Don’t Blink

Chapter 90

I FELT LIKE a cat must after using up eight lives. In other words, no more messing around. Right smack in the middle of the Pelham Parkway I cut my own deal with Agent Douglas Keller. Keep me alive and the story I could write dies. If I die, the story lives. I would see to that – pronto, I promised him.

“Here’s where I keep my former editor’s number.” I pointed to the number two on my phone. “She’s on speed dial. She’s a better writer, and reporter, than I am. Hard to imagine, I know.”

Keller pinched his lips while nodding slowly. Weird, but I could tell there was a part of him that liked my playing hard-ball. He could relate.

“Okay,” he said. “Deal.” He handled it from there. And faster than I would have thought possible.

By the time he met me at the emergency room of the closest hospital – Jacobi Medical Center – he’d already informed the NYPD that the FBI would be taking over my protection. Two cops had already been murdered trying to protect me. Enough said, enough damage done.

“After you get stitched up here, another agent and I will take you back to your apartment. You’ll have a few minutes to pack a suitcase,” said Keller.

We were in a curtained-off area of the ER, waiting for one of the doctors to show up. Were it not for about a dozen butterfly bandages holding me together, I might have already bled out.

“Once I pack, where do I go?” I asked. “Sorry if I don’t entirely trust protective custody schemes.”

“We’re going to a real safe place outside the city. Trust me on this one, Nick.”

“Where’s that? The real safe place?”

“Now, if I told you, how safe would it be for the next guy?” said Keller.

“What about David Sorren?” I asked next.

“What about him?”

“Does he know you’re taking me to the Batcave? He won’t appreciate that. Sorren can play tough, too.”

Keller cracked a slight smile. It was good to know he had one. “Sorren will find out soon enough,” he said. “If there’s anybody who might be even more concerned about your health than us, it’s the Manhattan DA. Mr. David Sorren needs you alive to prosecute D’zorio.”

“If the devil doesn’t get him first,” came a voice on the other side of the curtain.

Sorren.

He took one look at me as he yanked back the curtain and immediately shook his head. “Man, when this is all over, you’re going to have a hell of a story to write.”

“I guess so. If this is ever over, and if I’m in any condition to write it. Not to mention, if I’m actually allowed to write about any of this.”

I shot a quick, uncomfortable glance at Keller.

Sorren promptly introduced himself to Keller. Then he asked how and why the FBI was involved, the unspoken subtext being How and why is the FBI involved without my knowledge?

Keller didn’t skip a beat. “Bruno Torenzi,” he said.

“Who’s Torenzi?” asked Sorren. “I don’t know that name.”

“Your scalpel-wielding psychotic contract killer. He took out Vincent Marcozza, Derrick Phalen, and two cops.”

“Make that three cops,” I said. “Torenzi showed up at my building to help out Zambratta. He’s the one who shot Officer Brison.”

“This Torenzi… I’m guessing he isn’t from around here,” said Sorren.

“Originally from Sicily. But he’s worked in the States before. We were wondering where he would surface next. Now we know.”

“Do you think he’s got one more assignment?” I asked.

Sorren rubbed his chin. He knew what I was asking. Is Torenzi coming after me?

“That might depend on what’s going on upstairs,” he answered. “D’zorio’s in surgery. He has massive internal bleeding. It’s a coin flip whether he makes it.”

“Which is why we don’t want to take any chances here with Nick,” said Keller, peering around the curtain at the rest of the ER. He sighed impatiently. “Where the hell is that doctor?”

I was getting impatient myself.

Then suddenly my phone rang.

Chapter 91

I GLANCED AT the caller ID expecting it to be Courtney. Or maybe my sister. Or anyone else, for that matter. I didn’t expect it to be my niece, Elizabeth.

Especially because she was calling from her Braille cell phone, which she rarely used. “Mom said I’m only supposed to use it in case of an emergency,” she had once told me.

I could hear her saying those exact words as I answered.

“ Elizabeth? Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” she said.

That’s all it took. One word from my niece, the fourteen-year-old girl with the freckles who I’d first held in my arms when she was a mere two days old.

One word.

Something was wrong. Elizabeth has never been at a loss for words. The girl was a total motormouth.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“No.”

“What’s wrong, honey? Is it your mom? What happened?”

“Can I come into the city to see you?”

I could tell, or at least sense, that she was fighting back tears. Her voice was cracking. Quivering, actually.

“ Elizabeth, what happened?” I repeated.

I pressed the phone hard against my ear as I exchanged looks with Sorren and Keller. They’d been talking, not paying any attention to what I was saying. Until now. Now both of them were staring at me. Who? Sorren mimed.

“I got into a bad fight with Mom and I’m really upset,” said Elizabeth. “I need to talk to you. You’re the only one I can talk to.”

A fight with her mother? It was certainly within the realm of possibility, I guessed. Elizabeth was a teenager and her mother was… well, her mother. Normally they were the best of friends, but even best friends fight.

So why wasn’t I buying any of this? Probably because Elizabeth wasn’t sounding like… Elizabeth.

“Where are you now?” I asked.

“I had to get out of the house, I was so mad,” she answered. “So can I please come into the city to see you? Please, Uncle Nick.”

“Here’s the deal, honey,” I said. “Any other time I’d probably say yes, but right now is really bad for me. I can’t get into the details, but you may hear about it on the news later.” I paused to put a little extra emphasis on my next sentence. “In fact, maybe you’ve already heard about what happened to me today. Is that true?”

Elizabeth was silent for a few seconds. “No, I haven’t heard anything,” she said.

But it was what she didn’t say – she didn’t ask me what had happened.

“This is what I think you should do,” I said. “You need to go home and try to patch things up with your mom. Whatever it was you were fighting about, I’m sure you both can work it out. It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it won’t be,” she said, adamant. “She’s going to tell my father and I’m afraid of what’s going to happen when he gets home.”

She was flat-out crying now, and I wasn’t sure what to say next because I was about to throw up. Elizabeth wasn’t alone. I was sure of it – as sure as the sound that came next. Someone was grabbing the phone away from her.

“That’s a smart little niece you have there, Nick. But we all know her daddy’s dead,” he said. “And unless you come alone to Grand Central Station in one hour, this little girl will be dead, too. And remember this, Nick. I have no reason to hurt her. She hasn’t seen a thing.”

Chapter 92

I COULD FEEL the blood forcing its way through the butterfly bandages on my head and arm as I walked into Grand Central Station a little less than an hour later. But I could give a damn about needing more stitches. What I really needed was Elizabeth back safe and sound. Nothing mattered more. How could it?

Above me in the Main Concourse of the station was the giant display board listing the arrival time and track information for every train. Scores of people were stopping to look up at it.

Not me. I never even gave it a glance as I kept walking, fast. That board couldn’t tell me anything that I didn’t already know.

An unidentified man with an unidentified teenage girl in tow hijacked the 5:04 southbound Metro-North train from Westport, Connecticut. Instead of taking hostages, he let everyone else go. Except for the girl and the train’s engineer… My mind had raced. Jesus, what kind of plan is that? What does it tell me about Bruno Torenzi?

That had been the gist of the first report from the local police in Westport, the sister town to Weston, where Kate and Elizabeth lived. The only other thing they could tell Agent Keller on the phone was that the train was heading into New York City.

