Judge and Jury by James Patterson | Full Audiobook

Judge and Jury by James Patterson | Full Audiobook

Audio Fusion Books presents judge and jury. The 
wedding one. My name is Nick Pelisanti and this is where it started for me. One summer out on Long 
Island at the wedding of weddings. I was watching the bride celebrating at the head of the dance 
line as it festively wound through the tables.   A conga line. I groaned. I hated conga lines. 
I should mention that I was watching the scene through high-powered binoculars. I followed as 
the bride slung her ample lacecovered rear end in every direction, toppling a glass of red wine, 
trying to coke some bowling ball of a relative who scarfing down a plate of stuffed clams up into the 
procession. Meanwhile, the grinning affable groom did his Gowana’s expressway best just to hang 
on. Lucky couple, I thought, wincing, thinking 10 years down the line. Lucky me to get to watch. 
All part of the job. as agent in charge of section C10, the FBI’s organized crime unit in New York. 
I was heading up a steak out of a wise guy wedding at the posh South Fork Club in Montalk. Everybody 
who was anybody was here, assuming you were into wise guys. Everybody except for the one man I was 
really looking for. The boss, the capo duty cappy Dominic Cable. They called him the electrician 
because he had started in that trade pulling off   construction scams in New Jersey. The guy was 
bad. Terror level read bad. And I had a slew of warrants on him for murder, extortion, union 
tampering, and conspiracy to finance narcotics. Some of my buddies at the bureau said Cavella was 
already in Sicily laughing at us. Another rumor had him in the Dominican Republic at a resort he 
owned. Others had him in Costa Rica, in the UAE, even in Moscow. But I had a hunch that he was 
here somewhere in this noisy crowd on the South   Fork Club’s beautiful back deck. His ego was 
too large. I’d been tracking him for 3 years and I expect he knew it. But nothing, not even 
the federal government was going to make Dominic Cable miss his closest nieces. Wedding Canal 
1. This is Canaly 2. A voice dead penned in my earpiece. It was special agent Manny Oliver whom 
I’d stationed down on the dunes with Ed Sinclair. Manny grew up in the projects of Newark, then 
got himself a law degree at Routers. He’d been   assigned to my C10 unit straight out of Quantico. 
Anything on the radar, Nick? Nothing but sand and seagulls here. Yeah, I said, dishing it back, 
Ziti mostly. A little lasagna with hot sausages, some stuffed shrimp, and parmesan. Stop. You’re 
making me hungry. Down here, Nikki smiles. Nikki smiles. That’s what the guys I was close to in the 
unit called me. Maybe because I was blessed with   a pretty nice grin. More likely, it was because 
I’d grown up with a bunch of these wise guys in Bay Ridge, and my name ended in a vowel. Plus, 
I knew more about Lacassinostra than just about anyone else in the bureau, and I was offended 
by what this scum had done to the reputations   of all Italian Americans. My own family, friends 
of mine, who couldn’t have been more law-abiding, and of course myself. So, where the hell are 
you, you slice of a you’re here, aren’t you   call? I swept the binoculars along the dance line. 
The procession had snaked all the way around the deck by now, past all the juiced up GLMBB bass and 
tuxedos with purple shirts and their high hairdo wives busting through their gowns. The bride 
cidled up to a table of old-timers, padrins in bolo ties, sipping espresso, trading old tails. 
One or two of the faces looked familiar. That’s when the bride made her mistake. She singled out 
one of the old men, leaned down, and kissed him on the cheek. The balding man was in a wheelchair, 
hands on his lap. He looked feeble and out of it as if he were recovering from an illness, maybe 
a stroke. He had on thick black rimmed glasses,   no eyebrows like Uncle Junior on the Sopranos. I 
stood up and focused the lens on him. I watched her take him by the hands and try to get him up. 
The guy looked like he couldn’t pee upright and   he could barely wrap his arms around her. Never 
mind. Get up and dance. Then my heart slammed to a stop. You arrogant son of you came. Tom Robin. 
That old geyser with the black glasses. The bride just gave him a kiss. Yeah, Tom Roach came back. 
He was inside a van in the parking lot watching pictures sent from cameras planted in the club. I 
got him. What’s the problem? I took a step closer, zooming in with the lens. No problem. That’s 
Dominic Cable. Two. This is a go. I barked into the mic attached to my shirt collar. Target is a 
bald male in black glasses seated in a wheelchair at a table on the left hand side of the deck. It’s 
cave. He is to be treated as armed and likely to resist. From where I was, I had a firsthand view 
of the next few minutes of action. Tom Roach and Robin Hamill jumped out of the van in the parking 
lot and headed for the entrance. We had manpower back up all over the place, even agents posing 
as bartenders and waiters on the inside. I had a Coast Guard cutter half a mile offshore with 
an Apache helicopter that could be mobilized if necessary. Not even Dominic Cable would turn his 
brother’s daughter’s wedding into a firefight. Right. Wrong. A couple of hoods in light blue 
tuxedos were taking a smoke break outside when   they spotted my team coming out of the van. One 
headed back inside while the other blocked their approach. Sorry, this is a private affair. Tom 
Roach flashed his shield. Now it’s open to the public. FBI. I zoomed back to the other wise guy 
hurrying out to the wedding party on the deck. He ran up to crippled old man in the wheelchair. 
I was right. It was definitely cable, but our cover was shot. We’re blown. I yelled, fixing on 
the commotion on the deck. Everybody close in on Cavel. Manny, you and Ed, stay put and cover the 
dunes. Taylor, I called out to an agent posing as a waiter. Wait for Tom’s crew. Then Cavel jumped 
out of the wheelchair, suddenly the healthiest   guy in the world. Steve Taylor put down a serving 
tray and pulled a gun from under his jacket. FBI, he yelled. I heard a shot and watched. Taylor, 
go down and stay down. Chaos erupted. Guests were scurrying around the deck, some shrieking, others 
ducking under tables. A few of the well-known mob bosses were hurrying toward the exits. I 
refocused on Cable. He was hunched over,   slinking through the crowd, still in disguise. He 
was making a path toward the stairs leading down to the beach. I took out my wall there and hopped 
off the ledge I’d been perched on. Then I ran for the clubhouse along the shore road. I stayed near 
the white clabbered clubhouse, then ran into the restaurant’s front door and through to the deck. I 
could still see Cavel. He had peeled off his black   glasses. He shoved an old woman out of his way and 
leaped over a wooden fence. Then he was running toward the dunes. We had him. Three. Manny. Ed. 
He’s headed toward you. I saw where Cavella was going. He was trying to get to a helicopter up 
on the point. Obviously his helicopter. I pushed through the crowd, shoving people out of the way. 
At the edge of the deck, I looked down. Cella was stumbling over the grassy dunes, making his way 
along the beach. Then he ducked behind a tall dune, and I lost sight of him. I shouted into the 
radio. Manny Ed, he should be on you any second now. I got him, Nick. Manny squawkked. Federal 
agents, I heard many shout through the radio. Then there were shots. Two quick ones followed by three 
more in rapid succession. My blood turned to ice. Oh Jesus. I leaped over the fence, then ran down 
the dunes toward the beach. I lost my footing and fell to one knee. I writed myself and hurdled in 
the direction of the shots. I stopped. Two bodies were lying face up on the beach. My heart was 
pumping. I ran to them, sliding in the sand, which was stained dark with blood. Oh, dear God, no. I 
knew that Manny was dead. Ed Sinclair was gurgling blood, a gunshot wound in his chest. Dominic 
Cavella was 50 yards ahead, holding his wounded shoulder, but getting away. Manny and Ed are down, 
I yelled into the mic. Get help here now. Cal was running toward a helicopter. The cabin door 
was open. I took off after him. Cavel, stop, I shouted. I’ll shoot. Cable looked back over his 
shoulder. He didn’t stop, though. I squeezed the trigger of my gun twice. The second bullet slammed 
into his thigh. The godfather reached for his leg and buckled, but he kept going, dragging the 
leg like some desperate animal that wouldn’t   quit. I heard a thack, thack, thack, and saw the 
Coast Guard Apache coming into sight. That’s it. I yelled ahead, aiming my wall there again. You’re 
done. The next shot goes through your head. Cavel pulled himself to an exhausted stop. He put his 
hands in the air and slowly turned. He had no gun. I didn’t know where he’d thrown it. Maybe into the 
sea. He’d been close enough. A grin was etched on   his face despite the bullets in his thigh and 
shoulder. Nikki smiles. He said, “If I knew you wanted to be at my niece’s wedding, all you had to 
do was ask. I would have sent you an invitation.”   Engraved. My head felt like it was going to 
explode. I’d lost two men, maybe three, over this filth. I walked up to Cavel. My Walther pointed 
at his chest. He met my eyes with a mocking smile. You know that’s the problem with Italian weddings. 
Pelisanti, everybody’s got a gun. I slugged him and Cavel fell to one knee. For a second, I 
thought he was going to fight me, but he just   stood up, shook his head, and laughed. So I hit 
Cavel again with everything I had left in me. This time he stayed down. Part one, the first trial. 
Chapter 1. In his house on Yehuda Street in Heifa, high above the sky. Mediterranean Richard Nordeno 
tried the king’s Indian defense. The pawn break, Kasparov’s famous attack. From there, Kasparov had 
dismantled Tukmikov in the Russian Championship in 1981. Across from Nordhenko, a young boy 
countered by matching the pawn. His father nodded, pleased with the move. And why does the pawn 
create such an advantage? Nordhko asked. Because it blocks freeing up your queenside rook, the boy 
answered quickly. And the advance of your pawn   to a queen. Correct. Correct. Lord Shenko beamed 
at his son. And when did the queen first acquire the powers that it holds today? Around 1500, his 
son answered in Europe. Up until then, it merely moved two spaces up and down. But bravo, Pavle, 
affectionately, he must his son’s blonde hair. For 11-year-old Pavl was learning quickly. The boy 
glanced silently over the board, then moved his rook. Nordhenko saw what his son was up to. He 
had once been in the third tier of Glasgow’s chess academy in Kiev. Still, he pretended to 
ignore it and pushed forward his attack on the opposite side. Exposing a pawn. You’re letting 
me win, father, the boy declared, refusing to take it. Besides, you said just one game, then you 
would teach me. Teach you. Lord Shenko teased him, knowing precisely what he meant. You can teach me, 
not chess, father. The boy looked up. Poker. Ah, poker. Nordenko feained surprise. To play 
poker, Pavl, you must have something to bet. I have something, the boy insisted. I have $6 in 
coins I’ve been saving up and over 100 soccer cards. Perfect condition. Nardishenko smiled. 
He understood what the boy was feeling. He had studied how to seize the advantage his whole 
life. Chess was hard, solitary like playing an   instrument. Scales, drills, practice until every 
eventuality became absorbed, memorized until you didn’t have to think. A little like learning 
to kill a man with your bare hands. But poker,   poker was liberating alive. Unlike in chess, 
you never played the same way twice. You broke the rules. It required an unusual combination, 
discipline, and risk. Suddenly, the chime of Nordenko’s mobile phone cut in. He was expecting 
the call. Well pick it up in a moment, Nordenko said to Pavl. But father, the boy whined, 
disappointed. In a moment, Nordhenko said again, picking up his son by the armpits, spanking him 
lightly on his way. I have to take this call.   Not another word. Okay. Nordhenko walked out to 
the terrace overlooking the sea and flipped open the phone. Only a handful of people in the world 
had this number. He settled into a chase. This is Nordenko. I’m calling for Dominic. Cavel. The 
caller said he has a job for you. Dominic Kovville is in jail and awaiting trial. Nordko said, “And 
I have many jobs to consider. Not like this one.” The caller said, “The Godfather has requested 
only you. Name your price.” Chapter 2. New York City. Four months later. All Andy Degrassi knew 
was that the large woodpaneled room was crowded as with lawyers, marshals, reporters, and that 
she’d never been anywhere she wanted to get the   hell out of Moore. But so did the other 50 odd 
people in they jury pool. Andy was quite sure, jury duty. Those words were like influenza to her, 
cold sore. She had been told to report at 900 a.m. to the federal courthouse in Foley Square. There 
she filled out the forms, polished her excuses,   and killed an hour leafing through parenting 
magazine. Then at about 11:30, her name was called by a bafe, and she was herded into a 
line of other unfortunate people with unsure,   disappointed faces, and up to the large courtroom 
on the seventh floor. She looked around, trying to size up the rest of the fidgeting, kivitzing group 
squeezed into the bullpen. This was definitely not where she wanted to be. The scene was like a 
snapshot taken on the number four Lexington Avenue train. People in work uniforms, electricians, 
mechanics, blacks, Hispanics, a hassid in a skull cap, each trying to convince the person on either 
side that he or she didn’t belong there. A couple of wellto-do types in business suits were punching 
their blackberries, demonstrating in the clearest possible way that they had something far more 
important to do with their time. Those were the ones Andy had to worry about, and she regarded 
them wearily. The prospective jurors who had   their time tested a number one alibis honed and 
ready to go. Boss’s letters, partners’ meetings, travel schedules, deals going down, a cruise to 
Bermuda that was already fully paid. Of course, Andy hadn’t exactly come empty-handed. She had 
put on her tight red t-shirt with the words, “Do not disturb,” emlazed across the chest. It was the 
tackiest thing she owned. But we weren’t talking fashionista here. We were talking adios. Excused, 
even if it was on the grounds of being thought   an airhead or a bimbo. Then there was the single 
mother thing. That was legit. Jar was nine and he was her best buddy as well as her biggest handful 
these days who would pick him up from school,   answer his questions, help him with his homework 
if she couldn’t be there for him. Finally, there were her auditions. Her agent at William 
Morris had scheduled two for this week alone. to amuse herself. Andy counted the faces of 
people who looked intelligent and open-minded and didn’t seem to be conveying they had somewhere 
else to go. She stopped when she got to 20. That felt good. They only needed 12, right? Next to 
her, a heavy set Hispanic woman knitting a pink baby sweater leaned over. Sorry, but you know 
what kind of child disease? No. Andy shrugged, glancing around at the security. But from 
the looks of it, it’s something big. You see   those guys? The reporters. And did you notice the 
barricades outside and those cops milling around? More uniforms in this place than in an NYPD 
blue wardrobe closet. The woman smiled. Rosella, she said amiably. I’m Andy, Andy said, extending 
her hand. So, Andy, how can I get Andy’s jewelry anyway? Do you know? Andy squinted at her as if 
she hadn’t heard right. You want to get picked?   Sure. My husband say you give $40 a day plus train 
fair. The woman I work for, she pay me whichever way, so why not take the cash? Andy smiled and 
shrugged wisfully. Why not? The judge’s clerk came in. A woman with black glasses and a pinched 
officious face like an old-time school momm. All rise for Judge Miriam Ciderman. Everyone 
pushed themselves out of their seats. So, Rosella, you want to know how to get on this 
thing? Andy leaned over and whispered to her   neighbor as an attractive woman of around 50 
with touches of gray in her hair entered the courtroom and stepped up to the bench. Sure, 
just watch. Andy nudged her. Whatever I do, do the opposite. Chapter 3. Judge Ciderman started 
out by asking each of them a few questions. Name and address. What you did for a living, whether 
you were single or married, and if you were if   you had kids, highest level of education, what 
newspapers and magazines you read, if anyone in your family ever worked for the government or 
for the police. Andy glanced at the clock. This was going to take hours. A few of them got excused 
immediately. One woman announced she was a lawyer. The judge asked her to come up to the side of the 
bench. They chatted a few seconds and she let her go. Another man complained that he just served 
on a jury up in Westchester. He’d only finished up last week. He got a pink slip, too. Some other 
guy who was actually half cute announced he was a crime novelist. In fact, another woman in the jury 
pool held up his book. She was reading it. After he finished up, Andy heard him snicker. I don’t 
have a prayer of ending up on this thing. Then,   Judge Ciderman nodded Andy’s way. Andy Deg Grassy, 
Andy replied. I live at 855 West 183rd Street in the Bronx. I’m an actress. A few people looked 
back at her. They always did. Well, I try to be, she said, qualifying mostly. I do proofreading for 
the Westsider. It’s a community newspaper in upper Manhattan. And regarding the other question, I 
was your honor for 5 years. Was what, Miss Grass?   I The judge peered over her glasses. Married the 
nuclear option, if you know what I mean. A couple of people chuckled, “Except for my son, Jared. 
He’s nine. He’s basically a full-time occupation for me now. Please continue, Miss Deg Grassy.” 
The judge said, “Let’s see. I went to St. John’s for a couple of years.” What Andy really wanted 
to convey was, “You know, your honor, I dropped out in the fourth grade and I don’t even know 
what exculpatory evidence means. And let’s see.   I ra Vogue and Cosmo and oh yeah, Mensuchamia. 
I definitely try and keep up with that one.” A few more chuckles rippled around the courtroom. 
Keep it going, she said to herself. Push out the chest. You’re almost off this thing. And regarding 
the police, she thought for a second. None in the family, but I dated a few. Judge Ciderman smiled, 
shaking her head. Just one more question. Do you have any reason or experience that would prejudice 
you against Italian-Americans or render you unable   to reach an impartial verdict if you served on 
this trial? Well, I once played a role in The Sopranos, she replied. It was the one when Tony 
waxed a guy up at me school. I was in the club. The club? Judge Ciderman blinked back starting to 
grow short. The bad bing your honor. Andy shrugged sheepishly. I was dancing on one of the polls. 
That was you. A Latino guy. Cracked from the first row. Now a lot of people were laughing around 
the courtroom. Thank you, Miss Degrassi. Judge   Ciderman suppressed a smile. Well be sure 
to check out the reruns when they come around. The judge moved on to Rosella. Andy was feeling 
pretty confident she had done her job. She felt   a little guilty, but she just couldn’t be on 
this jury. Now, Rosella was perfect. A juror’s dream. She cleaned house for the same woman for 
20 years. She’d just become an American citizen. She wanted to serve because it was her duty. She 
was knitting a sweater for her granddaughter. Oh, you’re a lock. Andy grinned to herself. Rosella 
hit every question out of the park. She was like   a juror commercial. At last, the judge said she 
had just one question for the jury at large. Andy’s eye checked the clock. 11:15. If she 
was lucky, she could still catch the Broadway number one and pick Jared up at school on time. 
Judge Ciderman leaned toward them. Do any of you know the name or have you been associated with 
in any way? Dominic Cable? Andy turned toward the stalled gay-haired man seated in the third 
row of the courtroom. So that’s who that was.   A few people murmured. She glanced at Rosella 
a little sympathetic now. These people were in for one scary ride. Chapter 4. I was sitting in 
the second row, not far from the judge during the jury questioning. Security marshals lined the 
walls, ready to go into action if Cable so much as scratched his nose. Most of the marshals knew 
I was the one who had taken Cavel down and that this case was personal for me. It was driving 
me crazy waiting to have the opening arguments begin to have the first witness take the stand. We 
got Miriam Ciderman as the judge. I’d had her on trials twice before, and she always seemed to bend 
for the defendants, but she was thorough, fair, ran a tight court. We could have done a lot worse. 
I was thinking this looked like a pretty decent pool of jurors. A couple of them were downright 
entertaining. There was a Verizon guy with a New England accent who said he had three town houses 
in Brooklyn. He’d fixed up and that he was bagging the phone company job anyway, so he could care 
less how long the trial ran, and a crime novelist who someone in the jury pool recognized. In fact, 
she was actually reading his book. Then the woman in the third row, the actress and single mom. She 
was feisty and cute with thick brown hair with reddish streaks in it. There was some writing 
on her t-shirt. Do not disturb. Kind of funny. Once or twice, Cavel glanced back at me, but most 
of the time he just sat. There, hands joined, staring straight ahead. A couple of times, our 
eyes met. “How you doing, Nikki?” His smile seemed to say like he didn’t have a worry in the world. 
A guy about to go away for life. Every once in a while, he huddled with his attorney, High Cascal, 
the fret, he was called. Not just because he made a living representing these bums, but because he 
was short and barrel-chested with a hanging nose, a pointy chin, and thick, bushy eyebrows. you 
could brush your shoes with. Cascll was a showman, though among the best. There was at his job, the 
ferret had gotten two mistrials and in a quiddle in his last three mob trials. He and his team just 
sat there sizing up each juror on a large poster board, taking notes. The Verizon guy, the MBA, 
the author. I glanced up at the actress again. I was pretty sure she thought she was out of 
here, but sometimes that’s what you need on   a jury. Someone who can cut through the break the 
ice. Ladies and gentlemen, Sharon Anne and Morren, the judge’s clerk, got everyone’s attention. 
The defense and thy prosecution had finalized their selections. I was thinking, just give me 12 
jurors smart enough to see through the bluster and   12 jurors who won’t be intimidated. One by one, 
the judge announced the names. 12 jurors and six alternates. She told them to come up and take a 
seat in the jury box. The crime writer was in, shocked. So was the Verizon guy and the Hispanic 
housekeeper, the one who was knitting for her granddaughter. But the biggest surprise was the 
actress. She was in too. I never saw anyone so stunned. I think everyone in the courtroom 
was holding back a smile. Miss Degrassi, juror number 11, you can take a seat in the jury 
box, the judge told her, amused herself. You got the part, dear. Chapter 5. The glass elevator of 
the Marriott Marquee rose higher and higher above Time Square. Richard Nordenko watched the glittery 
bustle of the street grow distant and small below. Good riddance first time to the Marriott? Mr. 
Kaminsky? A chatty redcapped bellhop asked as the elevator rushed them to the 42nd floor. 
Yes, Nordenko lied. Truth was he had made the rounds of all the fancy hotels near Time Square. 
The area held a particular attraction for him, not the lights or the nocturnal amusements 
in which he took no part. It was the crowds.   In the event something went wrong, all he had 
to do was duck into the throng any time of day or night. Kiev, right? The bellhop grinned at 
him. It wasn’t a question, more like a statement of fact. You’re from the Ukraine, right? Your 
accent, it’s sort of a game with me. 20 floors, that’s usually all I need. Sorry, Nordhank shook 
his head. Check inside. He was angry with himself. The chatty bellhop had nailed him. Maybe it was 
just the jet lag, but he had let down his guard.   The elevator opened and the bellhop motioned Nord 
Henko down the hall. Close. He smiled with a shrug of apology. But what is it you say here? Um, no 
cigar. He’d been traveling for 18 hours straight, stopping in Amsterdam on a Dutch passport, then 
in Miami on a business visa to the States. On the flight, he had put on shopen and Theonius Monk 
to relax and had beaten a chess program on his computer on level 8 that made the voyage bearable. 
That and the comfort of the first class seats on Dominic Cable’s account. Room 4223 is a wonderful 
view of Time Square. Mr. Kaminsky. The bellhop opened the door to his room. We got the view 
restaurant and lounge. Your gourmet renaissance   restaurant on the mezzanine. My name’s Otis by the 
way if you need anything during your stay. Thank you, Otis. Lord Shenko smiled. He pulled out a 
bill. He pressed it into the bellhop’s hand. Otis had fingered him. Reminded him he could not be too 
careful. Thank you. The bellhop’s eyes lit up. Any sort of entertainment you need, you just let me 
know. The bar upstairs stays active until about   200. I know some places that open up after that if 
that’s what you like. The city that never sleeps right a below. Nordenko replied in perfect check. 
A bulko. The bellhop squinted. The big apple. Nordhenko winked. Otis laughed and pointed at him 
closing the door. Nordeno laid his briefcase on the bed. He took out his computer. He had people 
to contact and things to set up. In the morning, it would be all work. But in the meantime, the 
bellhop wasn’t too far off about something else. He did have his own brand of entertainment 
planned for tonight. Tonight, he was going to   play poker with Dominic Cable’s money. Chapter 
6. Your auntie. The dealer nodded toward him, and Nordeno tossed the fresh $100 chip into the 
center of the table. He was in a fashionable poker club in a townhouse on the Upper East Side. The 
large room had a high coffered ceiling and tall palladium windows with embroidered gold drapes 
drawn. All types seemed to be there. Attractive women in evening gowns amusing themselves at 
the small stakes table. The usual gambler types in dark glasses who seemed to be playing for 
everything they were worth. It was well after 1 0 0 in the morning and the four tables were still 
going strong. Nordeno sipped a stooly martini as the dealer dealt him two downward cards. He 
was playing in what they called a freeze out.   A $3,000 buyin had bought him $10,000 in chips. 
Winner takes all at 1000. There had been eight around the table. Now it was down to three. 
Nordhenko, Julie, an attractive woman with straight blonde hair and a tight-fitting pants 
suit and someone Nordhenko had nicknamed cowboy, an annoying fingertapping fool in a western hat 
and aviator shades, who hearing Nordenko’s accent, insisted on calling him Ivan. Nordenko had been 
patiently waiting to find himself alone with him in a hand all night. He peeked at his whole cards, 
an ace and a queen on suit. He felt his blood perk up a bit. When the betting came to him, he tossed 
in a $500 chip. Before, when Nordenko would come to New York, he would go to a Russian club in 
Brooklyn and play chess, sometimes for $1,000 a game. He could hold his own, but he soon developed 
a bit of a reputation, and that brought attention   to him, and attention was always unwanted. Now 
poker was his thing. Julie, who had the fewest chips at the table and was playing cautiously, 
called, “But Cowboy,” rubbing his palms together, pushed the stack of 10 greens to the center of 
the table. “Sorry, sweet pee, but these cards just won’t let me sit still.” Nordhenko held an image 
of what it might be like to spear this buffoon   through the windpipe, which he could do with a 
sharp thrust of his hand. He thought about raising back. The cards warranted it, but elected, as did 
the blonde, just a call. Well, aren’t we all nice and cozy? Cowboy crowed, tilting back his chair. 
The dealer flopped three cards, a six, an ace, and a nine. That gave Nordenko aces almost. Surely 
the high hand. He bet $3,000. Julie hesitated, tapping her polished nails on the table. Oh, what 
the hell? She finally smiled. It’s only the rent money, right? Well, the rent just got raised, a 
little darling, cowboy said, pushing in another   $5,000 in chips. Nordhenko looked him in the eye. 
This was making it very difficult. What could he possibly have? He had watched him chasing cards 
all night. What’s your ticket say, Ivan? Cowboy fiddled with his chips. You still on this train or 
time to get off. Maybe one more station. Nordhenko shrugged, looking toward Julie. Allin, she said, 
flipping her cards and pushing the balance of   her chips into the pot. Four spades. Nordhenko 
had been right. He had read her trying to make a flush. He still had high hand, and the cowboy 
was bluffing. The dealer turned over a queen of diamonds. Norenko didn’t even flinch. Now he had 
aces and queens. Julie winced. She hadn’t made her flush. Well, what do you say we just put a little 
more coal in the burner and see what the river   brings? Cowboy cackled loudly, pushing the rest 
of his chips into the center. $10,000. Murmurs went up from the people watching. It was clear 
this would be the final hand. The winner would   take the entire $30,000 buyin. Cowboy stared 
at him, not smiling now. You sticking around, Ivan, or what? Mirislo, Nordhenko said. Cowboy 
took off his shades. Huh? My name is Mirislav, Nordhenko said, meeting the bet. The dealer turned 
over his last card, the river, a deuce of hearts. Julie groaned. Nordhenko knew his aces and queens. 
Should be a winner. He couldn’t even imagine what the cowboy had. He counted out $20 bills and 
tossed them outside the pot as a side bet. Then, amazingly, cowboy countered with a $5,000 raise 
of his own. Nordhenko was stunned. On still with us? Cowboy tilted back in his chair, clucking 
unpleasantly. Nordhenko reached in his jacket, counted out $5,000 in $100 bills, and laid them in 
the center of the table. This was no longer just an amusing diversion. Aces and queens. He flipped 
over his whole cards. Ooh. Cowboy blinked as if stunned, but then he grinned. This is going to 
hurt Ivan. He flipped over his whole cards. Two more deuces. The last card had given him three. 
Nordhenko felt as if he’d fallen off a cliff that had been pushing the pot the whole way with just 
a pair of twos. Cowboy leaped up, ooing like a   donkey raking in his chips. Lord Shenko thought 
he’d like to wipe the grin off the fool’s face, but just as quickly the irrational urge subsided. 
Not tonight. He had work to do. In the morning, important work. Whatever he had lost tonight was 
just a fraction of his fee. You know what they   say, Ivan, Cowboy said, stacking his winnings. 
Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good. No hard feelings, he said, stretching out his hand. 
Nordhenko stood up and took it. The imbecile was right about one thing. He’d been lucky tonight. 
Luckier than he would ever know. The Israeli was going to let him live. Chapter 7. It was 
after 8 0 that night when I finally made it back to Casa Palisante. Home for me was the same 
rent controlled apartment in the Hell’s Kitchen section of Manhattan on 49th and 9th I’d lived in 
for the past 12 years. I had a view of the Empire State Building from my study window and could 
kick back on the roof after work with a cocktail looking out on the red sunsets over Jersey City. 
On weekends, I could step out the front door right into the feast of scent Ignadius or a West Indian 
parade or grab a beer at an Irish bar sitting next to some Westy. I once put away. I also had Ellen 
Jaffy there. Ellen was a hot shot anesthesiologist over at St. Vincent with wavy auburn hair, a 
small button nose, and long slim runner’s legs that were a joy to behold. We’d met at a clam bake 
thrown by a friend of mine and had been together for the past 2 years. Ellen was pretty smart as 
a whip and just as dedicated to her career as I was to mine. That was a problem. I worked days 
and half the nights lately preparing the case. She was taking doctoral classes at Cornell Medical 
and doing her hospital rotations at night. We used to spend entire weekends together in bed. Now we 
could barely find a night to be in the same room   and watch TV. She said I was fixated on cave and 
she was probably right. I shot back that she must be having an affair with Dr. Dron Drivan being 
the solution of choice when putting people under   these days. Whatever it was, it was killing me 
how things were sliding downhill between us. But you either fight for it or you don’t. And lately 
neither of us was fighting a lot for anything. So I stopped at Pyatro on the way home and picked up 
an order of the best amatea in New York, Ellen’s favorite. She didn’t work Monday nights. Let’s not 
call it a party, but it would be the first quality time we’d spend with each other in at least a 
week. Add to that a bouquet of sunflowers from   the Korean groceryer up the block. I had also left 
Ellen a message on the machine to set the table. I turned the key in the front door and saw the 
table in the dining al cove set for one. Bona Senora Nick. I heard Ellen call from the bedroom. 
She came out of the bedroom in her navy Burberry   windbreaker and running shoes, nodding her long 
brown hair. Not exactly the fantasy I had in mind. I’m sorry, Nikki. I was going to leave a note. 
Benson just called. They’re on overload tonight.   They need me in. Dipron again? I sniffed trying 
to hide my disappointment, placing the food and flowers on the kitchen counter. Ellen’s cat, 
Popeye, brushed against my leg. Hey, Pops, I can’t help it, Nick. Ellen’s eyes went to the 
flowers. She smiled, making the correct connection to a meadow in the Cany district outside of 
Sienna. An amorous urge we couldn’t hold back   a couple of summers ago. Gez, what would you get 
fired or something? Just a little carried away, I guess. No. She shook her head inside as if 
to say nothing’s going right for us lately. Not   carried away. I’m sorry, Nikki. They’re waiting 
on me. I can’t even put these in a vase. No sweat. I shrugged. Actually, they were for me. Ellen had 
these red glasses on that I found sexy as hell for some reason. Her small breasts peaked from under a 
tight fitting top. I found myself getting aroused. Foolish. Maybe it was just this momentary feeling 
that I was free from the anticipation of the case   or the sense that I had to do something for us. 
I don’t even know. As she tossed a few things in her purse, I put my hands on her shoulders. 
Nick, I can’t. I’m a wall. She tensed against me. I got to go. Hey, I almost forgot. How’d 
it go today? Well, I nodded. We got a decent jury. Everybody’s ready. Let’s just hope Cavel 
and his lawyers don’t pull any fast ones. Nick, you’ve done everything humanly possible, so stop 
killing yourself. Manny would be proud. She gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. Not what I had in 
mind, but it made me smile. Tell Dron hello, Nick. Ellen shook her head unamused. She turned 
back in the doorway. I’m sorry about the dinner. It was a nice thought. Then she looked at the 
sunflowers on the counter. You’re such a romantic.   Chapter 8. For a while, I just stood there. Papey, 
my new dinner partner, purrred against my leg. I guess like some spurned high school kid, I was 
hoping that Ellen might have second thoughts and   come back. I had this feeling that the weight of 
our relationship was suddenly hinging on a hope no stronger than that. But there was no sound on 
the stairs, no saving key in the door. I was 38, head of a major anti-rime task force, a big 
shot in the FBI, and here I was scooping out a container of pasta meant for two, a stranger in 
my own home. The silence was suddenly orchestral. I went into the bedroom and took off my tie-in 
jacket, then checked in the study for a fax. There   was a long brick wall covered with bookshelves. 
Most of the books were from my days at school, and there were a few of Ellen’s medical texts. 
The desk was piled high with briefs from Cavella’s trial. On the wall there was a large framed black 
and orange banner. Princeton 1989 Ivy League football champs. I had bones that still octed 
just thinking of those days. I took the pasta and some wine into the living room and sat there 
with my feet propped up on an old steamer trunk that acted as a coffee table. I picked up the book 
I’d been reading, Clinton’s My Life, and found the page where I’d left off on the Camp David Middle 
East peace talks. I thought about turning on the   Knicks game. After a few minutes, I lifted my eyes 
without reading a single page. Did I love her? Was this going to work? Helen was terrific, but right 
now we were just going in different directions,   and this trial wasn’t going to help. Are you going 
to fight for this, Nikki? I reached for Papy. Come on, you look like you could use a date. I grabbed 
my old college alto saxes from the corner and with   Popeye in hand, went up to the roof. This was 
where I worked it out sometimes. It was a cold, clear night. The stars were out over Manhattan. 
The Empire State Building was lit up red, white, and blue. Across the river, Jersey City might have 
been Paris. It’s so dazzled with lights. So I sat there a few days before the most important trial 
of my life. Ellen’s cat purring at my feet and played Clarence Clemens riff from Springsteen’s 
Jungle Land, a clunky version of Cold Trains. A train. I came to the conclusion that there 
was a hole in my life, and no matter how   long I put Cavella away for, I wasn’t going to 
fill it. You either fight for it or you don’t, Nick. You fought for everything, so why won’t you 
fight for Ellen Jaffy? Chapter 9. I took my place in the front of the courtroom on Monday morning. 
My blood was pounding. It always did on they first day of a trial, and this one was huge. The lawyers 
for both sides filled up the first two rows of the courtroom. Joel Goldenberger was the government’s 
lead prosecutor. He was younger than he looked, maybe 33, tall, self- assured with light, bushy 
hair and an agreeable smile. But inside he was a fighter, a real believer. Everyone was 
talking about him as a future star in the   Justice Department. He had already won three well 
publicized Wall Street trials. On the other side sat high, paging through his notes. Farret stood 
no taller than 55 in lifts with short boxer’s arms, but he resembled his nickname in every way 
when it came to discrediting a witness. Today, he wore a dark navy pinstriped suit and striped 
club tie, a pair of fancy gold cufflinks peeking through the sleeves. In the front row of the 
gallery, I saw Cavella’s family, a plump, pleasant-looking woman in a plain but tasteful 
suit, needle pointing away, and a grown daughter with wavy long blonde hair sitting loyally 
by her mom. Security at the courthouse was tighter than I’d ever seen it before. Hell, I 
was probably responsible for half of the fuss. Every bag was being opened. Every juror’s pass 
doublech checked. Every press credential checked back against the photo ID. Armed cops were 
manning the barricades all over Foley Square. Cavella was being brought through an underground 
passageway from the Manhattan County Jail two   blocks away where he was being held in his own 
wing on a maximum security floor. From there, he was transported to the seventh floor in a 
guarded elevator. I only wished we had sequestered the jury. This was the biggest organized crime 
trial in years. But the judge wanted to make a name for herself. Miriam Ciderman had her eye on 
the state supreme court. She had assurances from the lawyers, from the defendant himself. She 
wanted the trial conducted in the open light   of day. The door finally opened near the rear. 
A buzz of anticipation rippled through the air. Two burly looking marshals led the defendant 
inside. Cavella’s hands were cuffed in front   of him. He was dressed in a brown checked 
sports jacket and a restrained olive tie, his graying hair nicely trimmed. He didn’t 
look like the animal everyone was expecting,   more like a normal everyday citizen you might see 
riding next to you on the train. Cable took a look around and nodded as if impressed with the crowded 
room. The marshals took him to a chair next to his   lawyer. They freed his hands. Cascll leaned over 
and whispered something in Cable’s ear that made the defendant smile. Our gazes met for a second. 
His eyes lit up and he smiled again as if to say, “Good to see you here, Nikki. You really 
think you can beat me?” Sharon Anne Morren,   the judge’s clerk, stood. All rise. Through 
the side door, Judge Ciderman entered the room. She was a smallalish, attractive 
woman with graying hair, a pleasant face,   and a tastefully short skirt beneath her judge’s 
cloak. This was the biggest case of her life, too. She took her seat behind the bench and 
motioned everyone down. Mr. Goldenberger,   is the government ready? We are, your honor. The 
prosecutor stood and nodded. “Mr. Cascal?” “Yes, your honor.” The defendant is ready, too, and 
eager to prove his innocence. The farret arched   his eyebrows. He looked like he was itching for a 
fight. “Then, Ms. Min,” the judge, nodded to her clerk, who headed over to the jury room, “You can 
bring in the jury now.” Chapter 10. Andy Degrassi was 15 minutes late that morning. that morning of 
all mornings. How could it have happened? Well, easy. First, Jar couldn’t find his math book. Then 
there was backed up. Signal switches down. Then when she finally reached the city hall station, 
the two blocks to the courthouse were barricaded   off. All because of this damn trial. It took her 
15 minutes just to get herself through security. A heavy set female guard in a blue blazer went 
through her purse like it had al-Qaeda emlazed   on the buckle. They checked her cell phone like it 
was a WMD. Finally, Andy said, “You know that big mafia trial up on the seventh floor.” The security 
guard nodded. “Well, it’s not starting without me.” By the time, she had burst through the jury 
room doors. Everybody was sitting around the large conference table looking nervous and tense. 
“Sorry,” Andy sighed loudly, acknowledging a few familiar faces. “You don’tt even want to 
know.” “Mr. Degrassi,” Sharon announced, checking off names. “It’s really good you could make time 
for us in your busy schedule.” Already in trouble,   Andy sat down sheepishly. She found herself next 
to Rosella, the Hispanic woman she had been next to during jury selection. That leaves only Mr. O. 
Flynn, Sharon, Anne looked at the list unamused. A couple of men were reading or doing crosswords. 
Two of the women had brought paperback novels.   There were bagels and muffins and coffee on the 
table courtesy of the judge. Here, Rosella said, passing her the tray. Thanks, Andy smiled, 
delighted to shift the attention off herself. She took a muffin and a napkin. No latte, I see. 
There were a few chuckles. She looked towards Sharon Anne for at least a hint of a smile. The 
clerk was as tight as a drum this morning. The door swung open and in burst John O. Flynn, 
red-faced and sweating profusely. Gez, guys, it’s like a jungle out there. A zoo. The lie at 
rush hour. Unbelievable of Flynn. Sharon confirmed derisively. I was starting to think I was going to 
have to put out an APB on you. 9:30 tomorrow, Mr. Sharon Anne tapped her pencil. I I am saluted. 
He peeled himself on a chair next to Andy. 9:30 tomorrow. Hector a cable guy groaned. You mean 
this trial is going to last that long? 8 weeks, Mr. Ramirez. Sharon Anne replied, “Something 
better you have to do for the next 2 months?” “Yeah, maybe earn a living,” the cable guy replied 
glumbly. Sharon Anne went to the door. “I’m going   to check on how things are going. I want to remind 
you to observe the judge’s instructions not to talk about the case.” Sure. Everybody nodded. It 
took about 2 seconds after the door had shut for that to change. This cave guy, Winston, still 
in his mechanic’s uniform, looked around at the others. I was reading up on him. Sounds like a 
pretty creepy dude. Murder, extortion, cramming body parts into the trunks of cars. It has a way 
of blocking the digestion. Crolled Mark, the crime novelist. Rosella put down her yarn. My husband’s 
a little scared, he said. What’s the matter, Rosie? You can’t get yourself on a nice traffic 
dispute for a few days. You got to get on with   this wacko mobster. Hang on, Andy interrupted. You 
heard the judge. We don’t actually know he’s wacko yet. We have to wait until we hear the evidence 
to determine he’s wacko. A few people laughed, more to the point. Andy looked around the table. 
What about the fact that these mob guys know all our names and where we live? A few jurors nodded, 
each with the same look of concern. The door to the courtroom opened. There was a hush. Andy 
had the feeling everybody’s eyes were warning   her. Then Sharon Anne was standing there, her 
narrow gaze centered directly on Andy. “In my office,” she said. Her office was one of the two 
bathrooms which the other day had been designated for private conversations. “Huh?” “In my office, 
Mr. Grassy Sherinanne ordered her.” Slowly, Andy rose up and with a roll of the eyes followed the 
Darecourt clerk into the cramped bathroom. “Don’t   think I don’t know what you’re up to, Mr. Grassy.” 
Sharon snapped as soon as the door had closed. What I’m up to? Andy stammered. I didn’t say 
anything that everyone in that room hasn’t already   thought to themselves, even her sister, Rita. It 
had been the first thing out of her mouth. Doesn’t it make you a little worried? I mean, they know 
you, Andy. It’s Dominic Cable. They know where you live. You didn’t need to be a mother to 
be worried. Just human. The whole selection process had been right out in the open. Listen, 
Sharon Anne, I wanted off this thing from the very beginning. Sharon Anne and cut her off. I’m not 
having anyone poisoning this jury. You got your   wish, your history, lady. Chapter 11. Andy retook 
her seat back in the jury room, blushing, a little embarrassed and hurt. A few minutes later, the 
door to the courtroom opened again, and she found   out just what the judge’s clerk meant. Sharon Anne 
stuck her head in. We’re not quite ready yet. Then she pointed a finger toward Andy, motioning 
her up. Mr. Deg Grassi. A flutter of nerves went down Andy’s spine. Can you come with me, please? 
And you can bring your things. Andy slowly got up, flashing a resigned look around the table. She was 
gone. She followed Sharon Anne into the courtroom, which to her surprise was hushed and packed, and 
all eyes seemed to be centered on her. She felt really embarrassed now, like she was being 
publicly marched into the boss’s office and fired just for speaking her mind. Sharon Anne 
led her through a side door in the courtroom   behind the judge’s bench. A marshall was guarding 
the hallway. Sharon Anne motioned flatly. Go in. She’s waiting for you. Andy stepped inside the 
large booklined room. Judge Ciderman looked up from behind a desk covered with papers. Miss 
Degrassi. She peered over her reading glasses. It’s come to my attention you seem to have 
a bit of nervous stomach of the mouth. I beg   your pardon. You have trouble keeping your mouth 
shut, don’t you? The judge looked at her sternly. It might have been amusing during jury selection, 
but now we’re about to start an important trial,   not a theatrical audition. I can’t afford any 
troublemakers on this jury. Andy stood her ground. If you’re talking about what I said 
in there, I actually thought it was a pretty   legitimate question. What? Ms. Degrassi. Judge 
Ciderman looked up impatiently. Everyone heard our names during selection and where we live, 
if we’re married or not, or have any kids. anyone in their right mind would be concerned. 
Certainly, people have raised questions. People, the judge arched her brows. I don’t know. My 
sister, my mother, when I told them I was on   this case, that can’t exactly be a shock to you. 
Why we opted for how we conduct this trial is the court’s business, Mr. Grassi. All you have to 
know is that if we thought there was the slightest   danger to the jury, I assure you it would be 
our first concern. Judge Ciderman sat back. She took out an official slip and reached for a pen. 
