Swimming with Sharks

Monday, December 6, 2000—Zurich, Switzerland

Alex woke up after ten hours of sleep feeling better rested than she had in days. She called Justin, and he confirmed that he had managed to block the secret files at Levy & Villiers. No one could delete them now, unless they were willing to destroy the entire computer system. Alex hung up and treated herself to some champagne with her room service breakfast. Her successful escape and the excitement of the last few days had put her into a state of manic euphoria, and she felt so safe that she would have loved to call Sergio to mock him. Instead, she called Nick Kostidis at home. It was the middle of the night in New York, but it was only a few seconds before he picked up.

“Yes, hello?” Alex heard a sleepy voice. She felt her heart start pounding, and she hesitated.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Nick, it’s me. Alex,” she said. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Alex!” Nick sounded wide awake at once. “Don’t worry about it! How are you?”

“Good, thank you. Did Justin give you the e-mails?”

“Yes, he did.”

Nick told her about his meeting with Engels and Jenkins and that all of the men who were questioned about the corruption allegations had confessed to their crimes.

“The murder charges against you have been dropped unofficially,” he said, “and things are moving. The US Attorney’s Office is working at full speed.”

“That’s a start.”

“Tate Jenkins urgently asks you to come back to New York. The FBI will protect you.”

“That’s hardly reassuring,” countered Alex. “Just think about David Zuckerman.”

She lay on the bed and stared at her hotel room ceiling. How would it feel to be frightened and in hiding for an entire lifetime? The thought of a life on the run sobered her. This wasn’t an exhilarating game or an exciting movie with a happy ending—her situation was deadly serious. Her euphoria suddenly vanished, and the champagne tasted flat.

“Justin Savier is very worried about you,” Nick said, although he really wanted to tell her that he was the one most worried.

“Tell him that I’m doing well,” Alex replied. “Did Mark Ashton or Oliver Skerritt get in touch with you or Justin?”

“No,” Nick replied, “unfortunately not.”

Alex felt a chill. Mark and Oliver were probably in serious trouble, while she was safe in Switzerland sipping champagne. And although the idea to go into hiding somewhere and never return to New York was appealing, she also knew that she couldn’t turn her back on her friends.

“Alex,” Nick said emphatically, “you’re in great danger. Vitali will try everything to get a hold of you.”

“Are you worried about me?”

“Yes, I am,” Nick replied in a hoarse voice. “Very worried. The fact that you’ve stolen money from Vitali will make him furious. I know what he’s capable of, and I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”

These words affected Alex. She felt that they came from the heart. The mayor of New York, this powerful man, was worried about her! And rightfully so.

“I didn’t steal the money,” she said. “I’ll give it back to him if he leaves me alone. I don’t want to be on the run for the rest of my life. But he can’t forgive me for leaving him and…”

“And what?”

“…and coming to you, of all people.”

There was complete silence again for a moment. His voice felt so close, it was as if he were standing right next to her, without the entire Atlantic Ocean between them.

“You’ve saved my life once,” Nick said softly. “At a time when I was struggling, you bolstered my spirit and helped me move on with my life. I’ll never forget that. Whenever you need help, you can count on me.”

Suddenly, she felt a lump in her throat and tears pushed into her eyes. “I…I’ve got to go now. I’ll get in touch with you again, okay?”

Henry Monaghan was furious that Alex Sontheim had escaped. What’s worse, someone had hacked into LMI’s central computer without his noticing. It undermined his authority as the head of security, and it was his own fault. Of course, no one would ever tell him that to his face. He desperately needed to recover his tarnished self-confidence.

He sat with Phil Fox—his closest staff member—in the basement security control center of the LMI Building trying to figure out who had snooped around in their corporate network. Without a doubt this someone was clever, because nothing had been destroyed. They were dealing with a professional who was already familiar with the system, and that significantly limited the circle of potential suspects. The windowless room, filled with state-of-the-art security technology, was cloudy with Monaghan’s incessant cigar smoke. There were fifteen cigar stubs in the ashtray already when he lit himself another one.

“And?” Fox asked after Monaghan hung up the phone.

He had called the company that had installed the system five years ago, but no one was familiar with the software.

“They think that only someone who programmed the system could hack into it. He said that software manufacturers leave a back door open so that they can enter the system unnoticed at any time.”

“Sure,” Fox said, nodding, “I know that. Where should we start searching?”

“Which operating system are we using?”

“BankManager 5.3 by IBM.”

“Great,” Monaghan said with a frown, chewing on his cigar pensively, “IBM’s a pretty big organization.”

“It is,” replied Fox, “but there couldn’t be too many people who worked on BM 5.3. There are just a handful of programmers at that level.”

Monaghan looked at the IT specialist and then picked up the telephone. After four phone calls, he was speaking with the head of software development at IBM. Monaghan quickly described his problem. However, he carefully kept the reason for his call to himself.

“BankManager 5.3 was developed in-house,” IBM’s head of technology explained, “but the security testing of the program was performed by external specialists.”

“And which specialists did the testing?”

“Usually a team from MIT. However, that was six years ago. It’s likely none of the same people still work there.”

“Right, this seems pretty hopeless to me,” Monaghan replied.

“Massachusetts Institute of Technology,” he said to Fox in a sinister tone. “I bet the little asshole we’re looking for is there somewhere. I’m flying to Boston tomorrow. I’ll find out who’s behind this.”

Monday, December 6, 2000—Offices of Levy & Villiers, Georgetown, Grand Cayman

The young man responsible for Levy & Villiers’s computer system turned to Vincent Levy and Lance Godfrey, director of the branch in Georgetown on Grand Cayman.

“I’m sorry, I can’t access those files at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” Levy asked indignantly. He hadn’t slept well for a number of nights. During the day he was forced to deal with the SEC and the police. In the evenings, his wife was giving him hell. She found it intolerable that LMI had become the subject of negative headlines, and this made his life even more difficult. Levy couldn’t bear her whiny reproaches anymore. To make things worse, he had to fly to the Caymans to have all documents relating to the secret accounts deleted—as if he didn’t already have enough work on his plate.

“Something’s not right here,” the young man said. “It refuses access to certain files and tells me that a fatal exception error occurred. I’ll risk crashing the entire system if I try to fix this.”

He pressed a few buttons, moved the mouse back and forth, and then pointed to the screen with a distressed expression.

“Look, sir. I can open and print these files without a problem, but whenever I try to delete them it says this every time:

“Invalid operation. The file is being closed.”

The way this man talked about the computer as if it were a human being made Levy nervous. He was also annoyed about how relaxed Godfrey seemed.

“I don’t understand your agitation, Vince,” he said, casually crossing his feet on the desk’s glass tabletop. “There’s no trace leading here. The data is as secure as Fort Knox.”

Levy didn’t respond. He thought it was best to keep Godfrey in the dark. With his athletic, six-foot-four frame, deep tan, and light-colored suit, this man looked more like a nightclub owner than the director of a prestigious private bank. And Levy didn’t appreciate it. Godfrey was clearly a capable man, but a little more professionalism seemed appropriate for a man in his position. But this wasn’t the right time to voice his disapproval.

“You better get this thing working again,” Levy snarled at the young man. “That’s what you’re getting paid for, after all.”

Lance Godfrey just grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

“I expect the error to be fixed in an hour,” Levy said as he turned around and marched out of the room. The young man returned to the computer again with a sigh.

It was easy enough for Henry Monaghan to get the names of the people who’d worked on testing the security of IBM’s BankManager 5.3 six years ago. There were three men: one of them was now in Silicon Valley, California; the second lived somewhere in Southeast Asia; the third man was still there. His name was Justin Savier, and he’d worked as a programmer at MIT’s world-renowned Media Lab after graduating with honors with a degree in computer science. Monaghan’s instinct told him that he had found the right guy.

Savier didn’t show up to work on Tuesday morning. Monaghan had been sitting in his small glass office for almost two days and nights. Unfortunately, Savier’s boss didn’t allow Monaghan to look around his office, so he left the MIT premises. He found Savier’s address in the phone book and drove to his apartment with his two assistants. They rang the doorbell three times, but Savier didn’t come to the door. Monaghan got them into the apartment without a problem.

“What the hell is this?” LMI’s head of security shook his head in disgust as he saw the disorder surrounding them. The three rooms stuffed floor to ceiling with computers, parts, books, and computer magazines. Hidden beneath were fitness machines, a bicycle, a vacuum cleaner, and pieces of furniture that didn’t belong together. Piles of clothes, shoes, jackets, and even a few motorcycle helmets were strewn everywhere. These computer geeks were all the same! As brilliant as they might be at their jobs, their personal lives were chaotic and messy.

Monaghan sat down at the desk, opened all of the drawers, and rummaged around in the trash cans. He didn’t even try to start up one of the computers. This Savier character had certainly installed countless access restrictions on them. Then he checked the bathroom and the bedroom. It was the same everywhere: overflowing ashtrays on every surface, empty beer and soda cans, CDs, and a cardboard box with the remnants of a Quattro Staggioni pizza.

“Hey, Henry,” one of his men said. “Take a look at this.”

He pointed to a yellowed newspaper clipping hanging between other notes on a pinboard in the kitchen.

“Teenage Computer Whiz Fools Generals”, read the almost twenty-year-old headline. The newspaper article was about Justin Savier, who had hacked the central computer of the US Space & Missile Defense Command at the age of sixteen, and almost triggered World War III as a result. The military commanders had made fools of themselves because they hadn’t realized a teenager was pranking them. They had seriously believed that the Soviets were preparing for a nuclear strike.

“I heard about that,” Monaghan nodded. “This fits the picture exactly.”

Hacking into other people’s computer systems was apparently one of Justin Savier’s specialties. Monaghan’s gaze wandered over the books on a wobbly shelf. In contrast to what Savier usually read, this wasn’t computer literature but primarily mindless science-fiction novels. Among other things, there were photo albums and yearbooks. Monaghan pulled out one after the other, browsed through them, and then carelessly dropped them on the floor.

“Well, well, look at this,” he said to himself after a while. “If that isn’t the fat bastard who’s sitting in my basement.”

Three young men grinned into the camera, and they also appeared on the following pages. Harvard students. What an arrogant bunch. He was dead sure that the one with the piglet face was Mark Ashton. Monaghan grinned with satisfaction.

“Hey, boss.” The other man appeared in the door. “The woman was here, no doubt about it. I found empty packages from dark-brown hair dye and disposable contact lenses in the bathroom wastebasket.”

Monaghan nodded grimly. Alex Sontheim had been here. They were hot on her heels! He walked back into the living room to have a closer look at the telephone and the answering machine. The answering machine’s tape didn’t hold any important messages, but then Monaghan had the idea of pressing the telephone’s redial button. He eagerly waited to hear who would answer the phone at the other end of the line.

“Bankhaus Gérard Frères, guten morgen,” a friendly female voice answered in German.

A triumphant smile spread across Henry Monaghan’s reddened face. He excused himself politely and then hung up. Alex Sontheim was in Europe. In Switzerland. She didn’t have the slightest clue that he was right behind her. He pulled out his cell phone and called Sergio Vitali. A small army would be heading to Zurich in no less than an hour.