Yeah, we know. The unidentified man told us. He also said that the train was making no other stops.

It was hurry up and wait as I stood on the empty platform of track 19. The image of Bruno Torenzi had been seared into my brain so deeply that I could hardly focus on anything else. I could see him at Lombardo’s, and I could see him in the lobby of my apartment building. Now I was about to meet up with him again. One way or the other I figured this would be the last time. But what the hell was his plan? I just couldn’t figure that out.

I definitely wanted to kill the bastard, though. Never in my life had I felt such hatred, such loathing, toward anyone.

Easy, Nick. Keep it in check.

But it was near impossible. Not when I thought about Elizabeth and how scared she must be, or, for that matter, how absolutely terrified her mother was. Only minutes after bolting from the hospital I had reached Kate on her cell phone. She’d been food shopping, a simple half-hour errand, and then back home in a jiff to Elizabeth. Solemnly, I broke the news that Elizabeth wouldn’t be there when she arrived.

“My baby!” she said over and over. It was just crushing.

That’s when I called Courtney to ask a favor that wasn’t really a favor at all, not as she saw it. As soon as I had told her what had happened, and she knew there was nothing she could do for me here in the city, Courtney had immediately read my mind. My sister was in the good hands of the local police while she waited for this all to play out.

“But she needs to be with someone she knows, a familiar and friendly face,” said Courtney. “I’m on my way, okay?”

Yes, thank you! And when this is all over, I need to be with you, Courtney. Okay? Nothing and no one is going to stop me.

Right on cue, I heard the rumbling in the distance. Then I saw it.

The 5:04 train from Westport was pulling into the station like a slow-moving snake made of metal and steel. As the air brakes grabbed the rails, a piercing hiss echoed between my ears.

This is it. The end of the road, tracks, whatever.

Immediately, the sliding doors opened in unison. But the familiar sight of lots of people bustling out didn’t follow. There was only silence, creepy as hell. I held my breath. I could barely stand it. And then -

Tap. Tap-tap-tap…

I finally saw her all the way down the platform. Elizabeth was stepping off the first car of the train, her cane leading the way. My niece was dressed in faded jeans and a lime green zip-up sweater, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Everything about her looked so young and innocent – except her face, her expression. Her mouth was closed tight, her freckled nose scrunched in fear – she looked petrified.

Still, I was so relieved to see her – to see her alive – that the incongruity didn’t dawn on me at first.

She was alone. No Bruno Torenzi.

“ Elizabeth!” I called out.

I started running toward her, flying down the platform. It was a knee-jerk reaction. There was no thought, only instinct. How could I not go to her?

She was about to tell me why. My niece stopped, raising her palm. “Wait, Uncle Nick!” she yelled at the top of her voice. “Stop right there! I’m serious!”

Chapter 93

OH GOD NO. This can’t be happening. Only it definitely was happening. I was watching it happen from maybe fifty feet away.

All I needed to see were the red wires peeking out of her sweater. My mind connected the dots from there. Just like the red wires are connecting the blocks of C-4 explosives strapped to Elizabeth ’s chest.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” I yelled, or more accurately screamed. I couldn’t see him but I knew Torenzi was there. Somewhere. Then, suddenly, he was everywhere.

The air crackled with the sound of the train’s public-address system, a thick static followed by a thick Italian accent. “What did I say about you coming alone?” he asked, sounding like the voice of God.

“I did come alone!” I shouted.

“Lie to me one more time and you watch your niece die. In a horrible way.”

I stared at Elizabeth. Her eyes were staring right back but I knew of course she couldn’t see me. That only made things worse, made my guilt worse.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said. “You’re not going to die.”

Then I turned around, looking at nothing but the empty platform behind me. But it wasn’t empty. I knew it, and Torenzi sure as hell knew it.

Slowly, the six-man SWAT team that Keller had employed stepped out from the shadows and the rafters, one by one. They were armed with assault rifles equipped with high-power scopes. The original plan had been to take out Torenzi the second he stepped away from Elizabeth.

But now Torenzi was calling all the shots. “Get on the train with the girl,” he ordered. “First car.”

It was so damn unnerving not being able to see him. I could still see just Elizabeth, standing up ahead with her walking stick. What an unbelievable coward this bastard was and had been, right from the start. And not just Torenzi, because D’zorio had to be involved in this. His people, anyway. Torenzi couldn’t be working alone here. Could he?

I walked down the platform, reaching for Elizabeth ’s hand. “I’ve got you,” I said.

“Don’t let go,” she whispered.

“I won’t,” I said.

Together, we stepped back onto the train, the doors immediately closing behind us. The idling diesel engine kicked in, shaking the wheels into motion. And then we were off.

To where, though?

Not to mention, where the hell was Torenzi?

“Welcome aboard,” came his voice suddenly. Only it wasn’t over the PA. It was from the front of the train.

I turned in the vestibule to see him standing about a dozen feet away, next to the conductor’s cabin. He was wearing the same suit, same sunglasses, same “don’t screw with me” attitude. In one hand he was holding a small device that looked like a flip-top cell phone without the flip top. It was the detonator.

In the other hand was a gun. It was aimed at the conductor’s head.

“What now?” I asked Torenzi.

He nodded slowly. “You’ll see. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Chapter 94

TORENZI WAS CERTAINLY on top of everything, and that was really scary. He’d kept a watchful eye on the security monitors inside the conductor’s cabin, checking every camera focused on every door of the train. There would be no uninvited guests stepping on board with him, no front-page heroes. It would be just the conductor, Nick Daniels, and Daniels’s niece. A nice little trio, neat and manageable. That is, until he no longer needed them.

Yeah, Torenzi was on top of everything. Except the train itself.

That’s where Agent Keller was.

There were no cameras pointed up there. Better yet, there was a ceiling panel on top of the engine car that could be opened from the outside. At least that’s what the Metropolitan Transportation Authority official had assured him while presenting a crash course outside Grand Central Station on the M7 electric multiple-unit railroad car, otherwise known as the 5:04 from Westport.

“Trust me, you’ll see the panel once you’re up there,” said the MTA official.

The guy was right.

As soon as Plan A had fizzled, Keller had rappelled down from the rafters above the train on track 19. The last time he had done anything like it was twelve years ago during his training at Quantico. “You never know,” his instructor had said.

That guy had been right, too.

Keller had landed on the roof less than a minute before the train had sputtered forward, pulling out of the station. Unclipping his rope, he crouched down low, something like a surfer riding a monster wave. There was no turning back now.

Next, Keller spotted the roof panel. It was no more than ten feet away. Edging toward it, he reached for the two tools given to him by the MTA. The first was a 3200-rpm power screwdriver equipped with a half-inch flat-head bit to maximize the torque. The second was a tad more primitive: a crowbar.

“Once you remove the four screws you’re going to need some elbow grease prying open that panel,” an MTA engineer had warned. “It’s a heavy mother.”

It was also the only way to get inside that train undetected. “Anything else I need to know?” Keller had asked the engineer.

“No, I think that’s it.”

Think again.

Channeling his inner carpenter, Keller quickly dispatched with the four screws holding down the panel. No problem there. The real trick was keeping his balance on top of the train. It was zipping along at full throttle, relentlessly rocking back and forth on the tracks. Still, he was managing. So far, so good.

