"I got these for you." He held out a sturdy pair of well-worn winter boots. "They belong to my friend Julie. Do you think they'll fit?"

"They'll do," said Lucy. Maybe he wasn't such a doofus after all. "Thanks."

They were starting down the hall to his room when Lucy asked where the bathroom was.

"Just around the corner," he said, pointing.

Lucy had a frightening thought. "It's not coed, is it?"

"Nope. The guys' room is on the other side."

What a relief. "I'll meet you in your room."

"Okay." He started down the hall.

"Uh, Lance," she said.

He turned. "Yeah?"

"Your room number?"

"Uh, sorry. It's 306," he said.

But when Lucy emerged, Lance was still in the hallway, leaning against the wall and deep in conversation with another student. "You can borrow my notes, man, no problem, but they won't do you any good 'cause all Philbrick cares about is dates. If you get the years right that's a B, throw in the months and you'll get a B plus and if you get the days you're guaranteed an A."

"Shit. I suck at memorization," moaned the kid, who had shaved his head and was wearing an earring, nose ring, and eyebrow ring. "Uh, sorry," he muttered as Lucy approached. "I didn't know your mom was here."

"She's not my mom."

The kid's eyes widened. "Whoa, cool. Like Ashton Kutcher, huh?"

"Not like that," said Lance, opening the door to his room for Lucy.

"Who is this Ashton Kutcher?" she asked.

"Never mind," he said, showing her in with a flourish. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Lucy knew all about messy rooms and had fought a running battle with her oldest son Toby for years over his habit of dropping clothing on the floor, but she'd never seen anything to compare with Lance's room. It not only smelled like a laundry hamper, it looked like one. In fact, Lucy felt as if she was actually inside one.

"Just take what you want," he said, gesturing generously.

"Aren't there any clean clothes?"

"I don't think so." He opened the closet door so she could see. It was empty except for a lone blue blazer hanging crookedly on a wire hanger.

"Waiting for the laundry fairy?"

He laughed feebly. "If only."

"That's why they invented washing machines." As soon as she said it Lucy realized she was talking like a mother, but she wasn't his mother. He was helping her investigate the anthrax poisoning that had killed Nadine and sickened Elizabeth, and she had no business talking to him like that. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice.

"This sweatshirt isn't too bad," he said, holding out a thick, hooded number. "And I've got lots of sweatpants and sweaters. I think we better wear dark colors. There's watchmen on the island...."

"Point taken," said Lucy, unbuttoning her jacket.

He pulled a CD out of a wire rack. "Uh, well, you'll probably want some privacy, and I promised to lend this to the girl next door."

"Don't be long," said Lucy. "We've got to meet Geoff in half an hour."

"We've got plenty of time," he told her. "It only takes about ten minutes to get there by subway."

"Right." She didn't believe him for a minute, but she was tired of sounding like a nag.

When he returned ten minutes later Lucy was ready to go, although she felt like the Michelin tire guy in two pairs of sweatpants, a turtleneck, sweatshirt, and sweater topped with a windproof jacket. Everything was much too large, of course, but the boots were only a size or two too big thanks to two pairs of extremely fragrant gym socks, and she had her own gloves and hat. It was a good thing the editors at Jolie Jolie couldn't see her now, she thought as she clumped down the hall. Or smell her. couldn't see her now, she thought as she clumped down the hall. Or smell her.

Once they were outside the smell didn't matter; the air was filled with noxious gray smoke.

"Is it often like this?" she asked, assuming it was air pollution.

"No," said Lance. "There must be a fire."

As they approached Broadway they saw the street was filled with fire trucks, and hoses were snaking down the steps to the subway station. Cops were busy setting up a barricade and blocking people from the stairs, which were filled with exiting passengers. Some were able to make their own way out; others were carried on stretchers to waiting ambulances with flashing red lights.

"We'll have to go to the next station," said Lance.

"That'll be a waste of time. Trust me. Something like this will shut down the whole line, maybe the whole system," said Lucy. "We better grab a cab."

A lot of other people had the same idea, so they started walking down Broadway in hopes of finding a taxi where it wasn't so crowded. Lucy checked her watch and it was already five minutes before three. They'd never make it in five minutes.

"There's a gypsy, come on." Lance grabbed her hand and pulled her into the street, darting in front of a slow-moving bus and directly into the path of a big black Mercedes, which didn't actually hit them although the driver expressed his deep disappointment at the missed opportunity. Lucy found herself clambering into a beat-up white sedan with a light on top but no official medallion. The driver took off before she'd even closed the door.

"We're going to be late," said Lucy.

"Maybe not," said Lance. "This guy is flying."