The intercom on the glass desk in Lance Godfrey’s spacious office buzzed. The director of Levy & Villiers frowned. He’d gone to bed very late last night because he had treated himself to a few drinks after spending a horrible day with Vincent Levy. Levy had taken the last flight to New York before they could fix the computer system. Godfrey didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. Sometimes these machines refused to work, which wasn’t a big deal. LMI’s president had picked out stacks of files from the bank’s archives and personally fed them to the shredder. He was in a murderously bad mood when Godfrey drove him to the airport that evening.

“What is it, Sheila?” Godfrey asked.

“There are five gentlemen here who would like to talk to you, sir.”

“Do they have an appointment?” Godfrey threw a glance at the calendar on his desk.

“No. But…”

“I’m busy at the moment. Schedule an appointment.”

He leaned back again as the door opened and the five men entered. Godfrey immediately realized that they weren’t bank clients.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Godfrey,” the secretary said, waving her hands in desperation.

“Mr. Lance Godfrey?” A black-haired man with a thin moustache revealed his badge. “I’m Agent Samuel Ramirez from the FBI. This is Agent Quinn, Mr. Dennis Rosenthal from the SEC’s investigation unit, Mr. Green from the US embassy, and another member of our team, Mr. Savier.”

“Good day, everyone,” Lance Godfrey said smoothly, standing up. “How can I help you?”

“We have a warrant to search your premises,” Agent Ramirez said and handed an official-looking document to him.

Godfrey was trembling inside, but he remained calm and polite.

“And what’s the reason for your search?”

“We have reasonable suspicion that you have money originating from illegal insider trades in various secret accounts,” Dennis Rosenthal announced.

“We suspect that it is part of a large-scale corruption scandal,” Agent Ramirez continued. “If you give us access to your server, we’ll be gone in less than an hour.”

“Our server is out of order,” Godfrey muttered.

“Yes, we know that.” Ramirez nodded. “That’s why we brought a specialist with us.”

Godfrey stared at the men for a moment without saying a word.

“And if you’re smart enough not to report this incident to New York,” Agent Quinn added with a friendly smile, “then the fact that you’re involved in a criminal conspiracy won’t have any punitive consequences for you.”

Now even Lance Godfrey turned pale despite his suntanned skin.

“I’m not… involved in any conspiracy,” he stuttered.

“Really? That should be easy enough for us to prove,” Agent Ramirez said. “I suggest that you leave town for a few days and forget about our short visit. You won’t hear from us again in that case. Otherwise…”

There was a telling pause before the agent continued.

“Otherwise, we’ll have to arrest you.”

Lance Godfrey swallowed. Now it dawned on him why Levy had been acting so strangely and why this walrus-mustached Monaghan had appeared with a computer expert last week. He had never trusted St. John, and he’d suspected that the regular cash deposits he’d been receiving for years weren’t quite kosher. But it must be a really big deal if the FBI, the SEC, and someone from the embassy were here with a search warrant.

“I think that I urgently need to pay a visit to my parents in Idaho,” Lance Godfrey said. “My mother’s not doing so well.”

“Of course. You’re free to depart right away,” Agent Ramirez responded with a friendly smile. “If you would be so kind as to grant us access to your central computer and answer a few questions before you leave.”

Lance Godfrey was the picture of helpfulness. He had no desire whatsoever to go to the slammer for something that he didn’t do. Maybe he should look for another job. It was high time he disappeared for a while.

When Paul McIntyre—the commissioner of the New York City Department of Buildings—returned to his office after lunch, he found a note on his desk telling him to call the mayor. He picked up the telephone and was only briefly surprised when he was immediately put through to Kostidis. It usually took a few tries to reach the ever-busy mayor.

“Hello, Paul,” Kostidis said. “I hear that you just came back from vacation. Did you get some good rest?”

“Hi, Nick,” McIntyre replied. “Yes I did, thank you. Unfortunately, it was much too short as usual.”

“Where did you go this time?”

“Oh, we got a little sun,” McIntyre said with a laugh. “I get depressed with the weather here. We went to the Caymans. Swimming, snorkeling, sunbathing.”

The Caymans! That wasn’t a coincidence.

“Listen, Paul, I don’t have much time, but I really need to talk to you. Could you come by my office?

“Yes, of course,” McIntyre said, surprised. “Right away?”

“Yes, if you could manage it.”

“Of course. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

McIntyre left the Department of Buildings. He was in an excellent mood. After returning from the Caribbean two days ago, he and his wife had looked at the house that Vitali procured for them, and Jenny was delighted. It was out on the dunes with a view of Fire Island—it was simply fantastic! Only four more years, and then he could fulfill his dream and finally retire. Maybe even earlier, if he could find a doctor who would prescribe early retirement for his high blood pressure. Jenny could lunch at the country club, and he could play golf or go sailing all day long. The children and grandchildren could visit them on the weekends, stroll on the beach, swim in the pool, play tennis, or pursue other leisure activities for which the city lacked the space. Yes, it was an alluring prospect indeed to live in their own oceanfront house, after sixty years of renting apartments in this damned loud and dirty city. McIntyre whistled as he ran up the steps to city hall.

“Hello, Allie,” he said to Kostidis’s secretary. “You’re getting prettier every day!”

“Thanks, Paul.” Allie said with a teasing frown. “You’re one charming liar. The mayor’s waiting for you. Go right in.”

McIntyre grinned and opened the door to Nick’s office.

“Hello, Nick!” he called out in a good mood, but then his gaze landed on the two men sitting at the large table and his smile vanished. He suddenly had a feeling that something was wrong.

“Paul,” Nick Kostidis said as he approached him and extended his hand, “thank you for coming so quickly. You know Lloyd Connors and Royce Shepard from the US Attorney’s Office.”

“Yes, we know each other,” McIntyre said carefully. “What’s going on?”

“Please take a seat,” Connors requested, and McIntyre obeyed. His uneasy feeling intensified when he spotted the audio recorder on the table and Shepard asked whether he had any objection to him recording the conversation.

“Let me cut to the chase,” Connors began. He looked pretty worn out. “We have evidence that you hold an account at a bank called Levy & Villiers in the Caymans.”

McIntyre turned as white as a sheet and started trembling.

“We suspect that you received the money in this account from Mr. Sergio Vitali and that you promised certain favors to him in return.”

McIntyre’s eyes locked with Nick’s inquiring gaze, and a dark redness crawled from his throat up his face.

“Do you have anything to say about these allegations?”

“That…that must be some kind of misunderstanding… I…” McIntyre stammered and wet his lips with his tongue. Thick beads of sweat appeared on his brow, although it wasn’t particularly warm in the large room. This damned high blood pressure would kill him one of these days.

“Paul,” Nick said, “it’s not you the US Attorney’s Office is after, it’s Vitali.”

“We have account statements proving that you’ve regularly withdrawn and spent the money that was paid to you,” Connors continued. “So?”

McIntyre stared at the shiny tabletop, and he felt as if a dark abyss had opened up in front of him. It was the moment that he had feared all these years. The dream of a house on Long Island was over, and so was the prospect of a carefree life. Everything was over! He would be lucky to get any pension at all. Corruption was a serious crime that went severely punished, not to mention the fact that his reputation would be ruined forever.

“It…it’s true,” he mumbled after a while, and his confidence crumbled to dust. Nick sighed. In a small corner of his heart, he had hoped that it wasn’t true. He liked Paul McIntyre, trusted him, and worked well with him.

“When did it begin?” Connors asked.

“A few years ago.” McIntyre lowered his head. He couldn’t take Kostidis’s disappointed and hurt look anymore. “It was the invitation to bid for the construction of the World Financial Center. David Zuckerman approached me at the time. That wasn’t unusual, but when I personally met Vitali for the first time he offered me money.”

“And you accepted?” Connors asked.

“I hesitated at first.” McIntyre looked up, and tears actually shone in his eyes. “I was proud that I was incorruptible. But I had only been in office for a few months and was in debt up to my ears. Unfortunately, my wife likes to shop, and the banks were hassling me for repayment of a loan, and I couldn’t afford the payments on my salary. I knew how bad it would look if people found out I was technically bankrupt, and Vitali’s offer seemed simple and harmless enough at the time.”

Nick wiped his hand across his face. He didn’t want to hear another word, but McIntyre was talking his head off, as if he were happy to be relieved of the pressure of his guilty conscience. Connors and Shepard listened carefully, asking questions now and then as McIntyre indulged in verbose justifications for his actions.

“Everyone lines their own pockets,” the commissioner of the Department of Buildings finally said. “That’s the norm. Small gifts, large gifts, a vacation package, a new car, and…money. I wouldn’t have stayed in office for very long if I hadn’t played along.”

“What do you mean by that?” Connors observed McIntyre sternly.

“Just like I said.” The broad-shouldered man with his carefully styled snow-white hair shrugged his shoulders. “Vitali and his people left no doubt that they would finish me off if I refused their offer.”

His gaze fell on the mayor.

“You don’t understand, Nick.” McIntyre smiled with a hint of bitterness. “I’ve always admired you for your idealism, but if you think that you can purge New York City of corruption, you’re crazy. Every civil servant is part of it—every single one of them.”

Nick looked at him for quite some time. Then he slowly nodded and lowered his head. He knew that McIntyre was right, but it hurt him nonetheless. His statement was proof that he had accomplished absolutely nothing in regard to corruption over the years. It was a declaration of his political bankruptcy.

“What’s going to become of me now?” McIntyre asked. Connors repeated the words he had spoken to many men over the past few days. He also handed him a prepared admission of guilt, and just like all the men before him, Paul McIntyre also signed.

“You’re going to act completely normally toward Vitali and your staff,” Connors said. “Of course, you’re also attending Vitali’s gala just as if nothing had happened. We want to avoid raising his suspicions too soon. Should you choose to warn him, then your prospects will look bad. Corruption in office, acceptance of bribes by a public official, falsification of building and planning applications, price-fixing—all over an extended period of time—this means that you’re going to breathe filtered air for the rest of your life on top of the IRS coming after you for tax evasion and tax fraud.”

“I’ll do exactly as you say,” McIntyre quickly reassured him. “I promise you that.”

“That’s certainly the smartest thing you can do.”

McIntyre threw a glance at Nick, who was staring out the window with a blank expression.

“Nick,” McIntyre said quietly to his boss, “I’m truly sorry.”

Then, with hanging shoulders and clumsy steps, he walked out the door. The three men sat at the table in silence until someone else knocked on the door and Frank entered the room.

“What’s up?” Nick asked tiredly.

“There’s a woman who’d like to talk to you,” Frank said. “She’s been waiting for over an hour.”

“Did she tell you her name or what she wants?”

“No.”

Connors and Shepard collected their documents.

“Tell her I only have ten minutes,” Nick said, thinking a minute and walking to his desk. Frank returned, accompanied by a small, pear-shaped woman of about fifty. She wore a simple black dress, a pearl necklace, and a black headscarf. Her gray hair was cut fashionably short. Sorrow and tension were visible in her face, but fierce vengeance sparkled in her big brown eyes. She gripped the handle of her large crocodile-skin bag with both hands. She looked at the two US attorneys with uncertainty.