“Crowbar time,” Keller mumbled, hoping he had a good supply of elbow grease.

Immediately, he knew that the MTA mechanic hadn’t been kidding around. The panel was a heavy mother, all right. It wouldn’t budge. Not an inch. Was it stuck?

Maybe.

Keller tried again. He could almost hear the clock in his head ticking away as he pressed down hard on the crowbar.

“Shit!”

The panel still wouldn’t budge. This was definitely a problem, a big one.

Then, turning his head, Keller had an even bigger problem – if that was possible.

A ray of light had caught the corner of his eye. It was literally the light at the end of the tunnel, which also marked the end of the underground tracks. So much for that old cliché meaning good things were coming his way. That MTA official had forgotten to mention a little thing called clearance.

There wasn’t any.

The loading gauge of the tunnel looked to be only a few inches higher than the train itself. Even if he lay flat, he still wouldn’t clear it. It was either jump or splat!

Or get inside that damn train in a hurry.

Keller shifted his body alongside the panel, desperately throwing his weight into the crowbar as the tunnel kept getting closer and closer to its end. The vibration of the train felt like an electric shock through his body as the air whipped over him, blasting his face, pushing the beads of sweat off his brow like rain on a windshield.

“C’mon, you son of a bitch!” he yelled at the panel. “Move!”

Chapter 95

TIME WAS MEANINGLESS – and I had no idea how many minutes, how many seconds, had actually passed so far. A burst of late afternoon sun hit my eyes as we shot out of the underground tunnel leaving Grand Central Station. It felt like we were practically flying off the tracks.

Torenzi had barked at the engineer to “gun it” and that’s obviously what he was doing. Given that the poor guy had a gun aimed at his head, I could hardly blame his accommodating nature. Funny how that works.

I squeezed Elizabeth ’s hand. “Stay behind me,” I whispered, stepping between her and Torenzi.

I wasn’t expecting any small talk or chitchat from the bastard. Whatever his plan was, it didn’t include telling me all about it. He’d come to kill me, and the only reason he hadn’t done it yet was to make sure he wouldn’t get caught. But I had to die – I knew too much.

I figured we weren’t about to pull into some town in Westchester and step off the train, la-di-da. Agent Keller had seemed sure of it, too. Still, he had plotted every scenario the moment Torenzi had hung up on me at the hospital and had arranged for local police to be camped out at every station all the way up to New Haven, the end of the line.

“Just in case Torenzi’s stupid,” Keller had said.

But we both knew he wasn’t. He was daring as hell, and he was smarter than I would have thought. Actually, I’ve noticed that before about professionals in Europe. They work hard; they learn their craft – even the hit men, apparently.

Torenzi turned to the engineer less than a minute later. “Stop the train,” he ordered. “Right here! Now.”

The engineer slammed the brakes like… well, like a guy who still had a gun aimed at his head.

We skidded along the rails, the train wheels scraping like countless fingernails on a blackboard. I spun around to catch Elizabeth, who was hurtling toward the ground. Not a good thing when you’re wearing a bomb, I was thinking. All I’d been focused on while on that train was how to make sure Elizabeth survived this. I was the reason Elizabeth was here, and so far there was nothing I could do to help her.

Torenzi held every advantage, literally. The gun. The detonator. A plan to kill me. I held nothing. Except a very scared little girl’s hand.

Out the window I could see dense trees on both sides of the track. We were shielded from view and it wasn’t by accident.

“Please, leave the girl alone!” I shouted. “You’ve got me. I’m the one you want.”

“You’re right,” said Torenzi calmly, reaching into the engineer’s cabin.

He hit the button for the doors to open. Then he raised his gun and aimed it dead center at my chest. For the first time, I let go of Elizabeth ’s hand.

“GET DOWN! GET DOWN, DANIELS!”

Out of nowhere came a voice from the back of the train car. I didn’t know who it was at first, and I didn’t care. It was someone!

And suddenly that someone was shooting at Torenzi! I grabbed Elizabeth and yanked her down to the floor with me as Torenzi fired back. Bullets whizzed over our heads as I connected the voice to Agent Keller. But how did he get on the train? And did I really care how?

Looking up from the floor I saw Torenzi grab the engineer in a choke hold. Next, he jammed his gun right into the man’s ear.

Keller stopped firing.

“Stay where you are, asshole!” Torenzi warned as he forced the engineer up the aisle in front of him. The closer he got, the more I tried to cover up Elizabeth with my body.

The train fell nearly silent, the only sound the low hum of the idling engine. I didn’t dare look at Torenzi as he came toward us, not even a glance. All I wanted was for him to get off the train, even if it meant he’d never be caught.

But as he reached the open door right by us in the vestibule, he kicked me in the ribs. “Get up!” he said.

He kicked me again even harder, to make sure I had heard him and was getting up.

Slowly I began to stand, and before my knees could even straighten, Torenzi pushed the engineer down and grabbed me in his place. I was his new hostage, his ticket off the train, and of course I was his target as well.

But Keller had other ideas. What was he doing now?

His gun gripped tight in his outstretched hand, he began walking toward us down the aisle.

Torenzi barked. “STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”

Keller didn’t. He kept walking, his mouth clenched so tight I could see his jawbone rippling along his cheeks. He seemed like a man possessed. What was he doing? Didn’t he see the gun to my head?

In fact, that’s all he saw.

Right before Keller shot me in the chest.

Chapter 96

THE FORCE OF the bullet’s impact knocked me out of Torenzi’s grasp. It happened so fast that even if he’d pulled the trigger and tried to blow my brains out, he probably would’ve missed. Besides, what was the point? Why bother killing me when the FBI was doing it for him?

As I fell to the ground, Torenzi thrust his gun forward and opened fire on Keller. I couldn’t see much, though. Shit! Did he get Keller? Did Keller get him?

No! And – no!

I saw Bruno Torenzi dive behind the row of seats across from where I lay wounded. I looked over at Elizabeth. “Don’t move!” I said to her.

She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I won’t, Uncle Nick. Are you okay?”

Next to her was the engineer, clinging to the floor. Our eyes met for an instant and it was as if I could read his mind. I should’ve called in sick today!

I hear you, buddy. Me too.

I could see enough of Torenzi to tell he was reloading. One hand was holding his gun, the other removing the magazine.

Wait! Where is the detonator?

My eyes searched the seat next to him. There it was.

I didn’t stop to think. I didn’t stop at all. I pushed off the floor with both hands. Then I lunged for the detonator, scooping it up in my hands.

I had it! But now what could I do?

Torenzi turned to me and I was maybe four feet away from him – point-blank range.

That’s when Keller shot him for the first time.

Blood sprayed as Torenzi took a bullet above his elbow. He let out a horrific grunt and spun around to shoot back at Keller, only to take another bullet higher on the arm, some-where just below his shoulder.

But the killer didn’t go down. Instead, he fired back at Keller.

Then Torenzi bolted off the train. The last sound I heard was his footsteps on the gravel around the tracks as he raced into the woods.

Chapter 97

KELLER LOOKED LIKE a blur in a comic-book-inspired movie as he came sprinting down the aisle.

“I’ve got the detonator!” I yelled, holding it up. With the other hand I was pointing out the door of the train. “Don’t let him get away!”