You’ve wanted off this trial from the beginning,   haven’t you? I guess maybe last week, but 
but what? I’m about to give you your wish. Andy’s heartbeat accelerated. Last week, she would have 
killed to hear those words, but over the weekend,   she begun to have a change of heart. She started 
to see this as a chance to do something decent, something good. She hadn’t done a whole lot before 
to help people. Never served in the armed forces or the Peace Corps, never volunteered for much 
in the community. Basically, she did jarred. That was it. And over the weekend, it all kind of 
settled on her. It’s true. I did feel that way, Andy said. But if it’s all the same, I came here 
this morning to serve. The judge stopped writing. She gazed up at Andy, a little surprised by what 
she’d heard. You think you can be a positive   force on this jury, Mr. Grassy, and not cause any 
trouble. Andy nodded. Yes, if you let me get back in there, I think I can. Christ, Andy. All you 
had to do was keep your mouth shut, and you’d be gone. Judge Ciderman put down her pen. She took 
a long evaluating look at Andy. Okay, why not? It’s your right to serve. The judge summoned her 
clerk. Ms. Morren, would you mind showing juror   number 11 back to the jury room? Thank you, your 
honor. Andy smiled. Heading back to the courtroom, Sharon Anne held the door. Well, I’m certainly 
surprised you’re still on this jury. Yeah. Andy shook her head in disbelief. That makes two of 
us. Chapter 12. On the morning of August 6th, 1993, US Attorney Joel Goldenberger began. Samuel 
Greenblat, a happily married 62-year-old building contractor, was brutally murdered outside his 
home in Union, New Jersey. The prosecutor pointed to a large photographic enlargement resting on an 
easel. It depicted a smiling, slightly balding man with his wife at his 60th birthday party. The jury 
stared at the face. A car pulled up as Greenblat left for the office that morning. Two men in caps 
and sunglasses jumped out and shot him multiple times as he stepped onto the street. The victim 
looked at his killers and muttered, “Why?” Then he called out, “Franny,” the name of his wife of 
37 years. Then, to make sure they had finished the job, one of them stood over Mr. Greenblat’s dying 
body, and calmly put two more rounds into his head. After the gunman drove away, the first one 
to find the body was his youngest son, a senior at Routters. Members of the jury, you’re going to 
be hearing a lot about Samuel Greenblat during this trial. One of Goldenberger’s assistants 
passed out graphic police photographs showing they victims bloodied corpse. One or two women in 
the jury box squirmed and shook their heads. Now, no one is claiming Sam Greenblat was an angel. 
In fact, he had assisted the Gino crime family on several union tampering construction jobs. He 
had secured bogus contracts for the family through the local 47, a contracting union the family 
controlled. But what the government is saying, the prosecutor continued, gripping the sides of 
his table. And what will be repeatedly backed up by the words of several key witnesses, 
is that the defendant Dominic Cable gave the direct order for Mr. Greenblat’s execution 
that the very killers were chosen by Mr. Cable and rewarded by him with money and promotions in 
the organization to which they all belonged. And what was the motive for this killing? Why did 
Mr. Greenblat need to be eliminated? Because   Mr. Caval and his cronies believed they were the 
subject of a state law enforcement investigation, an assumption that turned out to be false. They 
simply thought Mr. Greenblat could do them harm. The prosecutor stepped away. He placed his hands 
on the jury box. But the killing didn’t end there. Contrary to the movies, mob hits don’t always go 
according to plan. What you’re going to hear is that this murder spawned a series of killings. 
Three, in fact, all ordered by Mr. Cable with a goal of covering up the first one. You’re going 
to hear of union tampering and construction fraud, of extortion, loan sharking. You’re going to hear 
above all that Mr. Cavlo was the boss of the Gino crime family, the boss of bosses, in fact, using 
the Colombian and Russian crime syndicates to do his dirty work. A man whose principal business was 
to enrich himself at the misery and misfortune of any who stumbled in his way. The testimony you 
hear will not be hearsay, as the defense would like you to believe, but facts from people who 
knew Mr. Cavlo personally who participated in these crimes. The defense will surely tell you 
that these people are not exactly innocents   themselves. And they’re right. They are criminals, 
co-conspirators, killers. Bye. All accounts, ladies and gentlemen, these are bad guys. The 
defense will say that it is their job to lie and   deceive. But make no mistake, Goldenberger said as 
he looked each member of the jury in the eyes. In their stories, you will hear the truth. It will 
be the preponderance of evidence and detail,   all backing each other up, that will convince 
you that Mr. Kala was the man giving the orders. You will hear the words he used, hear his 
reactions, and under the law that makes   him as guilty of the crimes as if he pulled the 
triggers himself. I hope you will see Mr. Cable for what he is, ladies and gentlemen, a vicious, 
cold-blooded killer. Chapter 13. Lewis Makia, the prosecution’s first witness, stepped up 
to the stand and was sworn in. Makia had been   a loyal soldier in Cavella’s crime family. He 
was tall and broad- shouldered with thick black hair and was wearing a gray golf shirt. With a 
pleasant smile, he looked around the courtroom at the jurors in the press. Never once did his 
gaze drift anywhere near. Cable. “Good morning, Mr. Makia.” US Attorney Joel Goldenberger said 
as he stood up. “Morning, Mr. Goldenberger. Can you tell us your current address, Mr. Makia?” the 
prosecutor asked. “My current address is a federal prison. I’m afraid I can’t divulge which one.” 
“A federal prison?” The prosecutor nodded. So, for the sake of the jury, you’ve been convicted 
of a crime. Many crimes. Under the terms of my   59 agreement, I admitted to all sorts of them. Can 
you describe these crimes for us? What you pleaded guilty to? All of them. The gangster chuckled. 
That would take a lot of time. Several people in the courtroom laughed out loud. The jury too. Even 
Judge Ciderman put a hand in front of her face to conceal a smile. How about we start with just the 
major ones, Mr. McKI? Joel Goldenberger grinned as well. The highlights if you will. The highlights. 
Makia bunched his lips. Well, murder. Two murders actually. Attempted murder. Assault with a deadly 
weapon. Breaking and entering. Loan shocking. Drug trafficking. Autotheft. That’ll do, Mr. Makia. 
You’re right. There’s a lot to choose from. So, it’s fair to say you’ve been breaking the law for 
a long time. Pretty much since I learned to use a   fork. Lewis Machia nodded thoughtfully. And these 
crimes, the prosecutor said, these are all things you’ve planned and executed entirely on your own. 
Sometimes, Mr. Goldenberger, if I catch a drift, other times I was told to do them. Told. Ordered. 
Mr. Goldenberger. The gangster took a swig of water by the family. The family. Goldenberger 
stepped toward the witness. Is it safe to say that for the past 20 years or so you’ve been a 
member of an organized crime family? Very safe, Mr. Goldenberger. I was a soldier in the Gino 
family. The Gino crime family. Your honor, with your permission, I’d like to show an exhibit 
to the jury. One of the assistant prosecutors put a large poster board covered with several small 
photographs on an easel in front of the jury. It showed a pyramid-like family tree of about 50 
faces. On the bottom, soldiers. On the level above that, captains. And on the highest tier were the 
leaders. That’s where Cava’s face was displayed above the heading boss. This is a current 
depiction of the Gino crime family, is it not,   Mr. Makia? The witness nodded. Yeah, at the time 
of my convictions, and that’s your face there, is it not? To the left among those listed as 
soldiers. He smiled aphibably. It’s an old picture, not my best, but yes, that’s me. Sorry, 
Mr. Makia. Next time we’ll be sure to update it. What I want to know is if you were always a 
soldier in this family, Mr. Mckia, or did you have to work your way up the ranks? Everybody’s got to 
work their way up. I got in by my uncle Richie. I started doing little jobs. Picking up some cash, 
stealing a car, a B and E by B and E. You mean breaking and entering a burglary? Yeah, that’s 
right, Mr. Goldenberger. Maybe knocking someone’s head clear so they’d see the light again. A 
few snickers trickled through the courtroom.   And then you graduated, Goldenberger pressed on. 
I mean, from petty stuff like knocking people’s heads clear to some of the more serious crimes. 
You’ve admitted to murder, attempted murder, drug trafficking. I graduated, Makia nodded. Only 
thing I ever graduated, he said with a crooked smile. Please just answer what the government 
asks you, Mr. Makia, said the judge, leaning   over. Thank you, your honor. The prosecutor went 
back to his notes. So, I want to get back to the way in which you were promoted, Mr. Makia, from 
an associate to a soldier. If I’m not mistaken, I believe it’s called being made, right? You mean 
like the ceremony? It was at Beluchkai on Flatbush Avenue. In the back, they have a private room 
there. I never even knew. They asked me to drive one of the captains Frankie Stamps. We called 
him that because there were two Frankies and   Frankie Stamps was into male fraud. I figured it 
was just a meeting. Every one of the captains was there. Mr. Cavel, too. By Mr. Cavel, you mean 
Dominic Cavel, the defendant. He was there at that meeting. Sure, he was there. He was the boss. 
We’ll get back to that later. the prosecutor said, letting the word boss resonate over the courtroom. 
But I’m actually more interested in what got you to that ceremony. What got me to the ceremony? 
Machia shrugged. It was a Lincoln, I think. This time, fullout laughter spread throughout the 
courtroom. I meant, what did you do to make   yourself worthy, Mr. Machia? The prosecutor pushed 
through the laughter in order to be promoted. Oh, that. Makia sat back and reached for his water. He 
took a long drink. I killed Sam Greenblat in front of his house. Chapter 14. A hush settled over 
the courtroom. Everybody felt it. Andy Degrassi couldn’t believe what she just heard. One minute, 
this guy’s making a joke. A regular guy. Then he admits to blowing someone away. She’d never heard 
anyone speak so casually about killing someone. Like he had to run an errand and pick up something 
at the store. You’re admitting you killed Mr.   Greenblat in front of his home. Joel Goldenberger 
looked just as shocked as everyone else. I already admitted that, Mr. Goldenberger. to the police 
and to the FBI. I wasn’t exactly proud of it, but that’s how you get ahead in this game.” The 
prosecutor stepped back, letting the full effect   of Machia’s testimony settle in. Andy recalled the 
crime pictures, the bloody scene. Can you describe for the jury how that particular job came to be? 
“All right,” the witness took a deep breath. “I worked for Ralphie D. Ralphie D.” The prosecutor 
interrupted. “You mean Ralph Juniata, right?” He pointed to a round, heavy face higher up in the 
family tree. He was a lieutenant in the Gino crime family. That’s him. Makia nodded. We called him 
Ralphie D because we got it, Mr. Makia. Because there was another Ralphie. Ralphie F. Ralphie Frey 
Ali. The prosecutor pointed to another face on the other side of the board. Makia scratched his head. 
To tell you the truth, Mr. Goldenberger, I never actually knew what Ralphie F’s last name was. 
The laughter grew heavier now. This would be good comedy if it wasn’t so deadly serious. So your 
boss Ralph Denuniata contacted you. He said the family needed this thing done for the boss. And by 
this thing done, it was understood he meant a job, a hit. It meant you had to kill someone. It was 
understood what he meant, Mr. Goldenberger. And by the boss, the prosecutor faced the witness again. 
You took that to mean dominant call. He pointed in the direction of the defendant. They said a favor 
had to be done. There was this guy in New Jersey who was causing problems. Not a protected guy, 
just a regular civilian. And how did you feel about taking care of this, Mr. Makia? You knew 
that it meant killing somebody. I knew what it entailed, Mr. Goldenberger. Makia glanced over 
toward the jury. For a second, Andy’s blood ran cold. She felt his eyes were fixed on her. Ralphie 
told me how they had it all planned out. It would be a cinch. So, I mean, I got this friend of mine 
to steal a car. By your friend, you’re referring to Steven Menorino? Asked the prosecutor. He 
stepped back to his table and held up a large picture of a chubby, grinning kid with bushy hair 
and a Giants football jersey, maybe 18. Yeah, Stevie Makia nodded. We’d known each other since 
we were kids, so Mr. Manorino was to steal the car and some plates. It was decided the easiest place 
to hit the guy would be at his house when he came   out for work in the morning. What do they call 
that kind of street that ends in a circle? Aldi, the prosecutor said. Yeah, Kaldik. We had several 
cars around patrolling the area checking for cops. Tommy Moose was in one. Tommy Mscena. He was 
the under boss in the family. Ralphie reported directly to him. We did a dry run 2 days before. 
We tailed the mark. This Jewish guy, he kissed his wife goodbye at the door. Seemed like an all 
right guy. But you were willing to go through with   it anyway. The prosecutor asked. Maka shrugged, 
taking a long sip from his water bottle. Not like you have a lot of choice, Mr. Goldenberger. 
I seen guys put away for turning down a job.   You don’t go through with it, you could be next. 
Besides, besides what, Mr. Makia? The prosecutor urged him on. It was a favor for the boss, Mr. 
Goldenberger. You don’t turn that down. And how did you know this, sir? Ralphie said it was 
for the electrician. And by the electrician, he meant who, Mr. Makia. Objection. Cable’s 
attorney stood up with a scowl. Andy looked at of Flynn. They already had a name for the lawyer 
in the jury room. The eyebrow. Sorry, your honor. The prosecutor apologized. So, by the electrician, 
Mr. Makia, you understood that Ralphie D meant who? Dominic Cable, the electrician. That was his 
name. Ralphie worked for Tommy. Tommy worked for the boss. The prosecutor nodded clearly pleased. 
So, you knew this. It was for the boss, meaning Mr. Cable. Holy because Ralphie D said this to you 
that the other thing. Makia shrugged. What other thing, Mr. Makia? The prosecutor turned his voice 
rising. There was a pause. Lee’s Makia settled back in his chair. For the first time, Cavella’s 
eyes lifted toward the witness. Makia took a couple gulps of water. Then he put the bottle 
down. Those cars I spoke of, Mr. Goldenberger driving around. Dominic Cavel was in one, too. 
Chapter 15. They broke for lunch and Andy spent it outside in Foley Square. It was cold, but still 
pretty nice for November. She ate a tuna wrap on a ledge, going over some proofreading for the 
neighborhood newspaper she worked for part-time.   She made an entry in her trial notebook, too, and 
underlined it. Cable was there. At 20 0, they all filed back in. Lewis Mckia was still on the stand. 
I want to pick up where we left off, Mr. McKe. The prosecutor stepped back up to the stand. What 
happened after Samuel Greenblat’s murder? After the murder, the witness thought a moment. I 
was promoted, Mr. Goldenberger. I was made a soldier like you said. I think that was several 
weeks afterwards. The prosecutor corrected him.   Maybe a month, 27 days. Makia smiled. To be exact. 
There were a few more chuckles from the gallery. From Goldenberger, too. Clearly, that was an 
important day in your life, Mr. Makia. But I was referring more to the days immediately after Sam 
Greenblat’s murder. Oh, that. Makia shook his head as if he’d beenacked in the face. He took a sip 
from his water bottle again. We ditched the car. We were all supposed to meet up at Ralphie D’s 
diner later in Brooklyn. And did that go smoothly,   Mr. Mia dad part. Mr. Goldenberger. Yeah, we left 
the card. Newick airport. Stevie tossed the plates into a marsh off of I95. We were all high fives 
and celebrating. Good things were going to happen. But that wasn’t the case, was it? What did happen? 
The dark-haired mobster crawled disgustedly, shaking his head. I guess after we shot Mister 
Green blind and pulled away from his house, someone, one of his neighbors maybe, must have 
got a glimpse at the plates. Someone spotted you.   And how did you end up realizing that? The young 
prosecutor pressed. Cuz later that night around 7:00, the cops came to my house. I wasn’t there, 
but my wife and kids were. They asked to see her car. Her car? The prosecutor looked confused. 
Why would they ask to see your wife’s car, Mr. Makia? It was clearenburgger knew the answer, 
but was adittly leading the whole courtroom there. Apparently, the plates the neighbor had picked up 
as we drove away were registered to her. There was   an audible gasp throughout the courtroom. Your 
wife, Mr. Makia, you previously told us Steven Manorino was supposed to steal plates for the hit. 
I guess he did. Makia scratched his head. From my house. Andy glanced toward Flynn down the row. 
They both double blinked as if making sure they   had heard right. Chapter 16. Joel Goldenberger’s 
eyes were wide. This is your best pal, Mr. Makia. You’re telling me he stole the plates for this hit 
from you? I said we had known each other since we   were kids, Mr. Goldenberger. He was my oldest, 
not my best friend, and he wasn’t the smartest guy. Snickers of disbelief erupted. Andy glanced 
up and could see Judge Ciderman hiding a smile again. Finally, when the courtroom calmed down, 
the prosecutor shook his head. So, Mr. Makia, go on. After my wife called me, I called Stevie up 
and said, “Stevie, what are you nuts? I’m sorry, your honor.” Anyway, what he told me was that 
his mom had found the stolen plates and threw them out, and he panicked. He only lived 
down the block, so he knew our place like   his own. I guess he found my wife’s plates in 
a box on the side of our house and figured, “Who would ever know?” There was a stunned silence 
for a few seconds. The sound of total disbelief. Then the prosecutor continued, “So what happened 
when the cops came to your house?” “My wife   told him someone must have jumped the fence and 
stolen him.” “Your wife’s a pretty quick thinker, mister Makia.” “Yeah, and she was pretty damn 
pissed, too.” He shook his head and smiled. This time, no one could hold back. Andy figured 
everyone had the same image. The gangster’s wife coming after him with a frying pan. She put a hand 
over her face and averted her eyes. She caught a glimpse of Cable. He was smiling, too. And so, 
the cops were satisfied with that explanation that someone else must have taken the plates. 
I don’t know if you would call it satisfied. I   had a record. It wasn’t exactly hard to pin me as 
someone who hung around the family. This couldn’t have gone over very well with Ralphie D. I would 
call that an understatement, Mr. Goldenberger.   Everybody was pissed as hell. I met up with Stevie 
later that night and he was saying stuff like, “I know I screwed up, but if something comes from 
this, I’m not going alone.” Crazy stuff. Stuff he knew better than to say. He was just worked up. 
And how did you respond? The prosecutor asked. I kept saying, “Christ, Stevie, you can’t say things 
like that. People are going to hear.” But he was nervous. He knew he screwed up. I never saw Stevie 
act like that. So, what did you do? Me? Truth was, Mr. Goldenberger, I had my own situation to worry 
about. I told Ralphie, “Don’t listen to the guy.   He won’t do anything stupid. He’s just freaked 
out, that’s all.” You told Ralphie about Stevie. I had to, Mr. Goldenberger. If he got nabbed and 
started to talk, he could bring us all down. But I needed to give myself an alibi, too. I had this 
knee thing in those days. I needed surgery. So, I went right into Kings County Hospital up to this 
doctor I knew that we knew. He owed us some money and I told him, “You cut me open right now and the 
tab is clean, but I need the records to say I’ve been in here since this morning.” Let me get this 
straight. Mr. Makia, you got a doctor to falsely admit you into a hospital to provide an alibi for 
killing Samuel Greenblat? Yeah, and he agreed. Well, I had a gun to his head, Mr. Goldenberger. 
Andy couldn’t believe it. The laughter got wild. So, getting back to Stevie Manorino, Mr. Makia, 
your lifelong pal. The prosecutor took a few steps toward the witness. You told Ralphie D you would 
cover for him. What did Ralphie say? He said not to worry. He talked it over with the boss. He said 
they’d get him somewhere where he could lie low   for a while till it all blew over. He told me just 
to focus on myself. Get better. I was in this leg brace. Truth was I was a little nervous. I was 
never coming out of that hospital myself if you know what I mean. So what happened? Goldenberger 
went over and picked up Steven Manorino’s picture. He held it there for the jury to fix 
on. Tell the court, Mr. Mckia, what became of your pal? I don’t know. Lewis Makia shrugged. 
He reached for the water bottle and cleared his   throat. I never saw Stevie again. Chapter 17. 
It was almost 4. Judge Ciderman looked around the courtroom. She stopped the questioning. Mr. 
Goldenberger, I think that’s a good spot to leave offer today. She cautioned the jury not to discuss 
the case or read the papers. Then they all filed back into the jury room. A few of them hurried off 
for trains, saying hasty goodbyes. Andy packed up her bag and put on her sweater. See you tomorrow, 
everyone. I have to pick up my kid. Anyone taking the woman named Jennifer said she was, and 
together they hurried over to Chamber Street and   hopped the Broadway number one uptown. Jennifer, 
who sold advertising in the city, got off at 79th. And Andy continued on uptown to the walk up 
brownstone on West 183rd Street, overlooking the George Washington Bridge, where she and Jard 
had lived for the past four years. Andy got out at the 181st Street station and walked down 
a couple of blocks to 178th to pick up Jar at Sandra’s. Sandra’s son, Eddie, was in Jard’s 
fourth grade class at elementary school 115. Hey, Miss Law and order,” Sandra said, laughing 
as she opened the door. “You get a part? I got a sentence,” Andy rolled her eyes. “Eight weeks.” 
“Yikes,” Sandra exclaimed. “I got them to do their homework, at least part of it. They’re in Edward’s 
room playing Desert Ambush.” The two women stuck. Their heads in. “Mom,” Jard crowed. “Check it out. 
We’re on level six.” “Well, I’m afraid we’re going to have to level six it out of here.” Mom’s beat 
out on Broadway. She and Jarred headed back to   their apartment. Dinner was in their future and 
she didn’t feel like cooking. So, what are we up for, Mr. Nachos Deli? I got 40 bucks from the 
US government that says dinners on me. They gave you 40 bucks. Jar seemed impressed. So, what’s the 
trial about, Mom? Anything cool? I shouldn’t say, but it’s about this mafia guy. We heard these 
lawyers talk just like on Law and Order, and I got to meet the judge in her office. Jar 
came to a stop just in front of their building.   He cried out, “Mom.” Their car was parked on the 
street, a 10-year-old orange Volvo wagon. Sluggo, they called it, because it didn’t go very fast and 
looked like it had taken quite a few punches. They   kept it on the street. The local cops always cut 
them slack. Someone had smashed the entire front windshield in. “Oh my god,” Andy gasped. She 
hurried up to the station wagon in disbelief. Shards of splintered glass were all over the 
pavement. “Who would do such a thing? She’d kept   it on the street for years. Everyone on the block 
knew it. Nothing like this had ever happened. She placed a hand on Jar’s shoulder. Then Andy felt 
a knot tighten in the pit of her stomach. She   thought of Cable sitting there in the courtroom 
with his calm, indifferent stare, like he had it all under control. And the stories Lewis Machia 
had told. He had murdered for Cavel. Something like this was child’s play to the mob, wasn’t it? 
Mom, what’s wrong? Nothing, Jarred. She pulled him close, but he didn’t believe her any more 
than she believed herself. All they would have   to do is follow you home. Maybe they had. Chapter 
18. Richard Nordenko had a very good plan, which was why he was sitting in a fashionable beastro 
on the Upper East Side, watching an attractive   middle-aged woman from the relative safety of 
the bar. There were three others with the woman at her table, talking and laughing. The place was 
jammed with an affluent, successful looking crowd. The two men with her wore nicely tailored suits, 
expensive dress shirts, gold cufflinks. She seemed to know the other woman in her party quite well. 
The conversation was lively, familiar. The wine flowed, how nice for all of them. Nordsteno had 
followed the woman home from court that day to her lovely townhouse in Murray Hill. After she went 
inside, he stopped on the street directly in front of the red wooden door. No guards. That’s how 
they did things here. And the lock was a wiser. It would be no problem. He saw the wires from a 
security system connected to the phone line. That was no problem either. Mr. Kaminsky, the pretty 
hostess at the restaurant, stepped up to him and smiled, “Your table is ready now.” She seated him 
precisely where he had requested, at the adjoining table to the woman he had followed. It didn’t 
bother him to be so close. She wouldn’t know   him. She would never see his face again. He had 
done this kind of thing countless times. In the beginning, it was the Spitznuts brigade special 
forces in Cheshna. There, he had learned how to kill with precision and without any remorse. His 
first real job had been a local bureaucrat in Groy who had stolen several pensions. A real pig. Some 
of the victims had approached him to get even, and they paid him a sum he would not have earned 
in 6 months of waiting around to get blown up by   the Chetchin rebels. He was ridding the world of 
filthy scum. He could easily justify that. So he killed the bureaucrat with a firebomb placed in 
his speedboat. Next, it was a policeman in Tashkin who was blackmailing prostitutes. He got a royal 
fee for that. Then a mobster in Moscow. A real big shot, impossible to get close to. He’d had to 
detonate an entire building, but it was just part of the job. Then he started offering his services 
to whoever would pay his price. It was the time of Paristrika, capitalism, and he was just the 
businessman. He’d hit the big time. He stared at the fashionable woman again. Too bad. She seemed 
successful and even likable. He knew exactly how it would go from here. It would begin with 
something small, a message, something that would   fester in her mind. Soon she’d be bricks. There 
would be no trial. The woman shifted in her chair, and a blue cashmere sweater draped over the 
back fell onto the floor. A waiter moved in,   but Nordeno beat him to it. He reached down and 
picked it up. Thank you so much. The woman smiled warmly at him. Their eyes met. Nordhenko made 
no move to avoid them. In a different world, she was probably someone to admire and respect, 
but this was his world now. He handed back the beautiful sweater. My pleasure. He nodded slightly 
in return. And it was. He had looked into the eyes of many of his victims before he acted. Your 
life is about to become hell. Miriam Ciderman, he thought. Chapter 19. Mr. Makia. My name is High 
Cascal, the eyebrow said as he stepped away from his chair the following morning. I’m going to be 
asking you some questions on behalf of my client, Mr. Dominic Cable. Andy Degrassi opened 
her notebook to a new page. sketching in a caricature of the defense attorney, his 
eyebrows flashing. She had decided to keep what   had happened yesterday afternoon to herself. What 
could she prove? At this point, she didn’t want another scene with Sharon Anne about poisoning the 
jury. I’m familiar with your client, Mr. Cascal, Lewis Machia replied. Good. The dimminionative 
defense attorney nodded. If you please, will you tell the jury just how you know him? I’m just 
acquainted, Mr. Cascal. I’ve been around a table with him a few times. He was there the night I got 
made around a table. Kala’s attorney theatrically mimicked him. Do you consider yourself a close 
friend of Mr. Cavllo’s? Has he say invited you   out to dinner? Actually, I have gone out to dinner 
with your client, Mr. Cascal. The witness grinned. It was after Frank Angelotti’s funeral. A lot of 
us went out. But as for the other stuff, no, I was just a soldier. That’s not the way it worked. 
So, you’ve never heard Mr. Cable give any orders on behalf of the Gino Crime family? He never said 
to you, for instance, I need a favor from you, Mr. Makia, or I want Samuel Greenblat killed. No, Mr. 
Castle, not quite that way. That was left to other people to explain to you, like Ralphie D whom you 
mentioned, or this other Tommy character, the one   with the funny name, Tommy Moose. Tommy Moose. The 
defense attorney nodded. Sorry. That’s all right, Mr. Cascal. We all have funny names. Peels of 
laughter erupted through the courtroom. Yes, Mr. Machia. The defense attorney said, “But what 
I was driving at is you never actually heard.” My client suggests it would be a good thing 
if the Sam Greenblat was killed, did you? No,   not directly. You heard that from Ralphie D, who 
you say spotted him driving around somewhere in New Jersey in a car. It wasn’t somewhere in New 
Jersey. It was down the block from where Mr.   Greenblat was killed. By you, Mr. Makia, just 
to be clear. Yes, sir. The witness nodded. By me? Cascal scratched his chin. Now, you describe 
yourself as a longtime member of the Gino crime family. Isn’t that right? And you’ve admitted 
to doing a lot of bad things on behalf of that family. Yes, the witness answered. The both like 
killing people or trafficking in drugs. Isn’t that right? That’s correct. What kinds of drugs did you 
traffic in, Mr. Makia? Makia shrugged. Marijuana, ecstasy, heroin, cocaine, you name it. H. The 
lawyer snickered to the jury. You’re quite   the entrepreneur, aren’t you? You’ve owned a gun, 
haven’t you, Mr. Makia? Yes, sir. I’ve always had a gun. Ever use your gun or threaten the life of 
someone in connection to those drugs? Mr. Mckia? Yes, sir. I have. Ever take any of those drugs 
yourself? Mr. Makia? Cavella’s lawyer pressed. Yes, I’ve taken drugs. So, you’re an admitted 
drug user, a car thief, a burglar, a kneebreaker,   and oh, yes, a killer. Mr. Makia, tell me, in 
the course of your longtime crime dealings, did you ever have the occasion to lie? Lie? The 
witness chuckled. Of course I lied. I lied all the time. By all the time, you mean once a month, 
once a week, every day? Perhaps. We always lied, Mr. Cascal. That was what we did. Why? Why would 
we lie to keep out of trouble to avoid getting caught? Ever lied to the cops, Mr. Makia? 
Sure, I lied to the police. To the FBI? Yes, the witness swallowed. When I was first arrested, 
I lied to the FBI. What about your wife, Mr. Makia? Or say your mother ever lied to them? Lewis 
Machia nodded. I guess in the course of my life, I’ve lied to just about everyone. So, let’s face 
it, Mr. Mckia. What you are is a habitual liar. Basically, you’ve lied to everyone you know, 
the people you work with, the police, the FBI, your wife, even the woman who bore you. Let me ask 
you, Mr. Machia, is there anything you wouldn’t   lie about? Yes. Lewis Makia straightened up. This 
this Cascal mocked him sarcastically. By this, I assume you mean your testimony. Yes, sir. The 
witness said, “The governments promised you a   sweet deal, haven’t they tell them what they 
want to hear. If I admit to my crimes and tell the truth,” the witness shrugged. They said they would 
take that into account. “By that you mean. Reduce your sentence. Correct.” “Yes, maybe even to time 
served,” the eyebrow said, “wittied. “Is that not correct?” “It’s possible.” The witness nodded. So 
tell us, Cascal said, why should this jury believe you now when in practically every other instance 
of your life you’ve admitted you habitually lied   in order to save your own skin? Because said the 
witness, smiling, it makes no sense for me to lie now. It makes no sense. Cascll scratched his chin 
again. Why? Because if they catch me in a lie, I stay in prison. All I have to do to get 
my sentence reduced is tell the truth. How about that, Mr. Cascal? Chapter 20. They broke 
for lunch. Andy went out with Flynn and Mark, the crime writer, to Chinatown, a short walk from 
the courthouse in Foley Square. For a while, as they picked up appetizers, they exchanged stories. 
Andy told them about Jared, about what it was like raising a kid in the city by herself. Oh. Flynn 
asked what it was like to work on The Sopranos, and Andy admitted she’d sort of stretched that 
a little bit. I was in extra. I exaggerated to get off the trial. Gez. Oh. Flynn stared at her 
glassily. You just broke my heart. Jon’s been rewinding through 5 years of reruns trying to pick 
you out in the bad bing. Mark grinned, picking up a piece of bean curd with his chopsticks. So, 
what about you? Andy turned to Mark. What kind of stuff do you write? Mark seemed like a cool 
guy to her. He had longish curly blonde hair, a bit like Matthew McConna, and always wore jeans 
under his navy blazer and open neck shirt. Couple of okay mystery novels. one was nominated for 
an Edgar Award. “I did some CSI and NYPD blue scripts.” “So like you’re famous,” said Andy. “I 
know a few famous writers,” he said, grinning. “Am I making you nervous?” “Yeah, I can hardly hold my 
chopsticks.” Andy smiled. “Look at them shake. So I got to ask you guys.” “Oh,” Flynn lowered his 
voice. “I know we’re not supposed to talk, but this Makia guy, what did we make of him? We make 
him to be one cold-hearted son of a bitch,” Mark said. “But he does know how to get a laugh. He 
the son of a Andy agreed. But when he was talking about his friend, I don’t know. I felt a different 
side of him starting to come through. I guess what   I was really asking, oh Flynn leaned in close, is 
do we believe him in spite of all that he’s done? Andy looked at Mark. Makia was a murderer and 
a thug. He’d probably done a hundred horrible   things he’d never owned up to. But that bit about 
telling the truth hit home. How he had nothing to gain from lying now. The writer shrugged. Yeah, 
I believe him. They both looked at Andy. Yeah, I believe him, too. Chapter 21. When the jury 
came back from lunch, a behemoth of a man took the witness stand. He was probably 300 lb, and he was 
one of the least healthylooking people I’d ever seen. Can you state your name? Joel Goldenberger 
stood up and asked. And where you currently reside? My name is Ralph Denunata, the heavy set 
man said. And I currently reside in a federal penitentiary. Suddenly, there was an earsplitting 
boom that seemed to shake the entire building. Everybody jumped or covered their heads. It was 
under the table time. There were several loud cries. One of the marshals made a move toward 
cable. No one knew what was happening yet. I   stood up and was about to jump over the railing 
to protect the judge. Then the noise came again from the street. Maybe a demolition explosion or 
a truck backfire. Everyone looked around as the nervous gasps in the courtroom diffused. The only 
one who hadn’t moved was Cable. He just sat there looking around, concealing an amused grin. Don’t 
look at me, he said, and nearly everybody in the courtroom laughed. The trial resumed. Dunziata was 
about 50 with a couple of double chins and grayish thinning hair. He spoke in a soft tone. Like 
Makia, I’d got to know him well. I was the one who had arrested him. I actually liked Ralphie. If 
you could like a guy who wouldn’t shrug to see you dead. Mr. Denuniata, would you state your position 
in organized crime? Joel Goldenberger stepped up to the stand. I was a captain in the Gino crime 
family. He spoke in a hush tone. Eyes averted. Ralphie D? The US prosecutor asked. The witness 
nodded. Yes, that would be me. You have a college degree, don’t you, Mr. Denuniata? The prosecutor 
continued. Yes, sir, I do in business from Liu, but you never got a regular job. You chose to 
dedicate yourself to a life of crime. That’s correct. Dunziata nodded again. Ralphie’s 
father was one of Cavella’s henchmen when Ralphie was growing up. My father wanted me 
to become a stock broker or get a law degree, but things were changing. The family was in some 
legitimate businesses, restaurants, nightclubs, food distribution. So, I got involved with 
them. I thought I could avoid things, you know,   the things everyone talks about, the violence, 
the dirty work. But you couldn’t, Mr. Duninata, could you? Joel Goldenberger asked. No, sir, the 
witness shook his head. I couldn’t. And one of those things you couldn’t avoid was involvement in 
the murder of Sam Greenblat. Yes, he said, locking   his thumbs. And you pleaded guilty to playing a 
part in that crime. Is that not correct? That’s correct, the witness said. I pleaded guilty to 
murder in the second degree. Why, Mr. Denuniata, can you describe your actual involvement in Mr. 
Greenblat’s death? He cleared his throat. Thomas   Mousina came to me. He was a captain then. He 
reported directly to Dominic Cavalo. He knew some people who worked for me owed the family a 
favor. Jimmy Cabber, he had gambling debts. Also, Lewis Makia, he was looking to be made. He figured 
this was an opportunity. By opportunity, the prosecutor stated, “You mean that if Mister Makia 
participated in killing Mr. Greenblood, he would be rewarded with being formally inducted into the 
family?” “Is that correct?” “That’s correct, Mr. Goldenberger.” So, go on, Mr. Denuniata. Did Mr. 
Cababuli and Lewis Makia carry out this hit? Yes, they did. in front of Greenblat’s home in Jersey 
on the 6th of August, 1993. “You seem to know the date.” “Well,” Mr. Denunata, “Were you there?” 
“I was in the area,” Tanziata replied. “In the area,” Goldenberger cocked his head. “I was in 
a car driving around the neighborhood, maybe two blocks away.” “I heard the shots. I saw Lewis and 
Jimmy C speed by.” Louis friend Stevie Manorino was driving the vehicle. Was anyone else driving 
around the neighborhood, Mr. Denunata, at the time   Mr. Greenblat was murdered? Yes, sir. The gangster 
nodded. Tommy Moose was driving around in a gray Lincoln. Okay. Thomas MCA was there in a Lincoln. 
Was there anyone else in this car with Mr. Mcina? The prosecutor asked. Yes, there was. Ralphie 
sucked in a breath and his eyes slowly lifted out over the courtroom. Dominic call was in the 
car. How could you be so sure, Mr. Denunata, that it was Mr. Cavel in the car with Thomas Mousa? 
Because they stopped and waved to me a few blocks   from the hit. But it didn’t surprise you, did it, 
Mr. Dunziata, to see him, the electrician, there? No, sir, the witness said. And can you tell the 
jury why? Because Tommy told me they were going to be there the night before. He and Mr. Call. He 
said Mr. Call wanted to make sure everything was done just right. Dunziata looked up as if drawn 
almost magnetically toward the defendant. Cable met his gaze with the most chilling merous smile. 
It had finality to it. Everybody saw it. It was as if the temperature in the courtroom had dropped 
20° in a few seconds. Go ahead, Ralphie. Cavless smile seemed to say, “Do what you have to do. 
When this is all played out, I’ll find you.” Dead man walking Ralphie. The prosecutor brought the 
witness back. So, to the best of your knowledge, Mr. Denuniata, Mr. Cal knew about Mr. Greenblat’s 
murder before it took place. Of course, he knew about the murder, Mr. Goldenberger. Jimmy wouldn’t 
tie his shoelaces without the bosses say so. Everybody knew that Cal ordered the hit. Chapter 
22. Miriam Ciderman had seen the monstrous look, too. It almost brought the proceedings to a halt 
as all eyes went to Caval. Up to now, the mob boss had been on his best behavior, but she knew he 
was tethered by a slender thread. The first two   witnesses had been damaging. She could read the 
jury on that. Only a complete fool would think Cavla had nothing to do with Greenblat’s murder. 
Yet, he just sat there like he had it all planned out. His life was going down the tubes and he was 
above it all. You can’t hold me here. I’m stronger than you. I’m stronger than the whole system. You 
can’t judge me. It made her shiver. After trial that day, she met her husband for dinner with a 
client. Ben was a partner at Rifkin Sales, one of the biggest law firms in the city. She listened, 
tried to laugh. The client, Howard Goldblum, was one of the most successful real estate 
developers in the city, but inside she was scared. She kept reliving the trial. It kept reverberating 
through her. Something about that man that he couldn’t be controlled by any system. She and 
Ben got home around 10 0. The alarm was on. The housekeeper gone for the night. She doublebolted 
the front door and went upstairs. She knew she   should tell Ben about today, but it was silly 
and she wasn’t a silly person. She’d been on a 100 trials. She’d seen plenty of brazen criminals 
who thought they were bigger than life itself. Why was this one different? He wasn’t to hell with 
him. She watched Ben disappear into his walk-in   closet to get undressed, then into the bathroom. 
She heard him brushing his teeth. She went over to their bed. She pulled off the pillows one by one. 
Then she stripped down the duvet. Miriam Ciderman felt her heart slam to a stop. Ben. Ben, come out 
here quick. Ben. Her husband ran into the room, his toothbrush in hand. What is it? Under the 
covers, there was a newspaper folded open to page two. They headline read gangster stops trial 
dead. She was staring at Dominic Cable and artist sketch. The very moment in the courtroom that had 
stayed with her all evening. That look. She turned   to Ben. Did you put that here? Her husband shook 
his head and picked up the daily news. Of course not. No. A chill started to creep down Miriam 
Ciderman’s spine. The house had been locked. The alarm set. Her housekeeper, Edith, had left 
at 400. What the hell was going on? This was this evening’s paper. Someone had gotten in here. 
Tonight, chapter 23. Around that time, in a dimly lit Albanian cafe in Atoria, Queens, Richard 
Nordicen Co. sat reading a newspaper of his own. A few customers were at the bar. A soccer game 
was playing on the satellite, piped in from the   home country, and the local boys were drinking and 
cheering, occasionally shouting in dialect at the screen. The cafe door opened. Two men stepped in. 
One was tall with ice blue eyes and long blonde locks flowing over his black leather jacket. The 
other was short and dark Middle Eastern looking, wearing a green military jacket over camouflage 
trousers. The two men took a seat at the table next to Nordinko’s. The Israeli never even looked 
up. It’s good to see you, Rami. Nordeno smiled. Rami was his Russian nickname from back in the 
army in Cheshna. A version of Remlo, his real name. Nordhenko hadn’t used it in 15 years. So 
look what the wind dragged in. The Israeli finally folded down his newspaper. Or maybe the sanitation 
trucks. Always the compliments. Remi Reichart. The blonde with the scar under his right eye was South 
African. Nordhenko had worked with him many times. He had been a mercenary in Western Africa for 
15 years and had learned his trade well. He had been taught how to inflict terrible pain when most 
boys were learning grammar and mathematics. Nazi, the Syrian he had gotten to know while on duty in 
Cheshna. Nazi had once participated in a terror raid against the Russians in which a lot of school 
children got killed. Nazi had blown up buildings, shot Russian emissaries, whatever it took. 
He could construct a bomb from materials one   could easily find in a hardware store. Nazi had no 
qualms about anything, no ideologies. In this age of fanatics, it made him a dying breed. Refreshing 
in a way. So tell us, Rami. The South African shifted in his chair. You didn’t bring us out here 
to watch Albanian football, did you? No. Nordic tossed the newspaper over on their table. Facing 
them was the courtroom sketch of Dominic Cavalo, the same one he had left in the judge’s bed. Just 
a few hours before, Cable NZI wrinkled his brow. He’s on trial. No, you want us to do a job on him 
while he’s in jail? We could do that, I suppose. Have a drink, Nordhenko said, signaling the 
waiter. I’ll have one after, the South African   said. And as you know, our Muslim pal here lives 
the rigorous life of the Quran. Nordhenko smiled. All right. He lifted the newspaper one more time. 
On the other side was another courtroom sketch, one Nordenko had cut out of the paper from the 
trial’s very first day. Both killers stared at it. Slowly, the message started to sink in. 
You want that drink now? Lord Shenko asked. Reicharts look said lunacy this is America Rami 
not Chetchna what better place to break new ground you Reichart called to the waiter three said in Zi 
shrugging the drinks came and over the shouts for the football game the men slugged them down wiping 
their chins the South African finally started to laugh you know it’s true what they say about you 
Rami you’d be dangerous if you ever got mad shell take that as a yes you’re in Noro asked them of 
course we’re in Rami it’s the only game in town three more Noro called to the waiter in Russian. 
Then he picked up the paper, the sketch of the   jury disappearing under his arm. They wanted a 
trial. These stupid bastards, they were going to get one. They just didn’t know the meaning of the 
trial that was in store for them. Chapter 24. No one was on the witness stand in the courtroom that 
morning. The press was cleared. The jury was being kept in the jury room. Judge Ciderman stepped in 
from her chambers and sent a fiery look hurtling toward the defendant in the second row. Mr. cable, 
I want to see you and both councils in my chambers now. As the judge was leaving the bench, she 
caught my eye. Agent Palisante, I’d like you to join us as well. Our group made its way through 
the wooden door on the right side of the courtroom   to the judge’s quarters. Judge Ciderman took a 
seat behind her desk, glaring. I’d never seen her so angry. And she was glaring directly at 
the defendant. Maybe I didn’t quite get this across to you, Mr. cave. But if you think I will 
ever bow to intimidation or your mobcare tactics, you have picked the wrong judge, and this is the 
wrong courtroom. Do I make myself clear? Perfectly clear, your honor, Cable stood, staring right back 
at her. But what I particularly don’t take to, Judge Ciderman raised herself up, is a defendant 
who thinks he’s big enough to toy and interfere   with the criminal justice system. Can your honor 
explain what it is you’re talking about? Casco asked, obviously confused. Your client knows 
precisely what I’m talking about, Mr. Cascal, the judge replied, her gaze never wavering from 
Cavella’s chuckling eyes. She reached into a drawer, pulled out the copy of the Daily News, and 
held it in front of the defendant’s face. Facing up was a sketch of Cavella’s courtroom look at 
Ralphie yesterday. Gangster stops trial dead. This was in my bed last night. In my bed, Mr. Cavel 
under my covers. The evening edition broke around 7. My house was completely locked up and alarmed. 
No one had been inside since 4 that afternoon. You have an educated guess as to how this got there, 
Mr. Cavel. I’m not an expert on these things,   your honor. Dominic Cable shrugged smugly. But 
maybe that’s something you ought to take up with your alarm company or your husband. Me? I got 
a pretty good excuse. I was in that prison over there. I told you. Miriam Ciderman removed her 
glasses. These proceedings will not be disrupted by intimidation. I had to give her credit. The 
judge was going toe-to-toe with Cavel. She wasn’t backing down. This court has given you every 
opportunity to have this trial conducted in the   open, Mr. Cavel. This court is making assumptions 
that it cannot possibly back up, your honor. Hi, Cascal said. Mr. Cavla has conducted himself by 
every rule and stipulation both sides agreed to in the pre-trial hearings. You can’t point the 
finger at him. I am pointing the finger, Mr. Cascal. And if it’s shown in any way that this is 
tied back to your client, it’s okay. Hi. Dominic Cavella restrained his lawyer. I understand how 
the judge must feel. She has to do what she has to do. It’s just that I have friends who feel 
a certain way as well. And the problem is they   have to do what they think is right, too. What 
did I just hear? The judge’s gaze was electric, drilling in on Cavella’s eyes. I tried to tell 
you from the beginning, your honor, Cal said, we’re never going to see the end of this trial. 
What can I tell you? That’s just the way it is. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. Even for 
a bull like Kovville to direct such a bold threat at the court was extraordinary. Agent in charge 
Palisante, the judge said, never flinching. Yes, your honor. I’m calling a recess for the day. 