“Good afternoon.” Nick’s smile was somewhat forced as he extended his hand. Time and again someone managed to get through to his office, and then he had to listen to problems ranging from a lost job or marital troubles to neighbors’ disputes.

“How can I help you?” he asked. The woman glanced again at Connors and Shepard.

“These gentlemen are from the US Attorney’s Office,” Nick explained politely, “but they were just about to leave.”

“No, no,” the woman replied, “they should stay. What I have to say will also interest them.”

The three men looked at the woman in surprise. She opened her bag, pulled out ten videotapes, and placed them on Nick’s desk. Lloyd Connors curiously moved close.

“What’s that?” he asked. The woman looked into his eyes and then straightened her shoulders with determination.

“My name is Constanzia Vitali. And I’d like to testify against my husband.”

Monaghan and his men were patiently awaiting Justin Savier’s return in his apartment. He stayed out all night. The telephone rang repeatedly, but when the answering machine switched on the person on the other end hung up.

Someone unlocked the front door at two thirty the following afternoon. Justin Savier kicked the door shut with his heel and dropped his jacket on the floor. All he longed for right now was his bed. The plane from Georgetown had landed two hours ago in Newark, and then he’d been flown to Boston in a helicopter. Alex was right, and thankfully the US attorneys also believed their story. The evidence he had uncovered on the Levy & Villiers computers was truly powerful.

Justin yawned and pulled his sweater over his head, and then he suddenly felt something hard press into his back. He froze.

“Hello, Mr. Savier,” someone said behind him.

“He…hello,” Justin stuttered. “W… who are you, and what are you doing in my apartment?”

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Henry Monaghan replied, and Justin turned around quickly. He stared at the heavyset man with the walrus moustache.

“Who are you?” he repeated his question.

“That’s irrelevant.” Monaghan raised himself with surprising agility for such a fat man.

“How dare you break into my apartment?” Without a doubt, these were the people Alex was fleeing from.

“Funny you should put it that way,” Monaghan said with the last remnants of friendliness remaining in him after waiting for nineteen hours. “We suspect that you illegally broke into the central computer of a New York investment firm.”

Justin swallowed nervously.

“What makes you think that?”

“You worked on the security testing for BankManager 5.3,” Monaghan said casually, “and when your old buddy Mark Ashton asked you for help with a small computer problem, you complied.”

“I don’t know any Mark.”

“Really? That’s strange, because you went to Harvard together. I’ve seen the pictures of you two in your photo albums.”

Monaghan tried hard to stay calm and friendly. He would have loved to grab this guy who’d made a fool out of him and beat him to a pulp.

“Listen, Savier, I don’t have time for silly question-and-answer games. I want to know what—”

The telephone rang, and Monaghan fell silent. He detected panic flaring up in Savier’s eyes.

“Answer it!” he ordered, and since Justin showed no intention of doing so, he grabbed the revolver from his colleague Joey’s hand and pressed it to Savier’s temple. Justin turned an even paler shade of white. He picked up the receiver with shaking fingers. Monaghan pressed the speakerphone button with his left hand, and a hot wave of triumph flowed though him as he heard Alex Sontheim’s voice.

“Justin, thank God! Where have you been for so long? I’ve tried to reach you countless times!”

Monaghan grinned. Vitali would be delighted by his next call. His people were certainly already closing in on Sontheim in Zurich.

“I’ve taken care of everything in Zurich,” Alex said. “I’ll go to—”

“Alex!” Justin interrupted her, but Monaghan pressed the barrel of the revolver more firmly to his temple and looked at him threateningly.

“Yes?”

“I…”

“Did you hear anything from Mark or Oliver?”

“No,” Justin said, closing his eyes, “I had a lot of work to do.”

“Ask her where she is!” Monaghan hissed.

“Justin?” Alex asked with sudden suspicion. “Is there someone with you? You sound so strange.”

“No, no. I think I’m getting a cold. A bad virus is going around.”

“Oh. I see. Get well soon…”

The dial tone sounded, and Monaghan understood what Justin had done.

“A virus is going around, huh?” he snorted angrily and dealt Justin a ferocious blow with the revolver’s grip. “You think you’re so clever, warning her, huh?”

“Listen!” Justin raised his hands imploringly. “I participated, but I don’t know to this day what this is all about. I’ve got no clue.”

“I don’t believe a word you’re saying.” Monaghan signaled his guys, and they grabbed Justin from the left and right.

“We’re going on a little excursion,” Monaghan said, “and you should come with us without a fuss. Otherwise, I’ll put a neat little hole in the back of your head and you won’t see your dear Alex or your friend Mark ever again.”

Nick, Connors, and Shepard stared at the woman in astonishment.

“Are you surprised to see me?” asked Constanzia Vitali. For a moment she almost seemed amused. Nick remembered Alex telling him that Mrs. Vitali had separated from her husband and that she wanted to talk to him. He had completely forgotten.

“We surely are,” Connors said. “What’s on those videotapes?”

Constanzia Vitali put her meticulously manicured hand on the tapes and smiled sadly. The three men waited impatiently.

“This,” she said after a while, “is the testimony of Nelson van Mieren, my husband’s long-time lawyer and confidant.”

Connors opened his eyes wide.

“Testimony? What kind of testimony?”

“Everything that you need to put Sergio Vitali behind bars for the rest of his life.”

The three men looked at each other, bewildered. Connors was the first to regain his faculties.

“Is… is that true?” he asked.

“Yes. See for yourself. I think it’ll be quite revealing.”

“Excuse us for being surprised,” Nick said slowly. “Might I ask what motivated Mr. van Mieren, and especially you, to take this step?”

Constanzia Vitali looked at him for quite some time and then asked to sit down.

“Nelson was diagnosed terminal cancer,” she said. “He realized his wrongs. He might have kept his mouth shut if Sergio hadn’t lied to him.”

“Lied?”

“It’s all on the tapes.” She gestured vaguely with her hand.

“And what about you?” Connors asked. “Why do you want to testify against your husband?”

“Because I hate him,” the woman exclaimed with unexpected vehemence. “He has humiliated me and lied to me for thirty long years. He only married me because Carlo Gambino was my father. Sergio wanted my father’s connections, and as you can see, he succeeded.”

She sighed.

“I had to endure so much sorrow. I’ve tried to ignore all the corpses my husband left behind on his way to the top. But they reappear in my nightmares. And still, I tried to live with it. Until the day when Sergio ordered the murder of my son.”

“I knew it,” Connors murmured. “I’ve always doubted it was suicide.”

“My husband ordered one of his men to kill Cesare and make it look like suicide.” Her lips were quivering. She shook her head impatiently. “My boy was killed by his own father.”

Tears sparkled in her big brown eyes, but she straightened her shoulders and managed to suppress the pain that still haunted her.

“I left my husband because I could no longer bear to be married to someone who had his own son killed like a stray dog.”

“Do you have any evidence that your husband is behind this?” Connors’s voice was breathless with excitement.

“Yes,” Constanzia Vitali said, nodding, “it’s all on the tapes.”

She was silent for a moment and then looked at Nick.

“Mr. Kostidis,” she said quietly, “I know that Sergio Vitali is responsible for the deaths of your wife and son. I’m terribly sorry about it. Believe me—I know how horrible it is to bury your own child.”

Nick stared at her and then nodded slowly. He struggled to remain calm and composed.

“Sergio is a monster,” she continued, “an ice-cold beast without human emotions. He kills anyone who’s in his way or could threaten him. But I’m not afraid of him anymore. He’s taken from me what I loved the most. I have nothing left to lose. Before I die, I want revenge and retribution for what he did.”

Lloyd Connors could hardly believe it. Never before in the history of legal action against the Mafia had there been a key witness this far up in the families’ hierarchy. Nelson van Mieren was an insider—no, he was the insider of the Vitali clan. He alone could break Sergio Vitali’s back and help them close countless unsolved murder cases.

“Mrs. Vitali,” Connors asked, trembling with excitement and triumph, “will Mr. van Mieren be willing to testify against your husband in a court trial?”

“I afraid he can’t do that,” Constanzia Vitali answered, dashing Connors’s hopes.

“Why not? He already recorded his testimony on video!”

“Nelson put a bullet through his head on Sunday afternoon,” Constanzia Vitali replied. “He’s not dead yet, but he’s in a coma. Even if he survives, he won’t be able to testify.”

Alex had understood Justin’s warning. It could only mean that Sergio’s people had already found and captured him. She quickly packed her bags and left the hotel through a back exit. Without a moment’s hesitation, she headed to Germany in her rental car. It had unsettled her very much that neither Justin nor Nick had heard from Mark or Oliver. She had called both of them repeatedly, and she had to use every bit of willpower to suppress the trembling that overcame her when she thought about Sergio. What would Sergio do to these three completely innocent men? The thought that someone could be harmed just for helping her caused her terrible feelings of guilt. What would happen if she returned to New York and went to the FBI? Would they believe that she was innocent? Her disappearance was still in the headlines of every American newspaper. Her picture was everywhere.

Alex chewed her lip. She had stepped on a hornet’s nest, and now the hornets were swarming. Ever since she’d handed the bank statements to Nick, the situation had gotten out of control. He had passed them on to the US Attorney’s Office. Sergio wouldn’t rest until he got his revenge for this humiliation. She couldn’t possibly be on the run from him for the rest of her life.

In Basel, she crossed the border into Germany without a problem. Just after Freiburg, she exited to fill up and buy cigarettes and a few phone cards; then she walked to a telephone booth. It was about noon in New York right now. Alex dialed Mark’s extension at LMI with shaking fingers. Mark didn’t answer, but an entirely different voice did.

“Hello,” she said in a French accent, “this is Hélène Lelièvre from Prudential Securities. Mr. Ashton?”

“No, Mr. Ashton is away from his desk at the moment.”

“Oh, when will he be back?” Alex realized that she was talking to her employee Tom Burns. “He asked me to call him right back, that it was urgent.”

“I have no idea when he’ll be back. He hasn’t been in the office for the last four days.”

Alex hung up. She leaned against the wall of the phone booth, her heart pounding. Mark had been gone for four days. That could not be good! She decided to try calling Oliver again. But he didn’t answer. As she dialed Nick’s number, she was close to tears. She needed to return to New York! Nick answered the phone right away, sounding very concerned.

“Alex,” he said in a muted voice, “where are you? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m okay. Have you heard from Mark Ashton?” she asked.

“No, but I found out where Oliver Skerritt is,” Nick replied. “He’s been sitting in a cell at the police headquarters for four days.”

“Why?” Alex almost dropped the telephone receiver. “Where is he now?”

“I managed to get him out. I had him brought to a safe place,” Nick answered. “He’s doing reasonably well.”

Alex felt miserable.

“I’ll never forgive myself that all of the people who were only trying to help me are in danger,” she sobbed. “They nabbed Justin yesterday. Nick, what should I do? I can’t just stand by and watch what this man is doing to my friends!”