It was true. The driver was speeding down Broadway, weaving his way between slower moving vehicles and running all the yellow and some red lights. Lucy held on to the door handle and prayed as an oncoming taxi swerved to avoid them at Seventy-second Street.

"How far do we have to go?"

"South Ferry."

"Lord have mercy."

Lucy wasn't exactly sure how far that actually was, but she knew South Ferry was at the very bottom of the island of Manhattan. They had miles to go, through a maze of city streets crowded with vehicles of every description, all with the potential of causing dreadful bodily harm. The driver careened past taxis, darted in front of delivery trucks, tailgated limousines, braked once for a cement mixer, and cut off bicycle messengers who shook their fists and swore. When they reached West Street, in sight of Battery Park, the driver took the turn too wide and clipped another taxi that was waiting for the light. He would have sped away but was stopped by two other officially licensed cabbies who quickly moved their cars to block the gypsy cab's way.

Lucy put her head in her hands, fearing it was all over. As passengers they were witnesses, maybe even liable in some way. There would be questions to answer, forms to fill out; they'd never make it to the marina before dark.

"Come on." Lance was pulling her out of the cab.

"We can't leave!"

"Oh yes we can." Lance tilted his head toward the cabbies, who were shouting and raising their fists. A crowd was gathering, and it looked like a full-fledged brawl would soon erupt. The only sensible option was to get away as fast as they could.

"How far to the marina?" asked Lucy, as they ran down the street.

"Eight or nine blocks. Can you make it?"

Lucy didn't know, but she was sure going to try. She pounded along the sidewalk, attracting stares, as she followed Lance's lead. It was a little too late to realize it, but she should never have given up jogging. Now she was out of breath and had a stitch in her side and she'd only gone two blocks. One thing Lucy did remember from her jogging days was that if you didn't give up, eventually your body cooperated and it got easier. So instead of collapsing and throwing herself on the ground to catch her breath, she concentrated on making it to the marina without losing sight of Lance. She followed as he pounded past the ferry terminal and made his way along the waterfront, where chain-link fencing and corrugated metal walls barred access to the piers that extended like fingers into the East River. He finally stopped at a gate with a forbidding AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY sign. Geoff was waiting on the other side. sign. Geoff was waiting on the other side.

"I was just about to give up on you guys," he said, opening the gate for them. Dressed in his yellow Grunden fishing pants, he looked just as he had at home in Tinker's Cove where he operated a lobster boat every summer. He led them through a grubby parking area filled with official New York City vehicles to the dock, and Lucy was amazed to see an assortment of small boats bobbing in the water right in the shadow of the big skyscrapers.

"What is this place?" she asked between raspy breaths. Her heart was pounding and she felt as if it was ninety degrees instead of thirty-five.

"It's one of those odd bits that belongs to the city," explained Geoff, leading the way to a rather dilapidated dock. "I got permission to use it because my project is partly funded by the parks department."

The three hopped aboard Geoff's boat, Downeast Girl Downeast Girl. Lucy was dismayed to discover the cabin was really only a cramped cubby, equipped with a basic toilet and two small bunks filled with an amazing clutter of buckets, rope, books, and cases she assumed contained scientific instruments. They would be making the crossing to Governors Island in what was essentially an open boat.

Geoff quickly got the engine going while Lance untied the lines, but it was already starting to get dark by the time they pulled away from the dock. Lucy sat on the molded fiberglass bench, wrapping her arms around herself and trying not to shiver too violently, lest she upset the boat. It would be bitterly cold out on the water; a sharp breeze was already cutting right through her layers of clothing, now topped by a life jacket. Not that it would be much help if she was unlucky enough to tumble into the water. She'd be dead of hypothermia long before anyone could rescue her.

"Geoff," she began. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

"What do you mean?"

"This is too risky."

"There's risks, and then there's risks," he said with a shrug, neatly steering the boat around the end of the dock and heading for open water. "Nadine's dead, Elizabeth had a close call, and now they're threatening Norah."

"Yeah, I heard about the tomatoes."

"Well, it's a lot more serious than throwing a few tomatoes. Sidra got a phone call demanding time on the show for this bunch called OTM. If they don't get it they said Norah would be sorry, just like her friend Nadine."

"You think this group sent the anthrax?"

"I don't know. Maybe they're just making a threat, but I'm inclined to take them at their word. We've to get to the bottom of it or it won't stop. Who'll be next? Sidra? You? Me?" Geoff was gazing ahead, looking out over the water. "If there's even a slim chance they got the anthrax on the island, it's worth checking it out."

Lucy shivered. "There's an awful lot of traffic on this water."

"We've got lights," said Lance, ever the optimist.

"Lot of good they'll do," muttered Geoff, slowing the boat and waiting for a huge oil tanker to pass. "From the bridge of that thing we're just a little speck. Nope, we've got to watch out for them because chances are they can't see us."