But Keller went nowhere except down on one knee, right by my side. “Suspect armed and on foot,” he announced into his radio. “You okay?” he asked me.

My chest felt as if I’d just danced with a wrecking ball, but all things considered? “Yeah, I’m okay,” I said. I handed him the detonator.

Then I lifted up my shirt and we both stared at the bullet lodged in the Kevlar vest that he had insisted I wear.

“Bull’s-eye,” he said with a smile.

“Oh, that’s funny,” I said. “You could’ve killed me!”

“You’re right, I could’ve,” said Keller. “But Torenzi? He would’ve for sure.”

“Uncle Nick?”

We both turned to Elizabeth, who was still on the floor about six feet away. She was still wearing a bomb.

Keller went over to her and helped her to her feet. “Honey, that’s Agent Keller, with the FBI,” I said. “He’s going to get that bomb off you.”

My eyes went to Keller. He gave me a nod somewhere between hope and confidence: I’ll do my best.

Then he held the detonator up like a Fabergé egg, quickly studying it front and back. It actually was a flip-top cell phone without the flip top.

“So he dials some numbers and we all go boom – is that how it works?” I asked.

“Only one number… speed dial,” said Keller. He motioned to Elizabeth. “Somewhere on her is the ringer of another phone that’s wired to a detonating cap. Simple. ETA pioneered it before it was adopted by jihadists, and now apparently Italian hit men.”

Keller assumed I knew what ETA was, given my profession. He was right, and it didn’t stand for “estimated time of arrival.” ETA was Spain ’s homegrown terrorist network.

“Uh, excuse me, but shouldn’t we be calling the bomb squad or something?” asked the engineer. He was still sitting on the floor of the train, a little dazed but clearly comprehending the situation.

“Trust me, they’re already on their way,” answered Keller. “The problem is, we can’t wait for them.”

It wasn’t exactly the answer the engineer was looking for. “Why not?” he asked, half a beat before I did.

“Because right now any phone can detonate this bomb,” said Keller. “All Torenzi has to do is get to one.”

“So what do we do?” I asked.

“We don’t do anything,” said Keller. “I need both of you guys to clear out of here right now. A hundred yards, no less than that. Move it. Go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said flatly. “I’m staying right here. Period.”

It was the easiest decision I’d ever made, and it didn’t seem to surprise Keller that much. He didn’t bother fighting me on it. Instead, he turned to the engineer and cut straight to the chase.

“You married?” asked Keller.

The guy wasn’t quite ready for a pop quiz, easy as it was. He was still rocking and reeling from all the action he’d had in the past hour.

“I said, are you married?” repeated Keller.

“Yes,” said the engineer.

“Any kids?”

Keller didn’t say another word.

He didn’t have to.

“I’m out of here. Good luck,” said the engineer. “I’m praying for you.”

Chapter 98

I WATCHED THROUGH the window for a few seconds as the engineer did the right thing and got the hell away from the train. Then Keller got down to business. Very tricky, very risky business.

“Okay, Elizabeth, all you need to do is relax,” he said in a soft voice. “The first thing we’re going to do is take off the sweater you’re wearing. Okay with you?”

She clenched her fists and nodded. “Okay.” What a trouper. Like I said, the bravest kid I know.

Ever so slowly, Keller unzipped the rest of Elizabeth ’s green sweater, past the little embroidered flower and all the way to the bottom. The farther down he went, the more I had to stifle my urge to gasp at all the wires – and the bomb attached to them.

“You’re doing great, Elizabeth, really great. This should be no problem at all,” said Keller. He wasn’t about to scare her any more than she already was, but I could tell from his face that the “no problem” talk was just that. Talk. Probably to keep Elizabeth ’s and his mind off what was actually happening.

Of course, the one thing he hadn’t factored in was Elizabeth ’s amazing sense of smell. As in, she could smell bullshit from a mile away. Even more so when the person was right in front of her.

“It’s worse than you thought, isn’t it?” she finally asked.

“Not necessarily,” said Keller, peeling the sweater off her shoulders. Then he pushed around a few of the wires for a better look at the explosives. They literally crisscrossed the front of Elizabeth ’s undershirt like an X.

“Are you sure you should be doing this?” I asked.

Keller kept poking and prodding while answering me, as if to make his point. “This C-4 stuff is as stable as it comes. You could shoot it with a gun and it wouldn’t explode.”

You learn something new every day. Even when it could be your last.

“So, what does make it explode?” I asked.

“A shock wave combined with extreme heat,” said Keller, “created by triggering these wires connected to the detonators imbedded in C-4.”

“Couldn’t we just slip everything off her? Right up over her head?”

“That’s what I’m checking to see,” he said as he continued to poke and prod. “The way whoever built this has it configured, though, I’m not sure -”

Keller suddenly stopped cold, and he looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

“What is it?” I asked. “Tell me.”

Instead, he showed me. He pulled me closer and pointed at it, clear as could be.

It was worse than a ghost, actually.

It was a timer – ticking backwards.

Chapter 99

“UNCLE NICK? WHAT’S happening? What’s going on? Why aren’t either of you talking?”

Elizabeth reached out for me, her pale, slender hands waving helplessly in the air. She started to move toward me but Keller held her back.

“Nick, come hold Elizabeth,” he said. “Can you do that? Keep her hands up.”

I swung around behind Elizabeth, doing exactly as Keller said. “Don’t move,” I whispered in her ear. “I’m right here with you.”

Over her shoulder I could still see the timer, a cheap plastic stopwatch that was taped to the cell phone behind one of the blocks of C-4.

Fifty-four seconds!

And heading in the wrong direction…

Keller had no time to think. He was winging it, fast and furious. Then, like a switchboard operator on speed, he began pulling out the detonator wires one by one.

“How much time?” he asked.

“Forty seconds!” I said.

He pulled out another wire. There were three to go. Then two. My eyes were pinballing back and forth between the timer and his hands.

“Talk to me,” he said.

“Thirty seconds!”

Keller was down to the last wire. “Just one more,” he said under his breath. “C’mon, now…”

He gripped the C-4 to hold it steady. All he had to do now was pull on the wire and ease it out like he’d done with all the others.

“Shit!” said Keller.

The wire wasn’t moving.

“Pull harder!” I yelled.

“I am!” he yelled back. “He must have glued it.”

Twenty-five seconds!

Keller looked at me and then out the door of the train. I saw the spark of an idea light his face. A last-gasp idea? Probably.

“Wait! Where are you going?” I said.

He was already sprinting toward the front of the car, heading for the engineer’s cabin. Seconds later, the train jerked and sputtered. It was moving along the track again.

“Pick her up!” he barked, running back toward us.

“What?”

“Lift her off the ground! Do it! Right now!”

“Please do it!” Elizabeth joined in.

I grabbed Elizabeth by the elbows and hoisted her up. Suddenly Keller pulled the bomb over her waist and down her legs, sliding it off her feet.

Damn it! I couldn’t see the timer anymore. All I could see was Keller pointing out the door of the train at the green of trees. The train was gaining speed.

“Jump!” he yelled. “Jump now!”

I scooped up Elizabeth, cradling her in my arms as I turned toward the door – and then leaped through the air after him.