“Come back to the city,” Nick pleaded. “I’ll pick you up from the airport and make sure that nothing happens to you.”

“I won’t drag you into this as well.” Alex wiped away her tears. “Out of the question. Vitali would kill us both!”

The phone card was almost used up, but she had made a decision. If she hurried, she could be in Frankfurt in three hours and—with some luck—in New York City about eight hours later. Then she would call Sergio to propose a deal.

“I’ll call you again,” she told Nick.

“Please be careful, Alex.” Nick’s voice was strained with worry. And then he added something that deeply touched Alex, despite her fear and worries.

“I’m thinking of you day and night, Alex,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t be able to handle it if something happened to you…”

The credit on the phone card was used up. Alex stared blankly through the fogged-up window. Her heart pounded wildly. I’m thinking of you day and night. Good Lord, she was doing the same!

Sergio Vitali sat at his desk at the VITAL Building. He stared at a brief newspaper obituary stating that renowned criminal defense lawyer Nelson van Mieren had succumbed to severe injuries last night. It hit Sergio like a punch to the stomach: of all people, his closest friend and long-time brother-in-arms had turned his back on him. Nelson had blown his brains out late Sunday afternoon. In reality, he’d never intended to work with him again. His promise to return to the office was just a scam. And now he was dead.

Sergio felt a wild, hot rage come over him. He took Nelson’s decision as a personal insult, and it angered him so much that he couldn’t grieve over the loss of his most important colleague and friend. Sergio crumpled the newspaper impulsively and threw it into the wastebasket. Nelson was sick anyway, and Sergio had already looked around for a suitable replacement—and found one. Although no one would ever have such comprehensive knowledge of his business as Nelson, Dennis Bruyner was an ace in his field. He was one of the best and smartest criminal defense lawyers in the United States—ambitious, sharp-witted, and completely unscrupulous. In his career so far, Bruyner had won dozens of cases that at first seemed completely hopeless, and he certainly didn’t mind helping murderers and rapists retain their freedom. Sergio didn’t need Nelson anymore, and if he preferred to die, so be it. No one lived forever. Furthermore, Nelson had been far too hesitant and scared recently.

Sergio turned toward the window with a grim expression and looked at the skyline. He had weathered worse storms, and he always emerged from them unscathed, and even stronger. Things would settle down again this time. Although MPM was lost, as well as his trust in Vincent Levy, there would be new opportunities for Sergio to secure his influence in the city. The men who were obligated to him wouldn’t admit to anything—Sergio was certain about that. It didn’t matter whether Kostidis had those bank statements, if there were actually copies of them. John de Lancie, for one, would never endanger his own future. He was ambitious and solely viewed his job as a US attorney of New York as a stepping-stone to Washington DC. Jerome Harding was eyeing the position of deputy secretary of state, and he had a good chance at it; Governor Rhodes also wanted to move up the ladder. No, these men would remain silent. And if they didn’t, it would be no big deal because there was no evidence connecting him to the Grand Cayman accounts.

His face turned sullen. Alex was still the main problem, although she was severely discredited by the murder allegations. But she was smart and had nothing to lose. As long as she was on the run, she was dangerous. In Switzerland, she had just slipped through his net, and now Monaghan claimed that she was headed back to the city. Sergio had ordered observation of all three airports as well as Penn Station, Grand Central Station, and the Port Authority bus terminal. Thanks to Monaghan, if she appeared in a public place, his men would nab her.

“This is absolutely crazy.” Lloyd Connors grinned in excitement as Nick entered his office. The control center had been moved to the US Attorney’s Office after de Lancie had called in sick. “Van Mieren gave twelve hours of testimony. Come here, Nick. Look at this!” The TV and VCR were centered on a large table.

“Check this out!” he exclaimed.

Nelson van Mieren’s face appeared on the screen. Nick could see that this man he had countered in the courtroom so many times over the years was very sick. His condition had rapidly deteriorated since their encounter at the Forty-First Precinct last summer. Over the next fifteen minutes, Nick and Connors listened attentively to van Mieren’s precise statements about the contract award for the construction of the World Financial Center. He spoke the names of the people involved in the scandal, never before uncovered due to Zuckerman’s death. He confessed how much money had been exchanged and described Vitali’s pitiless extortion methods.

“Unbelievable.” Nick shook his head.

“You were right all along,” Connors replied, “and we thought you were just obsessed. I’m sincerely sorry.”

Nick waved his hand. It was far too late. Zuckerman was dead, and the complex deals were water under the bridge now. Of course, they could confront Vitali with it, but any mediocre lawyer could get him off. Some of the crimes already exceeded the statute of limitations, and a video testimony might not be enough for a conviction in court.

“We’re in a position now to ask Vitali entirely different questions.”

His eyes sparkled with the excitement of a predator spotting its prey at a close range.

Nick sighed. “I knew all of this before. But no one wanted to hear it.”

“You had just a hunch,” Connors corrected him. “Now we have evidence.”

“That’s great. But…” Nick fell silent.

“But? But what?” Connors stared at him. “I thought you would be happy!”

“Lloyd,” Nick said, sounding agonized, “I’ve spent years of my life hunting this guy. I know I was ridiculed behind my back, and that now the same people who laughed at me are having this served to them on a silver platter. Please don’t take offense if I can’t quite share your excitement. This man has destroyed my life. He killed my wife and son. He stole my time from me, time that I could have spent with Mary and Chris.”

Connors looked at Nick in consternation.

“We’re going to stop Vitali. We’ll bring him to justice for everything he’s done.”

For a moment, Nick felt envious of the young man’s optimism and enthusiasm, his firm conviction that he would accomplish his task. He had been like Lloyd Connors once, but it seemed like an eternity had passed since then. Nick sighed again. He felt so tired, so incredibly tired. He’d lost his sense of élan and power. Vitali had robbed him of his convictions, of his faith in law and order.

“I wish…” he started and stood up. “I really wish you all luck.”

“It will be your success, Nick,” Connors said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You made this happen.”

“No,” Nick said, shaking his head, “this is none of my business anymore.”

“But you must be satisfied if…”

“Satisfied?” Nick looked at the young man pensively. “No. I don’t feel anything. There’s just emptiness. What good is it to me if Vitali is sentenced? It won’t bring anyone back to life.”

Monday, December 6, 2000—The US Attorney’s Office in Manhattan

“Before granting immunity to Alex Sontheim, I want to talk to her.”

Tate Jenkins’s voice squawked through the telephone’s speaker. Nick and Lloyd Connors exchanged a brief glance.

“Mr. Jenkins,” Nick said with growing impatience, “she called me yesterday morning. She won’t return as long as she has reason to fear being arrested and charged with murder.”

“No one will arrest her. I already promised you that. But I won’t grant her immunity before I’m personally convinced of this woman’s innocence.” Jenkins sounded impatient. “You understand that, Mr. Kostidis, don’t you? She’s not just suspected of murder! Don’t forget that she also embezzled money. Tell her to contact me. The sooner, the better.”

Nick shrugged his shoulders.

“There’s one more thing, Mr. Kostidis,” said the deputy director of the FBI. “We were able to seize significant incriminating evidence on Grand Cayman. With the confessions of the bribed men, it could be enough.”

“Enough for what? What do you mean?”

“I mean that Ms. Sontheim shouldn’t gamble too much. If she waits any longer, then her testimony might lose its value. In that case, I’d have no reason whatsoever to repeal the arrest warrant because it falls within the NYPD’s jurisdiction.”

Connors gasped for air. Nick struggled to suppress his anger. This arrogant bastard didn’t give a damn that it was Alex who got the ball rolling on this case. She had put her life at risk to bring Vitali to justice. Without her, the FBI would never even have uncovered this corruption scandal!

“But Ms. Sontheim is the only person capable of bringing Vitali before a court. She has detailed knowledge of the processes, the sequence of events, and—”

“Vitali is not my problem,” Jenkins said, interrupting Nick. “I’ll straighten this out with minimal collateral damage. If your witness is unwilling to cooperate, then she must bear the consequences on her own.”

“If I understand you correctly, Mr. Jenkins,” Nick said, hardly managing to control his voice, “you don’t have the slightest interest in arresting Vitali.”

“My job is to find out how far the net of corruption reaches within the State’s agencies and the City of New York,” Jenkins replied coolly.

“Then go ahead,” Nick said. “But you can rest assured that Vitali won’t hesitate to bribe the successors of every single person you remove from office. We need to tackle the evil at its root. Otherwise, your efforts will be in vain.”

“You better leave that problem to me, Kostidis.”

Connors signaled Nick, but Nick was truly enraged. His original intention was to get Jenkins to drop the charges against Alex, but this bureaucratic disinterest riled him up and reignited his passion for justice.

“Listen, Jenkins,” he said sharply, “I’m not some petty civil servant. In case you’ve forgotten, I was a US attorney and the deputy attorney general of the United States. I won’t allow you and your agency to sweep everything under the rug once again! I don’t know why you’re sparing Vitali, but this time I’ll put an end to his game. I’m toying with the idea of contacting the attorney general and the president, both of whom I know personally.”

Connors grimaced as if he had a toothache, but he couldn’t help but admire Nick’s blunt courage.

“This case is none of your business whatsoever!” Tate Jenkins barked angrily.

“It’s very much my business!” Nick countered. “My city has been made ungovernable by men like Vitali. I will no longer allow the Mob to rule this city, intimidating honest citizens with murder and threats! I lost my family because I dared to challenge this guy. I’ll fight this man with everything that I’ve got. If the FBI decides not to cooperate with me, then I’ll do it without you.”

“Mr. Kostidis, listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me! I’ll clean house this time. This opportunity presented itself, and I’m taking advantage of it. I don’t give a crap who you are, Jenkins. My job is to keep this city safe and livable. How is it possible that a man has become so powerful that even the FBI bows to his pressure!”

“Watch what you say, Kostidis.” Jenkins hissed.

“I don’t care. And do you know why?” Nick lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you. I’ve got nothing to lose. Absolutely nothing. My wife and my son died in front of my eyes because it didn’t suit someone that I was speaking the truth. I won’t let anyone or anything intimidate me. If you want to stop me from cleaning up this dirty business, then it’ll be over my dead body.”

“This is not the Wild West!”

“Exactly. Those days are over.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and Connors held his breath anxiously. Had Nick gone too far?

“So what do you want, Kostidis?”

“I want you to guarantee immunity for Alex Sontheim once she returns to the city. She’s the most important witness against Vitali. In return, I’ll make sure that she talks to you and to the SEC. Furthermore, I promise to mitigate information leaking to the public if your agency helps us bring Vitali to justice for everything that he has done.”

“That actually doesn’t fall under the FBI’s jurisdiction.”

“Yes, it does. This is a matter of national security. Remember that Vitali does business with a Colombian drug cartel.”

Tate Jenkins sighed and gave in.

“I’ll talk to Mr. Horner.”

There was a click on the line, and the conversation was over. Nick leaned back in his chair and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Holy cow,” Lloyd Connors said and laughed quietly. “I can’t believe I heard that with my own ears. I don’t think anyone has ever spoken that way to Jenkins before.”