I want the jury sent home. In the meantime,   I’ll decide how this proceeding is conducted from 
here on in. I felt I had to voice my opinion. The jury should be sequestered, your honor. We can 
no longer take responsibility for their safety or   even your own. We’ve mapped out various locations. 
I can have protective custody in motion as soon as you give the word. Nick, cable clucked, turning 
my way. It’s a big city. Hey, maybe you ought to be watching your back, too. I stepped forward 
to take a slug at him, but someone behind me,   this big burly marshall, held me back. Do it, 
Agent Palisante. The judge nodded. Set the wheels in motion. Sequester the jury. Chapter 25. Around 
9:30 that night, Andy was folding towels in Jard’s bathroom. Her darling son was in his PJs, sitting 
up in bed with a school book open on his lap, but he was staring off into space. “Mom, what’s 
a promontory?” he called to her. Andy came out and sat on the edge of his bed. “It’s like a 
piece of land that juts out into the ocean.”   “Then what’s a peninsula?” he asked next, flipping 
the textbook page. Andy shrugged. “I guess it’s a larger piece of land that juts out into the 
ocean.” That day, for the first time in a week,   she had picked him up from school. The judge 
had excused them all before noon and the rumor mills were buzzing. The newspapers and TV 
commentators were saying threats had been made, maybe against some of the jurors. Andy had asked 
for some time with the judge and finally mentioned   how she had found her windshield smashed in two 
nights before. Judge Ciderman told her it probably wasn’t related, but that wasn’t exactly making 
her feel safe and secure right now. So then, isn’t every piece of land in the world kind of a 
peninsula? Jar shrugged. I mean, look at Florida or Africa and South America. Doesn’t everything 
stick out into the ocean at some point, Mom? I guess. Andy tucked in his blanket and sat brushing 
back his soft, light brown hair. Hey, he said, squirming. I’m not a baby. You’re my baby. Always 
will be. Sorry, but that’s the deal. Andy’s hands stopped abruptly at the sound of the doorbell. 
Jarred sat back up. They both looked at the clock.   It was after 10 0. Who could that be, Mom? I don’t 
know, but one thing I do know, Einstein. She took the book from him. It’s lights out. She bent and 
gave him a kiss. Night, mom. Andy went into the hall to answer the bell. She turned the lock and 
cracked open the front door slightly. She did a double take. It was that FBI guy she’d noticed in 
the courtroom, the Nissle looking one. And there was a uniformed police officer with him. No, two 
police officers, a man and a woman. What were they doing here at 1000? Chapter 26. He held up his FBI 
shield for her to see. I’m sorry to surprise you, M. Degrassi. May I come in? It’s important. Andy 
opened the door. The FBI guy was dressed nicely in an olive raincoat over a brown sports jacket with 
a deep blue shirt and a tie. Her mind flashed to how she must look in a bright pink DKNY sweatshirt 
with a towel draped over her shoulder. I wasn’t expecting anyone. We’re sorry to bust in on you 
like this. I’m Nicholas Palisante. I’m a special agent in charge of the FBI’s organized crime unit. 
I’m heading up the cave investigation. I’ve seen you in court, Andy said then wearily. Isn’t there 
some kind of rule that we’re not supposed to be talking to each other under normal circumstances? 
Yes, the FBI. Guy nodded. Normal circumstances. I’m not following you. What’s happening? The 
trial procedures are being changed. As a matter   of safety, the judge feels, and I agree, it 
may be prudent for the members of the jury to be removed from their daily lives. Our daily 
lives? Andy blinked. What did that mean? She ran a hand through her messy hair. The judge would 
like the jury sequestered. I don’t want you to   be alarmed. There’s no specific threat. It’s just 
for your protection. My protection? You and your sons? The agent said now. Andy was alarmed. You’re 
saying there have been threats. Her mind flashed to the windshield of her car. This is about what 
happened the other night. I’m not saying that.   The agent said there’s an officer outside who can 
assist you. Assist us with what? Agent Palisante. A tremor galloped down her spine. I have a 
9-year-old in here. What do I do with him while   I’m being protected? Pack him off to boarding 
school. Look, I know how this sounds and I know how short notice it is. We’ll make provisions that 
you get to see your son regularly for the balance of the trial, the balance of the trial. Suddenly, 
the magnitude of the smacked Andy face on. We’re only in the first week. This isn’t exactly what I 
signed up for, Agent Palisante. The FBI guy looked sympathetic, but also helpless to do anything. I’m 
afraid it’s not a matter of choice. Her blood was pulsing. She could have gotten off this trial just 
the other day when Andy looked up at him. Then she realized what he had meant by the officer waiting 
outside. I’m afraid right now. What I have to ask you to do now is to go pack some things. You’re 
kidding. Andy stared at him glassy eyed. My son’s in bed in the other room. What am I supposed to 
do with him? This is crazy. Is there someone who   can take him for tonight? Somebody nearby? 
I have a sister in Queens. It’s after 10 0. What do you want me to do? Put him in a cab? You 
can bring him along? The FBI guy finally said,   “Just for this evening, though. You’ll have to 
make provisions.” For him tomorrow. Bring him along? Andy smirked sardonically. Where? I can’t 
tell you that, Mr. Grassi. Not far, and you will be able to see him from time to time. I promise 
you that. You’re serious? Andy ran a hand through   her hair again. At that moment, she saw Jared 
standing in the hall in his PJs. What’s going on, Mom? Andy went to him and put an arm around his 
shoulders. This man is from the trial. He’s with the FBI. He’s telling me we have to leave. We 
have to go someplace now. Tonight? Why? Jar asked. Not. Understanding. Tonight? Where? The FBI 
guy kneelled down. We have to do this in order to let your mom do a brave thing. You’d want her to 
do that, wouldn’t you? You do something brave,   wouldn’t you? To protect your mom. Yeah. Jard 
nodded. Sure, I would. Good. He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. I’m Nick. What’s your name? Jar. 
It won’t be so bad. He smiled. He winked back at Andy. You ever ridden in a police car, jarred? 
Chapter 27. When I finally made it home, it was after two. It wasn’t easy rusting people out of 
their homes late at night, scaring the living out of them, being unable to level with them. 
The jurors were all taken in unmarked cars to a motel across the Holland Tunnel in Jersey City. 
Eight US marshals had them under guard there for the night. I was exhausted and I felt like crap 
for disrupting their lives. But as I turned the key to my apartment at that pre-dawn hour, I knew 
I’d sleep a whole lot sounder for having done it, having moved them. Stepping into the apartment, I 
was surprised to find the lights on. At first, I figured Ellen was on call. What else was new? Then 
Papy didn’t come to greet me like he always did,   and he wasn’t on the couch where he usually slept. 
Something was wrong, wasn’t it? It took a second. Then I flashed to the threat Cavella had made 
against me in the courtroom earlier. I drew my   gun. Holy Jesus. No. I started toward the bedroom. 
Ellen, are you in there? Ellen. The hall closet was wide open, and I noticed a few coats were 
missing. Hers, and two suitcases that we usually had stuffed on the top shelf were gone, too. A 
couple of photos were missing from the console. Her family and stuff. Ellen, the bedroom lights 
were on, shining brightly and hard on my eyes. The bed hadn’t been slept in. A tray of her scents 
and body sprays had been cleared out, too. I had this sinking, helpless feeling like everything was 
spiraling out of control. I couldn’t believe this   was happening. Ellen, Ellen, I called for her 
again. Then I spotted a note on the bed on my pillow. It was written on her medical stationary. 
My heart sank as I read the first line. My big strong Nick. This is the hardest thing I have 
ever had to write. Chapter 28. I sat down on the edge of the bed, the pillows arranged the way she 
always liked them, her scent still hanging in the   air. I know this will hurt you, but I just need 
to be on my own for a while. We both know what was great about each other just isn’t there much 
right now. Hopefully, this will make you smile. I promise there isn’t anyone else. Just this aching 
feeling that we’re not giving each other what we want or need. And right now, I think I need to 
look into myself a while and find out what it is   I want someone to give me. You are the best, Nick. 
You are smart, reliable, and sensitive and strong. You’re such a good man. And you know what else you 
are the best at? I don’t have to elaborate. You   will make some girl a loving partner in life. I’m 
just not sure it’s me. I need this space, Nick. We both need it if we’re honest as we’ve always been 
with each other. So, please don’t call me for a   day or two. Don’t ask me to come back if you even 
want me to. Don’t look for me. Don’t be the cop, Nikki. I need the strength to do this. I’m out 
of friends. Popey is with me. He’s already told   me I’m a stupid jerk. You’re always the stud, 
Nick. Even with the guys, I do truly love you, Nick. Who wouldn’t? I put down the note. There 
was a PS. Okay, I’d lie just a little. Taking the medical boards was harder. I picked up a photo of 
us on my night table taken up in Vermont skiing. God damn it, Ellen. We could have worked it out. 
We could have talked. At least I made a move for the phone. I went to dial her cell. Then I caught 
myself and stopped midnumber. She was right. Lay off, Nick. Give her what she asked for. We both 
knew it. What was great about each other just   isn’t there much right now. I took off my tie and 
tossed my jacket on the bed. Then I just leaned back on the pillow and closed my eyes. I wanted to 
feel crushed, empty. I wanted to go pour myself a scotch or kick a chair like I was supposed to do 
when things like this happened, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t. Ellen was right. What was great about 
each other just isn’t much there right now. Ellen was right about a lot of things. Chapter 29. A big 
blue bus was waiting for the jury in front of the Garden State and at 800 a.m. Three court marshals 
with their handgun showing loaded them on. Another heavily armed marshall was waiting inside. Then 
three police cars pulled up, lights worrying their escort. An FBI man was checking names off 
a roster. And this was supposed to fill us with a sense of ease, Andy thought as she climbed on 
board. I don’t think so. Her sister Rita had been driven down earlier in a court assigned car to 
pick up Jared and take him to school. He’d stay with her and his uncle Rey until this mess was 
over with. Andy was amazed at how well he had handled himself last night. He never let on that 
he was afraid or even put out. But this morning he didn’t want to leave her and finally he cried like 
a little boy. Her little boy her jarred. You have to do your job and I have to do mine. she said as 
she hugged him close and put him into Rita’s car, holding back a flood of emotions. And remember, 
Florida’s a promontory, right? Peninsula, he corrected her. She waved as they drove away. 
One thing for sure, he’d have a hell of a story to share in school that day. Rosella Popped herself 
next to Andy on the bus. All of their nervous harried faces said this was a whole lot more than 
anyone had ever bargained for. My husband, he’s very upset at what’s going on. He tells me to hell 
with the $40 Rosie get yourself off that trial. What about you? You must be going crazy with your 
son. Jard’s a trooper, Andy said, half believing   it. He’ll get by. She turned around to owe Flynn 
and Hector. It’s the rest of you guys I’m worried about. There was a lot of bickering even before 
the bus left the motel. Understandable. Hector was insisting this was against the law, that 
they had to give you a chance to get off now,   that they couldn’t just hold you against your 
will. A few people argued with him that that wasn’t true. It’s like the Patriot Act. Mark 
rolled his eyes. It’s for our own protection. The bus doors finally closed. The police cars 
in front began to pull out, lights flashing. The driver started the engine, and the big bus 
rolled forward slowly. Andy pressed her cheek to   the glass, the sight of the dreary motel, her new 
home. For the next several weeks, drifting away, she missed just knowing she would see Jarred that 
night. I don’t think Sam Greenblat exactly signed   up for it either. she finally said to herself. 
Chapter 30. I was beat, blurry eyed. I’d barely gotten three hours sleep the night before. I tried 
to push the situation with Ellen out of my mind as   I sat in court that morning. Cavella was flanked 
closely by two security people. Now, one more scene in there and he was gone. Joel Goldenberger 
stepped up to the witness stand. Good morning, Mr. Denuniata. I’d like to pick up where we left 
off the other day. He had papers in his hand. You testified that you’d been present in the general 
area at the time. Sam Greenblat was killed. The prosecutor started in and that you spotted 
Thomas Mousa driving around with someone else in   the car. Would you remind the jury who that other 
person was, Mr. Denuniata? It was Dominic Cable. Denunziata stated, “Good.” Goldenberger nodded and 
turned a page. Now, what I want to move on to are the events that took place subsequent to that. 
Would you say that you and your colleagues were   satisfied with how the job was done? I guess at 
first we were satisfied. Ralphie shrugged. I mean, we did the job. Everyone got away. No one got 
hurt. Other than Mr. Greenblat, of course. Other than Mr. Greenblat, naturally. The witness nodded 
with a contrite smile. It was maybe the day after that, as I recall, that things started to fall 
apart. What kinds of things are you speaking of,   Mr. Denunata? This guy that was involved 
in the hit, Stevie. Steven Manorino Joel Goldenberger explained. Yeah, the kid screwed 
up. It seemed he didn’t find clean plates for the getaway car like he was instructed, so he had 
to scramble. He cleared his throat. Apparently, he um located a set in Louis Makia’s yard in the 
yard of his friend who had just participated in   the killing. Right. Yes, Duniata rolled his eyes. 
So, how would you describe Stevie? The prosecutor asked. Was he an experienced guy in this sort of 
stuff? The witness shrugged. He was a good kid from the neighborhood. I think he had asthma or 
something. He just wanted to be around be around. He just wanted to be in the club. He wasn’t the 
smartest kid, but Louie liked him, so he let him run. Errands, the kid would have done anything 
to get on the inside. And this was his chance, wasn’t it? His big audition. If it had gone 
well, who knows? So, what happened to Stevie, Mr. Duniata, after it came out how he had messed 
up? At first, Lewis wanted to handle it himself. The cops came to his house that night after 
someone spotted the plates. But Louie had his own issues to worry about and Stevie was going 
around making a lot of noise. Like he wanted us to take care of him and get him out of the area 
away from the cops. He was scared. So what did you do for Stevie, Mr. Duniata? I told him I would 
work it out. I met with Tommy Moose and Mr. Cavlo. We took a walk at the King’s County Mall. I 
said we needed to get this kid out of town.   My uncle Richie had a place in the Pakonos. No one 
had actually seen the kid at the scene. He could have hid out there. Tommy agreed that it seemed 
like a reasonable plan. Goldenberger nodded. So that’s where Stevie went then after the Greenblat 
hit. Not exactly. The Nunata said and cleared his throat. Why? You were in charge of the hit. The 
person you reported to agreed. No one could pin that the guy was involved, right? Why didn’t 
Stevie end up in the Pakonos? Because Dominic   Cavel didn’t go along with that. Ralph Denuniata 
said looking down. He didn’t go along with it. No, Denunziata shrugged. The boss said Steviey’s 
got to go. Stevy’s got to go. Joel Goldenberger said he took a step or two toward the witness. He 
said it just like that, Mr. Denyata. Those words, Steviey’s got to go. No, not those exact words. 
Ralphie shifted in his seat. He cleared his throat twice. As I recall, his exact words were, “Cut 
the fat up and stuff him in a can for all I care. The kid has got to go. Chapter 31. Cut the fat 
up and stuff him in a can for all I care. The kid has got to go. The prosecutor paused to let the 
effect of the words fall on the jury. Everyone in the courtroom seemed stunned. You heard Dominic 
Cavalo say those words. Give you a direct order to kill Steven Manorino. The witness swallowed 
uncomfortably and shot a quick glance toward the defendant. Yes. A heavy silence settled over 
the courtroom. All the while, Cavel just sat there with his elbows on the table and his fingers 
folded together, staring straight ahead as if he   hadn’t even heard a word. It was like none of this 
even mattered. And Thomas Mousina, the prosecutor, prodded. He agreed with this. What could he 
do? The boss had given a direct order. So, what did you do, Mr. Duninata? You promised 
Stevie you’d take care of him, right? I did. Witness reached for some water. I think he was 
staying at his sister’s. I had someone get in   touch with him and tell him to pack a bag and meet 
us at Fuvios, this place we all knew in Bay Ridge. I told him he couldn’t say a word to anyone about 
where he was going, even to his mother. Go on. So, we met him there. I got Larry Kane, Leo, and 
Louis Dio. Stevie got out of his car with this dumb little travel bag. He asked how long he’d 
have to be away, and I told him maybe a couple of weeks or so until it all died down. You were lying 
to him, right? You had no intention of helping him get away. That’s correct. Ralphie nodded, taking 
a swig of water. So, what happened, Mr. Dunyata? After Mr. Manorino got in that car, they drove 
away. They took him to Larry’s garage. They told him they wanted to pick up some tapes there or 
something for the drive. Larry told me Stevie   never had a clue. He turned around and shot him 
in the back seat. Then they had to cut him up like Mr. Cable said. They wanted to follow his orders 
just in case. Then they drove him to the Pakonos. He’s still there today for all I know. So you 
reported back to Mr. Cable. Joel Goldenberger said that the murder he ordered was done. I reported 
back to Tommy and shortly after that you became a captain yourself. Yes. He nodded after about 2 
months. And did Mr. Cave say anything about why you had been made a captain in such a short time? 
The witness stared across the room toward Caval. He made a joke that I wouldn’t be buying any 
property in the Pakonos anytime soon. Even now, Cable seemed to find the line amusing. Thank you, 
Mr. Denuniata. The prosecutor closed his notes and went to his seat. One more thing, he turned 
back. Did Lewis Makia ever find out what became of his buddy? Ralphie lowered his eyes. No, Mr. 
Goldenberger. Louie never knew what happened to Stevie. Chapter 32. Andy tried to relax in her 
motel room that night, but it wasn’t happening. She found Duniata’s testimony that day pretty 
unsettling. The more she heard, the more she was developing an intense hatred for Dominic Cable, 
even though she knew she was supposed to remain   objective. She lay on her bed, leafing through 
a vanity fair, but her thoughts went to Stevie, the trusting wannabe, with his toothbrush and 
a change of shorts and his little travel bag,   thinking he was going to the Pakonos to lie low. 
Cut the fat up and stuff him in a can for all I care. She was feeling so alone. Some detective 
show was playing low in the background on the TV. She reached for the phone and dialed Jard at 
her sisters. “Hey hun,” Andy said, brightening   already. “Hey, mom,” Jard answered. “It was great 
just to hear his voice. Talking to Jar always cheered her up. They were buddies. How’s it going, 
guy? Auntie Rita treating you okay? She feeding   you?” “Yeah, everyone’s real nice here. The food 
is great, so it’s not so bad after all. Staying with your cousins. I guess it’s just that Jard’s 
voice grew soft. Why do you have to be there,   Mom? Because they’re making us. Stay out here so 
we can really concentrate on the case so no one will interrupt us. People at school are saying 
it so this mafia guy doesn’t come after us try   to hurt us. Andy sat up and flicked the TV off. 
Well, the people at school are wrong, Jarred. No one’s coming after us. It was one thing if she 
had to be out here totally separated and alone. It was another thing for her 9-year-old to be sucked 
into this. She tried to lift his spirits. Anyway, how many kids get to ride in a police car with 
a real FBI? Honcho. Yeah, I guess that was cool. There was silence between them for a few seconds. 
Guess what? She said, I spoke with the powers that   be. They said you can come down here for the night 
next Tuesday for your birthday. I hear there’s some pretty good Italian food out here in Jersey. 
That did the trick. Jard was over the moon. Can I stay over? Yep, Jar. I cleared that, too. They 
even said they’d ride you back to school in the   police car in the morning. That sounds great. I 
miss you, mom. Me too. Jarred, I miss you more. Andy moved the phone away a little and covered 
her mouth. She knew her voice was about to crack   and she didn’t want Jar to hear that. I miss 
you more than you’ll ever know. Chapter 33. We brought in three more strong witnesses on Friday 
and Monday. Each built up the case against Dominic Cavel. Each dug the blade in deeper and deeper. 
One was Thomas Mscena, the famous Tommy Moose, Ralphie D’s boss. He was currently in the witness 
protection program. Mousa backed up everything that Makia and Ralphie had previously testified 
that Cable had given the direct order to murder   Sam Greenblat. That Tommy was actually driving 
him around in his gray Lincoln just blocks from the scene. That after they heard the shots and 
saw their guy speeding away, all Cable did was   wipe his hands and say, “So that’s done. How about 
some eggs?” Masa also cooperated. Duniata’s story about what happened to Stevie. He used the exact 
same words. Stevie’s got to go. Then he told the jury about a dancer, Gloria, who worked at a 
fancy strip club Cavel owned in Rockland County, New York. Gloria bragged to one of the other girls 
that she had squirreled away $30,000 in cash. Her I7 fund, she called it. One day, she was going 
to take her daughter and just drive west, start a new life. Tommy Mousina told the jury, “When Mr. 
Cable heard this, he got mad as hell. He thought this chick was stealing from him, so he sent a 
couple of guys to her apartment. They screwed her, strangled her, and tossed the body in a dumpster. 
Luckily, the kid was at school. They found the money, Goldenberger asked. Yeah. Mucina nodded, 
stuffed inside a suitcase in a closet. 30 grand, just like Gloria had said. They brought it back 
to Mr. Cavel. Why? He wanted it. Mina shrugged. He laughed. Said, “What was once Caesar’s belongs to 
Caesar? I was there.” Vintage cave, cold-hearted and unnecessary, over-the-top cruel. So, in the 
end, the prosecutor said, shaking his head sadly. Did the money turn out to be stolen after all. 
Nah, she saved it up just like she’d said. Mr. Cable ended up giving it back to the family as a 
fun for Gloria’s kid. He got a good laugh out of that one. It was the girl’s own dough. Chapter 
34. After Mousa’s testimony, the jury members filed into the jury room for lunch. No one seemed 
particularly hungry. You see that sitting there? Hector shook his head angrily. He barely moves 
a muscle like he’s got the world under control,   even us. Well, he won’t have it under control much 
longer. If I have anything to do with it, Rosella crossed herself. God, rest the soul in hell. Andy 
sat down. She glanced at Mark. The writer was just leaning on the windowsill, staring out at lower 
Manhattan. That poor dancer. Some getaway fun, huh? I have a little boy. That could have been me 
at another time in my life, Andy said. Mark nodded   sympathetically. Which club was it you said you 
danced at? Very funny. Andy scrunched up her face, but at least the joke broke the tension. One by 
one, people began to smile and sit down. They passed out plates. “After this is over, we should 
all meet. I know this farm and the Pakonos,” Jonno Flynn said, piling cold cuts onto his bread. 
Winston the mechanic laughed. “Yeah, just watch out for all the large mounds of dirt.” Lorraine 
let one of her loud, high-pitched giggles go. That set everybody off. It was amazing that after all 
the grizzly testimony, they could just kick back and laugh. Lorraine Andy said, “I have a dare for 
you. We all put 10 bucks into a kitty and the next time the eyebrow makes one of those ridiculous 
statements about cave being a good citizen, you let rip one of your laughs. That would be 
priceless.” “Oh,” Flynn cackled. “I’m in. I think even Judge Ciderman would get a charge out of it.” 
Lorraine must have liked the image because she   let another one loose, shrill, and penetrating. 
Everybody laughed even louder than the first time. Andy had to admit that over the past week, she had 
got close to these people. Maybe it was the nature   of what they were doing, sharing the same room, 
hearing the same sick, unsettling testimony. She looked around the room. “Listen, it’s my kid’s 
birthday tomorrow. I arranged for him to come back with us and spend the night. What do you guys 
say about soda and cake in my room after dinner?”   “Hey, a party,” Ollin said, nodding for all of 
them. We’ll get party hats and noise makers, Rosella exclaimed. Like New Year’s Eve be a 
birthday forget. Courtesy of the United States government, Mark said. They owe us something after 
all this, right? What’s the little guy’s name?   Jarred. Andy smiled. That’s great. Thank you guys. 
There’s just one other thing. I kind of promised you’d all bring presents. Chapter 35. I watched 
the jury file back in for the afternoon session. Minutes later, another star witness was on the 
stand. He was an ex-mobster named Joseph Zaro, a former union official in the local 47. The 47 
was the contracting union cable controlled in New Jersey. Zaro explained how for years contractors 
were squeezed for payoffs to get building contracts. how it literally took a $100,000 in a 
suitcase dropped off at union headquarters if you even wanted workers to show up for the job or if a 
contractor wanted a mix of union and non-UN labor to save money that cost you 20% of the savings 
upfront. For years, we knew it was the biggest racket going in New Jersey and that cave was 
literally skimming millions off the top. We just   couldn’t catch him. How many contracts did you 
rig for Mr. Cavel? Joel Goldenberger asked Zar. Dozens, hundreds. The witness shrugged. And there 
were two other guys like me doing the exact same job. The exact same job meaning extortion. Joel. 
Goldenberger pressed him. The witness shrugged again as if it was the most natural thing in the 
world. Yeah. And what would happen? The prosecutor   asked. If the contractor refused to pay, then 
they wouldn’t get no labor, Mr. Goldenberger. And if they still refused to pay or if they used 
outside workers. You mean outside our union? The witness asked. Yes. Zaro looked around blankly 
for a second. Then he scratched his head. You understand? We were talking Dominic Cavel here, 
Mr. Goldenberger. I don’t think I ever recall that happening. A few people around the courtroom 
laughed. Goldenberger smiled, too. So, this was basically a monopoly. Mr. Cavel over there could 
dictate terms to the entire construction business. There wasn’t a building went up in North Jersey 
and parts of New York that Dominic Cavel didn’t   get a piece of. The witness laughed out loud. 
Even Cable seemed to curl a smile at that one as if he was proud of his business accumin. We had 
him dead to rights. Murder union tampering fraud. You could read it on every face in the courtroom. 
You could even read it on Cable’s face beneath   the cold stare that seemed to say, “This doesn’t 
bother me at all.” Now, the prosecution had one final witness, one who could testify about an even 
uglier side of Cable, one who could drive the nail in his coffin for good. Me. Chapter 36. I took 
the stand the next afternoon. Please state your name. Joel Goldenberger stood up and faced me. And 
what your association is with this trial. Nicholas Pelisante. I said, I’m an agent in charge in the 
New York office of the FBI. I’m the head of a unit known as C10. We oversee organized crime. Thank 
you. And in your role as head of this unit, agent Palisante, you are the senior law enforcement 
agent on the investigation into Dominic Cavel. Is that correct? That’s correct. I nodded. Other 
than the assistant director and the director? The assistant director and the director? Goldenberger 
cocked his head. You mean of the New York office? No, Mr. Goldenberger. I paused, then moistened 
my lips with it. Sip of water. Of the entire FBI. Goldenberger looked impressed. Those are pretty 
good credentials, special agent Palisante. Now, you haven’t always held this position, have you, 
sir? No. Before that, I was an agent on the task   force for 5 years. Prior to that, I taught a 
class in criminal anthropology at Colombia. I also worked at the Justice Department in DC 
for 3 years. And before that, I was in law   school. And you hold a law degree from where, 
Mr. Palisante. I played along because this was designed to set me up as even more impressive to 
the jury. I took another sip of water. Colia, so you’ve been investigating organized crime for how 
many years? 11. Five as a special agent. Six is the agent in charge. So, it’s fair to say in the 
course of your experience, you’ve come across some   pretty bad people. Isn’t that right? The absolute 
worst. The Colombian drug cartels coin Austra, the Russian mob. I think I’ve looked into some of 
the most corrupt and violent organizations on the planet. My specialty, I guess. Goldenberger 
smiled politely. And in the course of these investigations, how would the defendant 
Dominic Cavel rank in terms of your experience? Rank? In terms of the criminal behavior you’ve 
investigated? I cleared my throat. Mr. Call is the most ruthless and cold-blooded killer we’ve ever 
looked into. He’s personally ordered the deaths of   over 30 people we can directly tie him to. He is 
an evil human being. Objection. Hi, Cascal. Shot up. I expected that. The defendant is not being 
charged with any of these alleged homicides. The government’s investigations and pet theories 
are not of interest to this court. Correction, your honor Joel Goldenberger waved. The government 
will rephrase. I guess what I’m asking is, does your experience with this man go beyond just your 
investigation? You’ve had personal experience,   haven’t you, Agent Palisante? You’ve seen 
Mr. Cable’s brutality firsthand. Yes. My gaze shifted to Cavel. I wanted him to feel my eyes. 
I’d waited a long time to say these next words. I’ve personally witnessed Mr. Cable commit. Murder 
twice. Chapter 37. I’d assembled hundreds of wire taps and recorded conversations as part of my 
testimony, but we just started with my story,   what I had seen myself. Would you describe 
for this court the events surrounding Dominic Cavella’s arrest? Goldenberger asked me. I 
glanced toward Manny Oliver’s wife, Carol, who was sitting in the first row. I was glad 
she was here for this. We had been told that Cavella was going to attend his niece’s wedding 
at the South Fork Club in Ma on July 23rd, 2004. We had multiple warrants outstanding. You 
had tried to arrest Mr. Cable before. Yes. Cavel had gone underground though he was a threat to 
leave the country. So you staked out the wedding   on this tip. Can you describe for the court some 
of the other agents who assisted you there? Sure. I swallowed back some emotion. I talked about 
Manny first. Manny Olivo was my assistant AIC at C10 for three years. I took him right out of 
Quantico. I brought him up through the ranks. He and his wife had just had twin girls. And Edward 
C. Sinclair, he was with you there as well. Ed Sinclair was as exemplary an agent as we had in 
the unit, I said. I nodded to his wife Maryanne and his son Bart in the seats next to Carol 
Oliver. So, can you paint the picture for the jury? Agent Pelisante. Joel Goldenberger placed 
a blownup aerial photograph of the scene on an easel across from the jury box. Agents Olivera and 
Sinclair are wearing the steakout. I walked over and took a pointer. They were on the beach outside 
the club grounds blocking any escape. Described how Cable had disguised himself as an old man 
in a wheelchair. How as my agents moved in, he jumped out of the chair trying to escape. How he 
shot one of my agents who was posing as a waiter,   Steve Taylor. He ran down toward the beach. Manny 
and Ed were in position here. I radioed ahead that he was headed toward them. Can you describe what 
happened next? I know this is difficult for you, Agent Pelisanti, and for the family members of 
the agents who are present in the courtroom. I heard a volley of shots. I clenched my teeth. I 
counted five, two quick ones, then three in rapid succession. I ran down from my position over the 
dunes and saw the bodies in the sand. There wasn’t a sound in the courtroom. I looked away from the 
easel and every eye was focused on me. “Then what   did you do?” Goldenberger asked. I went over 
to the bodies. I cleared my throat. Manny was dead. He’d been shot in the head. Ed was hit in 
the chest and neck. He was bleeding profusely. I could see he was dying. And did you see Dominic 
Cavel? He was running down the beach trying to get away. He’d been hit in the shoulder. I could 
make out what looked to be a gun. He was headed   toward a helicopter on a promontory. I radioed 
for help and we called in a helicopter from a Coast Guard cruiser offshore to block Cave Ella’s 
escape. Then I went after him and fired my weapon, hitting him in the thigh. In the time I was 
calling for help, he must have hurled the gun   into the ocean. So you never found a weapon? No. I 
shook my head. We never did. But you have no doubt who killed your agents, do you? None whatsoever? I 
shook my head. I looked squarely at the defendant, Dominic Cavel. There was no one else near Ed and 
Manny when I heard those shots and the bullet they removed from Cable’s shoulder was from Ed’s gun. 
Just to be perfectly clear, the prosecutor turned and raised his voice. “Do you see the man you 
chased on the dunes that day? The man you saw   running away from the dead agents bodies?” “That’s 
him,” I said, gesturing toward the second row, Dominic Cavel. For the entire trial, Cavel had 
gazed stoically ahead. But now he was focused on me, and I found out why. Suddenly, Cal leaped out 
of his chair. He pulled himself up on the table like some enraged madman. His face was red, the 
veins in his neck about to explode. You pelisante, you son of a you lying piece of chapter 38. 
What happened next was total bitem. Lion bastards. Cable bellowed in a horse-cased voice. 
He slammed his fist on the table, sending papers and documents flying. And you to this court, he 
glared at the judge. You have no hold on me. You think you have because you’ve bribed a few of 
my old enemies to carry your lunch pales, but   you don’t have, I have you. The marshals sprang 
into action. Two of them jumped in and grabbed Cavel by the torso, wrestling him to the ground. 
People were screaming. A few ran out the exits. Cal fought like a berserk animal. You don’t have 
me, Pelisante. I have you. A third guard jumped into the fray and finally they forced the mobster 
to the floor. Two of them held him down while the third squeezed a set of cuffs over his wrists. He 
was still shouting at the top of his lungs. This court is a joke, a mockery. You’ll never convict 
me, no matter how many traitors and wire taps you have. It’s too bad, Nikki, about your friends. But 
whoever killed those scum, I would kiss them on the lips. Get him out of here. Judge Ciderman 
called out from the bench trying to regain   control. Mr. Cavel, you have lost your privilege 
to sit in on this trial. You are in contempt. You are barred from this courtroom. Jurors, you will 
go back into the jury room immediately. Bailoff pandemonium continued in the courtroom. The jurors 
looked shell shocked. Members of the press were already running out of the gallery to call their 
newspapers. Take me out of here. Bar me. Tol   twisted his face toward the judge. I don’t want to 
be here any longer. His voice bellowed throughout the courtroom. Your court is a joke. Blood 
trickled from Cavella’s mouth. His formally neatly groomed hair was tussled and wild. The guards 
lifted him up and tried to drag him through the side door. They had gotten one leg through when he 
wildly jerked around, and I saw something I could   hardly believe. The bastard was smiling. Chapter 
39. The jurors were still buzzing about what had happened, shocked, blown away. The court officials 
had rushed them all into the jury room. No one could recall ever seeing anything like Cavella’s 
blow up in the courtroom. The just made it easy   for us. Hector shook his head. Everyone seemed 
to agree. Maybe it just got to him. Andy thought his case was shot to hell. He cracked. The jury 
was going to be leaving the courthouse earlier than planned and Andy hoped Jar was already here 
waiting for her at a special birthday celebration. They were quickly herded into the elevator to go 
downstairs where the blue bus would be waiting. As   the elevator hit the lobby, Andy tried to regroup. 
Jar was here and his Stefan Marberry number three. Rita was waiting for him in the lobby. As soon as 
Jar saw his mother, he ran up and jumped into her arms. Happy birthday, honey. It was wonderful 
just to see his happy face and give him a big   birthday hug and kiss. Cable, what had happened 
in there didn’t matter anymore. What’s going on, Mom? Andy squeezed him double tight. Don’t worry 
about it, sweetie. The bus was waiting right there on the street. Andy and Jar climbed on first and 
made their way into one of the rear seats. Hector and Rosella, who sometimes spoke to each other in 
Spanish, sat in front of them. Oh, Flynn squeezed into the row behind then with a roll it up sports 
illustrated in his fist. So, tell me about school, Andy said. Nah, he grinned broadly. It’s my 
birthday, Mom. No school today. Okay. Yeah, okay. They wanted to get them away from the courthouse 
as quickly as possible, and that was all right   with her. A marshall jumped on, counted heads, 
winking because there was one more than usual. He slapped the side of the bus, sending it on its 
way with an okay. The driver started the engine. Andy looked back at the courthouse. Standing 
outside the side entrance was the FBI guy, Pelisante. He had set up the whole thing when 
she came to him with the idea for Jar’s birthday   party. Thank you. Andy waved at him through 
the glass, an appreciative one-finger wave. He waved back. Two police cars led the way as the bus 
pulled out from the curb onto Worth Street. It was a 25-minute trip through the Holland Tunnel back 
to the motel. A few of the jurors looked around at Andy, wondering when they could break the surprise 
and sing happy birthday for this Nisslel looking boy. Hey, Jar. Oh, Flynn leaned over staring at 
his Stefan Marberry jersey. You like the Knicks? I like them. I like Halo more. Halo. It was a 
popular battle video game. Pretty violent and graphic. Oh, Flynn grinned at Andy. Your mom lets 
you play Halo, huh? His mom does no such thing, Andy said. His aunt, though, that’s another story 
for another time. A few of them laughed. The bus pulled ahead to the corner of church and stopped 
at a red light. Andy looked out the window. She was thinking about the party and went to spring it 
on Jared that everyone knew this was his birthday.   She figured they’d wait until they got close to 
the tunnel, build a little suspense. Rosella had made a colorful banner. Happy birthday, Jard. 
This was going to be so great. She saw a gray side panled van pull up right next to them. Apex 
Electrical Systems Atoria Queens. Jar said, “So, what do you got planned, Mom? You always have 
a plan. She was about to give him an answer when she noticed something a little strange. The 
driver of the van had jumped out. He was dressed in a navy work uniform, had a baseball cap pulled 
over his face, long blonde hair peeking through. What made it doubly strange was when the guy 
in the passenger seat jumped out too. They both   started to run across the busy intersection away 
from the van. When they reached the other curb, they glanced back, not at the van, at them, at the 
bus. Mom, are you listening to what I’m saying? Earth to my mother. Hello. And suddenly she knew. 
Stabs of terror ripped at her chest. Get out of here fast. Andy screamed to the driver. Drive 
away now. But the light was still red and they were locked in traffic. Besides, everyone was 
talking among themselves and not seeing. Jar   looked up at her strangely and squinted. Mom. 
Oh Jesus. Andy shuddered, unable to take her eyes off the van. She put her arms around Jard. 
She hugged him close to her chest. Something   terrible was about to happen. Oh my god, no, mom. 
Chapter 40. I think back sometimes to that moment, to the very heartbeat before something terrible 
happened. Something I couldn’t stop. What if I   could just reach out my hand and turn back the 
hands of time, hold on to the moment for one more second, see what I should have seen. I would 
see that smile, not Andy Degrassi sitting next to her son on the bus as they drove off. Call’s smile 
in the courtroom just moments before. I would know exactly what it meant. I had followed the jury out 
of the courthouse and stayed there watching the   bus as it pulled away from the curb. With Ellen 
gone, my life was falling apart a bit. So, it made me feel good to help the two of them, Degrassi and 
her little boy. It made me feel that in all this   craziness, I had done something for a change that 
put some life back. I watched her wave at me that happy smile. I waved back, “Happy birthday, kid.” 
And then the world fell apart, theirs and mine. The gray van pulling next to the bus at the red 
light. Then two men in workclo suddenly running   out, running away. It took a second for it all 
to register, even for someone trained to see the worst in any situation. Then all of a sudden, it 
was as clear as day. The whole horrible picture. I heard myself yelling, “Get out of there now.” 
I started running toward the bus through traffic. Get out of that bus. Then the van exploded and the 
entire street just lit up in this brilliant flash. The recoil threw me back into a mailbox. Intense 
heat from a block away slammed into my face. Oh god, no. No. All I could do was watch helplessly. 
As the juror bus was engulfed in flames, then it exploded. I fumbled for my radio, connected back 
to the security team at the courthouse. This is Pelisante. We’ve got a full-scale 911. The jury 
bus just blew up. Corner of Worth and Church. Repeat, the jury bus just exploded. We need full 
medical support out there now. Then I ran toward the bus at full speed. It was bad. Very bad. 
Flames raged out of the hulk of the van. Dense gray smoke billowed over the street. People 
everywhere around me were screaming. Passers by injured by the blast were lying dazed down the 
street. A taxi lay appended and in flames. I did a quick scan for the two men in workman’s clothes. 
They were gone, melted into the bum. Dear God, the juror’s bus was no more than a charred, burning 
carcass. The entire left side was just a fiery, jagged hole. I ran to the entrance. The blast had 
blown it wide open. The heat coming off arm rails felt like a thousand°. Everything was covered in 
flaming char. The bus driver was dead. Not just dead. Decapitated. Oh god. One of the passengers. 
An elderly woman who I could picture sitting in the back row in court. Had been flung over the 
driver’s back and smashed into the front window.   I didn’t remember who she was. Which juror? 
FBI. I screamed into the thick diesel smelling smoke. Can anyone hear me in there? I waited for 
voices. There had to be voices. Come on. Moaning, shouting, screams for help, some evidence of 
life. I shielded myself from the flames as I   listened for somebody. Anybody? Nothing came back. 
No sound. That’s what I’ll always remember. That’s what will always haunt me. The silence. Chapter 
41. It felt as though my heart didn’t move a beat. I just stood there listening, praying. Somebody 
say something back to me. Shout, scream for help. All I heard was the crackle of flames. and all I 
saw was the dark gray smoke mushrooming through   the bus. The scene was as still and desolate as a 
bloody battlefield. After the fighting was done, I covered my face with my hand and pushed my way 
down the aisle. Madness, but I had to do it. It was impossible to see. Somebody, a small woman, 
had been hurled against the side window and was   twisted into a grotesque position. Others had 
died right in their seats. Clothing was burned off. I recognized some of the faces. The writer 
was dead. So was the kindly looking Hispanic woman who always knitted. Both had been roasted in their 
seats. Then I saw the red-haired guy who worked   for Verizon. “Oh, Flynn, can anyone hear me?” I 
shouted. Only silence came back from passengers. I heard sirens outside. Emergency vehicles had 
arrived on the scene. Someone else, a policeman, stepped on board. Jesus God, he winced. Is anyone 
alive? I don’t think so. I tripped over some kind of mound. It turned out to be the body of 
the Jamaican mechanic. His clothes charred,   his body crisp. The thick acrid smoke was starting 
to get to me. I coughed, pulled up my shirt, and covered my nose and mouth with folds of 
cloth. We better wait for the emergency people, the cop called to me. He was right. There were 
noxious fumes and fire everywhere. The damned thing could go up at any time. I tried to see the 
back of the bus. There were no signs of life there   either. Then I heard something, a groan, more like 
a whimper. Someone alive. FBI, I shouted, fighting against the fumes. The smoke was blinding. Where 
are you? Are you all right? I heard the voice   again, just a murmur. I’m coming. Then I saw him 
on the floor. It was the boy. He was in a fetal position underneath a seat. Jarred. I bent down. 
I remembered his name. Jarred. I put my face down to his as close as I could get. The floor was 
hot, steaming. My stomach fell. The little boy   was dead. His pink skin was black with horrible 
burns I wanted to wretch. I couldn’t help bringing up the image of his face just seconds before in 
the window as his mother waved to me. I’m sorry,   little guy. Then I heard it again, the whimper 
soft and faint. Someone was alive. I pushed over twisted metal and bodies to the very back of the 
bus. Seat leather and plastic panels were melting in flaming strips. The smoke clung to my skin 
like scalding rubber. I heard it close. Jarred, jarred. It was Andy Degrassi. She was pinned 
beneath a metal support beam. Her hair was   black. Her face was covered with blood. Her lips 
quivered. “Jarred, Jarred,” she kept calling for her son. “Help is here,” I said, bending to her. 
She was the only one alive. “Chapter 42.” Richard Nordy Co heard the tremendous blast at precisely 
2 03 p.m. from three blocks away. He felt the ground beneath him shutter the earth slide. It was 
done. He had instructed his limo to wait while he went inside an electronic store and purchased 
a gift for his son, World Championship Poker.   Nordishenko had heard similar explosions before. 
The double concussion, the ground shaking like an earthquake. Actually, the store clerk looked 
confused. Nordishko knew what had happened. NZI had taken no chances. There was enough C4 
in that van to do the job three times over. Nordishko tucked the package under his arm and 
left the store. He looked forward to getting home. He had a few gifts for his son. An iPod and the 
new computer poker program that he knew would   delight the boy and earrings for his wife from New 
York’s Diamond District. His work here was over, and it couldn’t have gone any better. He 
had already received a message about his   Swiss account, more than $2 million. There were 
still a few more payments that had to be made, but he had earned every penny. He would take it 
easy for a while when he returned home. “What the hell was that?” the limo driver said, looking back 
toward Foley Square as Nordko climbed back in the car. I don’t know, some kind of explosion, maybe 
a fuel line. The scent of gasoline and cordite hung in the air. They heard sirens. Two police 
cars rushed past them toward the courthouse,   lights flashing. Something’s happened, the driver 
exclaimed, turning on the news. “This is not good,” Nordhenko looked back and saw a cloud of 
black smoke rise up above the buildings coming   from directly behind them. He placed the gift for 
his son in his traveling case. Two rings came from his cell phone. Reichart and NZI were safely away. 
Now et go, he said to the driver. Well listen on the way. I have a plane to catch. Chapter 43. 
She opened her eyes very slowly. She felt no pain, just woozy and unreal. She was here, but she 
wasn’t. A lean pressure was in her chest. Where was she? What had happened? Tubes were coming out 
of her, attached everywhere. She tried to move,   but couldn’t. Nothing. No power over her own body. 