There was no tuck and roll, only a thud – my feet barely hitting the ground before I fell onto my back to shield Elizabeth. The snap! I heard was another one of my ribs, the pain shooting through my body like an angry rocket.

Still cradling Elizabeth in my arms, I turned to watch the train zoom by us, the head car that was carrying the bomb getting smaller and smaller. But not small enough.

“Get up!” barked Keller. “Run!”

I scrambled to my feet with Elizabeth as Keller grabbed my arm to lead the way. We raced along the tracks, putting as much distance as we could between us and the -

BOOM!

Chapter 100

“DARK SIDE OF the Moon or Wish You Were Here?” asked Anne Gram, one of the two surgical technologists prepping the OR at Jacobi Medical Center. She was cueing up the iPod of Dr. Al Sassoon, the attending surgeon – and massive Pink Floyd fan – who was still scrubbing.

Ruth Kreindler, the frick to Anne’s frack, looked up from the sterile surgical drape she was laying over Joseph D’zorio’s groin area. It was the only part of the guy that wasn’t broken, punctured, lacerated, or ruptured.

“The way this is shaping up,” said Ruth, shaking her head, “we’ll hear both albums and some of The Wall as well. Al and his Pink Floyd.”

“Hey – he’s good, and he’s fun to work with.”

The two women, both in their early forties, were done with their pre-op checklist, even twice testing the suction machines as they’d been clogging as of late. All in all, it was business as usual, although they both knew that the man on the table, unconscious and breathing oxygen, was no ordinary patient.

“Do you believe all people deserve to be saved?” Anne finally asked.

Ruth looked over her shoulder to make sure the two of them were still alone with the infamous mob boss. They were. “Are you speaking medically or spiritually?” she asked. “It might make a difference in my answer.”

Anne shrugged. “Medically, I suppose.”

“I know what you’re saying, but a hospital isn’t a court-room. Know what I mean?”

“I do. Still.”

Ruth glanced down at D’zorio. “I’ll put it to you this way,” she said. “A guy like this puts my faith to the test. It’s righteous anger versus forgiveness.”

“Who wins?” asked Anne.

“Forgiveness, I suppose. Spiritually, all people can be saved.”

Anne nodded but there was little belief in her eyes. She could never say it out loud, but she was secretly hoping that Dr. Sassoon would have an off day, or at least not bring his “A” game to the table.

“What did you say?” asked Ruth.

Anne hadn’t said anything. She was too busy envisioning Dr. Sassoon “accidentally” leaving a sponge in D’zorio’s chest.

But she’d heard it, too. Someone had said something in the operating room.

Simultaneously, they both looked down at D’zorio on the table. His thin, bluish lips were moving. He was mumbling.

“What did he say?” asked Anne.

“I’m not sure,” said Ruth, leaning down toward his mouth. Anne joined her.

“Sorr -” said D’zorio, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry.”

At least, that’s what the two heard.

“He’s confessing his sins,” said Anne.

“Or trying to,” said Ruth, walking over to the phone on the wall.

She called down to the staff chaplain’s office to see if D’zorio’s priest had arrived yet. They had been told he was on his way to administer the anointing of the sick, otherwise known as the mob boss’s last rites.

Apparently, D’zorio was starting without him.

Ruth was still waiting for someone in the chaplain’s office to pick up when the heart monitor alarm sounded.

“Oh, Christ!” said Anne, back at the table with D’zorio. “He’s flatlining!”

Ruth hung up the phone and ran out to where Dr. Sassoon had just finished scrubbing.

But it was too late. There would be no Pink Floyd played in the OR that afternoon. Joseph D’zorio had receded into death.

Like a distant ship’s smoke on the horizon.

Chapter 101

BRUNO TORENZI WAS steamrolling his way through the brush and branches, his hands clearing the way forward while his ears listened for anyone coming up behind him.

He was waiting for the explosion back on the train tracks, and with a quick glance at his watch he knew it wouldn’t be much longer. Any second now, really. It was so close to happening, he could practically hear the entire sequence in his head – a symphony of sounds, from the initial thunderous clap to the seemingly endless echo to the relentless squawking of every bird knocked off its perch within a square mile.

Finally, it came. The bomb, the echo, the birds… everything. Almost exactly as he’d imagined it would be.

But Torenzi didn’t stop and look back, not for a second. He had no interest in taking it all in. He didn’t feel the need.

He didn’t feel anything.

There was no glee, no satisfaction, and certainly no remorse – not even the slightest twinge of guilt over the innocent little girl. She had flushed out her uncle as he’d planned. She’d served her purpose from his viewpoint. That was all there was to it.

As for the Rambo who’d crashed the party on the train, Torenzi still had no idea who he was. In hindsight, though, the guy must have known Daniels was wearing a bulletproof vest. There was no way his aim was that bad, the two shots he tagged Torenzi with being evidence of some skill on his part.

Speaking of not feeling anything…

Torenzi had yanked the black leather belt from his pants, making a tourniquet and cutting off the circulation directly below his shoulder. For now, his arm was as numb as rubber in December. Later, he’d tend to it. He’d dig out the bullets with the stiletto blade he kept strapped to his shin and then stitch himself up with a dime-store needle and thread, leaving two more scars on a body littered with them. No big deal. Just another day at the office.

As Hyman Roth said to Michael Corleone in The Godfather: Part II, “This is the business we’ve chosen.”

Now Torenzi’s business was done. Once again, he had won the game.

Finally, he emerged from the trees and saw the car waiting for him. Perfect timing. Things were going his way again – as they always did.

“Is he dead?” he heard as he approached the white Volvo S40.

Torenzi leaned down into the open window of the front passenger side. He smirked. “What do you think? You heard the explosion, didn’t you?”

Ian LaGrange smiled wide, his overly large mouth almost cartoonish. “Indeed I did,” he said. “Get in.”

The Volvo was parked on a deserted dead-end road, the only sign of life being two half-finished spec homes that were destined to stay that way because the builder had gone belly-up when the housing market had collapsed.

Torenzi yanked open the car door and stepped in. “Let’s go,” he said.

LaGrange motioned to Torenzi’s arm, the belt, and his bloodstained shirt beneath his jacket. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked.

“It’s nothing. There was someone else on the train.”

“Who?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m the head of the Organized Crime Task Force,” said LaGrange. “What do you think?”

“He was most likely FBI.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No, but the bomb surely did,” said Torenzi. “What about D’zorio?”

“He didn’t make it.”

“Lucky break for you.”

LaGrange chuckled. “Better to be lucky than good.”

“Even better to be both,” said Torenzi, meaning every word of it. “You got the rest of my money?”

“Of course I do. In the trunk,” he answered with a throw of his head. “Gave you a little extra for all your troubles. You did a fine job.”

Torenzi didn’t say thank you. Instead, he was wondering why LaGrange still had the car in park.

“What are we waiting for?” he asked.

“There’s one other piece of business we need to take care of.”

“What’s that?”

“Me,” said the man outside the open car window.

How do you say revenge in Russian?

Chapter 102

BRUNO TORENZI DIDN’T recognize the voice, but there was little doubt about the barrel of a gun jammed against the side of his head.

“Put your hands on the dashboard,” ordered Ivan Belova. “Slowly. Very, very slowly.”