“They have no interest in Vitali,” Nick said. “They want to hang the little guys and let the big guys get away.”

“Yes, I have the same fear,” Connors said. He had stopped laughing. “But what are you going to do? You can’t force the FBI to do anything.”

“Oh yes, I can.” Nick looked up. “I have good connections with the press. The scandal would be out in a few hours. I’d tell them everything I know. It would be a sensation, especially if I mentioned names or even leaked parts of van Mieren’s statement to the TV stations. Then they’d have no choice but to act.”

“You can’t be serious,” Connors said, concerned. “You would ruin yourself.”

“I don’t care. I’ve achieved more than I ever dreamed I would, but I’ve also lost all that was dear to me. I don’t care if I make myself unpopular.”

“Have you ever considered what consequences this could have for me?”

“Of course.” Nick nodded. “For that reason, you’ll need to distance yourself from me immediately. I won’t hold it against you.”

The sleet lashed against the windows, and an icy wind howled around the building of the US Attorney’s Office.

Nick stood up.

“I’m sick and tired of maneuvering and waiting. With every passing hour, the risk increases that Vitali finds out what’s going on. As soon as he does, he will evade us again.”

The telephone rang, and Connors answered. He listened for a few seconds, taken aback, and then the expression on his face turned dark.

“I’m coming right away,” he said and hung up.

“Did something happen?” Nick asked.

“Yep,” Connors replied grimly. “Clarence Whitewater. His wife found him dead. He committed suicide in his garage with exhaust fumes.”

Nick was shocked. He had known Judge Clarence Whitewater for many years and worked with him frequently. The old man had been a model of integrity throughout his career. He had helped fight New York’s Mafia families in the 1980s. Even before that, Whitewater had won a reputation as an incorruptible and fair judge. What had motivated him to become corrupted by Vitali at the end of his brilliant career?

“I need to go there.” Connors grabbed his coat that he’d thrown across one of the chairs. “I’ll call you.”

Sergio’s initial anger about Alex gave way to a cold desire for vengeance. Time and again, he imagined what he would do once he finally had her in his hands. Dennis Bruyner thought it would be best if the police or the FBI captured Alex, but Sergio had a different opinion. She would bitterly regret what she had done! Alex Sontheim wouldn’t testify in any court. She’d be dead by the time he was finished with her.

The telephone rang, and Sergio winced.

“Yes?”

“Sergio!” Levy yelled in a hysterical voice. “Godfrey disappeared! The FBI showed up at Levy & Villiers a few days ago. They had a search warrant, and they brought people from the SEC and the US embassy.”

“So what?” Sergio replied in a bored voice. “Didn’t you go down there to make sure that the accounts were deleted? Let them search for what they like.”

“I tried!” Levy lowered his voice into a hiss. “The computer was locked up, and we couldn’t do a thing.”

Sergio was stunned.

“What a fucking mess! I thought Godfrey had taken care of everything and deleted the files, but now he’s supposedly been visiting his sick mother in Idaho since Tuesday. His parents have been dead for years. That miserable son of a bitch!”

Sergio listened to Levy’s rant while his brain worked in high gear. There must be something more going on here. Did the other side have information directly from the bank’s database? Would people like de Lancie, Harding, Governor Rhodes, or Senator Hoffman react differently if the FBI rang the doorbell instead of the US Attorney’s Office?

“What could they possibly find?” Sergio asked.

“I don’t know,” Levy replied, “I’ve never dealt with these matters—it was St. John’s job. For God’s sake, why did I ever get myself into this? My reputation will be ruined if this comes out!”

“Shut up,” Sergio said. “It does no good for you to keep wailing like a fucking wimp.”

His mind churned feverishly. If the FBI or the SEC had concrete evidence, they would have showed up at LMI to question Levy. Their appearance at the bank in the Caymans seemed more like a shot in the dark. If his name had been dropped in connection with this investigation, his friends at the SEC would have informed him by now. It couldn’t be all that bad.

“Listen, Vince,” Sergio said. “If they have found something and they ask you about it, then you claim you know nothing. Tell them that St. John was solely responsible for the LMI subsidiaries. They’ll never be able to prove we had anything to do with it.”

“Actually, I really don’t have anything to do with it,” Levy responded, and Sergio caught his breath. Rotten bastard, he thought to himself. It wasn’t for nothing that Nelson had warned him about Levy. Nelson had called him an opportunist. How right he had been!

“Vincent,” Sergio said, hardly managing to contain his anger, “it was only because of me and my money that you were able to turn LMI from a small-time outfit into what it is today. You’ve fulfilled your lifelong dream—and, if I might add, you’ve done it with an impressive criminal energy. You’re in just as deep as anyone—if not even deeper. As the president and chairman of the board, you’re responsible for everything that happens in your firm. You’ll regret it if you decide to turn your back on me.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m only saying, in for a penny, in for a pound. You’re part of this to the bitter end, and if you’re smart and keep your nerve, then nothing will happen to you. I can promise you that. But if you don’t, you’ll go under just like MPM.”

Sergio hung up and slammed his fist on the table. You’re about to lose control…Nelson van Mieren’s words echoed in his head, and suddenly Sergio felt an unfamiliar, frightening sensation of panic rising inside of him. Had he overlooked something? Did he make a mistake somewhere? There was no one left he could ask for advice. Nelson and Zack were dead, and Alex, whom he’d never deemed especially important, seemed to have become pivotal in this situation. Did he make a mistake not letting her in on his business and making her his confidant? He sighed and stood up. It was pointless to grapple with ifs and buts. Now it was important to keep a level head. He needed to cover his back as quickly as possible.

The Delta Airlines flight from Miami landed in Newark at nine thirty p.m. Alex picked up her luggage at the baggage claim. Before exiting to the arrival hall, she disappeared into the restroom. She had no desire to run into the arms of Sergio’s henchmen, which is why she quickly undressed, slipped into a business shirt and gray suit, knotted a tie around her neck, and put on men’s shoes that she had bought—along with everything else—at the airport in Miami. Then she pulled her hair back tight and stuffed it beneath a blond short-haired wig. A fake moustache completed her costume. Alex reviewed her work in the mirror. She looked like a man—at least at first glance. As she left the ladies’ restroom, she caught a surprised and disapproving glare from a woman washing her hands at the sink. The disguise worked.

Alex spotted Sergio’s people immediately. Two men were standing at opposite sides of the automatic doors and closely observing every person walking between them. She slipped past unnoticed, and her heart somersaulted in relief. It worked! She hailed a cab outside the terminal. An icy, stormy wind was blowing, whipping the sleet sideways across the highway.

“Pretty nasty out there, isn’t it?” the taxi driver asked. “Where are you from, sir?”

“Florida,” Alex replied. “It wasn’t much warmer down there if you can believe it.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Manhattan. Do you know a cheap hotel in the Theater District?”

“Let’s see. On Forty-Seventh Street, between Sixth and Seventh Avenues. The Portland Square Hotel. It’s cheap, but clean.”

“Sounds good. Take me there.”

The taxi drove off. Alex had carefully deliberated on where she should stay after returning to the city. She had first considered a large, anonymous luxury hotel, but it might raise suspicions if she paid in cash. She would be less conspicuous at a cheaper hotel.

Alex longed for a hot shower and a soft bed. In the past forty-eight hours, she had been on so many airplanes that she had completely lost her sense of time. She’d traveled through Switzerland, Germany, France, and then Miami. She was wide awake and dead tired at the same time. The news was on the radio, and suddenly Alex jerked to attention.

“Could you turn the radio up a bit?” she asked the driver.

“Whitewater, who had been the chief judge of the State of New York since 1982, was found dead in the garage of his house in Patchogue on Long Island this morning. Speculation as to whether the death was a suicide has not yet been confirmed or denied by the US Attorney’s Office…”

The blood rushed in Alex’s ears. Clarence Whitewater was one of the men Sergio had paid off. She had personally met the stately, white-haired man with an impeccable reputation at Sergio’s house. Did the judge commit suicide because he feared his connection to Vitali would come to light? Nick had given the bank statements to the US Attorney’s Office, and they had apparently already gotten to work.

The taxi passed through the Holland Tunnel to Manhattan. It was too late to turn back. Alex took a deep breath, hoping the avalanche she’d triggered wouldn’t suffocate her.

Shortly after ten, Nick returned to Gracie Mansion. He had spent the evening at a charity gala at the Waldorf Astoria, which he left immediately after the official portion ended. He didn’t feel like being around laughing revelers, listening to gossip. Clarence Whitewater’s death was the main topic of conversation. Everyone knew something about it, but no one had anything concrete to say. Nick wished the security officers a good night and walked to the wing of the house where his private rooms were located. Just like every evening when he returned to the house, he contemplated finding himself an apartment somewhere in the city.

Nick undressed and took a hot shower to relax his tense neck. He had been waiting two days to hear from Alex. Tate Jenkins had actually agreed to an amnesty, but on the condition that Alex contact him immediately. Time was running out, but Nick had no way of reaching her. For a brief moment, he thought that she might never return to New York again. She had plenty of money and a new identity. It would be easiest and safest for her to never set foot in this city again. Nick understood that, but the sheer possibility of never seeing her again caused him a sharp pain. He didn’t care whether he looked like a fool in front of Jenkins and Connors if Alex remained on the run. It would be much worse not to see her again, not even knowing where she was or how she was doing.

Nick slipped into his bathrobe, walked into the kitchen, and stared into the refrigerator. Although he’d had the opportunity to feast on an opulent buffet at the Waldorf Astoria, he had spurned the lobster, veal medallions, stuffed quail breasts, and Beluga caviar. Just as he pulled a bottle of milk from the fridge, the telephone rang. He almost dropped the bottle in shock. As he had so many times over the past few days, he hoped that it might be Alex on the other end of the phone. And this time it was really her.

“Hello, Nick,” she said. “It’s me.”

“Alex!” he exclaimed in relief. “How are you? I thought something had happened to you!”

“I could hardly call you from the airplane.”

From the airplane? Nick’s heart started pounding.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“Back in the city.”

“I must speak to you, Alex. It’s very important. It was not without a fight with the FBI, but I managed to convince them to repeal your arrest warrant. When can we meet?”

Alex hesitated for a moment, and Nick feared that she would hang up.

“It’s already late,” she said, but then she seemed to change her mind. “Do you know the Portland Square Hotel in the Theater District? On Forty-Seventh Street, between Sixth and Seventh Avenues? I’m in room 211.”

“Okay,” Nick replied, “I know where that is.”

Nick hung up and took a deep breath. He should have called Lloyd Connors immediately, but he decided to go to Alex by himself. There would be enough time for all the interrogation in the coming days.

“Are we supposed to sit here all night?” Gino Tardelli complained. “It’s almost eleven. This guy isn’t gonna hit the road in this lousy weather.”

“Shut up,” Luca said. He had personally taken on the mayor’s surveillance and was in constant contact with two groups of twenty men via his cell phone. They took turns standing guard so that the mayor’s security wouldn’t get suspicious. They had been following him all over town for the past four days, observing him during his countless public appearances, but they saw nothing suspicious. Unfortunately, they couldn’t tap his highly secured phone line, but if he met with Alex, they would notice.

