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river toward the center of Williamsburg, we move away from the glass-coveredhigh-rises into a neighborhood of three-story brownstones.
    While we walk, Gold fills me in on the recent history of New York’s revenants. I have the feeling he’s just passing time so that I won’t press him for details on this special mission, but his words catch my attention, and I let him spin the tale in his old-fashioned roundabout way.
    â€œIn the sixties and seventies,” he says, hands thrust into his pockets as he digs back in his memory, “New York’s numa were out of control. Violence was at a high, and anarchy reigned. The city was the undisputed murder capital of America. That’s when we bardia decided to reorganize, and instead of continuing our traditional role in the city—that of saving humans on an individual basis—we decided to infiltrate the system. During the next decade, we focused on placing bardia in roles of authority, both in the government and in the city’s administration: police, fire, emergency services. Things started to turn around in the nineties.
    â€œOf course, we never ran for office—didn’t want the visibility. But today, behind each and every fire chief, police commissioner, councilman, and even mayor, there is significant bardia influence. Have you heard about a mayor called Giuliani, who ‘single-handedly’ cleaned up New York City during his eight years in office?”
    I nod. “Even in France we heard of him.”
    Gold chuckles. “Some say he went too far. Took some of the city’s character away along with its sex shops and illegal street vendors. Maybe so. But that entire initiative can be credited to a bardia named Tristan Fielding, a friend of mine from my humandays. When we were alive, in the nineteenth century, the gangs of New York were terrorizing the Lower East Side. More than a hundred years later, some of the same numa who had been involved in that crime scene were still making trouble.
    â€œWhile the New York administration cleaned up the human mess, we took out most of the numa population: either running them out of town or destroying them. And the balance swayed in our favor for a good ten years. Until September eleventh, 2001.”
    I can’t help but shudder when he says that date. It’s as if the numbers hold a dark power when spoken together. Pure evil. “Faust told me that more bardia were made on that day than any other in New York’s history.”
    Gold nods. “We’ve got two seers here—me and Coleman Bailey, who sat next to you at the council meeting. The two of us kept busy for days and had the entire kindred working along with us. Too bad we can’t see when numa are created. Could have destroyed them before they were even animated.”
    â€œI thought there were only a dozen or so hijackers. Don’t tell me they animated after being incinerated in the tower fires!” I say.
    â€œNo, they were gone, as far as we can tell. But evil draws evil, and the slaughter of human lives that happened that day acted like a magnet for our enemies. But more importantly was the one behind it all. Most men who engineer mass killings have a core of evil in them that comes from somewhere subhuman. Whether numa himself or advised by numa, you can bet the architect of 9/11 had close links to our enemies.”
    â€œAre you talking about . . . ,” I begin.
    Gold looks around like he’s worried someone’s listening, although the street we’re walking down is empty, and most houses we pass completely dark. “Why do you think there was no photo or DNA evidence of his death released to the public? Buried at sea? Right. After his head was chopped off and his body incinerated, perhaps. Gunshots aren’t enough to kill a numa overlord. Our men in the Pentagon made sure he was good and gone and not rising from the grave three days later.”
    â€œBardia in the