Torenzi complied with disgust as LaGrange removed the keys from the ignition and opened the driver’s side door. “I’m sorry, Bruno,” he said before stepping out. “Remember the San Sebastian Hotel? You fucked up, you horny bastard.”

Belova, a better-dressed and slimmed-down version of Boris Yeltsin, kept his eyes squarely focused on Torenzi. He had no intention of giving the professional killer any opening. It was a lesson his two sons had learned the hard way at that hotel in Manhattan where they’d tried to run their scam on the Italian.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked in his heavy Russian accent. He was the head of the Belova crime family, that’s who. They were the U.S. arm of Solntsevskaya Bratva, one of the most powerful crime families in Moscow.

“No,” answered Torenzi, who knew enough to keep looking straight ahead out the windshield.

“Those were my boys you killed in that hotel room, my flesh and blood,” he said with equal parts anger and despair. He was his own Molotov cocktail ready to explode.

Belova waited for some type of reaction from Torenzi. A look of surprise, maybe even regret. “Sorry” was a long shot, as was anything else approaching an apology – Belova had no delusions about that. Not that it would’ve made a difference. There was no changing his plans. No chance of mercy for the Italian killer.

Still, Belova never would’ve imagined the response he did get from the man.

“They were punks,” said Torenzi. “They had it coming.”

“Motherfucker!” yelled Belova, pulling back the hammer on his Makarov PM.

“Wait!” yelled LaGrange even louder. He was standing behind Belova.

“What?” asked Belova impatiently over his shoulder. He still wasn’t about to take his eyes off Torenzi. He knew how lethal this man could be.

“For Christ’s sake, not in the car,” said LaGrange. “Not unless you want to clean up afterward.”

Belova reluctantly nodded, reaching out with his free hand. He opened Torenzi’s door and backed up a few steps, just to be safe.

“Get out,” he said.

For the first time, Torenzi turned to Belova. But all he gave him was a quick glance as he stepped out of the car. LaGrange, on the other hand, received a glare that would have made even the devil stutter.

“How much?” asked Torenzi. For how much did you sell me out?

LaGrange didn’t answer. He could only look down at the dirt beneath his feet.

Torenzi stared back at Belova now, unblinking. There was no plea for mercy, no begging for forgiveness.

“Turn around,” ordered Belova. “Let me see the horse’s ass.”

Torenzi shook his head adamantly. “No. You look at me when you do it,” he said.

With that, he linked his hands behind his back and dropped to his knees. As if that weren’t enough, he opened his mouth wide.

Sick and twisted to the bitter end.

Belova stepped forward, shoving the barrel of his Makarov PM straight back to Torenzi’s molars. He was the boss of his family; it had been more than a decade since he’d killed anyone himself. He was far more accustomed to giving the order, not seeing it through.

The result was a split second’s pause. A blink of the eye. The chance Torenzi was banking on, or at least hoping for.

Now!

Torenzi whipped his head to the side, forcing the gun against the inside of his cheek as a startled Belova pulled the trigger. The bullet blew a quarter-size hole in the hit man’s face, but only his flesh went flying, not his brains.

Falling backwards, Torenzi reached under his pant leg for the stiletto strapped to his shin. With the grip clenched in his fingers he lunged for the Russian asshole, stabbing him so deep in his thigh that the tip of the blade struck bone.

Belova screamed in agony as he collapsed to the ground. The gun dropped from his hand. Torenzi scooped it up and fired straight into Belova’s throat before whipping his arm around at LaGrange for his second shot.

But LaGrange had other ideas.

He had already fired his Ruger SR9, the oversize trigger an easy squeeze in his large hands. The round caught Torenzi in the stomach, sending blood spurting out of his mouth as he keeled over on one side.

Stepping forward, LaGrange quickly pumped two more shots into Torenzi’s chest before waiting to see if yet another would be required.

It wasn’t.

Torenzi had slid onto his back, arms spread, the gun resting in the palm of his hand, never to be fired again. His eyes flickered as he drew a last breath, his chest heaving upward before slowly deflating.

Then he was gone, straight to hell. Do not pass Go.

Chapter 103

“HELLO, MR. DANIELS, I’m Marie McCormick,” said my new nurse for the night. She came into my room at Lenox Hill Hospital with a welcome smile and an even more welcome cup filled with two Vicodin. This was my second hospital of the day. After finally being stitched up, I was being “kept for observation,” which I didn’t mind so much since my apartment was still a police crime scene.

“Boy, am I glad to see you, Marie,” I said.

Not just because of the good meds, either. The day nurse assigned to my room had all the charm and charisma of the leaders of the Spanish Inquisition. She was also a stickler for the rules. Visiting hours ended at 8:30 and at 8:31 she had shooed Courtney out as if she were a fox in a henhouse. How could anybody with a heart do that? Couldn’t she see how good Courtney and I were together? Heck, we were holding hands, and had been for half an hour.

Before I could tell Nurse Ratched where to shove her rules, Courtney announced she had to be somewhere anyway. “I’ve got to go put the finishing touches on something,” she said. “Sorry, Nick. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Something kind of interesting. But I can’t tell you yet. I don’t want to jinx it.”

“So I’m a jinx, huh?”

It’s hardly what she meant, but it’s not like I could blame her or anyone else for thinking that, especially anyone who happened to tune in to the news.

Clearly, Nurse Marie had watched a little of the coverage before coming on duty.

“You’re what my aunt Peggy up in Boston calls a trouble magnet,” she joked, wrapping a blood pressure sleeve around my arm. “Of course, she should talk, the big dope. She’s been married and divorced three times to the biggest losers on the planet.”

My cracked ribs made it hurt to laugh but I couldn’t help it. Marie was my kind of woman. Down-to-earth and funny.

“Say, where’s that brave little niece of yours?” she asked. “I saw her being interviewed.”

“She’s back home safe with her mother,” I said. “Right where she should be.”

Agent Keller had personally driven her back to Weston. He certainly knew the way. For good measure he was spending the night – even though the Bureau had already assigned four agents to guard the house. “Just in case,” he said. “I owe Elizabeth.”

But if you ask me, I saw the way he’d looked at Kate when she’d arrived at the train tracks with Courtney courtesy of a Connecticut state trooper. Turns out Keller’s a single guy. Hey, you never know.

Of course, I’m a single guy, too, but that was hard to tell, given the way Courtney and I practically ran into each other’s arms and kissed like crazy by those same train tracks. It was movie-of-the-week mushy but I loved every second of it. As for Elizabeth, time will tell how she deals with everything that happened. She didn’t have a scratch on her, but the mental scars could be another story. Then again, if there’s anyone who can handle it, she’s the one. The fact that she wanted to give interviews afterward was a pretty encouraging sign.

I was shooting the breeze with Marie a little more when I heard another voice at the door. “Knock, knock,” said David Sorren.

Marie turned to him as he strolled in. “You must be somebody important because that cop posted outside the door isn’t supposed to let anyone by him.”

“Yeah, he’s somebody important,” I assured Marie. “In fact, you might be looking at the next mayor of this city.”

David introduced himself and was as pleasant as a good politician could be with her. Still, I could tell he wanted to speak to me privately. Marie picked up on it, too. She left us alone.

David removed his jacket, placing it on the chair in the corner. Then he turned to me with what he knew was some very good news.

“Bruno Torenzi is dead,” he announced. “I wanted to tell you myself, Nick. Hope that gets your vote come the next election.”