“We’ll stay here until one o’clock, and then the next shift will take over.”

Luca lit a cigarette.

“This is such bullshit,” the other man grumbled. “This guy lies in bed while we have to sit here in the freaking cold.”

The two men almost failed to notice the small side door of the mansion opening. A man stepped outside. He wore a leather jacket with a baseball cap and walked swiftly up East End Avenue.

“Look at that.” Luca straightened himself up and started the car’s engine. He dialed a number and let the car roll onto the street.

“It’s me,” he said a moment later. “There’s a guy with a leather jacket and a baseball cap coming up the street. You should be able to see him by now. Follow him and call me once you find out where he’s going.”

“Who is that?” Tardelli asked.

“I reckon it’s our Mayor Kostidis.” Luca put the cell phone away. “I bet that even his bodyguards don’t know that he snuck out of the house.”

Alex took a long shower and shampooed her hair, which caused most of the dark color to wash out. Her exhaustion was gone, but her nerves made her hands shake and her heart pound. Nick was on his way to her! Was it right to meet him in a hotel room? She was wanted for murder, and he would be in serious trouble if someone caught wind of their meeting like this. But despite her doubts, she looked forward to seeing him. She had been thinking about him for days.

Alex looked at her face, without makeup, in the dimly lit bathroom mirror. She still had a chance to get out. No one except Nick knew that she was back in town. She could leave New York and never be seen again. But what kind of life would that be? She never could have imagined how awful it was to be on the run with a false passport. She had trembled with fear at every passport checkpoint. Were the immigration officers holding on to her passport longer than other people’s? Were they examining it more closely than others? No, she wasn’t made for such a life. She could only hope that this nightmare would end. For the thousandth time since discovering Zack’s dead body, she found herself wishing that she had stayed away from this whole situation.

Alex walked back into the room and turned on the television. The hotel was simple and clean. No one had wanted to see her passport when she registered as Mr. Bernard Chambers from Tallahassee. She’d bought a bottle of champagne and some sodas from the nearby liquor store to accompany her two limp shrink-wrapped sandwiches and a bag of chips. She needed the alcohol to fall asleep. One or two glasses of champagne on an empty stomach calmed down her jittery nerves. She would be safe from Sergio here for at least one night.

Nick had a feeling that Vitali would have him watched: not because he wanted to know what he was doing all day, but because he hoped that Nick would lead them to Alex once she was back in town. For this reason, he had the taxi drop him in busy Times Square and accepted that he would get wet from the walk. He had to avoid putting Vitali on Alex’s trail. She might be safe at the Portland Square for one night, but she would have to change locations tomorrow. If Vitali had the slightest suspicion that Alex was staying somewhere around here, he was capable of having his minions search all of Midtown Manhattan.

Nick entered the unimpressive lobby of the Portland Square Hotel. It was filled with people. The Broadway shows were over, and people were returning to their hotels to escape this terrible weather. The elevator was full, so he took the stairs up to the second floor. His heart hammered in his chest as he approached room 211. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Who’s there?” he heard Alex’s voice though the cheaply made door.

The door was ripped open seconds later, and she stood in front of him. Nick felt a cheerful, wild bounce in his heart when he saw her. She was pale, but beautiful as ever. The stress of the last days had left its mark on her face. She wasn’t the ice-cold, hard-nosed person the press had described, and she most certainly wasn’t a calculating murderer. The woman standing in front of him was frightened and confused and just as lonely as he was. She wouldn’t have come back to the city if she had done what she was accused of. Alex was an innocent victim in this intrigue.

He stepped inside, and she locked the door behind him. Until this moment, he had not realized how much he longed for her. They looked at each other silently for a few seconds, searching for the right words. Neither could think of what to say.

“You’re completely soaked,” Alex said.

“It’s snowing outside,” Nick replied numbly.

“You… you need to take off those wet clothes or you’ll get sick.” She took off his wet leather jacket, and he let her. Their eyes locked, and Alex suddenly lost her composure. She started to cry, surrendering to her fear and desperation. Nick put his arms around her and pressed her close to his body. He murmured consoling words, her face nestled to his cheek, and he felt the warmth of her body. He had longed for this during the many nights he had lain awake in his bed. He had a guilty conscience because his longing for Alex had replaced his grief for Mary. But he felt more alive than he had in a long time. Alex stopped crying, but they still held each other tightly. There was a certain shyness in the way they looked at each other.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Nick whispered hoarsely.

“I’m happy, too,” Alex replied. “Everything is so terrible, but I’m not afraid when you’re with me.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held back a moment before leaning in for a tentative kiss. His heart beat faster as he kissed her back. She clung to him and pressed herself against his body, slipping her hands under his shirt and gently stroking his back. Her touch felt strong and sweet as the sensation coursed through him. He held her face in his hands and studied her for a moment before kissing her again tenderly. He didn’t care if what he did was right or wrong. He couldn’t care less about what the media would do if it came out that he—the mayor of New York City—had slept with a woman wanted for murder. He desired Alex more than he had ever desired any woman in his life.

As they kissed, they rid themselves of their clothes and sank down on the saggy bed. The sleet turned to snowflakes outside and the wind shook the windows. They had no desire to talk, think, be reasonable. There would be plenty of time for that later. Their hearts beat in excitement as they kissed and caressed each other, exploring, becoming familiar. There was no wild frenzy, no crazy ecstasy, no raging lust, but something else: something infinitely tender that brought tears to both of their eyes. They made love passionately in a way that only two human beings who trust and respect each other could. Their eyes locked while their bodies responded to each other, like two magnets, bodies that belonged together and had been separated far too long by inexplicable circumstances.

Alex felt a pulsing deep in her belly and waves flowing through her body—an overwhelming sensation, a longing desire to unite and create something new. She moved with Nick, found his same rhythm, and felt a surge catapult them to climax together. They paused at the peak of passion and looked at each other, almost surprised by how their bodies and souls coalesced in this magnificent, breathless moment. A wonderful feeling of happiness surrounded them, and they weren’t embarrassed by their tears. They lay on the bed in a close embrace, smiling breathlessly and waiting for their heartbeats to calm down. Alex could see in Nick’s eyes that he felt the same way she did. From the moment he arrived in the doorway, she had realized she loved him. “Hold me tight,” she whispered, and Nick closed his arms around her even tighter. She snuggled in close to him and sighed. Feeling that she was no longer alone made all the tension that had weighed on her fall away. A pleasant exhaustion spread throughout her body.

Nick listened closely to her breathing getting calmer. He admired her sleeping face. He was dazed by the intensity of his feelings for this woman he held in his arms. With a twinge of guilt, he thought about how he had never felt this way with Mary. He could barely believe how magnificent he felt. He’d loved Mary, but he’d never managed to completely and utterly open up to her the way he had with Alex. He would have never burst into tears in front of Mary or confessed his deepest doubts and fears to her. Nick sighed, carefully kissing Alex’s neck. His exuberant feeling of happiness gave way to a calm, deep joy, clouded only by concern over whether his love for Alex had a future. Here and now, they were two human beings who needed each other because they were alone and in dire straits. But how could this continue? Tiredness defeated all of his doubts, and Nick drifted off, closely nestled against Alex’s warm, sleeping body.

It was four in the morning when Luca called his boss at the Painted Cat.

“And?” Sergio asked. “I don’t want to hear any bad news!”

He was in an aggressive mood because he had failed to find sexual relief with the girls at the nightclub. His repeated failure enraged him. He had almost emptied an entire bottle of scotch—which was very unusual for him. Time and again, he thought about Alex, and his anger and thirst for vengeance grew immeasurably. She had led him by the nose, stolen from him, and plunged one of his companies into bankruptcy. And now she had also left him impotent! That was more than he could take. He stared into the mirror behind the bar and was terrified by his appearance. His face was bloated, and he had new bags beneath his bloodshot eyes. It almost seemed like Alex leaving him had stolen his feelings of immortality. A man in his late fifties, inexorably going on sixty, stared back at him. Sergio hated this sight, and still he couldn’t look away from the mirror.

“My guys lost track of Kostidis at Times Square,” Luca reported, “but they checked all of the hotels between Forty-Fifth and Forty-Ninth Streets. It looks like Alex checked in at the Portland Square under a false name.”

Sergio sat upright with a start, and his hand gripped the scotch glass even tighter. Was she really dumb enough to return to the city? His pulse raced involuntarily. His felt the adrenaline spike of a hunter anticipating his prey.

“Has anyone seen her?”

“Not yet, but I came across the name ‘Chambers,’” Luca replied. “She checked in under the same name at the Marriott in Zurich.”

A grim smile spread across Sergio’s face. If it really was Alex hiding behind this name, then she had made a mistake despite her cleverness.

“And on top of that,” Luca continued, “one of the staff at the Portland Square claimed to have seen Kostidis in a leather jacket and a baseball cap.”

“Let’s go there!” Sergio said.

“No, boss,” Luca objected, “we should wait until Kostidis is gone and she’s alone. I’ve positioned my guys in every hallway of the hotel. I’ll know within ten seconds when he leaves the room.”

Sergio thought for a moment. He really wanted to go there immediately. He would kill Alex on the spot if he surprised her and this bastard in the same room. And if he should find out that she—just the thought was incredible!—was sleeping with Kostidis, then—

“Boss?” Luca interrupted Sergio’s violent thoughts.

“Yes, yes… you’re right. Send me a car. I want to be there when you go in.”

He hung up the phone and finished his drink. Revenge was near; he could feel it.

The sun rose over New York. The city was awakening to a dull gray dawn. A gusty northwest wind drove the drizzle—mixed with just a few snowflakes—before it like fog. Alex blinked sleepily. It took her a few seconds to remember last night’s events and remember the situation that she was in. The few hours in which she had suppressed the danger were over, and her fear returned with the dawning day. She turned toward Nick and saw that he was awake, gazing at her.

“Hello,” she whispered.

“Hello,” he replied quietly. There was a sad expression in his deep, dark eyes. How long had he been watching her like this?

“Do you have to go?” Alex asked quietly.

“Yes,” Nick said with a regretful smile, “it’s almost five thirty. Otherwise, people will think that I’m missing.”

“Please hold me in your arms one more time,” Alex asked.

He nodded silently and pulled her closer toward him. Alex sighed and nestled her face against his cheek. She wanted to tell him how much he meant to her, how much she liked him. But in the dawning light of day, this man lying next to her in bed was once again Nicholas Kostidis, the mayor of New York, who had official duties and a public waiting for him. Last night, they had just been a man and a woman who found refuge in each other’s arms. They had forgotten reality, but now reality had caught up with them again.

Alex knew that it would be fatal for Nick’s reputation if anyone found out about their night together. People didn’t care that the allegations against her weren’t true; Nick’s enemies would see it as a welcome opportunity to sling mud at him.

They looked at each other in silence, both wishing that they could make time stand still.

“What will happen now?” Alex asked.

“I’m going to tell Jenkins that you’ll speak to him,” Nick replied, “and then the arrest warrant will finally be revoked.”

The noise of the awakening city came in through the opened window.