Was she paralyzed? How had it happened? Then Andy began to panic. Something very heavy and bulky was 
blocking her throat, making her gag. She couldn’t speak because of the obstruction. A nurse came 
in. Just the look on the nurse’s face told her   something terrible has happened. What? Andy, don’t 
try to talk, sweetheart. There’s a tube down your throat to help you breathe. You’re in Metropolitan 
Hospital. You’ve been in surgery. You’re going to   be okay. Andy made herself nod, eyes flicking 
wildly around the room. the hospital room. Then it started to come back to her, the juror’s bus. 
She had been on the bus. A gray van had pulled up. That’s when the panic started to grip her chest 
again. Her eyes darted anxiously toward the nurse.   “What happened next?” She tried to speak again, 
but could only cough and gag. Her fingers found the nurse’s hand. Somehow, she managed to grab 
two fingers. She held on as tight as she could. “My son, where is Jard? Please,” the nurse 
squeezed back. “Try and stay calm now, Andy.” She knew something horrible had happened. 
Something unbelievable. She tried to sound   out Jar’s name, but her air passage was blocked 
and her mouth was as dry as sandpaper. Please, please, my son. But something was forcing her to 
close her eyes and Andy couldn’t fight it. Chapter   44. When she opened her eyes again, someone else 
was standing there. She blinked sleepily. FBI, the one with the smile, but he wasn’t smiling 
now. Actually, he looked terrible. Memories of what had happened began flashing in her mind. The 
bus stopped at a red light, then the van. The two men running away. She had reached out and tugged 
Jarred close to her. “Jarred?” Her eyes went back to the FBI man. She tried to scream out her son’s 
name. “Please, don’t you understand? Can’t you read it in my eyes?” He just looked at her and 
shook his head. “I’m sorry. Sorry.” She repeated   to herself. It took a moment to register. “What is 
he saying?” “Sorry for what?” She felt him place his fingers lightly on her hand, then a squeeze. 
His touch told her everything. It was rushing back at her now. her panic when she saw the men running 
from the van, the terrible explosion. Then she was thrown back. She remembered calling Jard’s name 
over and over. Her body spaso me’d in shock now. Andy felt something burn a path down her cheek. 
This can’t be real. This can’t have happened. The FBI man wiped away her tear. She still hadn’t 
been told what happened. They didn’t have to   tell her now. She knew she could see it in his 
eyes. Oh my poor Jar. Tears began streaming down Andy’s cheeks, and she had the feeling that they 
would never stop. Chapter 45. They don’t usually allow anyone inside the cell blocks at this 
time of night, even law enforcement. Tonight,   I was on my own. Nick, it’s late, said Trevor 
Ellis, who was in charge of the sixth floor cell block where witnesses and defendants were 
held in the Manhattan County Jail. We passed   through the electronic doors together. Only the 
night crew was around. There was a guard at the desk checking monitors. Trevor nodded for him to 
take a break. I’m okay with Agent Pelisante here. Get some coffee. It’s official business. I told 
Trevor. We walked some more, then stopped at the end of the corridor. Cavless cell was cordoned 
off at the very end of the long wing. You sure   you want to do this? Ellis looked at me. 19 people 
had died this afternoon. 17 jurors, my jurors. One victim was a kid on his 10th birthday. Some things 
you just have to do regardless of the risk or   the consequences. Official business. I repeated. 
Yeah, he said. You give him some official business for me. Cavella’s electronic cell door clicked. 
Open. He was lying on a cot with his knees drawn up and an arm crooked behind his head. His eyes 
widened when he saw who it was. Nikki, he said, barely hiding that same mocking grin I had seen 
so often in the courtroom. Jesus, I just heard. What a mess. He slowly raised himself up off the 
cart. I want to tell you how sorry I I slugged him in the face and he went down. Geez, Nikki, Cavel 
grunted, rubbing his jaw. He reached for the metal cot and pulled himself back up, grinning. 
You know, I heard of hung juries before, but this one takes on a whole new meaning. I hit 
him again harder. Cable slammed back against the concrete wall. He still stared at me with a sort 
of laughing arrogance and animal savagery behind his eyes. Your fault, Nikki. What you expect? I 
was going to roll over and die. You knew that. You know me like nobody else does. He wiped away a 
trickle of blood with the back of his hand. I went over and yanked him off the floor by his collar. 
He was still wearing the same shirt he had on in the courtroom that day. “You may think you’ve 
won, you piece of, but I’m going to dedicate my   life to you going down.” 19 people died. One of 
them was a 9-year-old kid. “There was a kid on that bus,” Cavel said, showing mock surprise. 
“Jesus, Palisante, you ought to know better   than that. I punched him with everything I had.” 
Cal crashed into the cell wall again. I couldn’t control myself. I’d never hated one person so 
much. I heard Trevor Ellis behind me. Okay, Nick, that’s enough. I ignored him. I pulled Cavel up 
again and threw him to the other side of the cell. He went into a metal sink and fell to the floor. I 
went and pulled him up again. There was blood all   over his shirt. They were just doing their duty. I 
screamed in his face. Go on, Cable mocked. Hit me. It doesn’t hurt, but you got it wrong. I told you 
no court can hold me. You say I’m going down. He spat out a glob of blood. Maybe, but it won’t be 
from you. You see those cameras up there? They got every second of this. You’re through. I won’t go 
down, but you will. Nikki smiles. I hit him again, and Caveville spun backward against the concrete 
wall. Trevor Ellis and a cell block guard rushed   in behind me. One of them pinned my arms while the 
other got between me and Cavel. He struggled up to his feet again. He was wobbly, holding his side. 
Look at you. Cal started to laugh. You think you got me? You’re the one who’s through. You’re the 
one going to be seeing that kid every day for the   rest of your life. Me? I’ll sleep like a baby 
tonight. Trevor and the guard yanked me out of the cell, but Cavel called after me. His words and 
laughter echo down the hall like a baby pelisante. You hear that? First day in a month. I don’t have 
to worry about a goddamn trial. Part two. Retrial. Chapter 46. Elbows on my desk. I looked out at the 
class of 22 astonishingly smug and overconfident firstear law students. Can anyone tell me why the 
law permits law enforcement agents to use deceit at the investigative stage when they’re not even 
sure of a suspect’s guilt but strictly forbids them from lying during the testimonial stage when 
they’re absolutely sure the suspect is a criminal?   5 months had passed. I had taken an extended leave 
from the bureau and I’d been teaching a course in criminal ethics at the John J. College of Criminal 
Justice since January. Some leave. I was doing everything I knew just to hold it together. I 
wasn’t sure I’d ever go back, at least not to   see 10. Not after the beating I’d given Cavel in 
his cell. But who was I kidding? It was more than that. Lots more. The bastard had been right since 
that day. The image of Jard’s face looking out the window of that juror bus hadn’t left my mind. 
A female student in the second row raised her hand. It’s the means to an end, she said. Map in 
the United States versus Russell allow the police to use deceptive procedures to obtain evidence. 
Without it, they might never make a case. It’s deception for the greater good. Okay. I nodded, 
then got up and started to stroll around. But what if the police have to lie about those procedures 
during testimony in order to protect their case? In the back row, I spotted something that annoyed 
me. Some kid seemed a lot more interested in a   newspaper folded in his textbook than he was in 
me. I raised my voice. Mr. Mr. Pearlman, you care to weigh in on this? The student fumbled with 
his textbook. Yeah, sure thing. Not a problem. I went up to him, removing the newspaper from 
his desk. Mr. Pearlman here is busy checking his stocks while the Fourth Amendment is under siege. 
I hope for your future client’s sake, you’ve got a nice family practice and entertainment law to 
go into. There were a few laughs around the room. Typical suckup snickers. I felt a little ashamed 
though, like one of those professorial bullies who gets his rocks off from a big show of power over 
his class. And that wasn’t me. A few months ago, I was pushing around one of the most notorious 
criminals in the country. Now it was just some   kid in law school. Gez, Nick. So, Mr. Pearlman, 
I said, offering the kid an olive branch. The Supreme Court case that held the exclusionary law 
of evidence was binding is map versus Ohio. Sir, US 643 1961. Nice guess, I grinned. I tucked 
the newspaper under my arm. I have stocks, too. The bell rang shortly afterward. A couple 
of students came up to go over an assignment or question a grade. Then, I just sat alone in the 
empty classroom. You’re lying to yourself again, Nick. You’re trying to run, but you’re 
not fast enough. It wasn’t about some   kid catching up on the box scores in my class 
or the Fourth Amendment or police methodology. It wasn’t even about this closed, dark corner of 
the universe I had let myself drift to, pretending   I was building a new life. No, I flipped the 
paper over on my desk. I stared at the headline, the very one I’d been waiting these past 5 months 
to see. Godfather part two in big bold letters. Unfinished business. That’s all it was. Cavella’s 
retrial was scheduled to begin next week. Chapter 47. She was doing her best to recover, but 
it was hard and lonely and long and basically impossible. Yet, she was starting to come through 
it. For a while, her sister Rita stayed with her. Andy had suffered a ruptured spleen, a collapsed 
lung, a lot of internal bleeding, and burns on   her legs and arms. But those were the wounds that 
healed. What hurt a lot more was the pain inside. Every time she looked into Jar’s room, caught 
his scent on his books and things, his pajamas,   his pillows. Then there was the anger she felt 
every single day. anger that his killers had never been brought to justice that everyone knew who was 
behind it cavel and the bastard wasn’t even being charged. She even had dreams of finding him in his 
jail cell and killing him herself. Then one day she was finally able to put some of Jard’s things 
away, pack them into boxes without crying, without being too ashamed. She had asked the coroner to 
cut off a piece of the Nicks uniform shirt Jarard was wearing that day. She kept it in her purse. 
Number three, Stefan Marberry. She started back toward having a life with the simplest things, 
doing her proofreading, seeing a flick. It was like relearning the steps of life all over again, 
telling herself it was okay to live was okay. Over time, she found herself reading the papers 
again, watching the news, laughing at a joke on Letterman. One day, she even picked up a copy of 
Variety. A few weeks later, she called her agent. Then 5 months after it happened, Andy found 
herself standing in front of the doors to casting   studio on West 57th Street. The call was for some 
Seal’s commercial. All it took was looking 40ish and a little sexy pretty much herself. Her agent 
said, “Go see how it feels.” Standing in front of the studio, Andy had never felt so terrified 
in her life. It was like the first time she ever   went on a casting call. It was too new. It wasn’t 
right. Way too soon, a pretty blonde woman stepped out of the elevator behind her. You going in? 
No, you go ahead. Andy shook her head. A wave of panic swept over her. A tightness pounded 
in her chest. She needed air. She didn’t even wait for the elevator just hurried down the back 
staircase and onto 57th Street. Her legs felt weak and wobbly. She sucked a deep, grateful breath 
into her lungs. This isn’t going to go away, Andy. It’s always going to be with you. Survivors 
pull it together. You have to do that, too. A few people passing by on the street glanced at her. 
She realized how foolish she felt and probably looked. Andy pressed herself against the cold 
concrete of the building and took another breath. She reached into her purse and felt for the little 
piece from Jar’s uniform. You’re always going to be with me. Andy went back into the building, 
taking the elevator this time back up to the   third floor. She stood outside the studio again, 
clutching her portfolio. She sucked in a breath. This was hard. This was so damn hard. A woman 
stepped out just as she entered and the woman had that look of disappointment Andy knew so well. 
Andy pushed through the doors and walked up to   the receptionist, Andy Degrassi. I’m here to read 
for the part. Chapter 48. From a staircase across 183rd Street, I bit my lower lip as I watched her 
coming back home. I don’t think she ever saw me, and I wanted to keep it that way. The alternative 
was too crazy to spend time thinking about. Handy Degrassi looked good. She was dressed up and 
clutching a large black portfolio. On the outside, it looked as if she had it all back together, but 
I thought I knew what must be going on inside her. I came up this way from time to time, and I wasn’t 
even really sure why. Maybe I just felt good that someone had come out of this thing alive. A couple 
of times, I even went up and knocked on her door. I’d say hi or bring something, a little news 
about the investigation. basically stand around a few moments as though it was an official visit 
and I had something to say that I couldn’t quite   put into words. It felt good being connected 
to somebody. I didn’t reach out to people much since the trial. Maybe I was just kidding myself 
again. Maybe it was simply Andy Degrassi. How she was pulling her life back together after what 
had happened. I envied that. That she never once accused me, though she had every right to. That 
she never looked at me with blame in her eyes.   Maybe it was simply the knowledge that we shared 
something. Neither of our lives would ever be whole again. That’s what I believed anyway. So, 
I watched her as she climbed the stairs to her   building and unlocked the inside door. She checked 
her mail and tucked a few envelopes and magazines under her arm, then disappeared from sight. A 
short while later, the lights went on in her   apartment. What am I, stalker? But I knew that 
wasn’t it. I finally walked across the street. Another tenant stepped out and I fumbled 
in my pockets for a second as if I’d lost   my keys catching the door before it closed. Her 
apartment was 2B on the second floor facing the street. I climbed the stairs. I remembered the 
night we took the jury in. For a few seconds, I just stood in front of her door. What was I here 
to say? I had started to knock when it hit me. The feeling of total foolishness, stupidity. I backed 
away quickly, heading to the stairs. That’s when the door opened and I was facing Andy. Chapter 49. 
She was standing there in a powder blue sweater over jeans barefoot holding a black trash bag in 
her hand. When she saw me, she did a double take. “Hey, I tried to act just as surprised because 
I was. I was dropping something off,” I said, holding out the book I brought along. “I read 
this book. I was going to give it to you. I mean,   I am giving it to you.” The four agreements. She 
removed it from the manila envelope. Nodding, “Don’t take anything personally. Be impeccable 
with your word. My sister gave it to me. Good   choice, Agent Pelisante. I’m evolving and it’s 
Nick. I shrugged. Which is it? She asked. Evolving or Nick? I smiled. So, how’s it going? I went to 
an audition today, a seal’s commercial. You know, when the moment hits and how’d it go? She smiled. 
Don’t know exactly. All I had to do was look 40ish and sexy. Right up my alley, right? But I read the 
part. It’s the first time. Have to pay the bills, right? I gave her a knowing look. Sometimes I just 
wanted to reach out and hold her, hoping she would   rest her head on my chest a while. I just wanted 
to show I cared. I don’t know. For 40, I think you look great. Honestly, 40ish. She raised an eye 
with a sharp smile. Come back in 8 years and I’ll give you credit for a compliment. In the meantime, 
Andy leaned against the door frame. So, how’s the class you’re teaching? A couple months back, I had 
written to her to let her know I’d left the bureau and started teaching again. I just stood there 
with my hands in my coat and shrugged. The highs aren’t quite the same as my old job. So far, no 
one’s shooting at me, though. Andy smiled again. How about I give you a choice, Nick? You can take 
the trash down behind the staircase on your way   out, or if you want, you can come in. I’d like to, 
I said. You’d like to, which I stayed where I was. You know, the retrial starting. Jury selections 
coming up next week. I read the papers, Andy said. I’m still a witness. The case is strong. They’re 
going to put him away. This time, she stared at me a while. Her mouth was full and her eyes sharp 
brown. That’s what you came by to tell me. No. What promises could I make that I hadn’t already 
broken? We’d never caught the men who killed her   son. We had nothing to tie it to Cavel. I thought 
maybe you’d want to come to the trial with me. She took a step back. I don’t know. I don’t know if I 
can be close to that man. I understand. I lifted the trash bag out of her hand. I guess that was 
a decision. She smiled as if she could see right through me. Still the public servant, huh, Nick? 
I gave her a self-deprecating smile. Evolving, she smiled. “Hey, Palisante,” she called, catching 
me halfway down the stairs. “Next time, you really should think about coming in.” Chapter 50. The 
following morning, I was at my desk in my office at home. I was doing what I always did on the days 
I didn’t teach. What I’d been doing every free day for the past 5 months, sifting through every 
piece of information I could find on the case, every document, every sliver of evidence, looking 
for some way I could tie the bus blast to Dominic Cable. If anyone saw my study, my disheveled desk, 
they’d probably think they’d stepped into the layer of some obsessive pathological nutcase. 
Good god, I had photos taped everywhere. the blast site, the van, the jury bus, thick binders of 
FBI reports on the explosive device stacked high. Interviews with people on the street who might 
have seen the two men in worklow running away.   More than once, I thought I had caught a break, 
like when the stolen New Jersey plates led back to some horse trainer and Freehold who had links 
to the Lucy crime family. But that turned out to   be coincidence. None of it led anywhere. None of 
it directly tied to Dominic Cavel or his people. I was sipping my morning coffee, having to admit 
that my mind was drifting back to Andy Degrassi   when the phone rang. “Palisante,” I answered. 
It was Ray Hughes, the agent who’ taken my place at C10. Nick, he sounded happy to catch me. Any 
chance you’re free. Sometimes we’d have lunch and Ray would pick my brain or I’d pick his. I figured 
all he wanted was to go over my testimony for the upcoming trial. I’d hate to miss out on Ellen Ray, 
but I think I could find my way down to see you. Not here. There’s a government jet waiting for us 
at Tedarboro. If Ry wanted to grab my interest, he had it. The offer of a crummy sandwich at his desk 
in the Javitz building would have done the trick, too. A plane to take us where? Ray. The acting 
head of the organized crime unit paused. Marion. I stood up quickly from my desk. Coffee spilling 
over my war were notes. Marian was the federal prison where Cavella was being held. Chapter 51. 
About 4 hours later, the government lock touched down at the airport in Carbondale, Illinois. A car 
was waiting for us and drove us to Maran Federal Prison. Marian was a vast, depressing looking red 
brick fortress stuck in the middle of a marshland in rural southern Illinois. It was also one of the 
most secure federal prisons in the United States. Although Cave had yet to be convicted after what 
happened in New York, the government wasn’t taking any chances. Warden Richard Bennifer was waiting 
for us. He escorted us out to the special control units where Cavella was being held. The only 
visiting station was a glass paneled room with a guard standing by with a taser and a surveillance 
camera running at all times. The prisoners here were lifers, level sixes, lost to the outside 
world for all time. I rejoiced. I was looking forward to seeing Cable spend the rest of his 
life in a place like this. Rey Hughes and Joel Goldenberger remained outside and watched through 
the one-way glass. Cavel was already sitting there   when I came in. He was dressed in an orange 
jumpsuit, his feet chained together. He was ga and older than when I’d seen him last, and a 
thin gray growth clung to his jawline. He’d been informed the government was here to see him, but 
the government was here to see him a lot. When he   saw it was me, he did a double take. Then came 
a wistful smile, as if he had just found an old friend. Nikki, he tilted back his chair. Is it 
a holiday or something? Who’s mine in the class? I sat down across from him behind the protected 
glass and didn’t laugh. Hi, Dom. How’s the jaw? Still hurts. He laughed. Still think of you every 
time I brush my teeth. Then he twisted around to the guard behind him. You watch this guy. Last 
time he came to see me in jail, I had to take   my meals through a straw for 6 months. He wheezed 
a laugh. This is the guy that should be in here, not me. Anyway, you’re looking fit, Nikki. 
Playing any golf? Retirement? Looks like it agrees with you. They let me come back, Dom, just 
for a day. I smiled thinly to deliver some news. News? Huh? Good. I don’t get much news in here. 
Geez, Nick, they got some special downward career   spiral planned out for you. You’re a messenger 
boy now. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I like the company. It’s just that you look a little PA. 
Must be that kid, huh? Tell me how you sleeping these days. I baldled my fists tightly. I knew he 
was trying to make me react again, but this time I just let him go. I’m going to be sleeping just 
fine, Dom. And how’s that gal doing? You know,   the pretty one who was on that bus. I heard she 
pulled through. I tried to send a little money to some kind of fund. He shrugged, but my lawyer 
told me that when they heard it was from me,   they sent the check back. Imagine. And for once, 
I was just trying to do something nice. How’s that for sour apples? Anyway, Mr. Messenger Boy, I’m 
doing all the talking. What kind of news you got for me? I’m all ears. We thought you’d want to 
know. The government’s going to be adding two new indictments against you. Two more? He sighed 
theatrically. Who can keep track? These you will do. Therefore, the murders of special agents Manny 
Olivera and Ed Sinclair. Cable furrowed his brow. I’m trying to think. Do I know them? We have the 
murder weapon. Dom. A couple of clamors uncovered it. After all these months, there it was, buried 
in the sand. Ballistics confirmed it. It’s the gun that killed the two agents. You’re going down 
for it, Dom. It’s a match. The jocular grin slowly started to fade from Cavella’s face, replaced 
by a look of serious concern. This was a capital offense, and the murder weapon sealed it. clamors. 
Huh? Imagine that. You look like you won the lottery, Pelisante. You want to let me in on the 
joke? The joke is, I’m going to see you at trial   next week. You piece of And here’s some other 
news. It’s going to take place at Fort Dick’s Army Base in New Jersey. The trial will be closed 
to the public, totally secure. The jury will be secret and sequestered on the base. This time, 
you won’t be able to get to anyone. We’ve got you,   Dom. US Attorney Goldenberger is waiting outside 
with the indictments. Now, it was my turn to smile. A smile I’d waited more than two years to 
give him. How’s that for sour apples? Dom Cavel just stared back at me. He scratched his chin. 
An army base, huh? Fort Dicks. Isn’t that where all the explosives are? Nikki boy could be a real 
blast. Chapter 52. Richard Nordic Co. stepped up to the immigration booth marked visitors at JFK. 
He pushed his passport and visa through the slot. Kick the black heavy set immigration agent leafed 
through his documents. He typed in the name. Can I ask you to please place your index finger 
on the pad? Nordishko complied. He wasn’t worried. This time he was Estonian. His name was Stefan 
Collic. Pharmaceuticals. As the agent went through his passport, he would find that the travelweary 
businessman had been to the United States many   times. The past 5 months had been trying once 
for Nordeno. Pavl had been sick. At first, it was thought to be the flu. Then it was diagnosed 
as diabetes type 1. After months of treatment, they finally had it under control. Then Nordeno’s 
leg began to worsen. His old chachchnne wound, the shrapnel finally taking its toll. These long 
trips killed him. He shifted uncomfortably. He even had to wear special shoes. Now he had to do 
this cave job all over again. And he done so well the first time. Business or pleasure? Mr. Kohitch? 
The immigration officer asked, double-checking the face in the documents against Norenko’s. Business 
is my pleasure, Nordenko replied. The officer smiled. This time it promised to be messy. He 
would have to put himself on the line, use all the skills he had learned. He already had his plan in 
motion. Reichart, the South African, was already here in New York. Preparation was Nordenko’s 
trademark, what he had made his reputation on, and never once had he taken a job that he did 
not complete. The immigration agent picked up his stamp. How long will you be staying in the United 
States, Mr. Kohitch? Only a few days. That was the one thing he would say that was definitely not a 
lie. The agent stamped his passport. He folded the documents together and pushed them back to the 
slot with a nod. Welcome to the United States,   Mr. Kohitch. Chapter 53. I’ve got news, I said to 
Andy Degrassi over the phone. I wanted to tell her about my visit to Cavel. The new indictments. I 
wanted to keep the hope alive that if we’d found something on Manny and Ed after all this time, 
there had to be something out there on the bus   explosion. At least that’s how I was rationalizing 
it. The truth was I’d been thinking about her a lot over the past few days. The truth was I wanted 
to see her again. You like Paella Pelisante? asked Andy after I’d given her my news. I like 
Paella. Sure, I said. On weekends with Ellen, I wasn’t above rolling up my sleeves and 
putting dinner together myself. In fact,   I’d go to heaven for a good paella. Then how does 
tomorrow sound around 7? I want to hear about your meeting with cave blowby blow. Tomorrow sounds 
good, I said surprised at the dinner invitation. And pelisante, Andy said, prepare to die and 
go to heaven. My piella is that good. I hung up and couldn’t stop the smile that was creeping 
over my face. The first one in quite some time,   actually. Chapter 54. That night, I couldn’t 
sleep. Part of it was Andy, I know. Part was the exhilaration of seeing Cavel out in Marion. 
For so long, I was sure he was going to get away with the murders of Mai. Two close friends. Today 
had changed all that. On the jet back from Marion, I had called Manny’s and Ed’s wives. I told them 
that they would see the bastard finally put on   trial for the murders of their husbands. I was 
wired, awakened. For the first time in months, I was free from the guilt and shame I’d been 
trapped in since the jury stepped on that bus.   It’s out there, I told myself. a connection to 
the explosion. I just had to think outside the box. That’s when it hit me. It was as if the alarm 
clock had gone off. My brain e little blurry from er reruns at 2 0 a.m. I leaped out of bed and 
headed into my office, unstacking one of those towers of FBI documents piled high on my 
desk. You’re looking in the wrong place,   Nick. The IED, the improvised explosive device, 
the bomb. That was the key. I yanked out the FBI forensic report on the explosives. I pretty much 
had the damn thing memorized by then. Anyway, the van had been packed with more than 30 lb of 
C4. Enough to do the job 10 times over. Getting their hands on that. Much plastic wasn’t like 
shopping for dry tarp at the local hardware store. You just have to think of it as anti-terror, Nick, 
not anti-rime. My C10 buddies had gone over every turncoat and informer on the list and couldn’t 
scare up a lead. pointing to the kind of people   call might normally call on for a job like this. 
It needed coordination much more sophisticated than anything he’d tried before. The technology 
had first been used by the Cheshnians. Why not the Russian mob? Somewhere in this pile, my homeland. 
Security contacts had given me books of known bad guys who were thought to be in the country at the 
time of the bombing. So, I started over again,   leafing through pages of blank faces and names. 
Andy claimed she’d seen a man with long blonde hair under his cap running away. So why not? 
What if the hit was set up by the Russian mob? Sergey Ojelof was still the boss of bosses in 
Brighton Beach. He wasn’t exactly a golfing buddy of mine. I’d put a number of his men away 
or had them deported, but he’d probably talked to me. A long shot maybe, but sometimes they come 
in like Dominic Cable’s gun had washed to shore. Chapter 55. Monica and Romano was in the middle 
of the best sex she’d ever had. Not that the list of her lovers was very long. It certainly wasn’t. 
The man she’d met while having an afterwork drink with friends was taking her from behind. He was 
very good from her perspective anyway. Not like the boring accountants and law clerks she’d 
been with before who only lasted a couple of   minutes and were as nervous and inexperienced as 
she. Was How’s that love? He said, “Is it good for you? Does it feel okay? Oh yes, Monica said 
panting. Did she even have to answer? She felt herself about to come. This was the third time. 
For far too long, Monica had come home from work, made dinner for her sick mother, and slumped into 
the den with her to watch TV. She was 38 years old. She knew she had put on weight, and that 
no one really looked at her anymore. Until this chance meeting, she had pretty much given up on 
the idea of ever finding somebody. And then Carl, she still found it hard to believe someone so 
good-looking and well-traveled had come on to her.   That in the crowd of attractive female lawyers and 
legal aids, this tall blonde European with a sexy accent had picked her out. He said he was Dutch, 
but she didn’t really care where he came from. The only thing that mattered was where he was now 
about 8 and inside her. Carl finally rolled onto his back, breathing hard, his body slick with 
sweat. He reached for her hand. He pulled her close and lifted the hair away from her face. How 
was that? Good for you, I hope. Perfect. Monica sighed. I’d say I’d like to volunteer you for a 
few friends at the office, but I don’t want to   share you with anyone. Don’t want to share me? He 
grinned. You selfish little siren. You know what I say to that? What? Monica smiled. You don’t want 
to share me either. I say this. All of a sudden,   he dug his thumb deep into her throat. The spasm 
of shock and pain straightened her spine. The pain was unbearable. Carl pulled her right off the bed. 
Monica’s eyes were jumping out of their sockets. “Stop, please. You’re hurting me,” she tried to 
say, but all that came out was an awful garbled   sound. She tried to pull away from him. His grip 
was immovable. Why are you doing this? You know what I say to you, Monica? He brushed back his 
long blonde hair. I say, “I’m glad you liked it, Monica. All our fun and games so far, but now 
it’s your turn to do something for me. Something a   little more serious, something more pleasurable.” 
Chapter 56. You work at the federal courthouse. He still had his strong fingers dug into her throat. 
Monica could barely suck enough air into her lungs   to breathe. Yes. She managed a single word. Good 
answer. Carl nodded. He relaxed his grip a little. You’ve been there a while now. Yes, I bet you 
know everybody. All the other fat cows, all of   the security personnel. His fingers squeezed and 
Monica’s eyes widened, tears streaming down her cheeks. You do know them, don’t you, Monica? She 
nodded, her lungs about to explode. Yes, she knew them. She saw them every morning and afternoon. 
One of them, Pablo, always kided her because she liked Mike Paza and the Mets, and so did he. 
Good girl, Carl said again, allowing her to take a needed gulp of air. People trust you, don’t 
they, Monica? You never miss a day at work. You take care of your mother in your little house in 
Queens. It must be lonely coming home every day,   making her den, checking her oxygen, taking the 
poor woman to the doctor. Why was he saying this? How did he know everything about her? With his 
free hand. Carl reached into the drawer of the bed table and removed something. What? A photograph? 
He flipped it in front of Monica’s eyes. An alarm bell went off in her. It was her mother outside 
their home in Queens. Monica was helping her down   the stairs in her walker. What was going on? 
Infa. Carl nodded sympathetically. Poor lady barely able to breathe. What a shame if she had 
no one to take care of her. His thumb dug into   her throat again. Shock waves ran down her spine. 
What do you want from me? Monica gagged, feeling as if her chest was about to explode. You work in 
the courthouse. His blue eyes gleamed. I need to get something inside. This will be easy for you. 
As you Americans say, a piece of cake. Suddenly, Monica saw what this was about. What a ridiculous 
fool she’d been to even think he was interested in   her. I can’t. There’s security. Of course, there’s 
security. Carl smiled. He clamped his fingers on her throat again. That’s why we have you, Monica. 
Chapter 57. Andy looked nothing short of terrific as she opened her apartment door for me. She had 
on a zippered red sweater and a pair of faded   jeans. Her hair was tied back in a brooch with a 
few loose curls dangling down her cheeks. Her eyes were dazzling and looked pleased to see me. I felt 
the same way about her. Smells like I remember, I said, inhaling a whiff of shellfish with 
tomatoes and saffron. The piella that was going to take me to heaven. At least I won’t 
have to catch you sneaking around outside,   Andy said with a smile. How about steak out? 
That sounds a little better, I said, holding out a Spanish Rioa. You’re staking me out. Why? Well, 
maybe that’s what I’m here to talk about. Do tell, said Andy, batting her eyelashes and grinning. 
I’m sure I just stood there for a second,   recalling how she had looked to me in the jury box 
during the trial with that crazy t-shirt on before any of this happened. Our eyes had met a few times 
back then. I thought we were both aware of it. There had definitely been one or two averted 
stairs. I have some appetizers under the broiler. Make yourself at home. I stepped into the small, 
nicely decorated living room. As Andy ducked back into the kitchen, she had a yellow paisley fabric 
couch and a coffee table with architectural digest and in style on it, a creased paperback, the 
other ballin girl. I recognized the jazz she had on. Cold Train. I went over to the bookshelf and 
picked up the CD. A love supreme. Nice, I said. I used to play a little sex long time ago. What? She 
called from the kitchen like in the 50s. I came over and took a seat at the counter. Very funny. 
She slid a platter of cheese puffs and empanadas across the counter. Here I went all out. I grabbed 
a cheese puff with a toothpick. Tasty. She poured me a glass of priio from an open bottle and sat 
across from me. She had a fresh blossomy scent, lavender or apricot or something. Whatever 
this was, dinner, a date, just bringing her   up to speed on cable. I was already enjoying it 
more than I thought I should. She smiled. So, uh, this is just a little bit awkward, isn’t it? 
I left the car running downstairs just in case in case it got weird. In case I didn’t like your 
piella, Andy laughed. Bring it on, she said, and tilted her glass. So, I guess this is good news, 
right? That’s right. We clingked glasses. Call is going down this time. Suddenly, talking about my 
meeting with the gangster didn’t exactly seem like   the thing to do. All we ever had between us was 
that awful trial. There was a lull. We both took another sip of wine. Andy smiled and let me off 
the hook. We don’t have to talk about it. We can talk about your class or what’s going on in Iraq 
or god forbid the Yankees. Over dinner, I finally told her more about my meeting with Cavel. I think 
it made her feel good knowing the bastard would   have to account for something. And the piella was 
a 10, just the way I liked it. Afterward, I helped her clean up, stacking dishes in the sink until 
she made me stop, insisting she’d finish the rest later. She put on a pot of coffee. Andy’s back 
was to me. We were talking about her acting when I noticed a photo on the counter. Her and her son. 
She had her arm wrapped around his neck. Smiles everywhere. Love. They looked like the happiest 
mother and son. When I looked up, Andy was facing me. Don’t take offense, Nick. But why do you keep 
coming around here? What is it you want to say? I was at a loss. I don’t know. You want to say it 
hurts? I know it hurts. Her eyes were glistening   now. You want to say you wish you could have done 
something. I don’t know what I want to say, Andy, but I know I wanted to come and see you, and I 
wanted to just reach out and hold her, too. I don’t think I ever wanted to take someone in my 
arms as much as I wanted her. And I think maybe   she wanted it, too. She was just leaning there, 
palms against the counter. Finally, Andy smiled. Car is still running, huh? I nodded. In the past 
minute or so, the temperature had risen about   100° in the kitchen. Don’t take this wrong, but I 
think I’m going to pass on that coffee. Hey, Andy sighed. Whatever. I found my jacket on the chair 
where I’d left it and Andy walked me to the door. Everything was great, I said as advertised. I took 
her hand and held it for a second. It’s because I feel good around you. That’s why I came. You make 
me laugh. No one’s made me laugh in months. You know you’ve got a nice smile, Nick, when you let 
it out. Anyone ever tell you that? I turned to   leave. Not in a while. She closed the door behind 
me. There was a part of me that wanted to say, screw it, Nick. and turn around. And I knew if 
I did, she would still be there. I could almost feel her standing on the other side of the door. 
Then I heard Andy’s voice. What’s done is done, Nick. You can’t make the world come out right just 
because you want it that way. I turned and pressed   my palm against the door. I can try. Chapter 
58. Richard Nordenko kept his face still as he squeezed his whole cards up from the table. A pair 
of threes. The player across from him in a black shirt and cashmere jacket and with an attractive 
male companion looking over his shoulder tossed $2,000 into the pot. Another player after him 
raised. Nordeno decided to play. He was ahead tonight. Decidedly tomorrow his work began. He 
would make this his last hand. Win or lose. The dealer flipped over three cards, a two, a nine 
of clubs, and a four. No improvement it would   seem for anyone. Cashmere Blazer winked to his 
boyfriend. He’d been pushing pots all night. 4,000. Nordeno read him for four clubs, trying to 
make his flush. To his surprise, the other player behind him raised two. He was heavy set and quiet. 
Wore dark shades, hard to read. Despite his large hands, he nimly shuffled his chips. “4,000 more,” 
he said, leveling off two stacks of black chips into the pot. “The right bet,” Nordho thought. 
“Drive the third player out, in this case him.” But Nordh Henko wasn’t going to be driven out. He 
had a feeling. Things had been going his way all   night. I’m in. He stacked a tower of eight black 
chips and pushed them in. The dealer flipped over another four. Now there was a pair on the board. 
The guy chasing the flush checked. The heavy set player was betting now. Another $4,000. Nordhko 
raised him. To his surprise, Kashmir Blazer stayed along. Now there was more than $40,000 in 
the pot. The dealer flipped over the last card, the six of spades. Norenko couldn’t see how it 
helped anyone, but he recalled when he’d been in   this exact spot before. His adrenaline was racing. 
The man with the boyfriend puffed out his cheeks. 8,000. The few spectators murmured. What the hell 
was he doing? He’d been pumping the pot all night. Now he was throwing good money after bad. The 
heavy set player shuffled his chips. Nordishko thought maybe he did have a pair in the hole, a 
higher pair. Clearly, he read his hand for the   best at the table. 8,000. He nodded, making two 
even stacks of eight black chips and ate more. Now the murmurss became gasps. Nordhenko made a 
steeple with his fingers in front of his mouth, then let out a deep breath. Clearly, the heavy set 
man expected him to fold, and 90% of the time he would have done just that. He was up enough. Why 
give everything back? But tonight, he felt this power. Soon he’d put his life on the line. All 
the money in the world might be meaningless then.   That gave him freedom. Besides, he was almost 
certain he had read the table perfectly. “Sh, shall we make it interesting?” he asked. “Here 
is your 8,000?” he looked at Kashmir Blazer. “And yours?” he said, nodding to the man in shades, 
evening out a second column of black chips. Then he made a show of doubling the entire stack. 
“And 16,000 more. This time there wasn’t a gasp, only a hush. $100,000 sat in the center of the 
table. Nerves were what separated you under fire. nerves and the ability to read one thing, smell 
it. That’s what made him the best at what he did. Nordhenko stared at the man in shades. Indecision. 
Fear. Cashmere blazer sagged back clearly feeling like an idiot. Better to toss in his cards 
now without showing them and not be thought   a total fool. Adios, he said. You’re bluffing. 
The heavy set guy said, swallowing his eyes, x-raying Nordhenko through his shades. Nordhenko 
shrugged. Play and see. He was sure all the man had to do was push in the balance of his chips 
and he would take the hand. Yours? The heavy set   guy grunted, flipping his cards upright. A pair of 
sixes. Nordhenko flipped over his lower pair. You were right. Shouts went up. The dealer pushed the 
mountain of chips his way. He had won more than $70,000. Moreover, he had read every indication, 
every mannerism correctly. That was a good sign for tomorrow. Tomorrow was when the real 
game began. Chapter 59. At 1000 a.m., Dominic Cavella was brought handcuffed into Judge Robert 
Barnett’s courtroom. Four US marshals surrounded him. Several others were spread out at intervals 
along the perimeter of the room. This was a pre-trial hearing back at Foley Square. Cable’s 
lawyers had made a motion to suppress all evidence related to the murders of Manny Oliver and Ed 
Sinclair. They wanted a hearing to determine whether the evidence should be allowed, but I knew 
the judge would see the request for what it was,   a stalling tactic. Cable acted his usual cocky 
self as he was led into the spacious room. He chirped hello to Joel Goldenberger across the 
way, asked how he was doing along with the wife and kids. He made a comment to one of the guards 
about the Mets, how they’d finally put a real team together this year. When he spotted me in the 
rear, he winked as though we were old friends. He conveyed the image of a guy about to beat 
some minor traffic violation, not a person on leave from the isolation unit at Marion, who 
might very well beheaded. Back there for the rest of his life. The door to the courtroom opened. 
Judge Barnett stepped in. Barnett was supposed to be a non-onsense guy. He had been an offensive 
lineman while at Syracuse and served as a fighter pilot in Vietnam. He didn’t give about the press 
or free access or Cable’s lawyer’s theatrics. The judge had presided over a couple of Homeland 
Security cases after 9/11 and imposed the maximum sentence permitted by law on everyone. We 
couldn’t have gotten a better judge for this. He quickly signaled everybody, too. Sit down. 
I’ve studied the motions, he said, adjusting thick black reading glasses. And I find no merit 
in the defense’s motion to delay this trial any longer. Mr. Cable, your honor, the defendant stood 
up slowly, showing no reaction to the decision. You’ll be answering the United States government’s 
charges beginning Monday morning 1000 a.m. You are entitled by law to be present at the selection 
of your own jury which will take place in this   courtroom. But these proceedings will be conducted 
totally and secret. No names will be divulged once they are selected. At that point they will 
be transferred to the Fort Dicks Army Base   in New Jersey where as you already know your trial 
will take place. You will be restrained there as well as will the jury. The entire trial will be 
conducted behind closed doors and Mr. Call. The judge stared down at him sternly. Yes, I’m warning 
you only once. Any disruptions? And I mean, if you as much as tip over a glass of water unexpectedly 
and you will be watching your own proceedings on court TV. Is that understood? I wouldn’t dream of 
it, your honor. Cal said, “I didn’t ask you that, Mr. Cavel.” The judge’s voice stiffened. I asked 
you if it was understood. Of course, Cable bowed respectfully. perfectly, your honor. Chapter 60. 
The telephone was ringing and Monica and Romano froze where she was sitting on the living room 
couch. She didn’t want to answer it. She already   knew who it was. Who else would be calling this 
late on a Sunday night? She had a crazy thought that maybe if she ignored the ring, he would go 
away. Everything would go back to how it had been   before she had the best sex of her life. She just 
sat looking at the phone, letting it ring. Would you answer it, please? She and her mother were 
watching TV, and the ringing was blocking out   the sound. Finally, Monica stood up and wrapped 
the cord out into the hallway. She noticed her hand shaking. “Hello, hello, love.” The voice 
on the other end made her blood freeze. “How had she ever gotten herself into this mess? How 
had she been so pathetically stupid as to think   he’d be interested in her? She should go to the 
police. She should hang up on him and call them now. They would understand. They would still trust 
her at her job. And if it wasn’t for her mother,   she had told herself over and over, she would. She 
would. What do you want? She answered curtly. You used to like hearing my voice, Monica, the caller 
said. I’m feeling hurt. What do I want? I want the same thing you do, Monica. I want you and 
your mother to live a long, healthy life. Don’t play with me, Monica spat out. Just tell me what 
you want me to do. All right, he said. He seemed   to be enjoying himself. How about we meet for 
coffee tomorrow morning before you go to work? the cafe right across the square where we met that 
other time. Say 8:30 sharp. I’ll fill you in on what happens from there. This is it, Monica said, 
her stomach nodding. You promise just this one thing. Be a good little girl and you’ll never hear 
my voice again. But Monica, Carl said in the sort of voice. You’d used to reprove a child. Don’t get 
any ideas. I’ll do what I said I would. I promise. In fact, if I wasn’t so trusting, you’llll 
be a good girl. I could do it right now. Come   back in the living room. Come. Monica ran back 
into the room where her mother was watching TV. A light shone on the window, headlights, then a car 
horn, three sharp blasts. She began to shake so hard she thought she could hear every bone in her 
body rattle. Chapter 61. That Monday morning was the tightest security I’d ever seen for a trial. 
Godfather, part two. It was more like a show of force by law enforcement. Dozens of cops, some in 
armor and riot gear, holding automatic weapons, man barricades all over Foley Square. The line 
of prospective jurors stretched out the door with policemen going up and down, checking IDs, 
opening bags, leading bomb sniffing dogs. About a dozen TV vans were lined up and down Worth Street. 
Everything was by the book, exactly how I would have done it. Still with several trials running 
concurrently, all the lawyers, witnesses, jurors, and staff, there were a thousand things that could 
go wrong. Instinctively, I checked the courthouse security room, which was situated on the ground 
floor. Security staffers were watching monitors of all floors, entrances, elevators, the basement 
garage, and the corridor where Cavella was to be transferred to and from the Manhattan County Jail. 
I tried to tell myself that nothing was going to happen, that everything was going to go off as 
planned. I was headed back up to the courtroom, passing by the lobby when I heard my name shouted, 
“Nick. Nick.” It was Andy, restrained by two guards. She was waving, “Nick, they won’t let me 
in.” I walked over to the entrance. “It’s okay,” I said to the guard. I flashed my ID. “Ill 
take responsibility. She’s with me.” I pulled her through the jostling crowd. “You were right. I had 
to be here, Nick. I couldn’t stay away for Jared   if not me. You don’t have to explain, Andy. Just 
come. I let her into one of the elevators. Pushed the button for the eighth floor. There were a 
few others on. Word a couple of attorneys, a court stenographer. The ride seemed interminable. 
I squeezed her hand. H. She said just that. When the doors finally opened on 8, I pulled Andy to 
the side and waited for the other people to clear. Then I gave her the hug I wanted to give her the 
other night. I almost kissed her, too. It took   guts to be here to show her face, but I could feel 
her heart beating against me. It’s okay, Andy. I’m glad you’re here. I showed my ID to a guard 
stationed outside the courtroom and escorted her inside. The room was still nearly empty. A couple 
of marshals chatting, a young assistant district attorney laying out jury forms along the lawyer’s 
row. Andy looked anxious suddenly. “Now that I’m here, I don’t know if I can do this. We’ll stay 
over here,” I said, placing her in the back   row of the gallery. “When he comes in, we’ll be 
together. Maybe we’ll wave. Yeah. Or give him the finger. I squeezed her hand. Nothing bad is going 
to happen. The evidence is even more solid than before. He’s going to arrive soon. And we’re going 
to choose 12 people. Then we’re going to put him away until the day he dies. Chapter 62. Monica and 
Romano suspected what was in the small bundle she was carrying, and it made her want to throw up. 