"Ferry's approaching starboard," said Lance, alerting Geoff who was keeping an eye on a tug pushing a barge off the port side.

"Thanks," he said, shifting the rudder and gunning the engine. The boat shot forward and dodged around a sleek, white harbor cruise boat.

"Maybe we ought to turn back," said Lucy. She was beginning to feel very queasy.

"We're halfway there; might as well go on as turn around." Geoff's voice was tight and he was straining to make out the shapes of approaching ships in the fog as he tried to navigate by the sounds of foghorns and the clang of a buoy.

The tension was horrible: at any moment they could be annihilated by one of the huge freighters headed for the docks on the Brooklyn shore.

"What's in those ships?" asked Lucy. "I don't want to die for bananas."

"You name it, they're bringing it in. Cars, computers, air conditioners, clothing...have you heard about the trade deficit?" Geoff's voice was more relaxed. "We're out of the shipping lane now; it should be clear sailing from here."

Now they were alone on the inky water, a large rounded shape looming over them.

"What's that?" asked Lucy.

"Ventilator for the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel."

"Ohmigosh," said Lucy, who was beginning to picture the waterfront as an illustration in one of the Batman comics Toby used to love so much when he was a kid, filled with massive, threatening structures that seemed to mock the insignificant human inhabitants of the city. Bad thought, bad thought, she chided herself, switching instead to a bright Richard Scarry illustration, where cute animals rode the colorful boats and planes that filled the friendly harbor.

Downeast Girl was suddenly rocked by the wake of a passing tugboat, its powerful engine propelling it swiftly through the water without anything in tow, and Lucy held on to the gunwales for dear life. Coming out here was a really bad idea, she decided. Where was Batman when you needed him? was suddenly rocked by the wake of a passing tugboat, its powerful engine propelling it swiftly through the water without anything in tow, and Lucy held on to the gunwales for dear life. Coming out here was a really bad idea, she decided. Where was Batman when you needed him?

Chapter Twenty.

ACTIVEWEAR THAT FLATTERS WHILE YOU GET FIT!.

It was growing dark when they approached the dock, and Lucy braced herself as Geoff slowed the motor and Lance grabbed hold of a ladder and climbed up to make Downeast Girl Downeast Girl fast. When he'd securely tied the boat to the dock, Lucy hauled herself up the ladder, followed by Geoff. As they stood there on the exposed pier, in the dark and whipped by the wind, the island suddenly seemed very big. fast. When he'd securely tied the boat to the dock, Lucy hauled herself up the ladder, followed by Geoff. As they stood there on the exposed pier, in the dark and whipped by the wind, the island suddenly seemed very big.

"Where do we begin?" asked Lucy.

"At the old infirmary," said Lance. "Follow me."

There were very few lights on the island, in contrast to the illuminated skyscrapers standing side by side on the much larger island of Manhattan across the water. There was no concern for the price of electricity there, thought Lucy, gazing at the amazing nightly spectacle of the skyline. Even the Brooklyn Bridge and the Williamsburg Bridge were outlined in lights, which were reflected in the black water below. Looking in the other direction she could see the glittering and seemingly endless expanse of the Verrazzano Bridge, stretching across the Narrows between Brooklyn and Staten Island. She knew the Statue of Liberty would also be alight, but it was blocked from view by the many buildings on the island.

She was grateful for the darkness as they made their way along winding paths, staying in the shadows and trying to be as quiet as possible to avoid detection by the night watchmen. She felt a little surge of adrenaline; it was exciting to be taking part in a covert nighttime mission.

The island was much larger than it appeared to Lucy from the ferry, and she wished they had some other way of getting around besides their feet. Hers were cold, and the borrowed boots felt heavy and clumsy as she trotted along, doing her best to keep up with the two tall men. Wherever they were going was very far from where they'd docked the boat, and Lucy was beginning to wonder why they couldn't have tied up closer. She was also beginning to think the whole mission was foolish; there were dozens of buildings on the island and they could never search them all. This was worse than searching for a needle in a haystack: how would they know anthrax if they found it? She was tired and out of breath and about to suggest they give up when she realized Geoff and Lance had stopped abruptly at the corner of a building.

She joined them and peeked around the corner where she saw a circle of light.

"Watchman," whispered Geoff, holding his finger to his lips.

"We can't go around, we have to go through," said Lance, anticipating her question.

"Too risky," said Lucy, shaking her head. "Let's go back."

"I'm gonna take a look," said Lance. Before she could stop him he was gone. She and Geoff watched as he crept up to a window and slowly raised his head to peer in. A minute later he was back.

"Coast is clear. Nobody's there."