“Where’s Oliver?”

“At the St. Ignatius monastery. He’s doing well.”

Nick looked at her face and stroked her cheek tenderly.

“Come with me right now, Alex. I feel uneasy leaving you here by yourself.”

Alex hesitated. She would have loved to pack her bags right away and go with him.

“No, that’s a bad idea,” she responded. “It would not be good for you if people see you with me. I’m safe for now here at the hotel.”

I don’t give a damn, Nick thought to himself. He only reluctantly let go of her and went into the bathroom to take a shower and get dressed.

“I’ll call you as soon as I’ve spoken to Connors,” he said in a husky voice as he put on his leather jacket. “Then I’ll send two US marshals to pick you up.”

Alex felt a lump in her throat.

She was emotionally overwhelmed. Sadness over their imminent good-bye mixed with helpless anger at the situation she was in. Nothing would ever be the same again. The man she had fallen in love with was forced to secretly steal away from her because she had been branded a murderer.

“Thank you, Alex,” Nick said.

“I’m the one who should thank you,” she replied, “because you came to me and you believe me.”

“You’re an amazing woman,” Nick said, his voice hoarse. “This night was wonderful.”

And I love you, he thought. Alex watched him as he slowly walked toward the door, and she almost jumped up to hold him back. But she knew that he needed to go. After the lock clicked into place behind him, Alex buried her face in the pillow and began to cry.

“There he is,” Luca said as a man wearing a leather jacket and baseball cap stepped out of the hotel. He was relieved to find Kostidis and hoped that the mayor had actually visited Alex—although maybe they were mistaken and he had just spent the night with another woman.

Sergio Vitali silently sat in the car’s backseat. He hadn’t said a word in two hours as they waited in the parked car across the street from the hotel. There was no expression on his face, but a volcanic rage boiled inside of him.

“Okay,” Luca said, “we’re going in.”

Sergio nodded and got out. In just a few more minutes, he would know the truth.

Alex flinched when she heard a knock at the door. She had showered and dressed and was just about to pack her suitcase.

“Who’s there?” she called out.

“It’s me. Nick.”

Alex felt her heart jump with joy. Nick had come back to her! She opened the door with a smile, ready to fling her arms around Nick’s neck. But it wasn’t Nick standing in the hallway. Ice-cold shock shot through Alex’s body, and the smile died on her lips. Sergio Vitali was standing in front of her, a murderous rage glowing in his eyes.

There was a great commotion in Gracie Mansion when Nick returned at ten to seven. The security officers and his staff were standing in the foyer, and Lloyd Connors, Frank Cohen, and Michael Page were having an animated discussion in Nick’s study. Nick went into the house through the staff entrance and was astonished when he saw all of these people here so early on a Sunday morning.

“Hello,” he said. The three men spun around and stared at him as if they had seen a ghost.

“Nick! For heaven’s sake!” Frank was pale and visibly worried.

“What’s the matter?” Nick asked innocently. “Did something happen?”

“You’re unbelievable!” Relief was written clearly on Connors’s tired face. “We’re going crazy here worrying about you, and then you stroll in as cool as a cucumber and ask us what’s going on!”

Nick’s looked around the room from Connors to Frank, and then to his chief of staff Michael Page.

“Where have you been, Nick?” Frank asked reproachfully. “The security service called me at one o’clock saying that you weren’t at home. No one knew where you were.”

“We wanted to inform the police,” Page said.

“I wanted to ride around the city a little last night,” Nick replied. “I wanted to be alone. I’m not a child, after all.”

“No one said that,” Connors said in a conciliatory tone, “but since the assassination attempts, we have safety protocols almost as stringent as those for the president. We were worried, Nick.”

“I thought that they had kidnapped you.”

Frank let himself sink into a chair and took off his glasses.

“The security people were losing it,” Page said, shaking his head, “and I was, too! You can imagine how much hell they’d give me if something were to happen to you.”

“I’ve been roaming around the city by myself all of my life,” Nick countered. “I didn’t feel like running around with five bodyguards in tow.”

“The next time you feel the need to stroll through the city at night, please at least let us know,” Connors said as he grabbed his coat and yawned. “I’m going home now to catch a few hours of sleep.”

Nick sighed. He felt guilty that his team had stayed up all night worrying about him. He was so excited by Alex’s call last night that it simply didn’t occur to him that anyone would notice his absence.

“I’m sorry I caused such a commotion,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”

“Let’s hope so.” Connors grinned tiredly.

“Alex Sontheim is back in town,” Nick said, and the deputy US attorney turned around abruptly.

“Since when?”

“Since yesterday evening. She’s ready to speak to you and Jenkins today.”

“Well, that’s pretty good news for a change.”

Connors’s exhaustion vanished.

“Bed will have to wait a little longer then. Where is she?”

Nick hesitated. He couldn’t tell them that he knew.

“She gave me her cell phone number.”

“Okay,” the deputy US attorney said with a nod, “let’s drive to my office. We’ll call her from there and then send someone over to pick her up.”

Alex stared at Sergio with wide-open eyes. Her first reflex was to try to slam the door shut, but one of the men accompanying him had blocked her. So now they were all standing in the small room: Sergio Vitali, Luca, and three other men with cold stares who apparently wouldn’t mind killing her. Alex’s entire body was shaking, and fear pumped though her veins.

“So our paths cross again,” Sergio said in a chilly voice. His gaze scanned the small room, fixating on the rumpled bedding for a few seconds. His hands clenched into fists, but he managed to keep his composure.

“Nice little room.” He didn’t let Alex out of his sight. “Did you run out of money? You could rent a suite at the Plaza with the fifty million that you stole from me.”

Alex couldn’t say a word. She was paralyzed with fear.

“You’re a sneaky little whore,” Sergio continued. “I truly misjudged you. I thought you were smart, but apparently you’re not. You’re quite stupid, actually.”

Without warning he punched her in the face. Alex stumbled onto the bed. Sergio reached her in one step and pulled her up again.

“Who was here with you last night?” he demanded. Alex just silently shook her head. His face looked distorted, and he rammed his fist right into her stomach. He pulled her up by her hair and hit her so hard that her lip burst open. Blood dripped down her chin.

The pain robbed Alex of her breath. She looked around at the four other men, who watched indifferently. She couldn’t expect any help from them.

“I asked you to tell me who you were fucking last night, you whore!” Sergio grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her. “Was it Kostidis? Tell me! Did you let that miserable little bastard fuck you?”

Alex’s body throbbed with fear. Sergio would kill her, and there was no one to help her. This realization brought her racing thoughts to a standstill. She didn’t want to die. Not here, not today, and not before she saw Nick again to tell him that she loved him.

“I could forgive you for stealing my money,” Sergio said, his voice gritty with anger, “and also that you ruined MPM and caused me all of this trouble. Even for the thing with the accounts on Grand Cayman I could forgive you, but one thing I’ll never forgive you for is…”

He stepped very close to her, but she didn’t back up an inch.

“That you went to Kostidis, of all people,” his voice turned into a hiss, “and told him everything. I won’t forgive you for that. You will die for that.”

She saw insane fury in his eyes.

“But before that, you’ll tell me everything that I want to know. My guys have some pretty nice methods for bringing out the best in people. Just like your friend from Boston. First he pretended not to know anything, but then he suddenly remembered.”

Justin! What had they done to him?

“And your fat little friend from your office,” Sergio laughed derisively. “He ratted you out by the way, the coward.”

“What did you do to them?” Alex whispered.

“Nothing compared to what I’ll do to you,” Sergio countered. “You did it with the fat one, right?”

He grimaced again. Alex could hardly believe that such a powerful man was tormented by childish jealousy.

“You let all of these guys fuck you! That shaggy computer nerd and that dumb journalist—and now even Kostidis!” Sergio spat out his name in disgust. “I thought that you had good taste in men, but you’re completely indiscriminate. It’s a downright insult that my name is on a list with scum like Kostidis!”

Alex followed his every movement and backed slowly away from him. Sergio wasn’t just a ruthless criminal. A crippling inferiority complex and ruthless contempt for humanity were concealed behind his charming facade. This man—whom she once thought she loved—was a psychopath.

He stood in front of her. She felt his breath on her face and saw the glint in his eyes.

“You’ll pay for what you’ve done, you whore!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Alex saw the champagne bottle that she’d bought yesterday standing on the table. After all this tension of the past days, she decided to go all or nothing. She wouldn’t surrender to Sergio without a fight.

“Boss,” Luca urged, “we should get out of here.”

“Yes, we will,” Sergio replied. He issued a short order to his men. One of them pulled out a roll of duct tape, and at that moment Alex got ready to fight. She grabbed the bottle and smashed it on the head of the man standing closest to her. She saw his surprised look before he went down on his knees and collapsed. Then she spotted the revolver he wore in his waistband. Taking advantage of the moment, she bent down and grabbed the weapon. Alex felt more energy pulsing through her body than she knew she had. She aimed the weapon at Sergio.

“You won’t get out of here,” he whispered as his voice trembled with rage.

“Yes, I will. And you’re coming with me,” she replied. “You’ll take me to Mark and Justin. If you don’t try to trick me, I’ll tell you everything you want to know once both of them are safe.”

“You’re not in a position to make demands,” Sergio said, grinding his teeth.

“Yes, I am,” Alex countered. “I’m the one with a gun.”

“You won’t shoot me.”

“Maybe not,” she said, not taking her eyes off his. She smashed the champagne bottle against the edge of the table and it burst with a hiss. “But I will cut your throat.”

The broken bottle neck was at least as deadly as the loaded .38 caliber in her other hand, and Alex was resolved to defend herself down to the last drop of blood.

“Boss,” Luca said emphatically, “you should do what she says.”

“Never.”

With a quickness that Alex didn’t expect, Sergio charged her and grabbed her right wrist. From the impact, she lost her balance and fell to the ground. She had underestimated his hatred and vengefulness. Now it was clear to her that she might not have the slightest chance of escaping him alive. His fist hit her in the face, and stars exploded in front of her eyes as she heard an angry wheeze.

“Nobody leaves me,” he whispered hoarsely, “nobody betrays me. And nobody makes a fool out of me. Do you understand?”

It was a vicious fight, and Alex had lost. Luca leaned over her and pressed a cloth drenched with an acrid smelling liquid over her nose and mouth. She felt them tie up her arms and legs. She heard Sergio’s voice from a distance.

“I have an appointment in the city now,” she heard him say. “Do with her whatever you want, but make sure that she doesn’t die before she tells us everything.”

Alex heard her cell phone ring. In desperation, she thought about Nick and then lost consciousness.

Nick called repeatedly but kept getting Alex’s voice mail.

“Strange,” he said as he hung up, “she’s not answering.”

“Maybe she’s taking a shower,” Lloyd Connors remarked.

“Yes, maybe. I’ll try again in a minute.”

The men sat in Connors’s office at the US Attorney’s Office building. Tate Jenkins and Alan Harper, the head of the SEC’s investigation unit, would arrive from Washington DC in three hours to interview Alex. Nick longed to see Alex again. He should have told her this morning what she meant to him and what he felt for her. He didn’t just like her. He had fallen in love with her a long time ago, but this had become absolutely clear to him after last night.