She had taken it from the man she once trusted. Now she walked nervously across the square, 
showing her federal ID and passing by the   guarded police barricades to the courthouse. It 
was the most nerve-wracking thing she had ever done in her life by a lot. Finally, she stood in 
the courthouse employee line. Every bag was being opened, even the lawyers and their staffs. Monica 
knew who was in the courthouse that day. Dominic Cavel. Big doings today, hun. chirped Mike, a 
lobby guard with a large handlebar mustache, who pulled her through the maze of people, and 
over to the authorized personnel line. “Aha!”   Monica nodded nervously. She smiled hello to a 
couple of familiar faces. The guy in front of her, a lawyer with a beard and long hair, opened his 
case. Monica was next. Pablo, who always teased her about the Mets, caught her eye and smiled. Her 
heart was beating savagely. She felt the weight of the bundle pressing down on her. What if they 
looked inside? The lawyer in front of her closed   his case passing through. Now it was just her and 
Pablo. Could he hear her heart pounding? Holding her breath, Monica stepped into the gate. How’s 
the weekend, hun? The guard took a prefuncter peek   inside her handbag. You catch those Mets? Sure I 
did. Monica nodded, closing her eyes, expecting a loud beep to go off. Her life to be over. It 
didn’t. Nothing happened. She stepped through just like every other day. A tremor of relief went 
through her. Thank God. See you at lunch, Pablo said. She wanted to hurry away. Then she heard him 
call, “Hey, Monica.” Monica and Romano froze and she turned around slowly. The guard flashed her 
a wink. I like your hat. Chapter 63. The lawyers were in the courtroom. Cavel 2. Judge Barnett 
gazed out at the nervous group of prospective jurors who had cautiously filed in. “I doubt 
there’s a person in this room who doesn’t know why we’re here,” he said. Each juror had been given 
a number. They all took a seat. Every eye seemed to be glancing at the gaunt, gay-haired man who 
sat with his legs crossed in front of them. Then   they looked away as if afraid to let their eyes 
linger too long. “That’s Cal,” their faces said. I turned back to Andy, who only moments before 
had watched as the bastard was led in. Cavella’s handcuffs were removed. He took a look around the 
courtroom. Cavel seemed to find Andy immediately, as if he knew she would be there. He paused 
and gave her a slight respectful nod, but her gaze didn’t waver. It seemed to be telling him, 
“You can’t hurt me anymore.” She wasn’t going to   give him the thrill of seeing her look scared. She 
clenched her palms against the railing. Finally, she looked away. When she lifted her eyes again, 
they landed on mine. She gave me a thin smile. “I’m okay. I’m good. He’s going down. I also doubt 
there’s a person among you who truly wants to be here,” Judge Barnett went on. Some of you may feel 
you don’t belong here. Some might even be afraid. But be assured, if called, it is your legal and 
moral duty to serve on the trial, and 12 of you are going to serve with six more as alternates. 
What is my duty is to remove whatever fear and discomfort many of you may be feeling given the 
defendant’s last trial. Therefore, your names and addresses, anything about your family or what you 
do, will not be released, not even to the members of this court. Those selected will spend the next 
6 to 8 weeks confined to the Fort Dicks Army Base in New Jersey where this trial will take place. 
Now, I know no one is eager to give up their lives and remain separated from family and loved ones 
for that amount of time. But the defendant must be tried. That is all our duties. A jury will 
be decided upon and he will be tried. Anyone who refuses to do his or her duty will be held in 
contempt of court. The judge nodded to the clerk. Now, is there anyone in this room who due to some 
commitment or handicap feels he or she cannot faithfully execute this duty? Virtually every hand 
in the room shot into the air at once. A ripple of muffled laughter snaked around the courtroom. 
Even Cable looked at the show of hands and smiled. One by one, jurors were called up to the bench. 
Single mothers, small business owners, people pleading that they had paid for vacations or were 
holding doctor’s notes. A couple of lawyers argued they should be excused, but Judge Barnett didn’t 
buckle. He excused a handful and they left the courtroom, discreetly pumping a fist or grinning 
widely. Others glumbly went back to their seats. Finally, about 150 people remained, most looking 
not very pleased. Cavel never even glanced at them. He kept drumming his fingers against the 
table, staring straight ahead. I kept thinking of the words he had uttered to me as they pulled me 
away from his jail cell the day of the juror bus   blast. me. I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight. 
First day in a month. I don’t have to worry about a trial. Mr. Goldenberger. Mr. Cascal. The judge 
addressed the attorneys. I’m sure you have some questions you’d like to put to these good people. 
Chapter 64. Richard Nordeno had filed unnoticed into the courthouse. It hadn’t been difficult to 
obtain a standard juror’s notice from Reichart,   then doctor the date and name to fit his need. He 
got in line with the other delooking jurors. Then, like every job he had ever done, he walked in 
through the front door. For a while, Nordeno sat eyeing a magazine in the crowded jury room, 
listening to people’s numbers being called. Many of them were nervously muttering whatifs about 
getting selected for the cave trial. Everyone   he listened to seemed to feel they had a foolproof 
excuse. Nordeno quietly chuckled to himself. None of them would need an excuse. At 10:15 a.m., 
he checked his watch. NZI would be driving the stolen catering van into the underground garage. 
NZI was the best in the world at this. Still, you never knew what could happen on a job, 
especially one as complex as this. Last night, Noenko had written a long letter to his wife 
and son. He had left it in his hotel room in the   event he did not make it back. In the letter, he 
admitted he was not exactly the good man they may have always thought he was, and that the things 
they may be hearing about him were probably true.   He wrote that it saddened him that he’d had to 
hide so much from them over the years, but in each life, he added, “One is never all bad or all 
good. What was good about his life was the two of them.” He wrote that he loved them both very much. 
And trying to close with a joke, he told his son that he too had grown to prefer poker over chess. 
He signed the letter from your loving husband and father, Kolia Ramlikov, Nord Denko’s real name, 
a name neither of them knew. At precisely 11:40 a.m., Nordhenko put down his magazine and made 
his way outside and up to the third floor. It was mostly court and administrative offices. He 
found the men’s bathroom along the elevator bank and ducked inside. A heavy set black man with a 
large mole on his cheek was finishing up washing his hands. Nordeno ran the water, waiting for 
him to leave. When the black man departed, Nordenko removed the top to the trash receptacle, 
dug his hand through the bald-up paper towels, and removed the carefully wrapped bundle that he knew 
was there. Just as Reichart had said it would be,   Nordhenko went into a stall and unwrapped 
the bundle, a heckler, and Coke 9 pistol, his gun of choice. He checked the magazine and 
seeing that it was fully loaded tightly screwed on the suppressor. He knew the judge was a stickler 
for regimen, he always let out his court a few   minutes before 12:30 p.m. for lunch. The story 
went that no lawyer arguing before Barnett wanted to be in the middle of a key point around that 
time. Only a few minutes more. From his pocket, Nordeno took out a tiny cell phone. He had 
checked one at security just like everyone else, but kept the second hidden away. No messages. That 
meant NZI was gone and everything was set. Now he checked the code that would get things started. 
All that was left to do was to hit send. Nordic co left the stall and took a last look at himself 
in the mirror. His heartbeat started to quicken. Rami, be calm. You know how people will react. 
You know human nature better than anyone. The element of surprise is with you just like it has 
a dozen times before. Everything will go your way. With his newly dyed hair, the fake beard and 
glasses, the thought passed through him that in the next few minutes he might die as he always 
feared, unrecognized with someone else’s name. The prince would have to be matched. And even 
then, the trail was blank, just a sergeant in   the Russian army, a deserter. It might be weeks, 
months before anyone even knew he was dead, of course. And Nordenko smiled to himself at this. He 
might live, too. He cocked the heckler and stuffed it inside his pocket. It was like pushing all your 
money into the center of the table. In this case, a $2.5 million fee. You never knew for sure until 
you turned over the last card. Chapter 65. Dominic Cavella was eyeing the courtroom. Clock 2 trying 
to block out the idol chatter, which he knew in just moments would have very little to do with 
the rest of his life. That was when Judge Barnett   would lean into the microphone, no matter who was 
speaking, and ask if this was a good time to take a break. And then, as if on cue at 12:24 p.m., 
the judge cut in on the prosecutor’s questioning. Mr. Goldenberger. Ko felt his pulse start to 
race. Sayanara, he snickered. Playtime’s over. Little Dom here is ready to go home. The judge 
instructed the prospective jurors to reconvene at exactly 20 0. Slowly, the jury pool began to 
file out. Marshals, you may take possession of the defendant now. Cable stood up. He didn’t give 
about what was going to happen next. In fact,   he’d make their job easy. Okay, fellas. The same 
two who had brought him in this morning were taking him back to jail. The broad-shouldered guy 
with the thick mustache held out the cuffs. Sorry, DM. Cable put out his wrists. Not a problem, Eddie 
boy. I’m all yours. He knew their names. He knew a half-osen little things about them. The black 
guy had been a tank commander in Desert Storm. The one with the bushy mustache had a son who was 
being recruited by Wisconsin to play football. He snapped the shackles tightly over Cavella’s 
wrists. “Geez, guys, can’t you give an honest citizen a break?” “Hey, hi,” he called out to 
his attorney. “You guys have a nice big steak on me. See you back here at 2.” The marshals led 
him out the side entrance to the elevator in the hall on the way back to his prison cell a couple 
of blocks away. He’d made the trip so many times, he could probably do it in his sleep if he had to. 
“You know what the worst thing is about spending   the rest of your life in jail?” He winked to the 
marshall with the mustache as they headed out into the hall. The food, especially that pigstyion. 
You know the only thing that keeps you going out there. He nudged him with an elbow. The death 
sentence. That’s what the lethal injection.   Ko laughed. That’s the only thing that gives you 
any hope. A third guard with a radio in one hand was holding the doors open. When they got to the 
elevator, he barked into the radio. They’re on   their way. Eddie and the black guy escorted 
him inside. The black marshall pushed you for underground. He knew that if the basement was 
selected, the elevator wouldn’t stop at any other   floor unless it was overridden from inside. The 
doors closed. Cable turned to the black marshall who never talked very much. You like pizza, 
Bo? Black people eat pizza, don’t they? Yeah, I like pizza. Dom. The black guard growled. 
Sure. All cops like pizza. Cable sighed. Hey, you know what we should do? Screw this jail thing. 
How about we ditch this baby at the lobby and take   a spin out to the old neighborhood in Brooklyn for 
an hour or two? I’ll show you what a real Italian meal is. Come on, I’ll have us all back by two. 
They won’t even know we’re gone. He nudged Eddie as the elevator descended, watching the floor 
lights start to go down. That would be a pisser,   wouldn’t it, Eddie boy? Whole free world is out 
looking for us, and we’re just sitting at Pritsy’s having a V and peppers and a beer. So, what do 
you say? The burly Marshall grinned. Sounds like a plan, Dom. That’s what it sounds like to me, 
too, Cavel said, following the lights of the floor   panel as the elevator descended. A plan. Chapter 
66. Andy was waiting for me out in the hallway. She said that she’d seen enough. She didn’t have 
to be there anymore. I rode down the elevator with her and a couple of prospective jurors to the 
lobby. There was a little awkwardness between us there. I told her how brave I thought she 
was to come. She gave me a quick kiss on the   cheek. Thank you, Nick. It was a good idea. On my 
way upstairs, I stuck my head inside the security room for a check on Cable. He was headed down to 
the basement now. I watched over the shoulder of   one of the agents as Cavel moved in front of the 
elevator, chatting with his guards. Everything was under control. The security captain was in close 
contact. With all points along the exit route, the subjects in motion, he reported in. 
Suddenly, the ground beneath us rocked. It   was like an earthquake. Coffee cups, pens, 
clipboards clattered to the floor. Jesus, something’s happened. One of the agents monitoring 
the screens shouted and pointed. In the garage,   there’s been an explosion down there. Holy. 
We crowded close to the monitor and watched what happened next in shock. Billowing gray smoke 
began to block the screen. Then everything went completely black. Radio report crackled in from 
one of the units stationed underground. There’s been an explosion down here. The garage is on 
fire. There may be casualties. I can’t make much out. Too much smoke. Smoke everywhere. The 
captain sees the microphone. This is Mitchum. We have a situation in the garage. Some kind of 
explosive device has been detonated. I want SWAT, backup, and medical units down there pronto, and 
I want to know what the hell’s going on. I didn’t   have to look at the screen. I knew what was going 
on. The screens kept flashing back and forth to different monitors in the garage, trying to locate 
a clear view of what was taking place. I grabbed   Mitch by the shoulder. Captain, this isn’t about 
the garage. It’s about Cavel. Get all agents on alert. He’s on his way down there now. I rushed 
back to the other end of the console and checked   the elevator scene. Jesus, no. My eyes bulged 
in horror. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Only I knew it was happening again. I ran to the 
door. Chapter 67. Tol was still in the elevator, kibbitzing with the guards, joking for all he 
was worth. His eyes angled toward the control   panel. The descending lights flashed. 765 now. In 
that instant, he lunged toward the panel, pressing his thumbs solidly onto the heat sensitive square 
for the third floor. What the hell? The elevator jerked to an unexpected stop. The door started 
to open. The black marshall reached out to rain and cavel, powerfully pressing him up against the 
wall. Then someone stepped inside. The Marshall’s jaw fell open. What the? The first shot caught 
him between the eyes and hurled him against the   paneled wall. He sank to the floor, leaving a dark 
red smear. The next two shots caught Eddie boy in the chest. Two plum-colored circles appeared on 
his white shirt. The guard released Cavella with a   deep groan. As he crumpled to the floor, he looked 
up at the shooter. “I’ve got kids.” “Sorry, Eddie boy.” Cavel said. Two more silenced thuds ripped 
into his chest and the guard went still. “Hurry,” the Israeli snapped, pressing the button for the 
lobby, then tossing Cavel a pouch. “We don’t have any time.” Inside the pouch, Cavlo found a dark 
woman’s wig in a raincoat. The Israeli PLP ped the wig on Cable’s head and draped the coat loosely 
over his shoulders, doing his best to conceal   the fugitives cuffed hands. He knew they only had 
seconds, no more. While attention was diverted by the explosion in the garage, Cable pressed down 
the wig. Is everyone in place. We had better hope so, Nordhenko said, positioning himself behind 
Caval in order to conceal his gun. You’re ready. This is no sure thing. Whatever happens, Cavella 
said it beats life in prison. Perhaps,” said the Israeli. The elevator doors opened again at 
the lobby. A couple of people were waiting to   board. “It’s broken. Take another.” Tenko growled, 
pushing Cavel past them. Then he and the disguised mobster rushed down the long corridor toward a 
side entrance onto Worth Street. Behind them,   people had seen the bodies in the elevator. 
They were screaming. Nordhenko never looked back. Hurry or we both die here. I’m allergic to 
prisons. It was about 40 yards down the corridor to the security station, but it seemed like more 
as they wo through bystanders, ignoring the shouts behind them. Nordic co spotted Reichart and two 
of Cavella’s men posing his press at the entrance. He turned up the collar of Cavella’s raincoat 
and hurried toward them. 15 Whitemore, that   was all. As they approached, a radio crackled, 
“Something’s happened.” One of the guards shouted, “Close it down now.” Reichart removed a 
dark metallic object from under his coat. Then everything went completely nuts. Shots rang 
out. Automatic gunfire in the courthouse lobby. Two guards went down before they had a chance to 
get to their guns. The last one, a blonde woman, fumbled frantically with her holster as Reichart 
slammed her against the marble wall with a burst   of automatic fire. She hit the floor dead. 
Nordeno and Cavella were running as they reached the security station. They heard a shout, 
“FBI! Everybody get down.” Nordenko took a look and saw a figure at the end of the corridor arms 
extended in shooting position trying to get a shot off through the crowd. He pressed cavel in front 
of him. A round whizzed past his face ripping into the chest of one of Cavella’s hoods. Reichart 
returned the fire. The noise of the gunfire was deafening. People were screaming and scrambling 
for their lives. Nordhenko shielded Cavella with his own body. It was the job. He pushed through 
the doors outside. It was chaos all around them. Cops were running toward the entrance to the 
underground garage down the block. The detonated bomb had worked well. A cloud of dark smoke 
rose into the sky. A young cop came up to them,   not sure what was going on. Would hurt, Nordhenko 
said to him. Look. As the cop leaned closer, Nordinko stuck the muzzle of the heckler into 
his chest and pulled the trigger. With a groan,   the policeman sank to the sidewalk. A black 
Bronco screeched to the curb in front of them. The back door was flung open and Nordeno, Cavalo, 
and Reichart dove inside. NZI was at the wheel. Without coming to a complete stop, the Bronco 
sped away. A commercial truck pulled out directly behind them, then suddenly stopped in the street, 
blocking any pursuit. At the corner, the light was   green. They shot onto St. James and drove up two 
blocks through Chadam Square, then made a right on Catherine in Chinatown. They made another quick 
right on Henry. Then NZI pulled the Bronco into a vacant lot. Nordic Co leaped out, still shielding 
Cavella’s body and ripped open the sliding door of a blue minivan. He pushed the gangster in. Then he 
jumped behind the wheel. Riker and Nzi got into a tan Acura parked across the street. The Israelis 
saluted them. For the first time, Nordenko felt a cautious sense of optimism. No one was following 
them. No one was shooting either. The two vehicles pulled away. A block away, three police cars 
sped by, lights flashing. They were going in the opposite direction. Nordenko let himself smile. 
One day they would hold a clinic on this escape. Are we free? A voice from behind asked. Then 
Dominic Cavel lifted up his head. For the moment, Nordhenko said, “Now all we have to worry about is 
getting off this island.” Chapter 68. I ran out to the street and stood there staring helplessly as 
the black bronco sped away. There was no way I could stop it. I watched it turn at the corner, 
melding into traffic, then disappear from sight. Every muscle in my body seemed to shrink and 
collapse. I’d never felt more useless in my entire life. Two police cars started after them, having 
to navigate around some delivery truck blocking the street, but it was too late. I ran back to the 
courthouse and flashed my ID at a startled cop, grabbing his radio. This is special agent Nicholas 
Palisante of the FBI. Dominic Cavalo has escaped from the federal courthouse in Foley Square. He 
was traveling east on Worth in a black Bronco.   Unidentifiable plates headed toward Chinatown. 
Suspects have fired shots. There are multiple casualties. A dead patrolman lay crumpled 
on the pavement. He looked no older than   25. Stunned pedestrians were rushing out of the 
courthouse. Most had their hands to their faces, trying to cover up the shock. I rushed back 
through the doors and into the courthouse. EMS texts were already administering to one of the 
fallen guards. Mitchum was there, the captain. He was ashenfaced. Some useless police chatter began 
to trickle in. I felt the urge to slam the radio up against the wall and watch it shatter. I didn’t 
know where to go except back inside the security   office. Special agent Michael Dao was in there. He 
was in charge of the FBI’s on-site security team, and he was already playing back. Video from the 
bloody scene in the elevator. I saw the getaway car. I told him black Bronco. I couldn’t see 
the plates. There are two security marshals   down out front. Dow took a deep breath. I’ve got 
the mayor’s office on the line. And the chief of police. There’s an emergency order to block all 
tunnels and bridges out of Manhattan. Everything’s   on the highest crisis alert. They shouldn’t be 
able to get off the island. Don’t bet on it, I said, and gritted my teeth. I sat down and slammed 
my fist against a nearby table in frustration. All of a sudden, I felt a tremendous draining of 
strength. What the hell? I placed my hand against   my ribs. The feeling was slick and warm. Jesus, 
Nick, I was bleeding like a stuck pig. Chapter 69. Dao’s eyes met mine. We both looked down at 
my blood dripping onto the floor. Son of I said, “Then I opened my jacket. There was a wide circle 
of blood seeping through my shirt. Get EMS in here now.” Dowed shouted to one of the security men. 
Good idea, I nodded. sagging back against the wall. A shout came over the radio. I think we’ve 
got a fix on them. It was the open line to the mayor’s crisis center. A black Bronco had been 
spotted turning off 10th Avenue, feeding into the entrance for the Lincoln Tunnel heading to New 
Jersey. We’ve got the entrance covered, the voice from the crisis center declared. Port authorities 
got SWAT in place there. Through the phone lines, we were able to patch in a video feed from the 
crisis center. Above us, one of the monitors began showing a wide sweep from a camera overlooking the 
tunnel. The black Bronco was about tenth in line. There it is. All of a sudden, the camera zoomed in 
tighter. The traffic was funneling into two lanes. I held my side, but I wasn’t going anywhere right 
now. I could make out the black Bronco. The same one? It sure looked like it. Suspect vehicle 
has jersey plates. EVX 369. A voice announced over the radio. For a second, I was caught up like 
everyone else, just hoping we’d manage to land on the right vehicle. Then a thought flashed through 
my mind. I grabbed a microphone off the table. This is Special Agent Pelisante. These people 
likely have automatic weapons and explosives. The car could be booby trapped. Cavla might not 
even be in there anymore. The SWAT teams should do their best to isolate the vehicle. My wound 
was history. Now I moved closer to the screen and watched the Port Authority team start circling in, 
surrounding the vehicle from a distance, letting   others pass. It was a tricky assault. There were 
lots of innocent people around, hundreds of them, black helmeted figures began to creep into the 
wide-angled camera view. The Bronco was four rows from feeding into the tunnel entrance. 
I could see the police teams narrowing in,   arms drawn. The Broncos windows were tinted black. 
If someone in there was looking out, they had to see the assault force coming. The Bronco inched up 
to the first row. A police car suddenly sped up, blocking the entrance to the tunnel. SWAT 
personnel were all over the place, crouched   low, closing in. I could see exactly what was 
happening. The Bronco was surrounded by at least 20 heavily armed policemen. The Bronos’s front 
door swung open. I stepped closer to the screen. Be him, I said, balling my fists. Be him. People 
were coming out of the Bronco, hands in the air, a male dressed all in black, then a woman wearing 
a floppy hat, a small boy. The boy was crying. He grabbed the woman. “Son of a bitch,” I heard 
someone say over the radio. The picture didn’t need any words or captions, though. It was the 
wrong car. “We’d lost Dominic.” Caval chapter 70. I stayed in the courthouse security room until the 
EMS people wouldn’t let me be there any longer. A couple of young medte did their best to treat 
me, but I wasn’t going anywhere until I saw the   vidape. The tape of the man in the elevator, the 
one who had sprung cable. I watched it at least a dozen times. He was medium height, not especially 
well-built. I couldn’t really tell if he was young or old. I looked for any distinguishing marks. He 
had a beard, which I figured for a fake, short, dark hair, glasses, but this guy knew precisely 
what he was doing. He never hesitated. Not for a second. He was a pro, not just some hired gun. 
He caught us off guard, even with New York’s   finest and two dozen FBI agents all around the 
courthouse. “Can you zoom in on the face for me?” I asked the security tech manning the video 
machine. “Right,” a touch of a button, and the camera panned in. I stood up, moving myself closer 
to the screen. The film got grainy. It narrowed into a close-up of the steely professional eyes as 
the killer himself stepped on the elevator. steady and business-like efficient. I burned those eyes 
into my mind. The security tech slowly advanced the film frame by frame. Suddenly, there were 
gunshots. The two marshals went down. Get this over the wires to the NYPD in the crisis control 
room. Mike Dao directed the techie. I want this picture out to every bridge and tunnel and every 
cop on the street. It’s a waste of time, I said,   sagging back against the table. He doesn’t 
look like that anymore. Dao snapped at me, obviously frustrated. You got a better idea? I 
might compare it to the film from Cavella’s first trial. Go day by day if you have to eliminate the 
beard and the glasses. I’ll bet he was there. The medical people were literally dragging me away 
now. They had a van waiting. I looked up at the   face on the screen one last time. I wanted to make 
sure I recognized it when I saw him again. I was sure I was looking at the man who blew up the 
jury bus and murdered all those people. Chapter 71. When the call came in, I was in the back 
of an EMS van rushing me to Belleview Hospital. I was stripped to my waist and had an IV in my arm 
and EKG sensors attached to my chest. The sirens were blaring as we zigzagged through traffic up 
the Lower East Side. I asked for the cell phone in   my jacket. I just heard, Andy said. Her voice was 
cracking with disbelief and sadness. Oh god, Nick. I just saw it at a coffee shop. It’s all over 
the news. I’m sorry, Andy. But I was more than sorry. How many times could I say those words to 
her? God damn it, Nick. Every cop in New York was down there. I know I sucked in a breath. One of 
the EMS people tried to take away the phone, but   I brushed him aside. The flesh wound in my side 
wasn’t hurting so much now. Nothing cut deeper than the anger and disappointment building inside 
me. The bastard killed my son, and now he’s free. He’s not free, I said. We’ll get him. I know how 
that sounds, but we’ll get him. The hospital was   only blocks away. I’ll get him. For a second, Andy 
didn’t answer. I didn’t know if she believed me, and in that moment, I didn’t care because I meant 
it. I’ll get him. I felt as if I might be passing   out as I disconnected from Andy with a mumbled by. 
The van was stopping at the emergency entrance. I never even told her that I’d been shot. Chapter 
72. Richard Nordyo shifted the Silver Voyager into the entrance lanes for the George Washington 
Bridge. The tie-up was massive and Nordenko wasn’t surprised. He scanned the radio news channels. 
They were already all over the story. Flashing police lights were everywhere. Every single 
vehicle was being checked. Trunks opened.   Trucks and vans were being pulled aside. Their 
cargos searched. Nordhenko looked up into the sky. Above him, he heard the whip whip whip from 
a police helicopter circling above. This wasn’t good. They had already changed cars twice. He 
had removed the beard and eyeglasses he’d worn in the courthouse. There was nothing to worry over, 
right? Just be calm. Cable was safely hidden in a hollowedout compartment under the rear seat. Even 
if the Bronco had been located by now, what did it matter? Everything was in order. No one could 
connect him to the vehicle he was driving now   unless they found Cavel. The tall steel towers of 
the bridge loomed about A4 mile ahead. Police on foot were making their way back toward their car. 
It was a typical code red response. SWAT teams and bomb sniffing dogs, well-trained perhaps, but with 
no practical experience. What’s the delay? The gruff voice said from the back. How does it look 
up there? Is everything okay? Relax. You should be honored. This is all for you. It’s cramped in here 
and hot. It’s been over an hour already. Not as   cramped as the isolation unit of a federal prison. 
Yes. Now, be quiet, please. There is one last checkpoint to pass through. Two policemen wearing 
armored vests and carrying automatic rifles were coming up to the Voyager. One of them tapped on 
the window with the barrel of his gun. License and   registration, please. And open the back. Nordink 
handed the officer his documents which showed he was a resident of 11 Barrow Street in Bon and 
that the van was registered to the Lucky George   Maintenance Service in Jersey City. Any word? Lord 
Denko asked him. I heard what happened. It’s all over the news. The officer checking his documents 
didn’t answer. The other flung open the hatch to the back and peered in. All that was visible back 
there was an industrial-sized vacuum cleaner, a rug cleaning machine, and some cleaning agents 
in a plastic tray. Still, Nordeno held his breath as the policeman poked around. Nordenko had a 
pistol strapped to his ankle. On a dry run the day before, he had decided what he would do. Take 
out the officers, run back against traffic to the   other lane where cars were still moving. Pull a 
driver out of any vehicle and get out of there. Cable was on his own. What’s that? One of the 
policemen barked. He pushed aside the machinery and pried open a compartment. Nordhenko nearly 
reached for his ankle, but didn’t. Not yet. His heart stood still. Take out both of them and 
run. There’s supposed to be a spare in here, the officer said. By law, what if this old piece 
of junk breaks down? He recovered the compartment. You’re right, officer. Nordeno slowly relaxed. I 
will tell it to my boss. I’ll tell him we owe you a free rug cleaning. The policeman handed Nordenko 
back his license as the cop and back slammed shut the doors. You don’t owe me, he said. Get a 
spare tire in here pronto. Consider it done. I hope you catch him, Nordhenko said. He raised the 
window and started to drive away. Minutes later, as he cleared the security area, traffic picked 
up pace. They crossed over the bridge. As soon   as he saw the signs separating New York from 
New Jersey, his heart started to slow down. Congratulations. We’re golden, he called back. By 
this time tomorrow, you’ll be out of the country. Good. Cable lifted himself out of the compartment. 
In the meantime, there’s been a change of plans. There’s something I have to take care of first, a 
debt I have to pay. Chapter 73. They drove west to Patterson. New Jersey on Cavella’s instructions, 
a treelined neighborhood of middle-class homes. Nordstrom pulled up in front of a modest, pleasant 
gray and white Victorian. It was April, but a nativity scene was still there from Christmas 
center stage in the small front yard. “Wait in the car,” Cavel said, tucking the handgun he had 
taken from Nordeno into his belt. “This isn’t what you’re paying me for,” the Israeli said. This is 
the kind of thing that can get us killed. In that case, said Cavlo, opening the door and turning up 
his collar. Think of it as on the house. He went around the side and pushed open a metal chainlink 
fence leading to the backyard. He was excited now. He kept his promises. That’s what made him who he 
was. People knew when the electrician promised to do something, it always got done, especially 
this promise. He walked up close to the house   until he came to a porch and back, screened 
in by wire mesh. Then he stopped. He heard the sound of a TV inside a children’s channel. 
He listened to the singong voices and some happy clapping. He saw the back of a woman’s head. 
She was sitting in a chair. Cable climbed the porch steps and opened the screen door. He had to 
laugh. Nobody needed alarms in this neighborhood,   right? It was protected. It was protected by him. 
You pull something in this neck of the woods, you might as well keep on running for the rest 
of your life. Rosie, how do you like your tea? A   woman’s voice called from inside. A little lemon, 
the woman in the chair said back. There should be some in the fridge. Then, hey, look at the little 
Lambi. Little Stephie? What does a little Lambie say? Cable stepped in from the porch. When 
the woman in the chair saw who it was, her   face turned chalk white. Dom. She was bouncing a 
baby girl no more than a year old on her lap. Hi, Rosie. Dominic Cable said and smiled. Panic crept 
over the woman’s face. She was in her early 50s in a floral shift with her hair up in a bun, a scent 
Christopher metal around her neck. She wrapped her arms around the child. They said you’d escaped. 
What are you doing here, Dom? I promised Ralphie something, Rosie. I always keep my promises. You 
know that. There was a noise from behind them, and a woman walked in carrying a tray with tea 
on it. Cable reached out his hand and shot her   with a silenced gun, the wound opening where 
her right eye had been. The woman fell over, and the tray hit the floor with a loud crash and 
clatter. Mary, mother of God, Ralph Juniata’s sister gasped. She hugged the child close 
to her breast. That’s one cute kid there,   Rosie. I think I see a little of Ralphie with 
those fat little cheeks. It’s my granddaughter, Dom. Rosy’s Scalpia’s eyes were flushed with 
panic. She glanced at her friend lying on the carpet. A red ooze trickling out of her eye. 
She’s only one year old. Do what you came here   to do. Just don’t hurt her, damn. She’s Simone’s 
daughter, not Ralphy’s. Please do what you have to do. Just leave my granddaughter alone. Why would 
I want to hurt your little nippetina? Rosie Cavala stepped closer. It’s just that I owe your little 
prick-faced brother a favor and theirs. Nothing we can do about that. Dom, please. The woman 
looked terrified. Please. The problem is, Rosie, even though I wish your little granddaughter here 
a long and healthy life after I square things a   little, he leveled the gun in the woman’s face. 
Truth is, hun, you just never know. He pulled the trigger and the top of Rose’s forehead blew out, 
sending a spatter of tapioca-like bone and brain over the drapes. Ralph Denuniata’s little grand 
niece started to cry. Cable knelt down and stuck his finger into the baby’s belly. Don’t cry. 
You’re a cute one, aren’t you, honey? He heard   the teak kettle whistling on the stove. Water’s 
ready, huh? Come here. He lifted the child up out of her dead grandmother’s arms. She stopped 
crying. That a girl. He stroked her back. Come, let’s take a little stroll with your uncle Dom. 
Chapter 74. They released me from the hospital at my own request later that day with a large bandage 
over my ribs, a vial of Vicodin, and the doctor’s order to go right home and rest. Truth is, I was 
lucky as hell. The bullet had barely grazed me, but I still had one hell of a rug burn on my side. 
Two agents from internal affairs debriefed me after I was treated. They drilled me over and 
over about the events at the courthouse. From   the moment I had seen what was taking place on 
the security screens to my run out to the lobby, I had discharged my gun. One of Cavella’s men 
was dead. And what was making it particularly ugly was that I wasn’t on active duty. But what 
was hurting me a lot more than my side was that it had been more than 5 hours now and there was 
no sign of Cavel or the black Bronco. We had the   escape routes blocked as well as we could. We had 
Cavella’s known contacts blanketed. But somehow, even with the tightest security ever for a trial, 
the son of had gotten away. Against my protests, a nurse had wheeled me down to the lobby at 
Bell, and I stiffly climbed into a waiting cab.   “West 49th and 9th,” I said, exhaling, resting my 
head against the seat and shutting my eyes. “Over and over, I saw the black Bronco speeding away, 
disappearing into traffic, and me unable to do a thing. How the hell had they pulled this off? Who 
was the gunman in the elevator? How under all that security had they been able to get a gun inside? 
I slammed the heel of my hand into the driver’s   barrier so hard I thought I broke my wrist. The 
driver turned a seek and a turban. Please, sir, this is not my key. Sorry, but I wasn’t completely 
sorry. I felt packed in a pressure cooker. My blood surged with this restless clawing energy 
about to explode. We had turned on 45th heading across town. I realized what was really scaring 
me. Going back to my apartment, shutting the door, facing the empty rooms, the useless stacks 
of evidence, just worthless paper now alone.   I was about to blow. I honestly felt like I 
could. We turned on to 10th. From the corner, I could already see my brownstone. This nervous, 
tightening rush swelled in my chest. I wrapped on the glass. I changed my mind. I said, “Keep 
driving.” Okay. The driver shrugged. Where to know? West 183rd, the Bronx. Chapter 75. I 
rang the buzzer repeatedly three, four times, and I knocked on the door. Finally, I heard 
a woman’s voice just a minute, coming just a   second. Andy opened the door. She was wearing a 
robe with a pink ribbed cotton tank underneath, her hair still loose and damp, presumably 
from the shower. She stared at me, surprised, my left arm hung limply at my side. My clothes 
were rumpled. I probably had a wild, crazed look in my eyes. Jesus, Nick, are you okay? I never 
answered because I really couldn’t at that moment. Instead, I backed Andy inside and pressed her 
against the wall. Then I kissed her as hard as   I could. Whatever came of it, well, suddenly she 
was kissing me back just as feverishly. I tugged the robe off her shoulders, ran a hand underneath 
the rib tank, hearing her soft moans. She had a sweet citrusy just out of the shower scent that 
I inhaled deeply. Jesus pelisante. She sucked in a breath. Her eyes were as wide and flaming as 
torches. You don’t even give girl time to breathe. I kind of like that. She started to pull my shirt 
out of my trousers. Then she went to unbuckle my   belt. That’s when I winced in pain. It felt like 
sandpaper raking across my side. Jesus, Nick, what’s wrong? I swung away from her, propping 
myself against the wall. Something ran into   me today at the courtroom. Andy gently raised 
my shirt and came upon the large bandage. Her eyes went wide. What happened to you? A bullet 
happened. I sniffed, letting out a frustrated groan. A bullet? Andy didn’t seem to find that 
amusing. Nick, you were shot. I was. I guess I still am. She helped me over to the couch where I 
slowly eased myself down, crumpled, actually. She gently unbuttoned the rest of my shirt. “Oh, God, 
Nick. Truth is, it just grazed me. It actually   looks worse than it feels.” “Oh, right. I can see 
that,” she said, nodding. She propped up my feet on the coffee table. “You were on the way to the 
hospital. That’s where you called me from.” “Nick,   what are you doing here?” “What did the doctor 
say?” He said, “Go straight home and take it easy.” I curled a contrite smile. So, what were 
you thinking that brought you here? I guess I was   thinking you might find it sexy or take pity on 
me. Andy’s incredulous stare burned a hole through me. I guess she didn’t find that funny either. She 
unbuttoned my shirt all the way and ran her hands   across the edge of the bandage and shrugged. 
I don’t know, maybe it is a little sexy. See, you’re crazy. She took off my shoes and placed the 
pillow behind my head. Can I get you anything? No, I’m loaded with painkillers. I pulled her into 
me. You? I need you. Oh, now I see you catch a little drug buzz. You knock on the one door where 
you figure you can get something. I shrugged. So,   was I right? She leaned forward and placed a kiss 
softly on my face. Another kiss brushed my lips. Maybe a bottle of wine would have worked, though. 
You didn’t have to go and get yourself shot. Damn,   I groaned disappointed. Why didn’t I think of that 
before? I pressed my thumb softly into the nape of her neck. I couldn’t go home, Andy. I didn’t want 
to be there right now. She nodded, brushing the hair out of her eyes. Just stay here. We don’t 
have to do anything. She rested her head against   my shoulder. I closed my eyes, shutting out the 
horror of what had happened today and my anger at watching Cavel escape. My side was aching like 
hell, and honestly, I didn’t know what I’d been   thinking coming here now. Thank God, she whispered 
against me. Thank God you’re okay. One thing about these mafia douchebags, they’re mean as but 
generally they’re poor. Shots, please don’t joke with me, Nick. This is very unnerving. Somebody 
tried to kill you. I shut up and I felt a tear,   her tear land on my chest. Sila’s gone, I said. I 
can’t believe it, but we don’t know where he is. I know, she whispered. For a while, we just sat 
there. It was starting to get woozy. Maybe from the Vicodin, maybe from the stress of the day. 
I won’t let you down, Andy. You know that, don’t   you? Well find a way to get him. I promise. 
Whatever it takes. I know, she said again. This time, I felt she did believe me. Chapter 76. The 
next morning, I found myself on Andy’s couch when I woke. A quilt pulled around me, pillows under 
my head. I had to leave. Andy was asleep in the   bedroom. I peeked in. I was about to leave a note, 
but I sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair. She opened her eyes. I’ve got to go. 
Where? She said, reaching for my hand from under the covers. I made you a promise last night. Got 
to go deliver. Andy nodded, eyes glistening. Come here. She had a sexy early morning voice that was 
proving tempting, and my side suddenly felt 100% better. For a second, I thought about taking off 
my clothes and climbing in bed with her. I owe you one, I said and squeezed her back. Whatever you 
want. How’s your side? Better. All I needed was a little TLC. I raised my arm, but not too far. 
What are you going to do, Nick? She looked at me a little more seriously. I knew what I was going to 
do first. It was no longer possible to stay on the sidelines. Cut my class. I smiled. I squeezed her 
shoulder, got up, and went to the door. Palisante, she called. Yeah, do me a big favor. Try not 
to get yourself shot or even shot at. I’ll talk to you later. I smiled. I went back to my place 
to shower and change. So, Batacle was over now. I was heading down to the Javitz building. On 
the cab ride, I checked in with my buddies at   the bureau. No sign of cavel. That didn’t shock 
me. I knew with the kind of planning they’d had, they’d have a perfect out. We had located the 
getaway vehicle, though. The black Bronco was found in a vacant lot on Henry Street, not four 
blocks from the courthouse. Turned out it had been   heisted two days before from a shopping mall on 
Sten Island. And the jersey plates were pulfurred, too. We had the entire eastern seabboard virtually 
closed down. Every airport and bridge, every port from Boston to Baltimore, but cave could be 
just about anywhere now. There’s something else, Nick. Ray Hughes exhaled. Ralph Duniata’s sister 
was found late yesterday. She was shot in her home right between the eyes. A neighbor who was 
apparently visiting with her was shot dead,   too. Christ. Nine. Same caliber that was used at 
the courthouse. We’re checking the ballistics now, but listen, it gets worse. Worse? How can it 
get worse? There was a kid there. The police found Denunziata’s one-year-old grand niece 
in the kitchen. Oh, come on, Ry. She’s alive,   but listen to this. She’s got severe burns 
over her face and hands. Hot water burns, Nick. What kind of creeped out monster is this? 
Anyway, there was a note scribbled on the kid’s bib. The handwriting people are looking it over 
now. An explosive tightening rage balled up in   my gut. What did it say? It said, “I keep my 
promises.” Chapter 77. I was burning now on fire. I went home and took that shower. The whole 
time I kept thinking of Ralphiey’s sister and that poor little one-year-old kid. On top of all 
the other things I was close to exploding about, now this horror. I sat there in my towel, staring 
at the photos of that animal cave. I had stuck on the kitchen wall, the piles of useless accumulated 
evidence until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I dressed and went and got my SAB out of the lot 
on 11th Avenue, but I wasn’t headed to the office. It didn’t matter anymore about what was right 
or appropriate behavior. I crossed the river   through the Lincoln Tunnel and turned onto Route 
3 to Sakus, New Jersey. Sakus was what came to my mind when they called New Jersey the armpit of 
the universe. Miles and miles of drive-in big box malls and fast food franchises stuck in between 
a toxic swamp and the Jersey Turnpike. About a mile down three, I pulled into the lot of a 
drab two-story cinder block building I knew   well. United Workers of Electrical Contractors 
of New Jersey, local 47 cables outfit. I opened the glass door and went straight past the startled 
receptionist, flashing my FBI shield. I’m going up to see Frankie Davio. The receptionist jumped 
up. Excuse me, sir. You can’t just I didn’t even wait for her to finish the sentence. Too 
broad. shouldered men who figured this as their job description jumped out of their chairs to 
block my way. Don’t even try it, I said as one of them stretched an arm out in front of me. My 
eyes were flashing and probably a little crazy. You understand? Mr. Davio’s not around. The goon 
grunted, looking as if he had flunked the screen test for the Sopranos too large. I shoved my 
ID in his face. This is the last time I say this nicely. Get out of my way. I hustled up the 
stairs, moving on pure adrenaline. Everyone in the building was probably connected. Feds didn’t burst 
in here alone without backup. The second floor was filled with union offices. Cables people who got 
the cushy assignments doing nothing but collecting cash. I went down the hall as the bozos from 
the lobby followed behind. A few secretaries looked up trying to figure out what was going 
on. Another guy stepped in my way. Dark glasses and an open wide collar shirt over a polyester 
suit. Excuse me, sir. He flipped open his jacket, exposing his piece. I didn’t even wait for him to 
pull it. I pulled mine. I stuck the muzzle under his nose and pushed the startled gangster against 
the wall. I pressed my FBI ID close to his face. “This says, “Yes, I can.” People started getting 
up from their desks behind me. I saw that the two goons who’d followed me from the lobby had their 
pieces out. This is a legitimate private business, the guy against the wall declared. “Our corporate 
council is down the hall. You’re here without an appointment or a legitimate business purpose. Show 
me a subpoena or a warrant, special agent, or get the hell out. I pressed the gun into his cheek. 
I asked to see Frank Davio as you were told, and he looked at me straight on. Mr. Davio is not 
on the premises. You can’t see him if he’s not here. Just then, a door opened at the end of the 
hall. A heavy set man stepped out, ruddy cheeks, hair combed over in a short nylon jacket, and an 
open plaid shirt. Agent Bellisante. Frank Dilavio said in a raspy voice. Sally, why didn’t you 
just tell me you was special agent? Dillisante, I just came back in. Come on, step into my 
office. They must not have known I was here.   Chapter 78. It is still special agent, isn’t 
it? Dilavio grinned. Or maybe we should call you professor. I hear you were teaching a class. 
Frankie was Dominic Cavella’s longtime number two, but in the big boss’s absence, he was running the 
show. On the family chart, he was known as the under boss. He’d been married for 30 years to one 
of Veto Genevies’s nieces. Royalty Coinstra style, but not exactly. One of the five good 
emperors. He’d probably ordered 10 to 20 murders we couldn’t pin him on. I followed Frank 
into his office. There was a cheap hardwood desk cluttered with pictures of his family. On the 
walls, there were some cheesy prints of Italy   and a signed photo of Derek Jeder eating at one 
of Frankie’s restaurants. A few tubes containing rolledup architectural plans were leaning 
against the wall. I smiled. I wasn’t sure Frankie Davio had ever been near a construction 
site in his life. So, you have to excuse me, he motioned me to sit. I’ve been out of touch the 
past few days down in Atlantic City checking out a big site. So, tell me, he grinned, smirking. 
