Rubio was in his corner, Den Search Central, circling the table and stabbing a bony finger at a big map of the Island spread out on top. His other hand hid his cough rag down by his side, but I didn’t miss the faint blood stains, or the fevered light in his eyes. The hall was airless and stank of tension and sweat. Jake stood nearby, stripped to his shorts and an old towel draped around his neck, talking with a pair of Smiths, all three of them holding their chins and nodding like den elders, while Rube did his dance. I noticed a long, heavy knife sheathed at the older Smith’s waist. The other seemed unarmed. The map was plastic, water-worn and brittle, parting along its folds. It crackled whenever Rube’s stiletto finger made dive-bomb contact.

“Easy, now,” Jake complained. “We paid hard coin for that map. Actual cash money.”

The map gave me an idea. I needed Rubio’s attention, but if I wanted him to go along with my brilliant, spur-of-the-moment plan, I’d better not interrupt.

“So, we know the big museums are locked, boarded, wired, and remote-sensed every which way,” Rube was saying. His hair stood up in a thicket, like he’d been yanking on it, and I was pretty sure he’d slept in his clothes. “Even though the collections were shipped to high ground long ago. But a big, solid block like that is what we need.”

“As if they’re ever going back to those buildings again,” grumped one of the Smiths. “They should open them up for public use.”

I recognized pudgy Irv who’d been so jazzed about his book find the night before. Intent on the map, he seemed edgier, more purposeful, but still soft-contoured and soft-spoken. The rain drumming way up on the skylight nearly drowned him out.

“The Guggenheim is leaking like a sieve,” Jake noted. “Big chunks crumble off with each new blow.”

Rubio waved a hand. “Too small. Besides, would you want to live life on a slant?”

“Riverhome’s already in the Whitney.”

“Too much glass.”

“Hurricane-proof, so they say. Now, there’s the old Armory on Park, but . . .” Irv glanced at his senior denmate while hovering a palm over the map.

“Third on my list. Is there a problem?” Rubio folded his arms, waiting.

Irv stood back, studied his hands.

The older guy shrugged. “It’s share and share alike, I guess. Word is that Storm Worshippers have moved in there.”

“No shit?” Jake wiped his brow, then his whole damp chest, with the end of his towel. “You sure?”

“We heard it from Empire.”

“Really? I was just over there, and they didn’t tell me.”

The Smiths looked uncomfortable.