I shook my head, but I was grinning. “Sorry. I’m a Democrat, David.”

Sorren explained how Torenzi had been found during a sweep of the surrounding area near the blown-up train. He said there had been another dead body with him, a Russian crime boss. Go figure.

“So, wait… who did Torenzi work for? Was it D’zorio – or this guy Belova?” I asked.

“Good question. It was probably D’zorio, but for all I know right now they could’ve been working together. Setting up Eddie Pinero was in both their interests. Anyway, we’ll sort it all out soon enough, especially when we bring in that manager from Lombardo’s who mixed it up with you. He was on somebody’s payroll.”

Sorren glanced back at my door. “In the meantime, with Torenzi, D’zorio, and Belova out of the picture, the need for that cop outside your door just went down dramatically. Same goes for at your apartment, Nick.”

“Hallelujah,” I said. “Oh, and don’t forget to put Carmine Zambratta on that list. He’s gone, too.”

“You’re right,” said Sorren. “In fact, that reminds me – there’s one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s about Dwayne Robinson. As you probably suspected, he didn’t commit suicide. As soon as the news about D’zorio’s death hit the airwaves, a guy who lived in the building across the street from Robinson came forward to say he saw Zambratta throw him over the railing.”

“Why didn’t the neighbor say anything before? Not very neighborly.”

“He was too scared. He knew who Zambratta was and what he was capable of. Hell, he witnessed it, didn’t he?”

“I guess you’re right,” I said.

Sorren folded his arms, hesitating for a moment. “Listen, Nick, I owe you an apology. I really do. You were way out in front on this whole thing and I should’ve seen that better. Instead of helping you at first I gave you a hard time, didn’t I?”

I smiled. “Yeah, you did,” I said. “What’s important now, though, is that it’s over.”

We shook hands. Then we both shook our heads, chuckling in disbelief. It was an amazing end to an amazing day, and to an amazing story.

But I should’ve known better, I guess. The day wasn’t actually over. It was still a little before midnight. Plenty of time for more fun and games.

Chapter 104

THE VICODIN WERE doing their thing, easing the pain while making me drowsy. Minutes after David Sorren left, I started to doze off. I barely heard the creak of the door opening again.

It was Marie, I assumed. I didn’t bother to look over right away – or even open my eyes. But as she walked toward me my ears perked up. This wasn’t the sound of soft rubber soles. I was hearing heels – heavy ones. These shoes belonged to a man. What man was that?

My eyes shot open.

“Hello, Nick,” said Ian LaGrange. Quick as could be, he grabbed the cord of my call button and sliced through it with a knife.

Then he jammed the tip of the knife underneath my chin. I could feel the blade pierce my flesh enough to send blood trickling down over my Adam’s apple.

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want, Nick. Because you have it. Where’s the flash drive?”

Jesus Christ. In the chaos, the confusion, and the Vicodin, I’d forgotten about that. Clearly, LaGrange hadn’t. But how did he even know it existed? And what was with the knife at my throat?

“What are you talking about?” I asked him. “What flash drive?”

“You stupid bastard, don’t even try,” he snapped. “I know you had it.”

LaGrange twisted the tip of the blade slightly. More blood started running down my neck. Vicodin or no Vicodin, it hurt to get stuck in the throat.

“You’re right, I did have the flash drive,” I said. “D’zorio took it away from me before I got a chance to see what was on it. I don’t have it anymore.”

LaGrange squinted, sizing me up. He was trying to decide if I was telling the truth. And I guess he decided that I was.

“In that case, what good are you?” he asked, snatching the pillow from behind my head. The pillow? You’re kidding me…

He wasn’t – not one bit. He slammed it over my face, forcing the enormous weight of his upper body against my nose and mouth. I couldn’t breathe. That was the idea, of course.

The more I struggled, the harder LaGrange pressed, all three hundred pounds of the bastard. No air was coming in. Whatever was left in my lungs was spilling out of me like life itself. I was losing consciousness in a hurry.

There was nothing I could do this time; I was definitely suffocating to death.

I didn’t see what happened next, but I sure heard it. Someone came bursting through the door of my room. Not a word was spoken, but a gunshot was fired.

Ian LaGrange fell to the ground with a horrendous thud. He even took the pillow with him, and as I blinked my eyes into focus and breathed the sweetest batch of air I’d ever known, I got to see who had pulled the trigger.

Not the cop who had been stationed outside the door.

Not Doug Keller of the FBI, either.

Chapter 105

“THIS GUY SHOULD be fitted for a cape!” raved the New York Post. David Sorren’s timing remained just about perfect two days later as he walked up to a podium on the top step of the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse and, with the sunlight of a beautiful day beaming down on him, looked out at a huge, enthusiastic crowd and announced his candidacy for mayor of New York.

By then, anyone with a pulse had either read or heard the story of how he had come back to my hospital room because he’d forgotten his jacket. That’s when he’d seen the cop on duty slumped in the hallway. Sorren had grabbed the gun from the cop’s holster, bursting into my room.

Needless to say, he had my vote come November, Republican or not.

Courtney’s, too, although she remained a tad suspect of Sorren’s judgment given his involvement with Brenda Evans.

“I mean, she can’t be that good in bed,” she quipped, standing next to me as we watched Sorren wrap up his announcement to a chorus of cheers. Courtney glanced to see if I’d take the bait and comment on my firsthand knowledge of the subject.

Instead, I just laughed. Hey, I was feeling pretty terrific. Why not – Courtney and I were holding hands again. Corny? Maybe. But who cares when you’re in love?

“So what’s the big news you weren’t ready to tell me?” I asked, changing the subject.

“I knew you’d ask, Nick,” she said, reaching into her handbag. She handed me a press release. “Courtney Sheppard named editor in chief of New York magazine,” read the headline.

“Wow,” I said. “Congratulations. That is great.”

“Right back atcha,” she said. “Have you met my new executive editor? Cute guy, very talented. Great kisser.”

“Really? Do I know him?”

She playfully punched my arm and I grabbed hers in return, pulling her close. “Great kisser, huh?” I said before planting one on her. And right there in the middle of the roaring crowd we made out like a couple of teenagers.

“Does that mean you’ll take the job?” she asked as we came up for air.

“Absolutely not,” I said.

Courtney rolled those beautiful blue eyes of hers. “Why not, Nick? Because you don’t think we can work and sleep together?”

“No, that’s not it at all. I’m just not the executive editor type. I write stories, that’s what I do – and the kind I write you can’t find sitting in a corner office.”

Courtney smiled and I knew she understood, which warmed the cockles of my heart. “All right. I guess I’ll just have to lower my standards and sleep with a regular staff writer instead.”

“Correction, missy. Your highest-paid staff writer.”

“We’ll see about that, Nick. Just remember, I didn’t get to be editor in chief for nothing.”

We were about to kiss again when we both realized that someone was suddenly standing next to us. Speak of the devil – it was none other than Brenda.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, coming very close to blushing. I didn’t know she had it in her. “I saw you both here. I wanted to give Nick something.”

She handed me a slender rectangular box – gift wrapped, with a red bow on top.

“What’s this?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

“A make-good,” she said. “Something I’ve owed you.”