How goes the trial? You, you cockroach, I said, grabbing him by the collar and taking him right 
out of his leather chair and pushing him against   the wall. I want to know where he is. A few books 
and artifacts fell to the floor. The grin on Frank Davio’s face disappeared. This was not 
a small man, and no one, not even the cops, pushed him around. I invited you in here as a 
friend. Nikki smiles. There’s about two dozen people out there who don’t have much to do in 
their life. They can blow off your head. You’re   not even on active duty, Pelisante. You sure you 
want to do this now? I asked about Cavel, I said, pushing him harder against the wall. How would I 
know, Nikki? I told you I’ve been out of touch.   Besides, the boss doesn’t clue me in on every 
little decision he makes. Every little decision. I smiled, the ranker boiling over inside. You 
know, Frankie, the only reason I never closed you down was because I thought you had the only sense 
of humor in this bag outfit. Otherwise, you’d be   waiting for your trial. Same as him. But I’ll 
bring you in, Frankie. I could do it tomorrow. There’s enough on you. I swear we’ll close this 
whole operation down. You’ll lose all the beamers,   your fat cat jobs. You know what I think, Nikki? 
Frankie stared as he spoke. He shook his head at me with a little smile. I don’t think you have 
the clout to do that right now. I don’t even think   you’re on this case. The only reason I let you 
in here was out of respect to your past position. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d let go of my 
shirt before I call in our lawyer down the hall   and he slaps you in the bureau with a harassment 
suit. That wouldn’t go over well in the classroom, would it, Nikki? We’re not talking business as 
usual, Frankie. I tighten my grip. This isn’t going away. This is like bin laden. You don’t want 
to step anywhere near this. I’ll give you a week,   then I’ll do what I promised. I’ll shut the 
whole operation down. I let go of his collar, but I still stared at him. That was a one-year-old 
kid your boss burned up. Frankie could have been your granddaughter. Delavio straightened his shirt 
collar. I don’t know where Dominic Cavalo is, and that’s the truth. And just for the record, Nikki, 
no way that could ever be my grandkid, Nick, cuz I’d never rat him out. Then Delavio grinned, 
flexing his shoulders. But if he happens to call in or send me a postcard, I promise you’ll be the 
first to know, even before his own wife. And kids, Nikki smiles. He grinned. Anything you want me 
to tell him? You know, if he should write in just   this, I smoothed out the mobster’s jacket. Tell 
him I keep my promises, too. Chapter 79. An hour later, I was in front of assistant director 
in charge Michael Chaffy, who ran the FBI’s   New York office. I want back in, I said. Chaffy 
was my boss. He was the one who had placed me on administrative leave after I beat Cavel. Outside 
of the Politico’s down in DC, he was one of the most senior people in the FBI, Nick. He leaned 
back in his chair. No one holds you responsible for what happened yesterday. That’s not what it’s 
about, Mike. Ko is, and I know more about him than   anyone in the bureau. Besides, we both know I’m 
a little too late in the game to ever qualify for tenure. The ADIC smiled. He stood up, stepped over 
to his office window. You could see ground zero from there, the vast empty space. Beyond it, the 
Statue of Liberty. So, how are the ribs? No harm, no foul. I raised my arms. I get a big fat 
combination for being wounded in the line of duty. And I didn’t even have to stay overnight. That’s 
sort of the problem, Nick. Chai smiled again,   but this time tightly, his hands against the 
sill. You weren’t exactly in the line of duty. And Ray’s been handling this for 8 months now. And 
right now, the shit’s hitting the fan a little. I stood up, too. This isn’t about Ray. Mike, 
I’ll report to him. I don’t care. Just put me   back on assignment. You need me. I looked at the 
boss. I had served under for 8 years. I need it, Mike. The ADIC looked closely at me. I couldn’t 
quite read him. He stepped back to his desk and picked up a file. It looked like a field report. 
I heard you paid a visit this morning to a certain union headquarters in New Jersey. You’re not on 
active duty, Nick. You can’t go wild on a whim. We’ve got our people on this, Nick. They can’t be 
looking over their shoulder. I understand that,   Mike. That’s why I want back in. Joffy sat back. 
I was just waiting for the nod. He let out a long, deliberating breath. I can’t. You what? If 
the ADIC had pulled out a gun right there and popped a couple of hollowpoint rounds into 
my chest, I don’t think I would have looked at   him with more surprise. Mike, you’re one of the 
best I have, Nick, but you’re too close to this case. Way too close. Too emotional. This isn’t a 
witch hunt, Nick. It’s an FBI investigation. The answer’s no. I sat there jaw hanging, the words 
digging their way into my brain one by one. I’ll give you another assignment if you want back in. 
Wall Street anti-terrorism. Name it, Nick. But not this. Not this. I stood there absorbing the blows. 
I tracked this bastard for years. I’d lost two men bringing him in. I didn’t want another assignment. 
All I could do was stare back blankly. Please,   Mike. No. The ADIC shook his head again. I’m 
sorry, Nick. You’re out and I won’t change my mind. Chapter 80. Richard Nordeno had flown back 
out of Washington DC, right under the almighty US government’s nose through London, then on to tell 
Avive. Then he drove along the coast back to Hifa. A cockakas were blooming as he piloted his custom 
Audi S6 up the heights of Mount Carmel to his home high above the Mediterranean. He had burned his 
extra passports before he left the states. He would never need them again. Father Pavl gleefully 
shouted as Nordenko stepped through the door. He was 2 days early. His wife Meera ran out of the 
kitchen. Richard, is that you? It’s me, Nordhenko, answered. He hugged both of them tightly, each 
in an arm. 3 days before he didn’t know if he would ever see them again. It’s good to be 
home, and it was. Through the glass doors, the deep turquoise of the Mediterranean was 
like a welcome, moodlifting tonic to him,   and the tender embrace of his family. He would 
never deceive them again. He had all the money he needed. His career was over. This was a young 
man’s game after all. Father, come see. Pavl pulled him by the hand. I found a defense against 
Casparov’s Spanish opening. I’ve solved it. What an Einstein we’ve raised. He joked to Meera. 
No, what a Casparov, said Pavl. The boy tugged him into his room. Nordeno was exhausted, and not 
just from the flight. He had dropped Cavalo off at a safe house they had arranged near Baltimore. The 
bastard was to be CR dead up and put on a frighter and to where Nordhenko found some amusement in 
his destination. Even Interpol would not go there. He was happy to part ways. The malicious animal 
killed for sport, not for business or necessity. It was his nature. Back in Russia, they would spit 
and call him a devil. Well, he had done his job. He hoped he would never see that piece of garbage 
again in his life. Look, father. Pavle dragged him over to the chesset. The boy held up a queenside 
bishop. You see, Nordinko nodded. But in truth, he didn’t. He was so incredibly weary. The board 
was a jumble to him. Chess was a young man’s game, too. But he smiled, tussling the young child’s 
hair. Look in the bag. I’ve got something for you, he said. The boy hurriedly undid the wrapping. His 
eyes grew wide. World championship poker. Pavle’s face erupted in joy. Come, he said, pushing the 
chessboard aside. Let’s play. My little Einstein wants to play poker. Okay, we’ll go best out 
of three. Then I get to sleep for about a week.   Nordishko pulled up his seat, recalling his great 
bluff back in New York, which seemed a lifetime ago. And I’ve got quite a poker story for you, 
Pavl. His feet felt like twice their normal size. Just let me take off these shoes. Chapter 81. For 
a week straight, I never left my apartment. I kept replaying the tape from Cavella’s Escape. The 
scene in the elevator. I even timed it exactly 47 seconds. I’d watch it over and over. Then I’d 
rewind it and play it again and again and again. The phone would ring, my doctor checking up on 
me, my department head from school, the bureau.   There was still an inquiry going on. And Andy, she 
called my cell phone a couple of times. Finally, I stopped picking up even myself. All I did was 
watch the tape. Each time it was the same. Cable lunges out, hits the button. The two marshals 
try to rein him in. The doors open. In steps the guy with the beard, surprising them. No time to 
react. He takes out the marshalss, flips cable,   the disguise. In a moment, they’re gone. I focused 
on the guy with the beard, zoomed in on his face. I tried to memorize every line, every feature. 
I kept running through the Homeland security   photo books I’d been given. I didn’t know what 
I was looking for, but something there had to be something. Cavel was gone, probably already 
out of the country by now. You could get aboard a freighter out of Newark or Baltimore. You 
could hop a private jet to some landing strip in Mexico without filing a flight plan. passports 
could be doctorred. I kept reminding myself I’d been an FBI officer for 13 years. It had been my 
world my life. The vows I took to uphold the law, these were sacred vows. But something Andy said 
had got me thinking. You can’t make the world   come out right just because you want it that way. 
She had whispered to me through the door. Outside darkness had fallen again. I took another swig of 
beer. I rewound the tape. I remembered what I’d said back to her through the door. I can try. 
Chapter 82. The buzzer rang, startling me. I thought about just letting it go. Don’t even move. 
Whoever it is, they’ll go away. They always do. I took another sip of beer and let it go down slow. 
The ringing continued, insistent, irritating, then maddening. Nick, come to the door. Don’t be 
a poop. It was Andy. Maybe I was ashamed to see her because I’d made promises that now seemed 
empty. Maybe I was afraid to cause her more pain or drag her in now that I’d made up my mind 
what I wanted to do. The buzzing continued. Nick, please. You’re being a jerk. Maybe because I knew 
if I opened that door, I wouldn’t be able to close   her out again. And maybe that scared me a little. 
Maybe it scared me a lot. But she was sitting on that damn buzzer. I paused the tape. Then I 
walked into the hallway. I stood for a moment in front of the door, still not sure what I was 
going to do. She buzzed again. Hey, I called out, finally opening the latch. I’m coming. She was 
dressed in a green cowleneck sweater over jeans. You look awful, she said, staring at me. Thanks. 
I let her in. How? I started, but she cut me off. You look like you’ve been wearing the same clothes 
for a week, and a shave sure wouldn’t hurt. How   did you find me? She stepped into the apartment, 
her eyes surveying the place. You think there’s another Nicholas Palisanti who was shot and taken 
to Metropolitan Hospital. You didn’t return my   calls. You’d make a good cop, I said, shuffling. 
Into the living room, you make a lousy friend. You’re right. I’m sorry. Apology not accepted. 
This could be a nice apartment. Andy took off her coat and scarf and dripped them over a chair. 
I sat down against the padded arm of the couch. I went to the bureau after I left the other day. I 
tried to put myself back on the case. Okay. They told me I was out off the case. No way in hell 
I’d ever get back on. Andy looked shocked. Why? Too emotional. They said too close. They’ll hook 
me up with any case I want. Just not this one. That seems totally unfair. What are you going 
to do now? I looked up at her. her molten eyes,   the sweater contracting and expanding with 
her breaths. I don’t really know. H Andy, you know what? She came over and stood in front 
of me. She cuped my face in her hands. You are   too emotional, Pelisante. You are too close. She 
brushed a kiss against my cheek, then my eyes, my lips. I pulled her into me. Her mouth was soft and 
warm and tasted delicious. This time she kissed me hard. My hand traveled under her sweater over her 
bra. Every nerve in my body was excited on edge. The hairs on my neck were standing. Andy had very 
soft skin, very nice breasts. She kissed me again, unbuttoning my shirt, popping a button. She ran 
her tongue across my shoulders and chest, licking along the edge of my wound. Then she yanked her 
sweater over her head. Was this a good idea? Did it matter? Not anymore. It didn’t. I pulled her to 
the couch, undoing her pants. She grappled with my trousers, kissing me again, her thick hair falling 
all over my face. “I think we need each other, Nick,” she whispered, touching her lips to my 
cheek. Whatever the reasons, it’s just the way   it is. I slid out of my pants and back onto the 
couch and I pulled her soft body onto mine. I was finally inside her and it felt right. We started 
to move against each other into each other.   Whatever. I’m not arguing. I’m glad you came. Not 
yet, but very soon. Chapter 83. The first time we made love like two starved people who couldn’t get 
enough of each other who hadn’t been with anyone   for a long time, which happened to be the truth. 
It was sweaty and frantic. And at that slapping breakneck pace, we couldn’t hold back and didn’t. 
I think we both came at about the same time,   locking hands, locking on each other’s eyes, maybe 
already falling in love. “Oh jeez,” Andy collapsed into me, her hair damp with perspiration, her body 
drenched and spent. “That was long overdue, wasn’t   it?” “Yeah,” I said, exhaling, agreeing, rolling 
onto my back. “Overdue.” The second time it was a lot, more tender. We moved into the bedroom with 
a bottle of Italian Proco on the night table, Tory Amos on the CD player. This time it was 
slow and much more romantic. At least my idea of romance. It was like slow dancing. We found 
this nearly perfect rhythm. Both of our bodies were slick with sweat. I loved it. The third time 
we went back at it like numo uno. Couldn’t control ourselves. The hottest yet probably the best. I 
guess it was something we were dying to do for   a long time. The fourth. All right. There was no 
fourth. We were too empty, too spent. We just lay there coiled together in each other’s arms. Andy’s 
heart was racing against my chest. I loved that, too. Don’t get the wrong impression, she 
whispered. I’m not that easy. I usually don’t   give it up until the second trial. Me either, I 
said, breathing heavily. Unless we’re unable to reach a conviction. We stayed like that for a 
while, entwined and exhausted. It took all my remaining strength just to caress the curls of her 
hair with one finger. I meant what I said before, Nick. She whispered. I know how much you want, 
Cavel. And I know how much it hurts after what   happened the other day. I know what it feels like 
having the thing you want most in the world taken from you. I know you do, I said, squeezing her 
tight. What I’m trying to say is I want whatever happens between us to be in spite of that, Nick. 
Okay, Andy. I’m not going back to some job at the bureau policing corporate tax returns. I can’t. 
I’m going to get cave with their help or without for you. For me, it doesn’t matter. I can’t be 
right until it’s done. Until it’s over. And me?   She shrugged. Am I wrapped up in that too? You? I 
leaned on my elbow and smiled. I think we’re sort of wrapped up in each other right now. I’m 
serious, she said. What happens now? Now I   didn’t have an answer. I was a little scared by 
this incredible magnetism between us. In fact, I felt myself come alive again. All of a sudden, 
we were at it again. My hands massaging her. Andy making ever descending circles with her nails just 
above my crotch. Now I rolled on top of her again. I guess we go for four. Chapter 84. Andy and I 
made love a lot over the next couple of days. Four turned into seven. 7 into 10. But neither 
of us was really counting. Nothing as rational as that. A couple of times we even got dressed and 
went out in the neighborhood for a meal or some   coffee. But all it took was a look, that look, 
and we’d rush back. Maybe both of us just needed the thrill of feeling excited again. After our 
long inward thaw, I couldn’t take my hands off, Andy. I couldn’t wait to feel her body next to 
me merged with me. I didn’t want to be separated   from her. Cavel could wait for a while, just this 
once. It was like the tap was wide open and the water kept pouring out. We both needed it, but the 
reprieve didn’t last very long. I hadn’t checked my messages for days. When a call came in, we’d 
listen to the voice on the machine and pretend it was a million miles away until this one call. The 
caller’s voice froze me with surprise. Hey, Palisante. The smirking Jersey accent was about 
the last one I expected to hear. I spun over to the side of the bed and fumbled for the phone. 
Frankie Nikki smiles. Frank Davio acted as if you were talking to a long-lost friend. You know 
that postcard I was talking about from that mutual   friend of ours. I know who you’re talking about, 
Frank. Well, wouldn’t you know? I got one after all. How about that? I stood up. Where is he, 
Frank? It was more of a demand than a question. Where is he? Dilavio chuckled clearly. Finding 
amusement in twisting me on a string. He’s at the end of the earth, Nikki boy. He told me to tell 
you that. The scumbag started laughing. That’s   what he said to say. The end of the earth. Nikki 
smiles. Maybe he knew. Maybe he knew I was out of the game. That I couldn’t touch him. Whatever 
he said or did. I clenched my fists and felt the   blood surging through my veins. I told him you 
needed to know and it was urgent. Frank Davio said, still chuckling. He told me to send you his 
regards. He said to make sure I said that those exact words, end of the earth. Come and get me. 
Nikki smiles part three. The eel chapter 85. You never quite know when the breakthrough comes. 
That one casing clue. Usually it’s not an aha, just someone talking to someone else rolling 
over to escape prison time. Sometimes it’s one   of those moments though. A blur in a sky full 
of shining stars that all at once take shape and become stunningly clear for me. That moment 
came while watching the courthouse tape. Those 47 seconds I’ve been over so many times. A buddy in 
C10 kept me going with updates on the case for old times sake. A female court employee named Monica 
and Romano had been found murdered the day after Cavella’s escape and they were looking into it. 
Her mother said she’d been seeing someone. She’d never met him, nor had Monica Anne’s friends at 
work, but she knew he had an accent of some kind. The cops were thinking she may have been 
blackmailed into planting a gun inside the   courthouse. The getaway. Bronco had been 
ripped apart for Prince and DNA. The house where Denuniata’s sister had been killed turned 
up nothing. The neighborhood around Patterson, New Jersey was being canvased. Every toll camera 
on I 95 in the Jersey Turnpike was being reviewed. It was the middle of the night when I found it. 
I hadn’t been able to sleep. I was at my desk on my computer going through the courthouse tape 
for maybe the thousandth time. I had printed off the face of the guy with the beard to show to 
Ajelov, running over what leverage I could apply, which was basically none. I’d let the tape roll 
to the end. My eyes were growing heavy. It was after 200 in the morning. I needed a little sleep. 
I made a move to rewind. Then suddenly, I stopped. I blinked. It was a Eureka sensation, as though 
I just found a cure for cancer or a deadly virus. There it was. I leaned forward, panning in with 
the remote on the accomplice with the beard, but   not his face this time, or the gun or his watch. 
Things that were already burned into my memory on the son of a bitch’s shoes. I pressed the remote, 
zooming in on the shoes. I was wittied now. There was a distinct rubber logo above the heel, some 
kind of circle with a wavy line bicting it. Jesus, Nick, why hadn’t I seen this before? I knew those 
shoes. My chest started to pound. 3 years before I had made a special trip to the Middle East to 
train inspectors. The shoes were Israeli made for   the Israeli army for extra support. I had even 
worn them there. Chapter 86. Cable’s accomplice had to be Israeli. I actually had something. The 
frustration of losing that black bronco was fading away. It was almost morning. It took another 
cup of strong coffee to keep me focused, but I started going back through the books of terror 
suspects. I had gotten from Homeland Security. I felt I had something to fix on. The needle in 
the haste stack had just gotten a bit larger.   Most faces appeared to be Middle Eastern, but I 
leafed past those. I was looking for a European. I had an approximate height and weight. 300 turned 
into 330. Then four. There were books and books of faces to scan through. Hundreds Pakistanis, 
Basque separatists, al-Qaeda sympathizers, FALN, IRA, all were on some kind of terror watch radar. 
All had been thought to be in the country at some time. Many had explosives knowledge. Four started 
to bump up to five. I never even noticed when the first rays of light hit my window. Then something 
made me stop. I came upon someone else. Maybe I’d passed him before. Maybe I’d passed the face a 
dozen times. The man had short brown gray hair and Slavic features. serious slate gray eyes, Russian. 
And that wasn’t all that interested me. He was an ex-member of the Spitznuts Brigade Army Special 
Forces. He’d been stationed in Cheschna. In 1997, he went a wall. For a long time, he had simply 
disappeared. He was thought to have gone over   to the rebel side. Remikov Kolia. I pulled out 
the file. He’d been implicated in several mafia type slayings throughout Russia and Europe. A 
corrupt police inspector. Incent. Petersburg. a testifying gangster in Moscow. He was also being 
sought for questioning in the very public killing of a Venezuelan oil minister a year ago in Paris. 
But what really stopped me wasn’t just his resume, which had promise or even those brooding dark 
eyes. It was that he’d been wounded in Cheshna. His right leg had been struck by shrapnel from an 
exploding grenade. He was thought to still walk   with a slight limp. I was thinking about those 
shoes. I put the small file photo close to the screen side by side against a frame from the 
courthouse tape. Holy, it was a long shot, but it just could be. I glanced at the clock. It was 
already after 5. Nothing was going to happen here, but that meant it was lunchtime halfway around 
the world. I opened my desk and leaped through packets of business cards I’d held together with 
rubber bands. I had a number somewhere for the anti-terror desk at the Russian security service 
in Moscow. I’d used it when we wanted to extradite a contract killer who had worked for the Russian 
mob and had fled back home. I frantically searched through my files and found it. Lieutenant Yuri 
Play of Federal Security Service FSB. I dialed the 13-digit European number. I was praying to find 
him at his desk. It was a prayer answered when I heard his voice. Black off that Yuri. Hello, you 
may remember me. I reintroduced myself, reminding the Russian official who I was. It was a bonus 
to be able to keep this call this far away from   the bureau. Sure, I recall you, Inspector. Yuri 
Plays English was well practiced and colloquial. We tracked down that mafio of yours, Federerv, 
right? Good memory, Yuri. I congratulated him. Now, I need you to run someone else through your 
files. I read him off the name. Remov stretched it   out. Rings a bell. I gave him a moment while he 
punched it in. A little early back there. Is it not inspector? Yes, I answered quickly. Not into 
small talk. It is here. It is Inspector Remlick of Kolia wanted in questioning with several murders 
throughout Russia and Europe. Quite a dossier among his credits. He suspected of taking part 
in bringing down an entire apartment building in Vulgadansk in which a government official resided. 
24 people were killed. My adrenaline was pumping. How do I find this man? Yuri, I’m afraid I’m 
unable to give you his mobile number. Inspector Poff chuckled. It’s clear here he’s used several 
aliases and passports. Estonian, Bulgarian, names of Christ, Danalof, Mustar. We think he was in 
Paris last year when that Venezuelan oil minister was killed. The trail is very gray. I doubt he is 
in Russia. It says he is known here, Inspector, as the Ahop the eel. Very slippery. Yes, I can send a 
faxamile of his fingerprints if you like. Please, I answered the eel. A slimy eel. Things were 
starting to add up. Where would I start to look?   Yuri, the Russian paused, scrolling farther down 
the file. Perhaps with your own State Department inspector. Judging from what I see, they may 
be better help than us. The State Department? Our State Department? Why is that? Ramlikov’s 
last known whereabouts. He is thought to be an Israel inspector. Chapter 87. Finally, I was on 
to something. The bearded face now had a name and a history. Remikov’s prince came in over 
the facts a short time later, but my eyes had started to close. I dozed off until 9 0 0. Then 
I shaved and showered and called a colleague I had worked with at the FBI. I asked if I could 
meet him around 10 0. Silchamra was a plump, likable Indian whose office wasn’t in the bureau’s 
official offices downtown. He was in a nondescript warehouse building up on 18th and 10th overlooking 
the river. Chamra headed up a specialized area of the department we called CAF, computer assass 
assisted forensics. These were the guys who could trace emails, hack into computers, worm their way 
through coded passwords, track the complicated movements of cash overseas. I had last worked 
with him tracking the flow of Cavella’s union paybacks to the Cayman Islands. Sil’s other talent 
was manipulating digital images. Hello, Nick. The techie lit up as I walked in the door of his lab. 
The technical guys Always liked it when one of the so-called glamour boys showed up. Haven’t seen you 
in a while. What have you been up to? I’m good, chummy. I lied. Busy. These technical wizzes 
worked in their own little specialized cocoon up here. No reason he’d know what I was up to. Or in 
this case, wasn’t you got that email I sent over? I got it. The Indian wheeled over to a Mac screen 
down the line may be a little disappointed. Got it uploaded right here. Cenel touched the mouse and 
the image of Cable’s bearded accomplice jumped on the screen. Okay, Nick, tell me what is it you 
want me to do? I want to change around the image,   chummy. See if it matches someone I know. He 
nodded, hunching over the screen and cracking his knuckles. He clicked the mouse again. A grid 
appeared over the image. Shoot. First, I want to lose the beard. Easy. Cenel typed in a few 
coordinates, and the image immediately narrowed into just a square of the suspect’s face. Then, 
using a cursor, he outlined the area of the beard. Gently he moved his cursor back and forth as if he 
was airbrushing. “What are you on to these days?” he asked while he worked. His fingers guiding 
the cursor like a surgeon’s ess with Cavalo and all. What are you thinking? He changed his face 
on you. Sort of, I said, not picking up on his   inquisitiveness. Just a hunch, a hunch, he sighed, 
dropping the conversation. This process is called grafting and displacement, he said, continuing 
to carve away the facial hair, tracing it around the chin. Essentially, we eliminate a field, skin 
tone, a scar, in this case, a beard. In a moment, the facial area was blank, and Cenel retrieved a 
section of skin from another part of the image and   filled in the space. Then we just grafted onto it. 
He smoothed out the facial lines. Cut and paste. That’s good, I said, leaning over his shoulder. 
Now, what do you say we try and alter the hair?   Make it short and close to the skull. A little 
darker. You mean like this? He pressed an icon and a file of various hairstyles came up. Then 
he chose one fitting my description and basically transplanted it over the newly configured face. 
Now set the hairline back a bit around the sides. Chummy started playing around with the cursor 
again. Yes, like that. Now, can we ditch the   eyeglasses? Faster than las. He grinned. Cheaper, 
too. It took about a minute of more grafting and displacement. The man’s dark glasses disappeared. 
[ __ ] uh I exclaimed. The image on the screen almost knocked me on the floor. Anything else, 
Nick. If you’re not satisfied, give me the word. I’ll make him look like anyone you like. No, 
Chummy. I patted his shoulder. I think we’re done. I pulled out the file of Kolia Rimikoff that Yuri 
Playoff had faxed me. I put Remikov’s face side by side against the altered image of Cavella’s 
accomplice. Bingo, Silchra said. We were staring at the same man. Chapter 88. 13 years of working. 
My way up through one of the most bureaucratic law enforcement agencies in the world told me to go 
straight to the Javit’s building and drop what I had write on attic Chaffy’s desk. There wasn’t 
much doubt that Kolia Ramikov was the man who had sprung cable. I got as far as hailing a cab on 
the corner. Then something made me hold back. I wasn’t sure exactly what. Maybe it was the thought 
of handing Ramikov over to the very people who   had let him escape or the sudden realization of 
just how difficult this could prove to be getting through channels interrogating him. Which agencies 
would be involved? Would I be involved? One leak and Raav could disappear and with him cave. Then 
where would we be? I’d spent so many years doing the right thing. Suddenly the right thing didn’t 
seem so right anymore. I waved the taxi on. I just went back and leaned against the building for 
a while, holding the photos, trying to decide   what the right thing was. When it hit me, I told 
myself, “For professor of criminal ethics, Nick, you’re about to do one very stupid thing.” I 
looked up a number in my Blackberry and placed   a call. I asked Steve Bushnel if he had plans 
for lunch. Steve was a partner in a private law firm now, but he used to advise the FBI. He was an 
expert on matters of extradition and international law. Lunch? Where? Bushel asked. And fast, I said. 
I’m buying. How fast? The lawyer asked. Hop in the elevator. I’ll be right outside. When he stepped 
out of the lobby of the big glass tower on 6th   Avenue, I was leaning on a parked car holding 
out a couple of hot dogs. Ketchup or mustard. Not to be particularly lawyerly about it, but how 
about both? We sat on a ledge on the busy corner. The lunch hour crowd streaming by. Steve, I’ve got 
someone I want to get to who’s fled to Israel. Get to I need to get him back. Bushel took a bite. Are 
we talking fugitive or a citizen here? Citizen? I suspect he’s been there a while. And what you 
want him for? These are crimes committed in   the United States, not Israel, right? We’re 
just talking, right, Steve? He waved his dog at me. I assure you, you’re not paying me enough for 
anything more specific. I grinned. Okay, then we might be talking some other things in Russia and 
France as well. Bushegel grunted. The Israelis are cooperative to a degree. You remember Jonathan 
Pard? We arrested him for espionage in 1985 in the Israelis eyes unjustly. They’ve been trying 
to get him back unsuccessfully for 20 years. And that electronics guy who fled there, crazy Eddie 
Anton. Look at how long it took to get him back. Of course, it all depends on what we’re really 
talking here. Talking in the post 911 world, the lawyer shrugged. Do the Israelis want something 
from us? Are the other governments involved? Look, Nick, I didn’t become a complete dummy when I 
left the government. I know we’re not chasing   tax cheats here. If the evidence is solid, you 
could definitely get the guy held for questioning, but what kind of access you’d have and how 
long that would take, that’s all up for   grabs. How time-sensitive is this? The highest, I 
shrugged glumbly. Off the charts, always is. Well, factor into this the matters of state, too. Does 
this have any rhythm for the Israelis? Do they want to make a deal with us? Do they want to make 
a deal with the Russians or the French before they   turn him over? It’s delicate, Nick, and I don’t 
think that’s a word that sits particularly well with you. I nodded. Look, you’d get him held. You 
get a lot of people involved, but what happens   next is anybody’s guess. Then there’s always the 
chance they drag their feet, the guy slips away, and you never hear from him again. I can’t take 
that risk, I said, shaking my head. I understand. Bushel nodded. Problem is, though, it’s still 
the only game in town. In the real world, yes, I nodded. I baldled up my rapper. I knew Steve was 
wondering why I had come to him. He had left the government long ago. There were plenty of lawyers 
on staff who could handle this kind of matter.   Just for the record, Nick, he looked closely at 
me. Is there any other chapter 89? I traced the edge of my fingernail along the slope of Andy’s 
back. Don’t, she stirred, snuggling up to me. I’d been thinking all night since I left. Steve 
Bushel, in the real world, I knew I would have Rikov arrested. I would lead the interrogation. 
He would give up Cavla and I would go get him. That was my job. It was just that the real world 
had gotten a lot more complicated lately. I ran my fingers along Andy’s spine again. This time 
she turned and faced me, resting on her arm. She saw something was serious. What is it? I may 
have a line, I said. I’m the man who blew up the bus. Andy sat up, the sleep already gone from her 
eyes. What are you talking about, Nick? I’ll show you. I reached over and opened a manila envelope I 
had on the night table. In a long row on the bed, I spread several black and white glosses. Homeland 
security photos of Kolia Ramlikoff and the ones Yuri Playoff had sent me. His name is Ramikov. I 
said he’s Russian. He’s a killer for hire and a particularly good one. He’s got a very bloody 
resume. I think Cavel may have got him through   the Russian mob. I think he’s in Israel. Andy’s 
eyes widened at the photos. I put down the one Chummy had doctorred in his lab showing the 
man in the elevator without his disguise. They stretched wider. She picked it up and stared 
at the angular dark-featured face a long time. Why do you think he was the one who blew up the bus? 
This I removed two final photographs. The first one I had given seen. This photo I had found 
myself from hours and hours of plugging through   the courthouse security cameras. Not from the day 
of the escape, but from earlier from Cave’s first trial. Take away the sideburns. Dark glasses. 
I put a cleaned up image next to it. Oh my god. She picked it up, jaw tightening, gazing at the 
face with a hurt, stunned expression, then her   eyes filled with tears. Why did you keep this from 
me? She asked her back to me. I didn’t. I only got these photos today. So what happens now? You give 
this to your people? She said excitedly. They go and get him. Tell me that’s the way it goes. I 
don’t know. It may not be that easy. The Israelis will have to be contacted. It involves governments 
procedures. This sort of evidence is highly speculative. Photos can always be doctorred. You 
never know what will happen. What do you mean   you don’t know? This man killed federal marshals 
and he helped cave escape. He blew up the loaded jury bus. Nick, he killed my little boy. I know, 
but it’s complicated, Andy. Raikoff is a foreign citizen. There may be other governments involved, 
other law enforcement agencies. Then the Israelis have to agree to give him up. What are you 
saying, Nick? Alarm rose up in her eyes. They can go get this guy. You know where he is? These 
are your people, Nick. What does the bureau think? I shook my head, waited a second, then I spoke 
again. I didn’t take it to the bureau. Andy,   she blinked like a fighter trying to clear his 
head after a stunning punch. She kept looking at me, trying to read my face. What are you saying, 
Nick? I’m saying a man like this would disappear   the second he knew people were on to him. And the 
instant Cal finds out we’re on to them, he takes off, too. I looked at her, eyes clear. We’ve lost 
Cavel twice. We’re not losing him again. I think at that moment she knew what I was proposing. The 
angry flesh on her face was swept away and it was replaced by a look of clarity. When she looked at 
me again, I think she understood what kind of man   I was. I told you I was going to get him, Andy. 
She nodded. I’m not even going to ask Nick. I just want you to know whatever it takes, I’m with you. 
Do you hear me? Do you understand? Not on this,   I said. This is something I have to do alone. You 
don’t want to be involved. No. Andy smiled thinly. That’s where you’re wrong. I know exactly what 
you have to do, Nick, and I’m already involved.   Not like this. What I had to do was in another 
country and was way, way outside the law. Yes, like this, Nick. Like everything. She picked 
up Raikov’s photo. I lost my son. I want Cable, too. You know what’s going to happen over 
there. You know what we’re talking about,   Andy? She nodded. Yes. She leaned her head against 
my chest. I know it’s going to happen. Nick, I’m praying that it does. We’re leaving in 
2 days, I said. Chapter 90. The ready man in tortell glasses leaned back against the park 
bench and looked at me. These prints you sent me, where did you get them from? Charlie Harpering and 
I were old friends. We were sitting in a tiny park across from the courthouse, the historical Five 
Points in Gangs of New York. Charlie had spent many years at the FBI. Now he worked for Homeland 
Security. It was he who had procured all the files for me, never mind how I got them. What I need to 
know is if there was a match. Harpering studied me long and hard. What I was asking him to do to go 
around all normal channels and procedures to give me information that he might not pass on to his 
boss was a lot to ask even of a friend. You know, I could screw up a well-earned pension over this. 
Trust me, I gave him a big smile. Retirement’s way overrated. This is important, Charlie. Was there a 
match? The Homeland Security man let out a breath. Then he opened his briefcase. Instead of a file 
on his lap, he nodded. Yeah, there was a match. He opened a plain manila file. Facing me was 
a blow up of the fingerprints Yuri playoff had   faxed me. They belong to an Estonian. Harpering 
said Stephan Collic. He came in through JFK on a commercial visa. April 12th. April 12th. Cable was 
sprung from the courthouse 6 days later. A wave of validation surged up inside me. Remlikoff had been 
here. You’ll see he left 7 days later. Harpering pointed farther down. A day after the escape back 
to London, out of DC and on to anywhere else? I asked. All she wrote, “I’m afraid.” The Homeland 
Security Man shrugged. “At least under that name.” “Thank you, Charles.” I said, tapping him on 
the chest. “Here.” I slid over a shopping bag   containing the bound Homeland Security files. 
I won’t be needing these anymore. He tucked the bag between his legs. What the hell are you up 
to, Nick? You know I did this out of friendship.   Anyone else would be in a federal office right 
now. Who is this guy? Let’s call it a career move. We’ll try and figure out later if it’s up or 
down. Harpering sniffed. agreeing. I see what you mean about retirement. And I might as well take 
you the distance, Nick. Whichever the hell way it   goes. What do you mean? He took two additional 
sheets out of his case and slid them into the file. Kit’s visa application for old times. And 
just for the record, it didn’t come via Talonic, Estonia. It came from Tell Avive. I blinked. Jesus 
gets even better. Harpering dropped the file on my lap. Assuming you’re trying to find him, of 
course. Good luck, Nick. Harpering stood up. Give the son of a shot in the balls for me. I 
looked down at the new file. There was an address   on the visa application. 225 Yahudi Road, Heifa. 
Chapter 91. Richard Nordhenko was contemplating a chess move with his son on the terrace when 
the doorbell rang. Get that for me. Pavar was out shopping. The boy went to answer the front 
door. Nor does Shenenko was enjoying his new life. He had tossed his cell phone into the sea and 
let the one or two contacts he still trusted know he was out of business for good. Everyday 
he went swimming in the Mediterranean. He picked   up his son after school and drove him to chess. 
At night he took Meera to the fancy shops and cafes in Carmel Center. He tried to put to the 
back of his mind that just a few weeks before he had gotten away with a crime covering the front 
page of every newspaper. Father, there’s a man. Nordenko pushed himself slowly out of his chair 
and went into the living room. It might as well have been a squadron of Mossad he saw standing 
there. Hello Remy, what are you doing here? Nord Henko gasped. Reichart. His face went slack 
in ash and just a little traveling rami some sightseeing throwing myself in the hospitality 
of old friends. He turned to Pavl. Go and look at the board son. I moved. The boy hesitated. Go 
and look at the board. I said his voice was much harsher. Pavl swallowed. Yes, father. The boy left 
and Nordhenko turned back to the man at the door, feeling his every nerve grow tight. “Are you 
insane? Come in quickly,” he said. He looked past Riker and up the street. “Are you certain there 
was no tail?” “Relax, Rami,” the South African said. “I’ve come through three countries. I’ve 
been doing this as long as you. You’ve got a nissl   looking boy. It’s not rami here.” Nordeno 
looked at him sharply. “It’s Richard.” Reichart stepped in and whistled admiringly at the broad, 
spectacular view. Business must be good, Richard. Business is over, Nordenko said. And you better 
understand one thing clearly. My wife and son, don’t worry. Reichart said, I won’t be a burden. 
You said this was the quietest place in the world. Itll be for a few days until the world cools 
down. Nordenko didn’t like this. It violated all the rules of the arrangements. But what choice 
did he have? There was no way to tie them to the   states. No way to tie them together at all. All 
right, he said. Just a few days. Thanks. The South African said, but Rami, you are mistaken on one 
thing. And what’s that? Nordeno asked, picking up one of Reichards. Bags are business. The blonde 
killer sidiged. It is never over. Chapter 92. The loudspeaker crackled. Delta flight 8976 to 
tell Avive is ready for boarding. I stood there waiting at gate 77, gazing down the terminal. 
My heart was racing pretty fast. I glanced at my watch. The plane was boarding. I had to get on 
it with or without her. Where was she? Maybe she had second thoughts. That would be okay. I told 
myself she’d be smart to stay outside of this. She’d be smart to let me do what had to be. Done. 
All rose delta flight 8976 to tell Avive. I didn’t have a precise plan. I had no idea how I was going 
to handle it when I got there. How could I? All I knew was that I was going to find Kalia Rimlikov 
and somehow make him tell me where Cavella was. No professional courtesy here. No Geneva convention. 
I’d put the muzzle of my gun down his throat and the hammer. I’d blow off a kneecap if I had to. 
He would talk. The question was, “Then what?” A headache family in black rushed, passed me onto 
the boarding platform with loud shouts of relief. They looked to be the last ones on. I scanned the 
terminal. No sign. I put my travel case over my shoulder and went to board. It was better this 
way, right? Then I saw her hurrying toward me.   Still a good ways down the corridor. I felt a 
warm glycerin wave of relief surge through me. Who are you kidding? Nick, you wanted her here 
very much. Andy was wearing a red leather jacket,   her hair tucked under a Nick’s cap, Jard’s cap, 
a travel bag slung loosely over her shoulder. She looked incredibly beautiful to me and brave. 
I knew then I probably couldn’t have done this thing alone. I wanted her with me. Andy made 
me believe it was right. She stopped about 2ft away. Let’s get something straight. I tried 
to make a joke of it. If this was the altar,   we’d be looking for a refund on the reception 
right now. I’m sorry, Nick. I had to say goodbye to Jared. That certainly shut me up. She shook 
her head contrately. Actually, I’ve been sitting in the terminal next to the Burger King for the 
last hour. Second thoughts. I don’t know. Maybe, probably, but not about this. I love you, Nick. I 
stood there looking at her, her eyes glistening. I nodded gently, placing my hand against her cheek. 
That’s what I was thinking here. That I love you,   too. That I might not be able to board that plane 
without you. I knew that’s what you were bumbling around trying to say the other night. The PA 
interrupted us the final boarding call. We stood there another second. The ticket agents 
were getting ready to close the doors. So, what are we doing? I shrugged, shifting 
unsure in my feet. Andy stepped up to me,   her eyes moist and strong. She locked her fingers 
in mine. Boarding. We’re taking a trip together, Nick. Isn’t it exciting? Part four. Heifa. Chapter 
93. If I didn’t know for sure that I was in love with Andy Degrassi, the flight to Israel removed 
all doubt. For much of it, we just sat there. our hands locked. I felt something steady and 
unwavering running from her to me. Andy slept, her head leaning against my shoulder. She 
bolstered me. She gave me the courage to   do what I felt was right. Our first night until 
Avive was spent eating dinner in a quiet cafe on Shanken Street and fighting jet lag. Back in the 
room, we made love, trying to forget for a night anyway why we were here. In the morning, we would 
drive up the coast to Hifa. It only took about an hour and a half. We passed beach towns on the 
way up the coastal highway. The city’s physical   beauty surprised me. He rose dramatically on 
steep mountain terraces. Above the gem blue sea. Lowest was the port and the old town with its 
ancient stone walls built by crusaders. Farther up was the busy downtown, the sense of bakeries, 
bizars, modern businesses. Then higher still the bustling heights of Mount Carmel overlooking the 
Mediterranean. Up here there were modern hotels, residential streets jutting out over the sea with 
posh homes and incredible vistas, boulevards of trendy restaurants and stores. Kolia Ramlov was 
up here too. I was certain that Ramlov wasn’t. His name here, the name he went by now didn’t matter. 
We dropped off our bags at the Dan Panorama Hotel. Our 25th floor room had a stunning view of the 
sea. “It’s beautiful,” Andy said, gazing out the window. “It is,” I nodded. I placed my hands on 
her shoulders. Just remember why we’re here. It doesn’t mean we can’t find time to take a swim in 
the Mediterranean. Go ahead. I picked a few things out of my travel case. A set of binoculars, a 
map, my gun, which was licensed. I’ll be back in a little while, Nick. Andy turned, a worried look on 
her face. Don’t do anything without me. Promise. Relax. I smiled. I’m just going sightseeing. I 
promise. I had our rented Ford parked in front   of the hotel. I got behind the wheel, then folded 
back the map. I had marked out this route many times in advance. I almost felt as if I actually 
knew the way. Yahudi Street, 225. I drove higher up the mountain on Yinoff, a little way past the 
hotel. Up here was Carmel Center, parks, museums, trendy cafes. Farther up the road began to loop 
and ever narrowing switchbacks. Overlooking the sea, I turned onto Hyam then Vashar. Up here 
there were expensive homes with dramatic views. I kept on climbing higher. The road clung to the 
cliff-like sides of Mount Carmel. The brilliant blue Mediterranean was a thousandft ft below. 
Finally, I found your hoodie. It was a quiet residential street with a spectacular view. Number 
225 was a few houses down. It was a white flat roofed contemporary down a short stone drive. As 
I passed it, I felt my blood run cold a little. I drove on to the next switch back then stopped at 
a point where I didn’t think I could be detected. I got out of the car with the binoculars and 
looked back down at the house. Through the lens,   I could see an expensive house. Murder was always 
a business that paid handsomely. I didn’t see anyone. I didn’t see any activity inside. There 
was a blue minivan parked in the driveway, a European model. I squinted through the lens. After 
a few minutes, I knew I’d better move on. Someone would drive by. The area was affluent, probably 
well. patrolled. I could always say I was up here for the view, but I couldn’t keep hanging around. 
The garage door suddenly started to open. A white Audi backed out. I focused closely. The glass was 
tinted, but the driver’s window was rolled down. I could see it was him, Ramikov. He was wearing 
sunglasses, but I recognized him immediately. My heart jumped as if it had been jolted with 
an electric shock, and someone else was in   the car with him. I shifted the lens. It was a 
boy in the passenger seat. He looked about 10, maybe younger. The Audi backed out and turned 
around in the driveway. I could clearly see Raov   now. I found you, Ra. I found you, you bastard. 
The Audi pulled out onto Yahudi Street and drove away. I remained there for a few minutes making 
notes about the house. Today, I didn’t want to   follow. I had promised Andy. I got back in the 
car and drove away. As I went by the house, I paused for a second in front of the mailbox. I 
pulled the latch. Quickly, I filtered through and grabbed the most innocuous. looking junk mail I 
could find. They had junk mail here too in Israel. Back at the hotel, I opened the door to find Andy 
on the bed taking a nap. She stirred. “What did   you find?” “I found the house. It’s nearby. 
I’ll take you there tomorrow.” Andy sat up. She nodded a little tentatively. “And this?” I said, 
tossing the piece of junk mail, a solicitation from a local rug cleaner on the bed. Souvenir. 
His name isn’t Raikov or Kohitch. It’s Richard Nordhenko. Chapter 94. Look. Nick pointed toward 
the modern glass ringed house 100ft below. That’s him. That’s Remikov. Andy focused the binoculars. 
She spied the man. Thin, dark, not so large, not so scary. A surge of anger tightened her chest. 
