turned to shoulder a path through the Plaza. At the street, he slid into the back seat of a large, black sedan held open by another man in a suit, and Gerry swallowed his nerves to clambor in after him. They rode in absolute silence, Gerry's shirt sticking to the back of his leather seat as he sweated nervously.

When the car stopped, the mobster got out on the opposite side, and this time he and the driver had their guns drawn, checking the area before letting Gerry out. They hustled him inside so quickly that he had time enough to recognize the salty scent of the harbor and the shape of the ancient cruise ship-turned-hotel before plunging into the chaos of the back serving-quarters.

Waiters and chefs bustled around, swinging giant platters through the cramped space as easily as if they were all dancers, and they all did their best to ignore the well-dressed and well-armed party in their midst.

Gerry's escorts grew by ones and twos as they moved until they completely surrounded him, falling away at a pair of red-painted doors. The two guards there looked even more unfriendly and Gerry winced as they patted him down. They took everything from him, his wallet, keys, blackberry, the Phantom's flash drive, Bryce's phone, and dumped everything inside Gerry's upturned ball cap.

Still flushing from the unexpectedly thorough prodding, he barely noticed when the doors opened and someone shoved him inside. The doors swinging closed behind him with a bang, however, made him jump, stepping quickly into the echoing, empty ballroom.

The old, heavy tables were tarnished with age and bolted to the floor, the chairs pushed in close. Something that resembled crushed velvet carpet in gold and red patterns covered the walls, except for a few paintings, here and there. There was a bar set into the corner, with another mobster standing in the entryway. Two more of the nearly identical mobsters stood at the other two doors, and a lone man stood in the cleared space before the fireplace, leaning on the mantel, one arm behind his back as he stared into the flames.

Francis Vanzetti was younger than Gerry expected, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties. He was a slim, agile man under the bulk of his suit and protective body armor, with a narrow waist, but broad, powerful shoulders that gave Gerry the mental image of a panther or other wild cat. His hair was black, with silvery streaks, and his eyes were a deep brown. His face was one that did not easily smile.

His eyes went past Gerry, who started to realize that someone had been standing just behind him. This man walked past the camera man to hand the baseball cap to his boss before retreating out of earshot. He even turned his back, frowning at Gerry.

Gathering his ragged courage about him, Gerry approached, watching Vanzetti turn over the items in his hands. The blackberry passed inspection with little interest. He opened and shut the wallet, pushed at the keys with his fingers, and frowned at the cell phone.

Gerry gulped when the mob boss glared icily at him.

"What is it you want, Mr. May?"

"You -- you know who I am?" he blurted, rubbing his sweaty palms on his thighs. He cleared his throat. "Ah, I mean, of course you do, I -- oh, God, please be careful with that," he pleaded, as Vanzetti picked up the flash drive. That little, electronic gadget was all he had of the Phantom.

The mobster didn't look up. "I asked you a question."

"I'm, um, the Phantom --" He halted, pressing the heels of his hands into his forehead before running his fingers through his hair and wiping his face on his shoulder.

Just then, as Gerry switched his weight from one foot to another, Bryce's cell phone rang. Gerry didn't think. He lunged, taking Vanzetti down with a rugby tackle to the knees, just as the entry doors exploded inwards and a screaming pair of bullets zipped by over their heads.

"Frankie, listen to me!" Gerry whisper-shouted over the sound of gunfire, furniture being tossed around, and men shouting. He scooped the phone off the floor and pressed the cell into the mobster's hands. "Tell Marcell that he has to take Nico's body to the access point. Tell him!"

"What the hell are you --"

"Just tell him! For God's sake!" Gerry cried. "Kill me later, but if you don't do this now, the Phantom will die!"