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“In the parking garage.”
“Lead on,” said the Mint One. He hopped as he pulled on his black trainers, then grabbed his leather car coat from under the gurney. “We’re going to Fort Point.”
Audrey sent a text to Charlie as they walked: ON OUR WAY TO FORT PT.
Fort Point?” said Rivera. “Charlie, I don’t know if I can get us in there. It’s a national park. Since 9/11 it’s been under Homeland Security. There are guards there with M4 rifles; even the park rangers are armed. After what we pulled at the Fort Mason tunnel, there’s no way the department is going to back me up if they call in to verify me.” They were in Rivera’s Ford, just passing Fort Mason and the Marina Safeway on their way to Fort Point.
Charlie said, “It’s okay, they’ll let me in.”
“Why would they let you in?”
Charlie pulled Mike Sullivan’s bridge authority ID and held it up. “Because I’m an employee. They need me to find another job in the park that gets me off the bridge, so even if they call in, someone will vouch. Ev
eryone knows Mike Sullivan’s story. I’ll say I wanted to check it out when there were no tourists.”
“They’ll never let us in with our weapons,” said Rivera.
“Anubis said weapons won’t do us any good. They won’t touch him.”
“Well, I’m not sure what good we can do here, then.”
“We have to be here. He has my daughter. She’s just a little kid.”
“Actually, she’s probably not.”
“What’s that mean, ‘she’s probably not’?”
“Why would this thing—this deity, go back and kidnap a little kid? What use is a random little kid to him? We would have taken a break if he hadn’t taken her.”
“I never thought about that. You think he still thinks she’s the Luminatus?”
“He knows more about this stuff than I do, and he took her.”
“She is in the advanced reading group.”
“Well, there you go,” said Rivera.
Charlie’s phone buzzed. Message from Audrey. HE’S ALIVE.
Rivera pulled into the tourist parking area, which was still a good half mile from the fort. The remainder of the road had heavy vehicle barriers that rose out of the concrete to limit traffic to pedestrians and bicycles; however, currently, the barriers were down. Rivera killed the lights and drove to the parking lot adjacent to the fort. He stopped the car at the far edge of the parking lot and turned off the engine. There were a few vehicles near the fort, but they looked official, light trucks and SUVs with national park insignias.
Fort Point was a Civil War–era fortress with four-foot-thick brick and concrete walls, and gun ports designed for a battery of cannons to defend the entire entrance to the San Francisco Bay. Even though the fort had lost its strategic value by the 1930s, the Golden Gate Bridge had been designed specifically so the fort would be preserved as an example of military architecture. The entrance from the city side of the bridge was a great, structural steel arch that went directly over the top of the fort, rather than the more practical straight pylons that could have been built if the fort had been removed.
As they climbed out of the car, Charlie’s phone buzzed again. Audrey’s message: ON OUR WAY TO FORT PT.
Charlie said, “They’re on their way. Maybe twenty minutes out.”
“We should wait,” said Rivera as he popped the trunk. “This Yama probably doesn’t know we know he’s here. We shouldn’t blow our surprise when Fresh is the only one who has any way to fight him.” Rivera put his Beretta and holster in the trunk. “I’m keeping the Glock on my ankle. If the guards notice it, I’ll say I forgot I had it on.”
“I have my sword cane,” said Charlie. “As far as they know, I just fell off the bridge. They’re not going to take away my walking stick.”
“If it makes you feel better,” said Rivera.
The wind covered the sound of the car trunk closing, but also whipped their trouser cuffs around their legs. Strangely enough, Rivera’s hair stayed perfect.
“It’s freezing out here,” Charlie said.
“We should wait in the car,” Rivera said.