She never knew how she would feel when she saw   the man who killed her son. And now that it was 
happening, now that he was only a few yards away, she knew it wasn’t what she wanted. It made her 
stomach cramp. I see him. Andy’s fingers gripped the binoculars even more tightly. Behind her, Nick 
squeezed her arm. Does he look familiar? No, she wished he did. She wanted to feel deep hatred for 
him. Revulsion something. So, this was the killer, the man who took her whole world away. She shook 
her head again. No, I’ve never seen him before. He lives with his wife and son. He has a boy that 
Andy hadn’t expected. Does his family know the terrible things he done when they were sitting 
at their meals or kicking a ball between them   or whatever the hell they did? How could someone 
with a child do these horrible things? He goes out everyday around. This time, Nick said, gazing 
through his own binoculars. At 4, he drives his son. Nick, Andy put down the glasses and looked 
at him, teied. I don’t think I can do this. I know I’m supposed to hate this man. Look what he did to 
me. I know what we need from him. I know what we   have to do. It’s just that you son of a she spat 
toward the house. She turned her eyes away. Just do what you have to do, she said angrily. You are 
right. You are right. Suddenly, the garage door started to open again. Nick glanced at his watch. 
There he goes. The man who had killed her son stepped out of a door from inside the garage. 
He was wearing a white short-sleeved shirt,   tan slacks, and sunglasses. He looked around for 
a second, then climbed in the Audi and started the car. Everyday, same time, there’s the boy. 
Andy turned and brought the glasses up again. The boy couldn’t have been much more than 11 or 
12, a little older than Jared. He was innocent, she told herself of whatever the father had 
done. Where are they going? I don’t know.   I want to follow them. Are you okay with that? 
Andy nodded. This scum. This bastard. How could he play the loving father when he knew what he had 
done? The boy stepped out of the house and met the   car which was backing around in the driveway. 
Andy focused closer. He was carrying a book and what looked like a portable computer. The cover 
of the book came into view. She didn’t know why   she was even interested. “Chess,” the boy climbed 
into the Audi. “Come on,” Nick said. He tossed his binoculars into the back seat. “Let’s go. I 
don’t want to fall too far behind. Andy nodded, about to put down the lens, taking one more 
sweep of the car backing up to the front of   the house. Then, as if she’d been plunged into 
an icy pool of water, she exclaimed, “Oh my god, Nick.” The shock of what she had just seen sent a 
violent, nauseating force through her. She became   covered in perspiration as flashes of the horrible 
memory invaded her brain. “Oh, Jesus Christ! No! What?” Nick put the car back in park. “Look in the 
house.” Her jaw tightened and her mouth was so dry she could barely spit out the words. “You see that 
man?” Nick grabbed the binoculars from her. He saw the man standing near the front window, hands on 
hips in sweatpants and a white Guinness t-shirt,   watching Remikov drive away. That’s him. The blood 
drained out of Andy’s face. She could see his long blonde hair in her mind’s eye. That’s the same man 
I saw running from the van. Chapter 95. The next day, Andy stayed back at the hotel while I tracked 
Raov’s movements. I followed him and his son down the mountain to his chess lessons on Hassan Street 
and the center of town. At night, I held on to her tightly, seeing that man had brought everything 
back, the bus, the explosion jarred. I saw in her face the same pain as that day in the ER after it 
all happened. The event suddenly fresh and vivid again. That night, I was sure she was asleep, but 
she was just lying there in the darkness, wide   awake. Once or twice, I felt her shudder. Then she 
turned away from me and buried her head into the pillow. “It’s okay,” I whispered and wrapped my 
arms around her, trying to make her strong. But I   knew it wasn’t okay. I knew the hurt was fresh 
and new. This face from the past complicated everything. On the next night, just before dawn, I 
was lying in bed thinking, tracing the first rays of light as they washed over the room. “Do you 
know how you’re going to do this?” Andy asked,   surprising me. “Yes,” I turned to her. I had a 
plan. I was just afraid to share it. I knew it wouldn’t go over well with her. We had to get to 
Remov. The problem was he rarely left the house. I couldn’t burst in there. Guns blazing. We needed 
Remov alive. I knew there was only one way, one leverage, the boy. There was no way around it. And 
I knew how troubling this would be for her. Also, I needed Andy’s help. So, I told Andy what had to 
be done. That it involved the boy. “It’s going to be dangerous,” I said, shifting onto my elbow. 
I knew precisely what I was asking. The boy was innocent just as Jarred was. But we had to get at 
Remov through the one thing that he loved. Most just as he had taken the one thing from her that 
she loved most. Nick, she shook her head. I can’t   do that. We’re not looking for a favor from him, 
Andy. We’re squeezing a killer for a piece of information that could get us all killed. It’s 
the only way he’s vulnerable. I told you before we came how hard this was going to be. Do you know 
what you’re asking? You’re asking me to do the   same thing to another mother. That’s just happened 
to me. I know what I’m asking, Andy. I reached for her. I’m not a killer, Andy. But these people are. 
She stared back at me, thinking I was suddenly capable of the same violence and evil that had 
taken her son. I give you my word. Whatever happens, the boy won’t be harmed. Oh, yes, he 
will. He will. I ran my hand through her hair, pulling a few strands away from her face. I need 
you to say yes, Andy. I need your help to get it   done. And if I don’t, then we walk away. We get 
on that plane and go back home. We forget about cavel. Andy sucked in a breath, wrapping her arms 
around her knees. And if I say yes afterward, what happens? We let the boy go. Andy, we let the boy 
go. She shook her head. I met with Raikov and the blonde man. I told the truth. I don’t know. She 
nodded. And after a while, her body just sank into   mine. He can’t be harmed, she said. The boy? Of 
course not. I squeezed her. I promise. Chapter 96. Pavl Nordenko was 12 years old, and he no longer 
liked that his father still insisted on driving him to his lessons in the center of town. Other 
boys his age were riding the metro sometimes. When his father was away on his many trips, his mother 
let him take the bus lines. He liked to spend   a few minutes in the bustling streets of the old 
town, far away from the sprawling vistas of Carmel Center in the Heights. Down here, where Abramoff’s 
Academy was, the streets were narrow and busier, alive. The smells were of leather goods 
and spices and Arab bakeries. The sounds of merchants hawking their goods in the bizaar. His 
father was always overprotective. Pavl wanted to go with his friends to the cinema or the beach. 
But father always said, “You can’t be too safe, too careful. What was he always so afraid of? 
Sometimes his mother would let him take a day off,   but his father always made him go to his lessons 
as if it were religious study. There is a tournament next month in Tel Aviv, his father said 
as they drove quietly through the crowded streets. Would you like to go? Pavle shrugged. Tournaments 
meant work. More studying to prepare. There will be masters from other countries there. Sergy 
thinks you are ready. What do you say? I guess. Pavl shrugged. If he says I’m ready. The car 
turned onto Allen Street. The Bahigh Gardens were in full spring bloom. There is a casino in Ceeria. 
On the way back, we might stop. I’m told they play a little poker there, just like the Americans. 
I know a man there who owes me a favor. He might   get you in just to watch. You think? I don’t know, 
his father said, hiding a smile. I’ve been known to have a few connections here and there. They 
made the turn on crowded Hassan Street. Down here, the traffic was mostly mopeds and small delivery 
trucks and taxis filled with tourists making their way up from the port. Master Abramoff’s studio 
was over a PA bakery. The place always smelled sweetly of dough. Their car slowed in front of 
the run-down building. “Study hard,” his father   winked. “There’s a lot at stake.” Pavl gathered up 
his notebook and computer and opened the door. He ran inside Abramoff’s building on Cloud9. As he 
headed for the narrow stairs, a man was standing in his way. “I’m afraid that I’m lost,” he said. 
“Do you know where Haharet Street is?” The man was large and handsome in a blue shirt and khakis, his 
eyes hidden by sunglasses. He spoke English like a tourist. American perhaps? Haha, I think it’s 
just down there at the end of the street. Can you show me? The man asked. I’m not from around here. 
Abramoff would be expecting him. They had an hour and a half, and the grumpy old master didn’t 
like him to be late. Just here. Pavle pushed   back through the door and pointed at the end. The 
bakery, you see, that was one of the last things he remembered. other than a hand wrapping around 
his mouth and the damp acrid cloth that smelled of chemicals and the feeling of total weightlessness 
of being carried away and the fear that his father   would be angry when he came to pick him 
up and he wasn’t there. Chapter 97. Meera, listen closely. I can’t find Pavl Nordeno’s heart 
beating wildly. The chess instructor said his son had never arrived for his lesson. It had happened 
a few times before, always when Nordeno was away on business. He combed the streets around the 
studio. He checked the ice cream stalls, the bakeries, Pavl’s favorite places. No one had seen 
the boy. He wasn’t there when I went to pick him   up at Abramhofs. I was hoping he had called. What 
do you mean? His wife became alarmed. He always waits there. He knows not to stray. He didn’t 
go to his lesson. Is there anywhere he might go   that you can think of? Someplace he spoken of? 
A friend? How many times had he told the boy he had to be careful? No. Meera’s voice began to get 
excited. Maybe he took the bus. I’ve let him once or twice. He wouldn’t let us know. Over the years, 
Nordenko had experienced the hollow feeling when   a job didn’t go right. He had that feeling now. 
We’ve got to call the police. Meera said, “No, the police. That was exactly what he could not do. 
Draw attention to himself.” Now, with Reichart in his house, what if they looked into him? He’d 
have to explain where he’d been overseas and   who this visitor was. No, he had to think. You 
could be right about the bus. I follow the line. I’ll call you closer to home. Nordishenko switched 
off and wounded the Audi through the streets of   the old town, frantically searching for his son’s 
face amid the crowds. This is payback, he thought, for the things I have done. On Hassan Shakri 
near Memorial Park, he overtook a city bus and swung the car in front of it to block its path. 
I’m looking for my son, he yelled and pounded on the door for the driver to open. Please let me 
in. People would be panicked. He knew they would think I’m a terrorist. Look, I’m not armed. He 
put out his arms. Finally, the hesitant driver opened the door. Pavl Nordenko jumped on, 
searching the rows of startled passengers.   Pavle wasn’t there. I’m sorry, but we must move 
on. The driver said Nordenko stepped back onto the street. Meera was right. They would have to 
call the police. There was no escaping it. Even   to delay a minute could endanger his son more. 
Reichart would have to leave immediately. But surely Meera would mention him. The police would 
look into him. This was very bad. Minutes later, Nordhenko pulled into his driveway. He slammed 
the Audi door and ran into his house. Any word? No. Meera shook her head, clearly panicked. “We 
are in trouble,” Nordenko said, realizing now   there was no other choice. Reichart came in from 
the deck. “What’s wrong? You have to leave now.” “Pav is missing. We have to call the police.” The 
South African’s eyes stretched wide. Nordhenko instinctively knew what the man was thinking. 
The conversation would turn to their visitor. They would have to explain him and why he had 
had to leave so suddenly. The telephone rang, reprieving them. Meera covered her mouth. Maybe 
that’s him. Nordhenko ran to the phone. He didn’t want to let the South African out of his sight. 
He swallowed, lifting the receiver. Pavle, you   have a nice boy. The voice on the line replied. 
I’m going to give you instructions and the degree to which you follow them will determine whether 
you ever see him again. What? Nordenko grunted. So it was some kind of kidnapping. He spoke in 
English. Perfect English. I have your son, the caller said again. The good news is you can have 
him back safe and sound in a matter of minutes.   The bad news is if you don’t do precisely what I 
ask, you’ll never see him again. Who is this? Lord Denko demanded. Never mind who it is. What I’d 
focus on now is which of these two scenarios you see taking place? Nordishko looked at Meera, gave 
her a bolstering nod. Let’s proceed with the good news. Getting Pavl back. That’s wise. First things 
first. I think we’re both aware that it’s not in either of our interests to involve the police. Do 
we have an understanding on that? We don’t have an   understanding on anything except that you will 
give me back my son. I want to speak with him. I’m afraid that won’t be happening. Let’s just say 
he’s wearing jeans and a red sweatshirt and Nike sneakers and he’s carrying some chess books 
and a wallet with a picture of his family in   his pocket. As far as the rest, I’m afraid you’ll 
have to trust us on that. You don’t have any idea who you’re dealing with. Norenko threatened into 
the phone. Oh yes, I do. I know who I’m dealing with. Kolia Rimlikov. Chapter 98. If someone had 
suddenly burst in and blasted Nordenko up against the wall with a shotgun, he would have been no 
less stunned. No one had uttered that name to   him in 10 years. He realized he was dealing with 
a more serious adversary. You hurt him, Nordenko said. You’llll be paying for that mistake 
the rest of your life. Her heart him. The American   caller said, I believe that’s more your style, 
Ramlikov. You mean hurt him as in the elevator of the courthouse back in New York like what you 
did to those two marshals? Whatever color was left   in Nordenko’s face drained. Who could this be who 
had traced him? Even Cable’s people didn’t know who he was. This was worse than a ransom. His 
whole life was unraveling. Nordhenko’s mouth was as dry as sandpaper. How much do you want? 
He muttered. How much do we want? Not a scent, not a penny. You can have your boy back and go 
on with your decrepit lying life. All you have   to do is give me a single piece of information. 
Information? No. Tenko wet his lips. And what is that? Cavllo? The caller answered. Nor Dyson Co’s 
heart crashed to a stop. He had never once given a client up. He had never traded with anybody, 
never considered it. The list of people he worked   with was sacred. The American went on. I’m giving 
you 1 hour. After that, you’ll never see your boy again. Your identity in Interpol dossier will 
be turned over to the Israeli police. And what if I can’t help you? Nordhenko asked, “What if I 
don’t?” “No, then I’d start packing.” What could he do? They knew his name, how to reach him. They 
knew it was he who had helped Caill escape. And   they had the one thing that he valued most in the 
world in their possession. “Okay,” he said. “Give me your mobile phone number. I’ll contact you 
within an hour. Drive down the hill. Wait for   my call. The meat will be quick.” And Kolia, 
I think we both know what a tragedy it would be if the police were involved. You’ve got a lot 
of balls, Nordinko said. whoever you are. But he gave the man his number. That’s quite a statement, 
Kolia. After what I’ve seen you do, the lion went dead. Nordeno gave Meera a reassuring nod. Then he 
signaled to the South African. Come on, Reichart. There’s work to do. Chapter 99. We drove the car 
to an abandoned tobacco warehouse I had scouted in the city head section of town and waited. The 
boy was sleeping peacefully. I gave him a breath of fresh ether every time he stirred. Over the 
years, in the course of my job, I’d done a few things. I wasn’t proud of none like this. The 
boy was innocent. Whatever his father had done, we watched him sleep in the back seat. Andy was 
sitting next to him, calming him. Once or twice,   she brushed his light brown hair. The exchange 
couldn’t come too quickly for either of us. Where are we going to meet? Andy asked, the boy’s head 
resting on her thigh. You mean where am I going to   meet him? In the Bahigh Gardens. 6 0. There’s an 
outdoor concert going on an hour later. The place should be jammed. Andy nodded. I’ll need to tape 
his mouth. And bind his hands, Andy. It’s necessary. He’ll be awake. I want him in the 
car with you. You can reassure him he’s going to   see his father in a few minutes. When it’s time, 
I’ll call you. You drive up, look for my signal, then you let him go. And you get the hell out of 
there. You understand? I don’t want you anywhere   around after it’s done. Where? Back to the hotel. 
We changed lodgings this morning. out of the fancy panorama to a smaller pension in the old town 
where we didn’t even have to leave. Passports. We’re leaving for Tel Aviv tonight. Where are we 
heading? Paris. Late flight out, assuming all goes well. And after that, I opened the car door. That 
part of the itinerary is yet to be determined. The boy stirred. The anesthetic was wearing off. Soon 
I would let him wake. I glanced at my watch for about the 50th time. The hour had passed. Time. 
Andy smiled bravely. I got out and called Remly on his mobile. I told him the location where 
we were going to meet. I didn’t want Andy to hear what I had to say. I came back to the car 
and sat in the front seat. It’s done. I nodded,   leaning back with a sick expression as if I’d been 
chewing rancid meat. You know I’m okay with this, Nick. I am. There’s just that one thing doesn’t 
seem right. What’s that? Remikov and the blonde   guy. They’re the ones who killed Jarred. They 
get off free. We knew that coming over here, Andy. We came for Cavel. He’s the one who ordered 
it done. Suddenly, I heard the sound of the boy stirring. Father, I got out of the car and 
opened the rear door here. I tossed Andy a baseball cap. I want you wearing this at all times 
and the sunglasses. The boy cannot see your face. This is when it starts to get dicey, Andy. I want 
you to be very careful from this point on. Yeah,   thanks. Andy nodded flatly. I took the rope and 
some duct tape. She stroked the boy as if she were comforting Jared. Sh. It’s going to be all right. 
And one more thing. Our eyes met as close as I could come in this moment to an embrace. After the 
exchange, you wait an hour. That’s all. If I don’t come back to the hotel, you drive to tell Avive. 
You make that flight. Assuming things go wrong, you won’t know. You just take off. Okay. She 
shook her head. I’m not leaving you. Believe me, if I’m not back in an hour, you won’t have to 
worry about that. Chapter 100. I’m not sure who first decided to build the vast multiterrist 
gardens that climb steeply up the slope of Mount Carmel and are dedicated to the Bahigh faith, but 
whoever it was had perfect insight into the art of the clandestine. Exchange the grounds were public 
enough to get lost in and open enough to spot any unwanted accompllices hanging around. It had 
multiple exits leading to heavily trafficked   thoroughares. tour were constantly going 
around and that Thursday late in the afternoon the gardens were as crowded as the lawn at a 
Tanglewood concert. “If this goes well,” I told myself, trying to calm my nerves, I might even 
give some thought to converting. “I got there at 5:45 p.m. a few minutes early and stood around the 
statue of someone named Sad Ali Muhammad on the lowest level of the gardens where I told Rimlikov 
we would meet. I had given him only 30 minutes warning, not much time to prepare. The elaborate 
park had 18 different terraces. He didn’t know whether I was at the upper or lower gardens, and 
with Benurian Street only meters away, it would be easy for Andy to drop the boy and escape. Me, that 
could be an entirely different story. I’d done secret meets dozens of times, but always with the 
confidence that someone with a listening device and a sniper rifle was watching my back, never 
naked on unprotected turf and with the slight complication of having kidnapped some cold-blooded 
killer’s kid. Crowds were starting to form. Some Israeli folk singer was performing two levels up. 
The setting couldn’t be better. I told myself, just think like it’s Madison Square Garden. All I 
had to do once the exchange was made was blend in with the crowd and get away. At 56, I took out my 
cell in front of the statue and gave Ramlav our final call. Are you here? I’m here. What about 
my son? Walk to the statue of Ali Muhammad off Bengurian street. You know it. I know it. How 
will I know you? I’ll be the one holding the   12-year-old with tape over his mouth. Don’t worry, 
I’ll know you. Remov sniffed unamused. It will take me a few minutes. I’m on the upper level. 
Don’t bother then. In 5 minutes, I’ll be gone. I punched off the line. He’d be here. I didn’t 
want to give him a single extra moment to prepare. Chapter 101. I have to admit, the following couple 
of minutes were as tense and heartstoppping as any in my life. I tried to focus on the crowds, mostly 
young people and families heading up to the higher terraces. An occasional policeman wandered by, 
dangling the ubiquitous Uzi. I checked my wall there one last time. I adjusted my sunglasses. I 
tried to calm the riot in my gut. 5:59 p.m. Come on, Rimi. This has to happen now. Then I spotted 
him coming out of the crowd. He was wearing an open collar print shirt and a black leather 
jacket. A few people passed in front of us,   but he focused directly on me. Must have been the 
chest book I was holding prominently. He walked right up to me. He removed his sunglasses and took 
a long look into my eyes. I had seen the faces of many professional killers. There was always a dull 
glaze in the eye, even when they smiled. Ramikov had it in spades. “Stand in front of me,” I said, 
shifting my back to the statue. I didn’t want any sudden ambush taking me by surprise. He glanced 
at the chest book. “I believe that’s mine.” I handed it over to him. And my son, he added as if 
we were talking merchandise. “Cave,” I replied. “You’ve come a long way on the premise. I know 
where he is.” He smiled. “You’re wasting time. That could be very valuable. I leave here in 2 
minutes. 2 minutes? He pursed his thin lips. I’ll take my chances. Neither of us wants to walk away 
empty-handed. You surprised me today. Surprise is a reaction I’ve grown used to doing without. I’d 
take it as a courtesy if you told me how you found   me. The business in New York or your real name. 
Any order, he shrugged back politely. I glanced toward the ground. Then I looked back at him with 
a slight smile. Your shoes? He was still wearing   them. Not very high-tech, I’m afraid. But I hear 
there all the rage in this part of the world. My shoes. Remikov snorted at first with surprise. 
Then with a roll of his eyes, he shifted on his   bum left leg. My feet kill me. He shook his head. 
Even now, you might think about a change of brand if you plan to continue work. No more, he said. 
I’m finished. Wise, you’re a family man. Now you have something for me. You didn’t finish. Raikoff 
continued to look at me, though I have the feeling   I can take it from here. If you were able to 
identify my shoes, you must have seen some kind of security tape of what took place. To link that to 
me, my history, and find me here, that would take   a lot of help. Resources, governmental resources, 
I’m quite sure. Homeland Security, FBI. Those are a lot of assumptions, I said with a differential 
nod. For a man who only has one minute, not so high-tech, also removal. I recognize you as the 
person who shot at us in the courthouse during our escape. I took off my glasses. Now we were staring 
at each other face to face. Paid good money for these suckers, too. But more important, I’m 
wondering why an American law enforcement agent in Hifa has to kidnap my son instead of breaking down 
my door with a warrant if he knew my whereabouts. And more to the point, for purely selfish reasons, 
how many other people you might be associated with know as well? All good questions, I said, deciding 
to indulge him a few seconds longer. And what have you come up with? That you must somehow be a 
very desperate man or at the very least extremely   passionate in your work. Chat’s over. Now you have 
to convince me why I should give you back your boy and not shoot you on the spot for what you did 
in New York. A wistful smile creased from Leaf’s   lips. Because I have something very valuable for 
you. Something that could get us both killed and very probably will one day. And what if that isn’t 
enough? This man had done such horrible things. He deserved to die or at least to rot for the rest of 
his life in prison. An urge rose up in me to take out my gun and do to him what he deserved after he 
gave me what I needed. Of course, he was probably thinking the same thing. Then, because you’re 
not me, Ramlov shrugged. How is that? I wanted   to get this done with. Andy was probably dying 
with anxiety, wondering what was going on here. Clocks on. I said, “What you looking for? He’s in 
South America.” He said, “Argentina, I believe, or Chile at the very bottom near the tip. Cavlo 
has a ranch there. Sheep. I think he was under a different name, of course. Keep going, I prodded. 
I knew he was holding back. How do I know you will not turn my name over to the authorities the 
minute you have Cavalo? How do I know you won’t   alert him as soon as you have your boy? We stood 
there facing each other, looking into each other’s eyes. Remikov smiled. My son is a chess player. 
He has a natural gift for avoiding stalemates. But of course, you already know that I don’t play 
chess. I shrugged. But I was thinking since we   both know something about the other that would be 
best not to get out. It would probably be a good thing if we never set eyes on each other again. 
I was thinking that too, Raov nodded. I believe it’s near a town called Yuzua, close to the tip. 
The weather is not so good, I am told. But the isolation is worth every penny. Even the name is 
telling. He told me the name of Cavella’s ranch. Hearing it, I smiled. I knew his information was 
true. Now I think you have something for me. Rikov put his sunglasses back on. Our business complete. 
Chapter 102. I took out my phone and pressed the send button. Andy answered quickly. You can bring 
him now. I tried not to glance in any direction. I didn’t want to alert anyone from leak off or a 
possible accomplice as to how this was going to   take place. My hands were moist and sweat trickled 
down my collar. There was nothing to do but wait and stare at each other. So, who was it, if I 
may ask? Who was who? I shrugged. I figured he was talking about Andy. Who was on that bus? The 
reason you want cave so bad. Consider yourself lucky I don’t kill you right here for what you’ve 
done. Interesting, he said, snorting. I was   thinking the very same thing about you. I saw him 
rub the tips of his fingers. I knew this killer wouldn’t just let me get away. I looked around. I 
needed cover. A group of young people were passing by. I spotted two policemen meandering our way. 
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a white Ford pull up on Banguran Street at one of the entrances 
to the park. Andy held there just as I told her, waiting for my signal. I shot another glance 
at the policeman. My insurance, my son. Ramikov pressed. The minute is up. Number chapter 103. I 
want you to know Rumbly. If Cavella is not where you say he is, every law enforcement agency in the 
world is going to have your name and fingerprints. It’s a hard way to raise a family. And you should 
know if there’s as much as a scratch on my son, I’ll be looking through employment rosters of the 
FBI for as long as it takes. I raised my left arm. The signal the rear door of the car opened. I saw 
the boy emerge. Andy would have been pointing him toward us. He shielded his eyes through the waning 
sun. Remikov waved at him. Pavl over here. The boy started to run to him. The killer looked at 
me. Andy’s car started up then disappeared into traffic. I meant what I said, Rimoff. I wish I 
could shoot you dead, I said. Then I cut around the statue in front of the unsuspecting policeman. 
Without drawing any attention to myself, I started to jog fast enough to put as much distance as I 
could between me and Rim Love. I hunched into a stream of people heading for the upper terraces. 
The path was hilly and crowded. I didn’t notice anyone following me. I left the path and started 
up a small hill using trees and low branches as cover. I spotted another exit down below a len 
street. That’s where I decided to head catch a cab. In minutes, I’d meet Andy back at the 
hotel. We had what we needed. Within the hour, we’d be gone. I never looked back until I’d 
zigzagged to the top of the null. When I did,   Raav was kneeling with his arms held out. His son 
ran into his embrace. He peppered the boy’s face with grateful kisses. Then he looked up the hill 
in my direction. I didn’t know if he could see   me. Trees obstructed the view, but it felt like 
it. For the first time in minutes, my heart rate finally started to calm. I had what I needed. Andy 
had gotten away safely. I knew where CL was. I almost felt like cheering. We had pulled it off. 
We were winning this time. Only then did I feel   my neck roughly wrenched backward and the knife 
blade digging deeply into my ribs. “Sorry, mate. It doesn’t quite work like that.” My blood froze. 
“Now I’m going to ask you this once,” the voice   said in a heavy South African accent. “And if you 
have any hope of living more than the next few seconds, you’ll be telling me the answer.” “Who 
dropped off that kid?” He dug the blade in deeper. The air gushed out of my lungs. I managed to 
get one look at him and I knew I was in terrible trouble. The hair that fell across his face was 
blonde. Chapter 104. The truth was I’d been in the FBI 13 years and had been in a real dog fight only 
a couple of times. Those were more like takedowns and not with some professionally trained killer 
twice my size who had me gagging in a chokeold   with a knife jammed into my ribs. The guy’s grip 
had me helpless. I couldn’t scream. What good would that do? I could barely think. The blade 
edged into my rib cage so sharply I wasn’t sure if it wasn’t already in my chest. I can break your 
neck cleanly, friend, and all you’ll do is drift off into La La Land, which I recommend is the way 
to go. Or I can play with you a bit. Oh, Christ. Do yourself a favor, mate. Who was the woman in 
that car? A thought came to me. It was from some self-defense course I’d taken at the bureau years 
ago. The natural urge in this situation is to struggle harder, to pull away. But to someone who 
is adept at crushing your windpipe in a second, it only tightens the choke. Step into him, I 
was told. Go with his momentum. So I figured, what the hell? I wasn’t giving up Andy, so I 
leaned my weight into Blondie. It threw him off.   Maybe a step. He didn’t release me, just shuffled 
backward. It freed my hand enough to reach inside my jacket. I groped for the handle of my wall 
there. I didn’t know if I had it pointed toward   him or me, only that if I didn’t fire quickly, 
it didn’t much matter. The blonde killer side. Your choice. I jerked the trigger once. Twice. The 
recoil spun us both back. The closeness muffling the sound. I didn’t know if I’d hit something 
or whether it was him or me, but I didn’t feel   the knife or pain shooting through my abdomen. 
I pulled the trigger two more times. [ __ ] The blonde guy yelped and staggered backward. 
I spun away just as he lashed out savagely   with the knife. I rolled down my torso and saw a 
bloody hole in his thigh, red oozing through his ripped jeans. Oh, you are dead. He looked down, 
glaring at me with an animal fury. I still held the gun pointed at him, but I wasn’t sure what to 
do. Now there was nothing to muffle the sound. A group of people was headed toward us. I was an FBI 
agent, not a cold-blooded killer. But even as FBI, I was toast. I’d be explaining what I was doing 
here for the rest of my life from an Israeli jail   cell. Turn around. I yelled at him. Open your 
jacket. The blonde guy eyed the people coming toward us. He slowly opened his jacket. What are 
you going to do, mate? Shoot me. He had to be armed, but I didn’t see a gun. Even worse. These 
people were coming closer, and I was brandishing one. He didn’t know who I was. He didn’t know 
where Andy and I were staying. What he did know   was that if I hadn’t already put a bullet through 
his head with all these people coming close, I probably wasn’t about to now. Start walking. I 
pointed the gun back down the hill. Walk. Chapter 105. Blondie obliged me, but slowly angrily. He 
cast a cold eye at the approaching crowd. Blood oozing from his thigh. I hadn’t killed him and he 
saw things were working to his advantage. Now that had me gauged perfectly. Tell Rim Leak off all 
bets are off. If I don’t find what I’m looking   for, I started to back away. There was an entrance 
to Benurian Street maybe at H100 yd below. People were streaming through the gates by the dozens. I 
figured that in a crowd even he wouldn’t shoot. I could outrun him. All I had to do was make it that 
far. I took off, darting through hedges and trees as cover. I glanced around to see him scamper up 
the null, remove a gun from the back of his jeans, then straighten into a shooter’s crouch. I didn’t 
hear a sound, but a bullet whizzed past my ear, feuding into the trunk of a nearby tree. He 
started after me. It was freaky. The guy had a 32 caliber bullet lodged in his thigh, and it wasn’t 
stopping him a bit. I was no longer backpedaling. I ran down to the entrance that led onto 
Benurion, a busy thorough affair where I   figured maybe I could lose him. All I had to do 
was find a cab and make it back to the hotel. That’s all. A boy and his girlfriend were just 
turning into the park. He was wearing sandals and a Lincoln Park t-shirt and had a guitar 
slung around his back. I heard something zing   past my shoulder. Right in front of my face, 
the kid wheeled around and hit the pavement, his shoulder exploding in red. His girlfriend 
put her hands up to her face and screamed, “Get down! Get down!” People were shouting. I stared 
in disbelief. An innocent person was down. This was way, way out of control now. I knew I should 
have stopped and ended it there. Taken him down, waited for the cops. Something logical, insane. 
There were screams and bit him everywhere. I took a look back for the blind-haired killer. I had 
lost him. Policemen were running up to the scene   from Benurion. I didn’t know what to do. I made a 
quick judgment that the kid would be all right. I took off toward the square. Concealing myself in 
the crowd, I tried to put as much distance as I   could between me and my aalent. I was praying the 
police would corral him. But then I spotted him, his blonde hair and darting. Eyes racing along 
the perimeter wall, following my path. I pushed deeper into the crowd. I hurried without a clear 
destination through the crowded streets, searching   frantically for a cab. I could still get out of 
this. All I had to do was get back to the hotel. They had no idea who we were. I found myself 
racing down a narrow street of bizarre merchants   angling away from the park. Hundreds of tiny 
stalls, leather jackets, embroidered shirts, baskets, spices crowded with hawkers and tourists. 
I zigzagged through the side by side stalls, switching sides of the street as I strained 
to see if he was still behind me. And he was   knocking over racks, pushing people out of 
his way, gaining. Sirens were coming from the entrance to the park. This madman wouldn’t stop. 
I was on a crowded street with no cabs. You don’t know where you’re going, Nick. At some point, 
I was going to have to stop and confront him. I   should have shot him when I had the chance. Two 
more rounds. Zekehead by my head, slamming into a stall in front of me. That was filled with 
colorful fabrics, toppling it over. I ducked, picking up my pace. The end of the street was 
fast approaching. The problem was I was going to   get there quicker than I had a plan for where to 
go next. It opened to a terrace culde-sac, maybe 20ft ft above a busy street below. I was trapped. 
Cold reality set in. Nick, you’re going to have to fight this bastard. I turned at the corner and 
just stood there staring at my options, leaping   into the crowded street below or facing him. I 
gripped my gun. I thought of Andy, the image she had lived with for the past year. The blonde man 
hurrying away from the jury bus. This was the man who had killed her son. I stopped behind a stall 
at the end of the street. Maybe it wasn’t Cable,   but this was the man who blew up the jury. I 
had no real plan. I wasn’t a cop or a fugitive, just someone whose adrenaline was racing, someone 
who was about to make a stand. The blond-haired killer finally staggered into the culde-sac. “Put 
it down,” I said, pointing my gun at him. “Put it down,” he smirked, coming to a stop. He stared 
at me. “I don’t know who you were, but you’re   a dead man now, friend. Chapter 106.” He started 
to raise his arm, and I jerked off two shots. Boat hit home, tearing into his chest. He grabbed the 
top of a nearby stall, fabric falling all over him as it crashed down. He tried to get up. I saw 
him elevate his gun hand, frantically tearing   garments off himself. “You blew up that bus?” I 
screamed. The blonde killer hesitated. It took him by surprise. Then a smile creased his lips as 
if he found all of this amusing. I did. He winked, trying to free his gun hand. “Boom!” I hurled 
myself at him, smashing my fist into his face. He staggered backward into the railing. I held him by 
the shirt collar out of control. I hit him again   with everything I had in me. Teeth cracked and 
blood spurted out from his mouth, but he didn’t go down. Well, here’s a message. I flung him with all 
my might toward the railing. Boom yourself. The killer smashed against the ledge, still trying to 
write his gun toward me and toppled over. Jerking a shot wildly into the air. Like a dead weight, he 
landed on top of a parked car below. I went over to the railing. People were screaming, running 
out of the way. I was exhausted, out of breath,   gasping for air. For a second, I didn’t care who 
saw me. I didn’t care if I heard a police siren or if the cops found me. Then I came to my senses. 
I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing. The crazy bastard opened his eyes. He looked up at me. 
He wouldn’t die. Blood was matted in his hair and on his shirt. He rolled off the car and with legs 
like jelly, staggered backward toward the street, somehow still in possession of his gun, arcing 
his arm upward toward me. I didn’t move. I just stood there staring at him. “Die, you son of a 
bitch,” I said. “Die.” He crouched between two cars. I could see he was having trouble breathing. 
Then he quickly stepped out and aimed to shoot at me. There was a smirk on his face. I heard the 
beep and the chilling screech of brakes. It was sharp and penetrating, bone rattling, loud. The 
killer spun, his mouth opened, but no sound came out. The look on his face was one of disbelief. 
The bus careened into him, throwing him 50ft fft into the street. His gun flew out of his hand and 
hit the pavement with a crack that sounded like a   shot. I heard screaming. I took a last look. He 
was just a crumpled, bloody mound. This time, I wasn’t waiting around for another encore. When the 
crowd looked up, the balcony was empty. Chapter 107. Minutes later, I was knocking on the door of 
our hotel room. “Andy, let me in.” The door opened and I almost fell through, collapsing into Andy’s 
arms. “God, Nick, I didn’t know what to think,” she said, throwing her arms around me. She stared 
at my bloodstained shirt, the black and blue marks   on my neck. “Nick, I’m all right,” I said, but we 
have to get out of here now. I changed quickly. We dragged our bags downstairs and paid. In 
minutes, we were weaving back through the streets. Andy driving to the coastal highway headed back 
toward Tel Aviv. We had a 1000 flight out of there. I closed my eyes, leaned my head back on 
the headrest and blew out an exhausted breath. You weren’t supposed to stay. I turned my head 
and opened my eyes. What? I said an hour. I was 30 minutes late. I told you to get out of there. 
You weren’t supposed to stay. Andy stared at me as if she’d misheard. Then a smile creased her lips. 
Braveheart was on the movie channel. I got caught up. Andy took one hand off the wheel and briefly 
patted my arm. I told you I wasn’t leaving you, Nick. We drove a little longer. That lights of 
Heifa fading into the darkness. I felt as empty and exhausted as ever before in my life. Did we 
get it? She finally asked. I hesitated a little. Yeah, we got it. I smiled. So, are we headed to 
Paris? Stop over? I nodded. Then where? Still love me? I asked. You scared the hell out of me, 
Nick. I don’t know what I’m feeling. You should   have been in my shoes. I paused. No, not really. A 
smile edged across my lips. A wide one triumphant. I couldn’t believe we had pulled it off. Then 
Andy was smiling too. Yeah, I still love you, she said. So where? The end of the earth. Cable 
had taunted me. Come and get me. Nikki smiles. That’s what had made me laugh. Why? I knew Raikov 
had told me the truth. The name of Cavel’s ranch. Finn Delmundo. The end of the world. Patagonia. 
I told her Patagonia. Andy looked at me. I’m not even sure I know where that is. Don’t Worry I Do 
Part Five. El Find Delm Mundo. Chapter 108. The young girl’s pathetic whales echoed through 
the large stone house. Her name was Mariela, and she was still curled up on the bed, blood 
on the pillow from the cut he’d opened on her   face. “Shut the hell up!” Dominic Cable finally 
barked at her, wrapping his robe around himself and stepping over to the window. He threw open the 
shutters, letting in the afternoon light. “Better   me than some ignorant farm boy, don’t you think? 
Or maybe your father drunk on beer. or is your father your lover? A brown haze had settled over 
the vast valley outside the bedroom window. Soon it would be winter. Everything would change. 
The pastures would be blanketed in snow and a   howling wind would lash them for months, frigid 
and unending. Cavella’s skin turned cold just thinking of it. Still, it was worth it. All that 
he had given up to be free. He had the largest ranch in the region. The extradition treaty 
with the US was weak and rarely if ever tested. He had anyone who mattered in the local government 
on his payroll. He was safe and there were no delicacies like young Mariela back at Marian 
prison. A couple of bodyguards armed with machine guns were lounging on the fence next to one of his 
range rovers sipping coffee. At the girl’s sobs, they looked up and met Cavella’s eyes. Hard to 
tell what they thought and he didn’t care. I told   you to stop whining. He came back at the cowering 
girl. You sound like a hen. Is that what you want to sleep in the barn with the other hens? Or 
maybe he undid his robe, feeling himself come   alive once more. “You want to screw daddy again?” 
she reared up and cursed at him in Spanish. Cable rushed forward and slapped her across the face 
again, slicing open her lip. He slipped off his   robe and pushed her back on the sheets. He 
grasped her by the wrists as she struggled, staring at her perfect breasts at her young, 
“Yes, I think that’s what you need.” Suddenly,   he heard shouting downstairs and then a loud knock 
at the bedroom door. “Who is it?” Cable snapped. It is Lucha Danalu. What do you want? You know I’m 
busy. I’m afraid we have a little problem. Senior Lucha called through the door. Lucha ran security 
for him here at the ranch. He oversaw the men downstairs and the dogs that patrolled at night. 
All the local law enforcement people in Yuzua were on Lucha’s payroll. He was an ex- policeman from 
Buenazarus. Caval pulled himself off the girl and belted his robe. He cracked open the door. You’re 
pissing me off. Not a good idea, Lucha. What kind of problem? The girl’s father, he is in the house 
right now. He’s demanding to see her. Davalo, pay him off. Cavel shrugged. Get a stabbing to give 
him a day or two off. I’m busy now. Senior Cavalo, this one is different. The security man said. The 
girl is 15. Pig filth. The father’s angry shouts rang down the hall. Mariela threw herself off 
the bed. Papa, she screamed. Caval grabbed her. She tried to break free and run for the door. 
This is not so easily disposed of. Don Cavel,” Lucha continued. “If word gets out, it will draw 
attention.” The farman’s loud voice could be heard calling him a pig and his daughter a bring him 
here. Cal ordered. I’ll talk to him myself. Davo, bring him here. Lucha nodded and two of his men 
dragged in the burly wild farmer. He glared at Cavella with venom in his dark eyes. He spit on 
the polished hardwood floor. He says he is dead to the world now, Dan Cavel, and you as well. 
Cable stared into the farmers angry eyes while he stroked Mariela’s slender backside. He 
is right, Lucha. It is wrong to leave him in such shame. Give the man his wish. His wish, Daveo. The 
security man looked on, unsure of what to do. Kill him. Shoot him. Bury him. No. The daughter’s eyes 
flared up. No, center. No. She fell to her knees, pleading with him in Spanish. The security 
man hesitated. He was paid well to do as   Cavella wished, and he would do what had to 
be done. They will take care of one problem, Don. Cavel. He nodded toward the girl. But what 
if the other? Cal looked at beautiful Mariela, disappointed. He knew he would not find one 
like this again. Kill her, too. Better yet,   I’ll kill her myself eventually. Chapter 109. It 
took 22 hours and three featurelength movies to travel from London to Santiago, Chile, halfway 
around the world. Then another four and one two hours on LN the Chilean airline down to Pontaus, a 
gray ice free port at the foot of the Andes at the bottom of the world. We could have flown directly 
to Aya, but if Ramlikov had double crossed us, I didn’t want to be arriving there. It was autumn 
in the southern hemisphere and we were down at the very tip. The sky was slate gray and a steady wind 
beat into our faces. Anytime we stepped outdoors, it took a day to adjust. Rimlikov said Cavella’s 
ranch was near Yuzua, a 12-hour drive. “Where the hell is Yuzua?” Andy asked, squinting at the map. 
“South? I thought we were south.” Andy smirked cynically. I pointed at a dot at the very tip 
of South America all the way south. For years, Yuzua was pretty much noted for its remote prison. 
“I had a book on Patagonia by a writer named Bruce Chatwin. He described a fabled and mysteriously 
remote land. Melon had stopped there and all he had encountered were Indians who didn’t wear 
much clothing and huddled around fires in the   most hostile climate. The land of fire he named 
it Tira Del Fuego. As we sat there on the second morning in our rented Land Cruiser, ready to 
pull out, Andy said to me, “All I can say is   if Raikov turns out to be a liar, it’s a hell of 
a long drive back. The route south and east was weatherbeaten and winding, but the landscape was 
spectacular, like nothing I’d ever seen anywhere. We immediately climbed up through the Andes, 
craggy. Sod mountains jutted from sprawling plains. Massive iceblue glaciers nestled between 
the peaks. The channel coastline was rocky and irregular, as it must have looked a million years 
ago, as if God couldn’t make up his mind between   beautiful and desolate. At almost every turn in 
the road, swirling clouds opened to sudden chasms of the most brilliant blue. We finally crossed 
the border into Argentina. The winding road hugged Beagle Channel. Islands and peninsulas pushing 
out into a blue gray sea that looked freezing cold. Occasionally, men on horseback with scarves 
over their weathered faces waved silently from the side of the road. The landscape was barren and 
lunar. We eventually came upon a roadside cantina, the first commercial establishment we’d seen for 
miles. There were gauchos sitting around outside, hearty looking locals who looked us over 
and probably wondered if we’d gotten our   seasons wrong. I get the feeling we ought to 
stop. Andy said, “The closest McDonald’s is probably about 3,200 m away. The meats at the 
cantina were roasted on open flames and served smothered in a green chimmery sauce with 
vegetables on tortillas. Not outstanding,   but not half bad. We took a picture of a sign 
that read Antarctica. 87 me in a dozen languages. A young cowboy with a multicolored shawl and 
weathered face let Andy climb up on his horse. Her smile was one I’d remember until I died. 
I hoped that wouldn’t be too soon. Andy looked wistfully at me as we climbed back in the car. 
I wish Jard could have been here, Nick. All the things he missed. When we came to the outskirts 
of Yuzua, there were no picture postcards. the last stopover before Antarctica. The town sloped 
upward from the sea against a steep mountain, almost a wall. This was the other side of the 
world from Heifa, and not just geographically. The place appeared to be a pit. Narrow streets rose up 
from an industrial port loaded with locals hawking everything from penguin dolls to Antarctica 
t-shirts. Packs of mangy dogs roamed the streets. The low stuckco houses had these strange baskets 
at top stakes in front of them. The stunning beauty of our drive there came crashing down. We 
found a modest hotel near the port called Lebella   Vista that the guide book said was decent. I 
shrugged in Andy’s direction. The Ritz was booked. Our room had a queen-sized bed, some pictures of 
the town as it was a 100 years ago, and a framed nautical map of Antarctica, which down here was 
like St. Peter’s is to a hotel in the Vatican. We stepped out on the tiny balcony overlooking 
Beagle Sound. The clouds were low and dark and swift moving. Mountains rose from the flat land 
on the other side of the great channel. A cold, nasty wind smacked us. Don’t ever say I never 
took you anywhere interesting. Andy put her head on my shoulder. No, I can’t say that about you, 
Nick. We both knew the fun was now officially over. Chapter 110. In the morning, we went 
downstairs, and after breakfast, we made some inquiries at the front desk. The wavy-haired clerk 
greeted us as if we were lovers in a holiday, eager to tour the sites. Would you like to see 
the penguins? No penguins. I took out our map. We’re looking for ranches outside town. Maybe you 
can help. Aankenia, he replied, using the term for the sprawling farms that had been privately owned 
since the 1800s, but were now tourist destinations   and national parks. I handed him the map. We’re 
actually looking for a particular one. It’s called Elf Demundo. Elf and Demundo. The clerk repeated, 
nodding. The end of the world, you know it. No, he shook his head. But it is wellnamed. If I 
was here unofficial business, there would have been dozens of ways I could have located Cavel. 