I was about to open it when she stopped me. “No, not here,” she said. “Open it later, Nick. And Courtney – good luck with this one. He’s actually a pretty decent guy.”

With that, she turned and walked away. No good-bye or anything. I didn’t even have a chance to say thank you.

“Decent guy”? All right, I could live with that. I think she even meant it.

Chapter 106

A LITTLE MORE than a week passed. I was on my first assignment for New York magazine, and it was definitely cover material.

“Thanks for doing this, David,” I said. “This will be a great story – I promise you.”

Sorren leaned back in the chair behind his desk. We were in his office downtown at One Hogan Place and David was a man clearly at peace with himself.

“Are you kidding? Thank you,” he said. “I know being pushy is the first rule of politics, but given everything you’ve been through, the last thing you needed was my hitting you up for an article so fast. I didn’t want to exploit our friendship that way.”

“No problem at all. It’s the least I could do. After all, you did save my life.”

“Just dumb luck,” he said with an aw-shucks wave. “Of course, that’s the second rule of politics, isn’t it? Dumb luck.”

“It’s pretty high up there for journalism, too.”

“That’s you and me, a couple of lucky guys. If we’re not careful, we may wind up getting everything we want in life,” he said with a wink.

I reached for my beat-up leather bag on the floor, pulling it up to my lap. “Let’s get started, then, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Sorren said. “By the way, what did Courtney say when you proposed this article? I mean, it’s her first issue at New York. She have any doubts?”

“Doubts? Are you kidding me? I haven’t written a word yet and she’s already guaranteed us the cover.”

Sorren smiled widely as I pulled out a notepad. It was followed by my tape recorder. Immediately, his smile soured.

“Shit, Nick, I’m sorry. I should’ve said something on the phone when you called. I’ve got no problem with your taking notes but I can’t let you record me. It’s policy here in the DA’s office,” he explained. “Of course, the mayor’s office has no such policy.”

“That’s okay,” I said, placing the recorder on his desk. “Actually, this isn’t to record you. I wanted to play you something. If I may? That okay?”

“Sure,” said Sorren. “What is it?”

I hit the play button and turned up the volume. I didn’t want Sorren to miss a single word of Ian LaGrange’s voice.

Or his own.

Chapter 107

WHAT WOULD YOU do if you found a flash drive, with blood on it, in your boyfriend’s favorite hiding spot in his apartment? In his secret, secret place?

I now knew what Brenda Evans would do. She was a reporter, after all, with a sensitive – some would say suspicious – nose for stories. She couldn’t help it – the blood had bothered her.

Not nearly as much, though, as what she had discovered on that flash drive.

Derrick Phalen had uncovered it all, and he’d put it on the drive for me to see. Or, rather, for me to hear. There were no pictures, no pilfered secret documents – only an MP3 voice file. And while I may be a purist with my vinyl LP collection, this little digital recording trumped everything I’d ever listened to.

Why had Derrick decided to bug his boss’s office? Sadly, I’ll never have the chance to ask him. But I’ll never forget how he had looked that day he saw Ian LaGrange come walking toward us by the elevator at the OCTF.

“Holy shit,” I thought I had heard Derrick say. Like he couldn’t believe something.

Soon after that, he had his smoking gun – a conversation between LaGrange and none other than David Sorren.

Blinded by his own political ambition, Sorren was willing to forsake the law he had sworn to uphold. He’d built his reputation battling organized crime, but in a world of hotshot defense attorneys and legal loopholes, guilty verdicts against the mob were tough to come by. There had to be a better way, right?

At least that’s what Sorren’s twisted mind had been thinking. What he needed were results. He didn’t care how he got them, or for that matter who paid the price. Because results equaled votes. Today, city hall. Tomorrow, the governor’s office. Then one day, maybe, the White House.

A modern-day Machiavelli of the worst order.

So Sorren had recruited LaGrange and made the ultimate backroom deal. They chose sides in the organized crime underworld. They backed Joseph D’zorio and set up Eddie Pinero after his criminal usury conviction.

There was just one problem. Me.

I stared at Sorren across his desk as he listened to the recording, the flash drive people had died for. Suddenly, his face was as pale as the ceiling tiles of his office.

“I don’t like it,” said a nervous-sounding LaGrange. “If Daniels is actually talking to one of my prosecutors, then he knows something.”

“You worry too much, Ian,” said Sorren.

“No, I worry just enough. You should, too. He’s already thinking that his being at Lombardo’s was more than a coincidence.”

“We can take care of it.”

“How?” asked LaGrange.

“Leave it to me, Ian. I’ll talk to the manager at Lombardo’s, erase Marcozza’s name from the reservations on that Thursday, figure out everything. Just consider it done.”

There was more on the tape, but Sorren had heard enough. He grabbed the recorder and stopped the playback. Then, of all crazy things, he started to laugh out loud.

“You haven’t heard the rest of it,” I said.

“I don’t need to. I was there. I know what I said. But no one else will. Do you know why?”

I shrugged. “Tell me.”

“You should’ve gone to law school,” he said, shaking his head. “This was illegally obtained. It’s inadmissible.”

Jesus, he was pirouetting through his own legal loophole. I guess it figured.

But it was my turn to shake my head. “How could you do it, David?”

“Do what?” he said.

“At least explain one thing to me,” I said. “Why did you kill LaGrange?”

“Because he was trying to kill you. I saved your life,” he said. “How soon we forget.”

“I’m that stupid?” I asked him.

“Do you think I am?”

“No, what I think is that somewhere along the way you completely forgot the difference between right and wrong, Sorren. You got as cynical as they come, and I’ve seen cynical, believe me. Maybe you actually wanted great things for the city. But for sure you wanted even better things for yourself.”

“So now you’re a shrink?”

“No, I’m still a journalist. A pretty decent one, I think,” I said. “But you? You’re a criminal.”

Sorren clenched his jaw as he leaned forward in his chair. I could see the veins popping in his neck, just like they had the very first time I’d met him. The anger was building, and he was trying to contain himself.

But he couldn’t.

“Fuck you!” he said. “How could I do it? Do what? Induce one lousy, stinking mob boss to take out another? I was doing everybody in this city a huge favor. One less scumbag mob lawyer, one less crime family, a lot less crime on the streets… Everybody wins – and with D’zorio dead, we win even more.”

He jabbed his finger at me. “So don’t give me your sanctimonious bullshit. You couldn’t leave well enough alone! You got Dwayne Robinson and Derrick Phalen killed. IT WAS YOU! YOU DID IT! THIS IS ALL ON YOU!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said softly before pointing at my recorder. It was still in his hand. “You always had a choice. You just got caught making the wrong one.”

Sorren shot me a pathetic look. “Didn’t I already tell you? What’s on this recorder is inadmissible. Illegally obtained. It never happened…just like this conversation.”

I smiled. “Oh, this is happening, all right. I’m here, you’re here, David. This is definitely happening.”

With that, I undid the top two buttons of my shirt to expose the wire I was wearing.

“Damn chest hairs. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much when they pull off the tape,” I said. “Legally obtained, by the way.”

In the blink of an eye, the door to Sorren’s office burst open as a team of FBI agents came in with guns drawn. Leading the charge? Agent Doug Keller.

“Congratulations, asshole,” he said to Sorren. “You just broke the record for the shortest campaign for mayor in history.”