But unfortunately, they all involved the local   police. I was sure privacy was a guarded commodity 
down here, and I didn’t want to attract attention. There are many estanses north of town. The clerk 
took out a pen. He circled an area on the map. Here near the skiing or here. He circled another 
area to the west. You have a car center? I nodded. A four-wheel drive. You will need every bit of 
it. He grinned as if in on a private joke. We left town, taking a different route from the way 
we came in toward the northeast. The road hugged   the coast for a while, passing deserted islands. 
In the distance, the mountains of Chile ring the horizon. Then we turned at the mountain road and 
started to climb. Really climb? Let me guess, Andy said, finding disappointment. You really don’t 
want to see the penguins. After we find Cavel,   I grinned. I’ll make sure we leave sometime. We 
drove up into the high valleys above Yuzua. The plains were greener here, spotted with vegetation, 
the mountains sloping and tall. We passed a few wind battered road signs. Brida, another with 
an arrow pointing the opposite way. Chilly. The scenery was spectacular. Frozen falls shooting 
down from steep high cliffs. crevices packed with solid ice. We passed the beautiful lake, craggy 
mountains curling out of it that were twisted   into shapes I had never seen before, bathed in a 
luminous bronze light. We spent the next 2 hours bouncing up every marked road we could find. We 
passed a few wooden gates, all false alarms. I was sure we were more likely to find Bigfoot up here 
than Cavel. On the way back, we wrapped around   the mountains and came down to the west through 
the Tiarra Del Fuego Park. At some point, we saw the biggest block of ice imaginable. It was at 
least 30 ft tall and covered the top of a valley between two peaks for miles. We came across three 
ranches. Each was huge and in a beautiful setting, tucked into the mountains, overlooking barren 
coastline and sea. None were the one we were looking for. I groaned completely frustrated. Who 
knew what Ramlov meant by near Yuzua? We didn’t even know in what direction. When we drove back to 
town around 400 p.m., the sun was heading down. It was one of the most scenic days of my life, but 
that wasn’t why we came. We drove back through   the sidi streets and pulled up in front of our 
hotel. Senior Germo, the desk clerk, waved as we came in. Did you find it? I found the end of the 
world. I snorted with frustration. Just no ranch, he seemed. Excited. I asked my wife center. She 
is Dutch. She works at El Pasio Dotted City Hall. I waited for him to tell me. Elfen Demundo. She 
knows of this place. I went over and let him fold back the map and indicate a point east of town, 
nowhere near where we’d been trolling around all   day. Here it is owned by an old local family. 
At least that is what the documents say, but my wife says it belongs to a foreigner. An American? 
Yes. I patted Germo on the shoulder and smiled. An American? Yes. Chapter 11. We drove out to find 
it the next day. It was east, not near the other fancy estas, but in a remote valley. We pushed 
the land cruiser up the narrow winding canyon, cut through sweeping rocky cliffs and overhanging 
glaciers. There wasn’t a single road sign. We only pressed on because of Garmmo’s directions. We 
stopped the SUV on what I took to be a high, steep path overlooking the property and made sure it was 
out of sight. Then Andy and I crawled to a hidden overhang and peered through the glasses. I knew it 
was Cavella’s ranch as soon as I set eyes on it. He’s here. The property didn’t look welcoming or 
open like the other ranches we’d seen. There was no sign over the wooden gate. Instead, there was a 
tower and two men, more like soldiers leaning back on chairs flipping cards. They’re sloppy, I said. 
That’s a good sign, I hope. Flocks of sheep grazed on land that swept up the steep mountain walls, 
but the wire that stretched from the closed gate   wasn’t to keep them in. It was barbed. It was to 
keep others out. The men in the tower were armed. Two automatic rifles were leaning against the 
wall. I spotted four other guards patrolling the   periphery with dogs. I wasn’t looking at a ranch, 
I realized, but a fortress. Elen del Mundo. The property was so vast, I couldn’t even glimpse the 
main house or the setup. I had no way to determine what the complete security situation was. So, I 
focused on the guards at the gate. The damn thing might be electrified. At various intervals, 
I spotted cameras. I passed the binoculars to Andy. She took a nervous sweep. I’m sure she never 
spotted the weapons in the guard tower, but after she surveyed the property, she put the glasses 
down with a defeated shrug. Any idea how we’re going to get in there, Nick? I leaned back against 
the rock, picked up a handful of gravel, and flung   it loosely to the ground. We’re not chapter 112. 
We watched Cavella’s ranch the next day, too, from the narrow sheep path about a quarter of a 
mile away. Each time we hid the car and huddled in it against the rain and chill, just looking over 
the ranch, waiting for something to happen. On the third day, something finally did. The front gate 
started to open. In the tower, the guards stood   up. I zoomed in closer with the binoculars. In the 
distance, two black blurs were approaching down the road. I hopped out of the Land Cruiser. Andy 
sensed that something was happening. Nick, what’s going on? I didn’t answer, just train the glasses 
on the advancing vehicles, maybe a four mile away, which turned out to be two black Range Rovers. The 
guards at the gate picked up the rifles and jumped to attention. The Range Rover slowed to a stop 
at the Estansia’s front gate. I couldn’t see into them. Their windows were tinted black. One of the 
guards in the tower waved and said something to   the lead driver. I knew he was in there, Dominic 
Cavel. I could feel his presence in the pit of my stomach. It was the same terrible feeling I’d 
had when I saw Manny and Ed lying on that beach in Montalk. Then the vehicles pulled away down the 
valley road heading for town. That’s how we’re going to do it. Andy, I kept my eyes on the Range 
Rovers as they bounced down the mountain road toward Yuzua. He’s going to come to us. Chapter 
113. We had to be a little patient. We’d known that from the start. Twice a week, Cavel emerged 
from his compound. It was always on Wednesdays and Saturdays in the two black Range Rovers and 
always around noon. Cavella would drive the first car while two capable looking guards followed in 
the second. On Saturday, we waited at the edge of Yuzua and picked up his convoy as it headed into 
town. Was this our chance? Cavella came in to have a meal, always at the same cantina, pick up some 
newspapers and cigars and get laid. We’d learned from a local bartender and a waitress that the 
American ate at a cafe called Bar Ideal on San Martin Street near the port. He sat at the same 
table in the front window. He sometimes grabbed and flirted with a hot little blonde waitress 
there. A couple of times they had been seen going off together after her shift to a hotel down the 
street. Cavel and the girl usually came out after about an hour or so. Then like a sad bull, he 
would wander over to a smoke shop a few blocks away on my bodyguards a few paces behind. He’d buy 
a box of fancy cigars, Cohiba’s Cuban. Then he’d take a USA Today in a New York Times from a news 
stand down the block. Cable seemed to be fearless here who would recognize him. Occasionally he 
would sit at a different cafe, order a coffee, open his papers, and light up a cigar. Merchants 
seemed to cater to him as if he was an important man. As I glimpsed him getting out of his car, I 
felt my insides ratchet tight. All the anger and anguish from so many deaths came hurtling back at 
me. I could only watch silently, my skin numb and hot. How was I going to do this? How could I get 
him alone? We had no bait in Heifa. We had the   boy Pavl. How was I going to get close to Cavel? 
And then what if I did? That night we stopped to have dinner in a small cafe outside of town. Andy 
seemed unusually quiet. Something was weighing on her and I was feeling it, too. We’d been so close 
to Cavel and he was a free man here. Finally, she looked at me. How are we going to get this done? I 
took a sip of the Chilean beer. He’s well-guarded.   I don’t know how to get close. Andy put down her 
beer. Listen, Nick, what if I can? Chapter 114. Andy had been thinking about this for a long time. 
She had watched Cable enough that she just knew.   She’d had this feeling even watching him come 
into the courtroom that first fateful day. She knew how to get close to him if she ever needed 
to. And now she did. I’m an actress, remember? She and Nick began to think out a loose plan, 
just going through the motions. She had to make   sure she wouldn’t be recognized, but Cavella had 
only seen her during the trial with her hair long and usually tucked in a beret. So, she went out to 
the Farbasia and got a dye to lighten her hair to blonde. Then, she braided it Indian style and put 
on a baseball cap with a little orange lipstick and sunglasses. She surprised herself. What do 
you think? I think we take this a step at a time, Andy. I think it’s a good disguise. It wasn’t 
just acting a role now. It was the real thing.   It was life and death. They found a place to lure 
him easily enough. But with Cavella’s bodyguards always around, Nick had to be ready to come in 
fast. There was always a chance he might not get   there in time. And then Andy would probably die. 
They would both die. Nick bought a short serrated blade, a fisherman’s knife, and a melon. You 
pushed the knife in here, he said, showing her. He guided her thumb to the soft spot under her chin, 
pressing into her larynx. It’ll stop him dead, make him helpless. He won’t be able to scream. 
He’ll be too shocked and bleeding too much to   do anything. There will be lots of blood, Andy. 
You have to be prepared for that, and you have to keep the knife in him until he dies. You think 
you can do that? She nodded tentatively. I can do   it. Nick handed her the sheathed blade. You think 
so? Show me. She held it unnaturally. She’d never used the knife for anything except preparing food. 
She slowly lifted the blade, still in its sheath to the spot under Nick’s chin. “Pressed.” “Let me 
practice on the melon,” she said. “Practice on me harder,” he said. Andy pushed the blade with more 
force into Nick’s throat. He grabbed her wrist   quick like this. His hand jerked upward with 
violent movement, scaring her, his thumb going right to the same point in her neck. She let out 
a gasp. “You have to be able to do this,” he said, applying more pressure, his voice hard. 
If he suspects anything or recognizes you, this is what he’ll be doing to you. You’re hurting 
me, Nick. We’re talking about killing a man,   Andy. I know that, Nick. Nick, let her go. She 
held the knife until she grew comfortable with it, and it began to fit more smoothly in her palm. She 
thought of all the times she had wanted to do this   to Cavel in so many dreams that she’d had over 
and over again. She pushed the blade deeper into the spot Nick had showed her, his head bent with 
the pressure. Harder, one movement. What if this is all we have, Andy? What if you’re in there with 
him and I can’t get there to help? Andy jerked her hand and dug the blade under his chin. Nick’s head 
lifted. His face showed pain. Better. He nodded and picked up the melon. Now show me again. I 
want to see you stab this fruit hard. Kill cavel. Andy. Chapter 115. Dominic Cavella’s Wednesday had 
turned to he always looked forward to Wednesdays. By then he usually couldn’t take it anymore. 
couldn’t take feeling locked up on the remote   farm like a prisoner in his own house. Wednesday 
was the day he rocked the daylight out of Rita, the hot little Tam who worked at the bar ideal. 
But Rita wasn’t around today. There was up in Buenazarus at some family thing. So Cal just 
sat there in Bar Ideal nursing a warm beer and sausages, horny and frustrated as hell. For years 
he never ever ate alone. He was always surrounded by his men, his business partners, dozens of them 
if he wanted, plus an assortment of pretty bodies. All he’d have to do was snap his fingers. Now he 
ate alone all the time. He might as well be in a federal prison. Well, maybe not. Cavella was 
thinking how he missed that sweet little thing he’d had back at the ranch. Mariela, what a shame 
that was. He thought of her satiny smooth ass, her baby tits. At least Andy chuckled aloud. I 
was the only one to do her. Soon the snow would start and it wouldn’t stop for months. It would 
be even harder to find distractions here. Then   he took another swig of shitty Argentine beer. He 
felt so trapped and bottled up. He wanted to kick over the table. Times like this back home, he’d 
snap his fingers and he could have all the women he wanted, any age, or put a gun in someone’s 
mouth and hear him beg for his life. Yes, he’d done that just for fun. He could do anything 
back home. He was Dominic Cavel, the electrician. These Incas had no idea who he was. Cable got up 
and tossed a few crumpled bills on the table. He went outside and nodded to Lucha and Juan who were 
in the Range Rover across the street. He started to head up the hill in his black leather top coat. 
His shoulders hunched against the stiffening wind. This with his bodyguards trailing, Dominic Cavel 
turned up the hill away from the port and headed   toward Magen. Two dogs were barking, tearing at 
strips of meat from a tipped over garbage can. Pretty soon they would be fighting each other for 
the scraps. That was his amusement now. He pulled   out his gun, shot one of the dogs, felt better. 
Then he turned on me. What else was there to do today except smoke a fet kohiba and then go. Home. 
Chapter 116. Andy’s cell phone buzzed. She didn’t answer. She knew what it meant. She turned to 
the short mustached clerk in the cigar shop who   barely spoke English. These are the best, you say? 
They’re Cuban, right? See, Senora, the best in the world at any price. Andy nervously held out the 
two cigar boxes, Monte Cristos and Cohibas. She waited for the sound she knew would be coming. 
The little bell tinkling behind her. Cavel   entering the store. A tingle of nerves danced 
down her spine. This isn’t some stupid play, she said to herself. You’re not on stage here. 
You have to calm yourself and do this right. You   have to be perfect. Finally, she heard the bell, 
then the wine of the door opening. Andy tensed, but never looked behind. She knew who it was. 
But which is the best? she kept asking. It’s a gift for my husband and they’re expensive. 
I’m not making myself clear, am I? Senora,   they are both the best. The tobaconist pleaded. It 
is a matter of taste. She looked at the two boxes. Please. You won’tt go wrong with either. Of 
those, she heard the voice behind her say. But for my money, Kohiba is the best. Andy sucked 
in his shooting breath, almost afraid to turn   and face him. Finally, she did. She saw a man in 
a dark black leather top coat and a tweed cap. Cavella looked a little older than she remembered, 
his face more haggarded, but it was still the same   man she hated. It’s like a choice between 
a brunell and a great burgundy. I go with the Brunell in this case, the Cohiba, but Federer 
Rico’s right. It’s a matter of taste. The tobacco clerk nodded. See, senior citini 
sitini, Andy noted. She handed the clerk the Kohibas. I’ll go with these. She turned back to 
Cable. Thanks for rescuing me. No rescue. Even a connoisseur would find it a difficult choice. He 
moved closer to her. Business or studies? Sorry, Andy said. It’s unusual to find an American 
accent down here this time of year. Most of the tourists have gone home. Andy smiled. Business, 
I guess. I’m taking a job on an expedition to Antarctica next month. An explorer? Cable made 
a show of seeming impressed. Not quite. A chef, actually. Maybe more of an escapist than anything 
else. No shame in that. Cable smiled. Down here, most everybody is. Andy slowly lifted her 
sunglasses. She let him see her face. So,   what are you escaping? She asked, wetting her 
lips. At this moment, sheep, I have a ranch 20 minutes out of town. Sheep, huh? She cocked her 
head coily. That’s all. All right, you caught me. Cavella raised his hands as if surrendering. 
I’m actually in the witness protection program. I made a wrong turn at Phoenix and headed south. 
This is where I ended up. A man with a very   bad sense of direction. Andy laughed and hoped it 
seemed genuine. But don’t worry, Mr. Sitini, your secret safe with me. Frank Cable said, “Now his 
look bore in a little closer.” The crafty killer, the psycho, the electrician, Alicia. Andy lied 
as well. Alicia Bennett, nice to meet you, Alicia Bennett. Cable put out his hand. Explorer. They 
shook hands. His touch was rough and scaly to her. Andy tried not to flinch. She fished in her wallet 
for money. And what about you? Cable smiled, keeping up the banter. What are you escaping? Me? 
I’m a desperate housewife. Andy chuckled. You must be very desperate if you’re here, but you don’t 
look it. I saw this ad. Andy shrugged. It promised   the end of the world. I figured it meant here in 
Nuya, but if I’m buying Cuban cigars and talking to an American about TV, I guess I haven’t 
found it yet. So, I’m heading farther south. Your husband must be quite a confident man to let 
you come down here by yourself, Alicia. Or maybe   it’s him you are escaping. Andy sighed a little 
embarrassed. Actually, I lied. I’m not married. I was trying to pretend not to be some dumb woman 
for the store clerk here. The cigars are for the   ship, buying them so early. Cavla looked at her. 
You certainly are a prepared little girl. Andy flinched. The first mistake. The proprietor handed 
her the package. Andy took her change. You’ve made a wise choice to go with the Kohiba’s Alicia. And 
as far as the end of the world, I think that’s something I could show you, and you may not have 
to go as far as you think. Is that so? What do you   mean? My ranch. That’s what it’s called. This 
must be fate, Alicia. I don’t believe in fate, Andy said, smiling once again. She put her 
package under her arm and slipped past him   as he held the door. But I believe in lunch. 
Andy’s heart started to quicken. Stay cool, she said to herself. Just a few seconds more. You 
have him. Don’t lose him. Cable followed her out. To the sidewalk down the street, Andy noticed 
two bodyguards milling around, not paying too much attention. Sloppy, just as Nick said. I have 
lunch Saturdays at the bar. Ideal. Cable said, “It’s down by the port if you care to join me.” 
“It all depends,” Andy called, backing down the street. She could see the gleam in his eye. She 
had him hooked. “On what?” Cava followed her a few steps. “On what you did to get yourself in the 
witness protection program, Mr. Citini, I only go out with a certain kind of man.” “Oh, that cavel.” 
Grin taking one more step after her. Mafia boss, does that qualify? Chapter 117. Saturday came. 
Andy was already sitting in the cafe when Cavel arrived. The two black Range Rovers pulled up down 
the square and the door to the lead one opened. Cavel got out looking full of himself as always. 
This was no game, no role. She knew this man would gladly kill her given the chance. But she had to 
do this. She told herself. She had to stay calm. She had to act. Caval looked pleased and maybe 
even a little surprised as he stepped up to her table. He was wearing the same black leather top 
coat and dark sunglasses, the tweed cap. I’m very happy to see you, Alicia. I see my past occupation 
didn’t scare you off. Gee, and I thought we were only playing with each other. Andy looked at him 
over her own sunglasses. Should I be scared? She had let down her hair this time and was wearing an 
orange t-shirt that read ball buster in small type under her waistlength denim jacket. Cava read 
the lettering on her shirt. Maybe it’s me. Who ought to be scared? Alicia, may I sit down? Sure, 
unless you like to eat standing up. He sat down and took off his hat. Cavella’s hair was slightly 
grayer. His face had barely changed from the one she had stared at with hatred in the courtroom the 
day of the new trial. “You don’t seem too sinister   to me,” she said. “Anyway, how could anyone who 
farm sheep be so bad?” Caval laughed, and she knew that he could be charming when he wanted to. “You 
know, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell the   Justice Department for years.” Andy laughed. They 
both did. A waiter came up. He seemed to recognize Cavel. The empanadas are like rocks here, but the 
margaritas are the best north of Antarctica, said Caval. Margarita, Andy said, not even opening the 
menu. Cable asked for an absolute on the rocks. So, why are you here? She tilted her chair. They 
have sheep all over, don’t they? You don’t seem   like much of a farmer, Frank. The weather. Cable 
smiled, then went on. Let’s just say it suits me here. Desolate, lonely, isolated, and those are 
the good points. You know, I’m actually starting to believe that witness protection thing. She 
eyed him with a koi smile. The waiter brought   their drinks. Andy lifted her margarita. Cava 
his vodka. To the end of the world, he said, and whatever hopes and expectations go along with 
it. Andy met his eyes. They cling keg glasses. Sounds like a plan. She took a sip and looked 
past him into the square. Somewhere out there,   Nick was watching. That gave her strength. And 
God, she needed it right now. So, what sort of hopes and expectations do you have, Frank? She 
asked, peering over her sunglasses. Actually, I was thinking of you. Me? Andy, nervous again, 
put down her glass. What do you know about me? I know people don’t come this far because 
they’re happy. I know you’re very attractive and   apparently open to new things. I know you’re here. 
You’re quite the psychologist. I guess I just like people how their minds work. He asked about her 
and Andy went through the story that she and Nick had fabricated about how her first marriage had 
crashed and how some Boston restaurant where she was a sue chef had failed and how it was time for 
a change in her life, new adventures. So here she was a couple of times she touched his arm. Cable 
responded by leaning closer. She knew how the game was played. Andy just prayed he hadn’t already 
seen through her act. Finally, Cavella locked his   hands in front of his face. You know, Alicia, I’m 
not the kind of person who beats around the bush. No, Frank. She took a sip of her drink. No, Frank. 
He paused, disappointed. Andy smiled at him. No, Frank. I never got the impression that you were. 
Cable grinned too under the table. She shifted   her leg so that it brushed against his. Cable sat 
there staring at her. This was so pathetic. Hand nauseiating. You might like to see my ranch. It’s 
not too far away. The vistas are some of the best   anywhere. That would be nice. I’d love it. When 
were you thinking? Why not this afternoon after we eat? We could do that. Andy shrugged. I have 
another idea though. My hotel is just a few blocks away. Frank, I’m pretty sure I can give you an 
equally stunning view. Chapter 118. I was watching the two of them from the cover of the Land Cruiser 
parked across the square. As Andy and Cavella rose from the table and started toward the hotel, I 
felt my heart begin to pound. She had done her job. They were heading to her hotel room. Cavella 
nodded towards someone in the lead Range Rover, which I was praying meant, “Take the rest 
of the afternoon off. It didn’t.” Two men   stepped out immediately. One was squat with a 
shaved head and a mustache. The other tall with long black hair wearing an added warm-up top. 
The bodyguards fell in 20 yards behind. This wasn’t good. For the first time since Andy and 
I planned this, reality smashed me in the face. I knew that just the feel of Cavella’s hand must 
be agony for her. his putting his hands all over her would be sickening and maybe too much for 
her to take. And now there was the issue of the   bodyguards. They were obviously accompanying Cable 
to the hotel. I touched the handle of my walther, locked and loaded in my jacket. Then I stepped out 
of the Land Cruiser. The question exploding in my brain. Did I try to take them out now? Chapter 
119. Andy was jumpy as she turned the key to the hotel room door. Cable barely gave her time to 
catch a breath. Let me,” he whispered close to her ear. He took the keys out of her hand and a second 
later pushed her up against the wall inside,   pressing his body hard against hers. He put his 
tongue into her mouth. Andy almost gagged. Then Cavel had his hand underneath her t-shirt, pouring 
at her breasts. “Oh god, this was Dominic Cavel. He was Jar’s killer.” Andy closed her eyes, then 
felt his hand slowly slide down her stomach,   slipping underneath her panties. “You’re all 
hot.” Cella pulled away, grinning luridly. Yeah, let’s not rush this though, Frank. We have all the 
time in the world. He pulled her denim jacket off, tossed it on the floor. You know, the second I 
saw you, I wanted this to happen. I wanted to take you right in that store. Does that mean the 
trip to the ranch is off? Andy said, trying to be cute. Cable laughed again, pulling her into 
him, cupping his hands over her breasts again.   She wanted to kill him right now. I need a couple 
of seconds. Andy gasped. Not right now. He pulled her t-shirt up, started licking her breasts and 
shoulders. He began to grind against her thigh.   Then he ripped her bra off in a violent tug and 
started fondling her bare breasts. “Please, I need a second,” she said. “The bathroom.” Cal looked 
into her eyes. “You don’t want to back out now. Who’s backing out?” Andy tried to laugh, but Cavel 
grabbed her by the wrist and flung her onto the   bed. He seemed out of control. She tried to calm 
herself, but she was thinking of the knife. She slid herself up to the pillow where it was hidden. 
She’d cut through that melon. She could cut Cavel. Cable thrust himself between her legs. He was 
trying to get her jeans off. Slower, Andy said, pretending to help him. Shuffling back until the 
pillow was under her head. She reached behind, feeling for the blade. She stretched out, 
pretending to enjoy Cavel undressing her.   She prayed that Nick would come through the door. 
“Where was he?” She felt the handle of the knife under the pillow. She had to get him a little 
closer. She fixed her eyes on Cavella’s neck,   the spot where Nick taught her to plunge the 
blade. “What’s the name of your ship?” Cavel said, startling her. What? Excuse me? She stammered. 
The name of your ship, Alicia. He had her wrists pinned. She couldn’t move. The one to Antarctica. 
Andy froze. She stared back into his eyes. Her heart thumped as she struggled for an answer. 
Nothing goes out this time of year. They leave   in the spring, not winter. Cavel said. You’re a 
fox, Alicia. He dug one hand into her throat. But now I think it’s time you tell me who the hell 
you are. Chapter 120. They’ve been up there for 7 minutes. I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. It 
didn’t matter that the bodyguard in the Adidas warm-up was smoking a cigarette. In front of the 
hotel entrance, or that the other one with the shaved head and mustache had followed Cavlo and 
Andy inside, I had to go in. The Lowe’s Pelicanos wasn’t exactly a five-star. It was sleepy and 
quiet with a tiny lobby and a single clerk behind the desk. A cramped threeperson elevator served 
its five floors. I went around back to a small alleyway. I couldn’t chance going into the lobby. 
Above me, there was an old fire escape, the kind with the lowest platform hanging from the second 
floor. I jumped, latched onto a grate, and yanked myself up. The window facing me opened to what 
looked like a hallway, but the window was locked.   I cocked my elbow back and hit the pain. Shards of 
glass shattered all over the floor. I squeezed my hands through the splintered pain and lifted the 
frame. The window rose, then I ducked inside the   hallway, the wall there in my hand. In front of 
me was the elevator landing and a narrow staircase leading to the upper floors. That’s where Andy 
was on three. I made my way up the stairs,   flicking the gun. Off safety, I stopped on the 
third floor landing. I saw a shaved head leaning against the wall. He had his back turned to me and 
was gazing out a hallway window. I rushed him and he must have heard me coming. In a frantic motion, 
he fumbled for his gun. I flattened the muzzle of my walther against his jacket and jerked 
the trigger twice. The retort convulsed him.   The sound muffled against his body. He slumped 
against the wall, his hand still grasping for his gun. He slowly slid down as his eyes rolled back. 
A crimson stain spread out on his shirt. I raced down the hallway to 304. I held back at the door 
for a second. Then I heard a gasp. Andy, chapter 121. You killed my son. Cable’s eyes bulged 
as he tried to make sense of what she said. Then recognition spread across his face. He reached 
for the dog tag Annie always kept around her   neck. It had Jar’s birthday on it. You’re from the 
trial. You’re the one whose kid was on the bus. You pig. Andy tried to twist out of his grasp, but 
Cavel held her. Tight. You’ll like this. He said, “I wanted to do you all through the trial right 
in the jury box.” Suddenly, the hotel room   door crashed open. Cavel spun around. “Get off 
her!” Nick yelled as he stepped into the room, his gun leveled at Cavel. The strangest look came 
over the gangster’s face. He was shocked at first, staring at the gun muzzle, but then he couldn’t 
hold back an incredulous grin. Nikki smiles. You told me to come and find you, so I did. You’ve 
been wasting your talents, Nikki. All these years working for the FBI, he looked at Andy. And 
you? You lost out on a really good time. Without a word, Andy punched his face as hard as she could. 
A good time I had to keep from throwing up. You   killed my little boy. Well, that really stings, 
Alicia, or whatever your name is. Tell me, Nick, is this little rendevous official? How’d you find 
me? Cable rose from the bed, rubbing his jaw and   moving it around. Elf delundo, this is it. Remikov 
sold you out. Remikov Cavel squinted. Who’s that? Nord Shenko Nick said, you got a lot too. Pay 
for Dom. Yeah, well, I figure I got time. The extradition treaties don’t move so fast down 
here. Not to imply I’m not totally humbled.   You guys coming all the way down here to take me 
back? Nick stared at him coldly. What makes you think anyone came down here to take you back? The 
color in Cavella’s face began to drain. You’re a   federal agent, Pelisante. Actually, not anymore. 
What do you think of that? Cal sniffed. Well, what do you know? I’m impressed. Nikki smiles in 
a swift motion. Cal took the small writing desk by the window and hurled it. Nick fired. The bullet 
tore into Cable’s shoulder. Nick jumped back as the desk crashed against the wall. Cal made a 
leap for the window, hitting it with his clenched   fists. He crashed through a glass. Both Nick and 
Andy ran to the broken window. They saw Cavel writhing on the ground three stories below. Then 
he started to rise up. He struggled to his feet, clutching his shoulder, and he began to stagger 
away. Chapter 122. I bounded down the stairway at the end of the hall two steps at a time. 
Then I remembered Cavella’s other bodyguard. He was still guarding the entrance to the hotel, 
and that was a problem. I came to a stop on the   second floor. The elevator was there. I reached 
in and pushed the button for the lobby, sending it on its way. Then I backtracked and crept along 
the staircase, following the clanking elevator down. I waited for the doors to open to the lobby. 
The second I heard the elevator rattle to a stop, I stepped out, my waller drawn. Cavlas bodyguard 
must have heard the commotion upstairs because he had his automatic pistol trained on the opening 
doors. He heard a noise and spun toward me. I squeezed, popping two rounds into the logo on 
his mint green warm-up, blowing him back into the empty elevator car. Then I ran out the front 
door. Outside the hotel, there was no sign of Cavalo. I took off in the direction of the harbor 
back toward the bar ideal where the Range Rovers were parked. As I turned into the square, I saw 
Cavel. He was limping toward the cars getting close. With a glance back, Cal pulled himself up 
into the lead Range Rover and started the engine. He jerked it into reverse, did a three-point turn, 
smashing into a street sign and sending a few onlookers jumping out of the way. I ran over to my 
Land Cruiser, which was parked across the square. I pulled out after him. I knew that if he got to 
his ranch, he was lost to me. At best, there’d be months of red tape and diplomatic protocol and a 
lot of explaining about my involvement. Besides, I hadn’t come down here to see him put on trial a 
third time. Cable gunned the range rover through the town streets, careening around tight curves, 
flying through any stop signs and red lights. I followed a few car lengths behind. We made it to 
the east road out of the then he accelerated going   7080 in the direction of his ranch. I picked up 
speed behind him. He passed the slowmoving truck, gunning for the narrow space between it and an 
oncoming bus, loudly honking its horn. Cavel didn’t move out of the way. The bus driver hit 
the brakes. Cable jerked the car back in its lane, missing the bus by inches. I passed the truck, 
doing everything I could to keep the Land Cruiser on the narrow, weatherbeaten road. The speedometer 
climbed. We both got up to about 160km, close to 100m an hour. I could make out the back 
of Cavella’s head, checking me in the rear view mirror as I closed on him. His range rover began 
swerving. Once or twice, I thought it was going to fly off the road. Suddenly, Cable’s window went 
down. I saw an automatic pistol. I slammed on the brakes as bullets ricocheted off the Land Cruiser. 
I hunched low over the steering wheel. Up ahead, I spotted a roadside and a road approaching 
on the right. Dawson Glacier. I hit the gas one more time, making up distance. Then I plowed 
into Cavel at full speed. The Range Rover shot forward and spun. This time, he couldn’t control 
it. He hit the brakes, screeching into 180° spin. I thought he was going to roll over and hoped he 
would. The Range Rover somehow writed itself and clung perilously to the shoulder. Dust and gravel 
billowing everywhere. I pulled forward and slammed my brakes, too. When I came to a stop, I was 
blocking him. Our eyes met. Cable’s only way out was into the canyon. He sent a spray of bullets 
my way. Then he took off up the road. You’re mine. Chapter 123. It was a rocky, unpaved mountain 
road, barely wide enough for a single vehicle. If we didn’t have SUVs, neither of us would 
have been able to stay on it for 100 yards, and it was starting to climb higher. I pursued 
Cable, my head nearly bouncing against the roof. I didn’t know if he knew where he was heading, 
but I sure didn’t. And I didn’t like the idea   of this ominous sounding glacier ahead and the 
unknown terrain. The canyon walls rose above us, overhanging and steep. Cavla’s vehicle sped ahead. 
It was hard to make up distance. Every time I hit a bump or a dip, I clung to the steering wheel 
as if it were a life preserver. The land had the look of a primordial world. Vegetation dwindled 
down to nothing. Head gleaming snowcapped peaks came into view. Frozen cataracts hugged icy cliffs 
overhead. It was surreal. We were going 50 or 60, careening over huge bumps and dips. Any second 
either of us could blow a tire and be dead because   of it. Cable fishtailed perilously around turns, 
scraping boulders and branches. I had to end this. Cable slid around another turn and I floored the 
accelerator, ramming his back end. The Range Rover swerved, trying to hold the turn. Then its wheels 
sputtered wildly into a gully. The Range Rover continued to roll, then landed upright in a cloud 
of dust. I slammed on my brakes and jumped out with my Walder ready. I didn’t see any movement, 
and it looked bad. Suddenly, the passenger door creaked open. I couldn’t believe it. Cable with a 
bullet in his shoulder along with whatever other injuries he just sustained crawled out of the 
vehicle. He was still holding the gun and he sprayed a barrage of bullets my way. I moved 
behind the SUV as bullets pummeled the Land Cruiser shooting out windows. He kept firing until 
the clip was empty. I called out to him, “End of the world dom for you.” Chapter 124. I started 
toward him and Cavel began to hobble up the slope toward the ice field, limping horribly. What was 
with this guy? It’s payup time, Dom. You remember Manny Oliver, Ed Sinclair? I yelled and my voice 
echoed. He continued to claw his way up the slope, falling back, writing himself, grabbing at rocks 
and loose gravel. I kept up maybe 30 yard behind. Over a ledge ahead of us was a massive block 
of ice. It was 30 ft tall and vast, clinging to the valley walls between two mountains. It was 
breathtaking. Could have sunk a thousand Titanics. And Cavella was headed toward it. He started to 
slide and fall. This time he cried out in pain. How about Ralphiey’s sister Dom? Remember her? How 
about that little girl? The one you burned. What   was she? A year old. Cable backed up against an 
ice fil crease that was maybe 20 ft deep. There was nowhere else to go. He turned and faced me. 
So, what do you want now? You want me to kneel and beg? You want me to say I’m sorry? I’m sorry. I’m 
so sorry. He mocked me and everything I stood for, believed in. I was breathing heavily 
and exhausted. I reached out the gun,   pointed it in the direction of the mobster’s 
chest. He just stood there at the edge with nowhere to go. I’d waited for this for so long. 
Go on. Nikki smiles. You won. It’s cold and who knows what kind of animals are up here in the 
wild. You want some last words? I’m so sorry, Nick. I really am. I’m sorry I never got the 
chance to first before you came in. Quite a piece of ass. There you go, Nick. See how sorry 
I am. Go on, shoot me. I did. I sent a bullet ripping into his leg. Cable buckled and howled. 
He staggered backward. I shot again the ankle, this time, shattering it. Cable screeched, then 
hobbled back. Then his foot slipped over the edge. He began to tumble into the crevice, scratching 
at the ice. He landed heavily on his back. Now he was completely trapped. No way for him, too. Get 
out of there without any help. For a second, I thought he was dead. He was bloody and twisted and 
barely moving. Then he stirred, clawing himself up to his knees. His eyes were glazing over. You 
think you’re better than me? You’re done, too,   Pelisanti. You’ll be lucky if you don’t spend the 
rest of your life in jail. You get the joke, Nick. You’ll give up the rest of your life just to get 
me. So, go on. He spread out his arms. Get it over   with. Shoot. Better that than some wild animal. 
Make my day. I aimed the wilder at Cavel. Ready to take this pathetic animal out. I was thinking 
that we were in the middle of nowhere. No one   around for miles. He couldn’t climb out. The smell 
of blood would act as a magnet and draw whatever predators were up here. Or maybe he’d just die of 
exposure during the night. I lowered my gun. You know, Dom, I said, I kind of like your idea. I 
like it a lot. The part about the animals coming   for you. Come on, Nick. Do it. He snarled. What’s 
the matter? You don’t have the guts. His name was Jarred Dom. He was 10 years old. Come on, do it. 
Kill me, you son of a Shoot me. You remember what you said to me that night in jail when I came to 
visit you? The day the juror bus blew, Caveville kept glaring at me. Well, I just want you to know 
I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight. I watched   Cavel for another minute or so until I was sure 
there was no way he could get out of there. Then I left. Chapter 125. Andy and I landed back at 
JFK in New York two nights later. I half expected to be held by the police as soon as we got off 
the plane, but we breezed through customs and immigration. The terminal was crazy. Families 
and limo drivers, hands in the air, waving at everyone arriving. Some guy in a slick black suit, 
came up to us. Need a ride? Andy and I looked at each other. We hadn’t made a plan. Didn’t know 
how we were going to get back to the city. Sure,   we could use a ride, I said. I gave the driver 
Andy’s address. For most of the ride into Manhattan, we just stared at the familiar sites, 
the fairgrounds, she stadium. I think we were both nervous and scared about what was going to happen 
next. I wasn’t sure I had a job anymore. I didn’t know if I would get arrested. And Andy, somehow I 
didn’t see her going back to auditioning for Tide   commercials. We crossed over the Triber Bridge and 
as we got closer to Andy’s neighborhood, she just looked at me. Suddenly, there were tears in her 
eyes. She shook her head. I’m sorry, Nick. I just can’t. Can’t what, Andy? I can’t get out of this 
cab. I can’t go back to my life without you. I put my hand to her face and brushed away a tear from 
the corner of her eye. She held my hand tightly. I can’t go back to my apartment and pretend I’m 
going to start my life over and that I’m the same   because I’m not. And if I walk through my door 
and have to face what’s there, my stupid life, then don’t. I held her by the shoulders, walk 
through mine. I can’t forget my son, Nick, and I never will. But I don’t want the rest of 
my life to be just missing him. Andy. I put my   finger to her lips, walked through my door. Tears 
were streaming down her cheeks. I didn’t know if they were tears of anguish or joy. You know 
what I earned last year? She said, “$24,600, Nick. That’s all. And even that was mostly from 
residuals. I don’t much care.” I said, holding   her, caressing her. I know the truth. You don’t 
have to prove it to me. The girl can act. Andy choked back a laugh. Her mascara was running. I 
called up to the driver. Change of address. I gave him mine. We were going home together. Epilog. 
One year later. Chapter 126. Richard Nordhenko squeezed a look at his whole cards. A king and 
a 10 of hearts. He decided it was worth it to stay in the hand. He was feeling lucky tonight. 
He had several stacks of chips in front of him,   and he looked forward to this evening for a long 
time. The American had been true to his word. Not a thing had happened after the abduction of 
his son. No policeman, no MSAD, no Interpol, no one had ever connected him to Cavella’s escape 
in New York or to Reichart’s death in Heifa. He had closed up his business and stopped all 
contacts with his former network. A year later, he decided it was safe to put his toe back in. 
He’ taken another job in America. It involved some desperate men from Iran, but the pay was excellent 
and had been delivered up front. This time around, he was Alex Christic, a businessman from Slovenia. 
His visa said he was here to sell wine at a trade show in the Javit Center. All night long, luck 
had gone his way. His stack of chips had steadily grown. He’d allowed himself two vodkas. He wasn’t 
even counting the money he had made. Once or twice he caught the eye of a woman sitting at a table 
across from him. She was in a low-cut black dress with thick curly hair pulled elegantly up on her 
head. She didn’t seem to be with anyone and she   was playing at the small stakes table. The flop 
cards showed another king in a 10 matching his whole cards. The luck continued. Another player 
hung around until the end which was excellent news. Nordko flipped over his cards. The player 
groaned beaten with two low pairs. The gods were still with him. That’s it for me, he announced, 
stacking his chips into neat, tall towers, he went to the bar and ordered another vodka. 
Feeling very good indeed. His mood lifted even   more when the woman he’d noticed slipped into an 
empty seat beside him. “Quite a night for you,” she said. “I couldn’t help noticing like everybody 
else in the room, her backless dress was sexy,   and she was wearing an exquisite perfume. 
She had a long, very beautiful neck. Yes, the poker gods were watching out for me tonight. 
And you? I hope you did well. Just enough to buy a gimlet in a taxi home. I guess I don’t trust 
the gods as much as you. Then let me buy the drink. Nordishko smiled, signaling the bartender. 
You’ll have doubled your winnings. He introduced himself as Alex. She told him her name was Clare. 
They talked about the popularity of poker some about wine in New York City where she was in real 
estate. They ordered another drink. A few times, Clare touched his arm as they spoke. After a 
while, he found himself doing the same thing. Her skin was soft and smooth, her eyes absolutely 
dazzling. Finally, it was past midnight. The card tables had started to thin. He was going to 
suggest to Clare that they continue their   drinks elsewhere when she put her hand on his arm 
again. She leaned in close. Her breath was clean and sweet. You’ve already had a good night, 
Alex. Would you like to make it even better?   Nordenko felt a satisfied glow travel through 
him. Prostitute, but what did it matter? She was highly attractive, and she seemed to be available. 
and he had one enough tonight to pay for several women. That would be my pleasure, Nordhenko said, 
looking into her exquisite brown eyes. He tossed a few bills on the counter. She put her bag over 
her shoulder and he took her elbow as she slid off   the stool. Let’s rock and roll. Clare grinned in 
surprise. My son’s expression. He watches American TV, Nordhenko explained. You have a son? She 
didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, if he read her   right, it made her warm to him more. Yes, Nordenko 
said. He’s 13. Is that so? The woman said her eyes seemed to linger on him, perhaps losing a little 
of their dazzle. I once had a son, too. Chapter 127. I kept the newspaper on the kitchen table and 
read the article again, a short two column report on the Metro page of the New York Post. I stared 
at the black and white photo of the murdered man. No matter how many times I looked at it, it was 
the same businessman murdered in Posh Hotel. The body of a visiting businessman identified as Alex 
Christic from Slovenia was found in the victim’s times square hotel room this morning fatally 
stabbed in the neck. Police investigators placed the time of death at some time after midnight 
last night. Hotel personnel recall Mr. Christine arriving back at the Ramada Renaissance around 
midnight accompanied by an unidentified female guest. Lieutenant Ned Rust of Manhattan’s 23rd 
precinct said they are looking into whether the woman might be a call girl, but have received only 
sketchy details as to her appearance. Mr. Cristic apparently spent the evening at the Murray Hill 
Poker Club, a private club on East 33rd Street, and may have met up with the woman there, 
Lieutenant Rust said. According to Lieutenant   Rust, the crime scene showed no signs of struggle 
or robbery, indicating that Mr. Christristic, who had more than $10,000 in cash among his 
personal effects, may have known the killer. The lock to my apartment turned and Andy, wearing 
jeans and a leather jacket, walked inside. She seemed surprised to see me home. For the past 6 
months, I’d been a partner at Bayar International, a global security firm. Nick, how’s Rita? I 
looked up. You said you were staying at your   sister’s last night. Yeah. Andy dropped the bag of 
groceries on the counter. Then I had an audition today. I pushed the newspaper article across 
the table. She picked it up and read. Finally, she nodded, looked up at the ceiling, then back 
at me. You are quite an actress, I said. She sat   down in the chair across from me. She looked at 
me, not trying to hide a thing. He killed my son, Nick. He killed the jury, too. How did you 
know he was in New York? I asked. Your friend, the one from Homeland Security, Harpering, he 
sent you a fax a few days ago. It was about a   guy you were interested in a year back. He wrote 
that the man had re-entered the country under a different name. Homeland security knew where 
he was staying, the hotel in Time Square. So, is it finished now? Cavel Nordeno. Yes, Nick, she 
nodded. It’s finished. I stood up and went over to her. I pulled her up and hugged her, pressing her 
head against my chest. After a while, I asked. So, how did the audition go? She shrugged. Not too 
bad. It was a law and order episode. I got a call back. Oh, for what? Jury for woman if you 
can believe it, Andy said. Then she smiled. It’s just one line, Nick. The judge asks, “Madam for 
person, have you reached a verdict?” And I look at her a little like I’m looking at you now and 
I say, “Yes, your honor, we have.” Thank you for listening. If like our recording, consider 
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Dive into this high-stakes courtroom thriller by James Patterson and Andrew Gross. Judge and Jury is a gripping story of crime, justice, and unexpected twists. In this video, I break down the plot, share my favorite parts, and reveal what makes it one of Patterson’s standout legal thrillers.

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