“Try again,” Connors said, jerking him out of his thoughts, and Nick dialed Alex’s cell phone number again. It rang and rang, and no one answered. An uneasy feeling crept up inside him.

“Maybe she changed her mind after all and took off again,” Connors speculated. “That would be quite an embarrassment for us.”

“No way,” Nick said, shaking his head. “She promised me that she’d speak with Jenkins and the people from the SEC. After all, that’s why she returned to the city.”

“Try again,” the deputy US attorney suggested.

“I think it would be better to go there.” Nick’s uneasy feelings were turning to fear.

“So you do know where she is.” Connors threw him a sharp look.

“I had to promise her I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“So?”

“The Portland Square Hotel on Forty-Seventh Street.”

“Okay.” Connors grabbed the telephone receiver and called Deputy Spooner. “They’re leaving right now,” he announced after a brief conversation.

“I’m coming with you.” Nick jumped up. Connors sighed but let Nick follow him. Accompanied by two US marshals, they headed to Forty-Seventh Street. Nick’s foreboding feeling increased as they got closer to the hotel. Something had happened. It had been a mistake to leave Alex behind at the hotel. He should have insisted she come with him. Suddenly, he wondered whether he had possibly put Vitali on Alex’s trail. He knew that they were watching him, but he hadn’t detected anything suspicious last night. Even after all he had done or experienced in his life up to now, Nick had never before felt so afraid. Fear was alien to him. He had been indifferent to every storm, no matter how strong or threatening. Maybe it was this fearlessness, his inability to accept the dark side that had helped him succeed. Mary could never understand that. She was always frightened when he prosecuted the Mafia families or drug dealers. She didn’t understand that their threats were his motivation.

But since Mary’s death, something had changed inside of Nick. In his many hours of loneliness, he had thought about his mistakes; doubt had crept up, and he started to recognize that his uncompromising stubbornness had created many enemies over the years. And these enemies were dangerous.

The car raced through the empty Sunday morning streets toward the Theater District. It was all his fault if something had happened to Alex! Connors gave Nick a strange look.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“I have a feeling that something terrible has happened,” Nick replied, mumbling, “and if that’s the case, then it’s my fault.”

“Nonsense,” Connors said, shaking his head, “what do you have to do with this?”

“I was with her last night,” Nick said quietly. The deputy US attorney stared at him in disbelief.

“You went to see Sontheim?” he whispered so that the two deputies couldn’t hear. “For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to talk to her first.” Nick shrugged his shoulders. “She called me around ten thirty, and I went to see her immediately.”

“How could you do that, Nick?” Connors whispered. “This woman is a wanted fugitive! She’s still under suspicion of murder! You should have called me right away!”

Nick struggled to stay relaxed. If Connors found out that he’d had sex with her, then he’d be immediately excluded from the investigation.

“I didn’t want to bother you in the middle of the night.”

“Great.” Connors rolled his eyes. “I’m torn from my bed for every trifle, but if something really important happens, I don’t hear about it!”

“I’m sorry.”

“What did she say? What happened to the money?”

“She didn’t touch it,” Nick replied. “She intends to use it as evidence against Vitali.”

“Hmm.” Connors stared pensively out the window. Nick was crazy with nervousness. They finally reached the hotel. Before Deputy Khazaeli could bring the car to a complete stop, Nick jumped out and charged into the hotel lobby. A few guests watched curiously as the four men charged into the elevator. Nick led them to room 211.

“Step aside!” Spooner ordered, and Deputy Khazaeli kicked the flimsy door so hard that it flew off the hinges, crashing down. He and his colleague charged the room with their guns drawn. They searched the bathroom and the closets.

“Nothing.” Spooner secured his revolver and put it back into its holster. “The bird has left the nest.”

Nick shook his head in disbelief. Alex had really disappeared. The bed, where they had made love last night, was still disheveled.

“It seems she changed her mind,” Connors observed. There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “What a pile of shit! What am I supposed to tell the FBI? I’ll look like a complete idiot!”

He let himself sink into a chair and rubbed his reddened eyes. Nick stood in the middle of the room, stunned. Then his gaze fell on the bed. He leaned over it and touched a spot on the sheet with his index finger.

“Oh my God,” he murmured, and all of his strength left him. It was blood. Undoubtedly.

“What is it?” Connors asked.

“There’s blood everywhere,” Nick whispered. “And it’s fresh.”

Connors jumped up as if he had been stung, and both of the US marshals stepped closer. They hadn’t noticed the spots on the flowered bedding and the dark carpet, or the broken glass from the bottle on the floor.

“She didn’t just run away.” Nick’s voice failed him.

All of the color vanished from his face, and panic overcame him. He couldn’t suppress his shaking.

“That’s right,” Khazaeli nodded, “because otherwise she would have taken the suitcase with her.”

He bent over and pulled her suitcase from under the bed. Someone had carelessly thrown Alex’s belongings into it to make it look like she had checked out. While Connors was on the phone ordering the crime scene unit to the Portland Square Hotel and the US marshals looked everywhere for revealing clues, Nick stood there as if paralyzed. Alex was in Vitali’s clutches. He must have found out about her whereabouts and waited until Nick left the room to strike. Now there was no hope left. Vitali would never let Alex go alive. Nick clenched his fists in helpless anger. He wanted to scream and rage, throw himself on the bed and cry like a baby, but that wouldn’t help matters any. It was too late.

The largest search operation New York City had ever seen was well underway an hour after the police radio reported Alex Sontheim’s disappearance. Gordon Engels dispatched his best men to question every guest and the entire staff of the Portland Square Hotel. Entire squadrons of police combed through the warehouses at the Brooklyn, Jersey City, and Staten Island docks. Roadblocks were set up on the bridges and tunnels leaving Manhattan. Suspicious vehicles were searched. The crisis team headquarters was established at the US Attorney’s Office. All of the information was synthesized there, although Police Commissioner Jerome Harding vehemently protested. Outraged, Harding marched into Connors’s office around noon after one of his staff members apprised him of the situation following a Sunday brunch with Sergio Vitali.

“This case is the sole jurisdiction of the NYPD!” he yelled at the deputy US attorney. “Why are you interfering with our work?”

His face was red, and he was so angry that at first he didn’t even notice the other men.

Tate Jenkins smiled thinly. “Why are you so upset, Jerome? Cooperation between the agencies usually works out well.”

The police commissioner turned around abruptly and stared at the deputy director of the FBI in surprise.

“Jenkins,” he said, “this looks like a bigger operation. What are you doing here?”

“It’s big, all right.” Jenkins pointed to one of the vacant chairs across from him. “Take a seat, Jerome.”

The police commissioner, who normally projected confidence, suddenly seemed intimidated.

“Is there something I should know?” he asked. “Why is the FBI chasing this woman? Did she try to kill the president or something?”

“Take a seat, Jerome,” Tate Jenkins repeated. Lloyd Connors shot a quick glance at Nick, but the mayor just stared hollow-eyed off into space. It seemed like he had been in shock ever since they entered the hotel room.

“Connors,” Jenkins said, “please inform Mr. Harding about the situation.”

“What’s going on here?” A fine film of sweat had formed on Harding’s forehead, and his eyes flitted nervously back and forth. Lloyd Connors cleared his voice and prepared himself for one of the police commissioner’s fierce and almost legendary temper tantrums.

“We’re not just looking for Alex Sontheim because of Mr. St. John’s murder,” he stated calmly. “We expect her to testify with regard to a large-scale corruption scandal.”

“A corruption scandal?”

Harding may have seemed surprised to anyone else, but Connors detected a flicker of terror in the police commissioner’s eyes.

“We have evidence,” he continued, “that high-ranking officials of this city have regularly received large sums of money in exchange for certain favors. We have procured comprehensive evidence that includes names, amounts, and bank account numbers in the Cayman Islands, the Bahamas, and in Switzerland. Even if only a fraction of this turns out to be true, then this is certainly one of the largest bribery cases in the history of New York City, if not the United States.”

Jerome Harding’s face flashed red and pale in turns, but he didn’t collapse like the other men to whom Connors had given this speech in the past few days. Nick was right when he said that Harding would be a hard nut to crack. The police commissioner wasn’t intimidated that easily, and the fact that he had never withdrawn any money from the account in his name at Levy & Villiers made it unclear whether a corruption charge even applied to him.

“Unbelievable!” Harding managed to appear indignant. “Why am I just now hearing about this?”

Jenkins leaned forward. His pale eyes were as cold as a fish’s.

“Because your name appears in our documents, Jerome.”

“Excuse me?” The police commissioner turned around quickly. The incredulous expression on his face would have seemed real if not for the sheer fear in his eyes.

“That’s a disgraceful accusation!” Harding was outraged. “And from whom—if I may ask—did I accept this money?”

“We’d like to know that,” Jenkins replied with a friendly smile. He crossed his legs and folded his arms across his chest. There was complete silence, and only the muted noise of ringing telephones and hectic conversation could be heard from outside. Then Harding pushed back his chair with a jerk and stood up.

“This,” he said in a threatening, quiet voice, “is a truly incredible allegation! I’ve never ever accepted money from anyone! I’ve been the police commissioner of this city for almost eleven years now. I’ve succeeded in making New York a safer place during my time in office. I despise criminals of any kind, no matter if they are white collar or dealing crack in the subway! I have an impeccable reputation far beyond this city. I won’t let you depict me in public as someone who accepts bribes!”

He yelled out the last words, and his angry face was bright red. Jenkins listened to him with an impassive expression.

“So?” Harding put his arms on his hips and looked at the men in a challenging pose. “From whom did I supposedly accept money?”

Connors couldn’t help but admire Harding’s grit, and for a second he had doubts about his involvement in this affair.

“From Sergio Vitali,” someone said.

Harding turned around abruptly.

“Oh, Vitali again,” he said disdainfully and threw Nick a hostile look. “The ghost that has been haunting your sick brain for the last twenty years, Kostidis.”

“No,” Nick said, shaking his head, “it’s not a ghost. Definitely not. You know that as well as I do, Jerome.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Really?” Nick stood up and walked around the table.

His face was extremely pale.

“In that case, you have a short memory. I still vividly remember our conversation in my office the morning after Cesare Vitali was arrested and murdered.”

“He hung himself,” Harding interrupted him harshly.

“No, he didn’t,” Nick replied. “His own father sent someone to the Forty-First Precinct who gave thousands of dollars to a police officer to make sure Cesare Vitali was murdered. It was supposed to look like suicide.”

“You must be—” Harding started to say, but Nick continued undeterred.

“You were angry because I drew a connection between the shots fired at Vitali and the Colombian drug cartel and explained it to the press. I couldn’t understand why you were so mad that day, but then it dawned on me: Vitali had not only lured de Lancie to his side, but also you—a fearless fighter against crime. I told you that right to your face. Do you remember now?”

The police commissioner stared at him angrily, but remained silent.

“For years you have turned a blind eye to Vitali and his henchmen. In exchange for that, Vitali filled your account in the Caymans. You were far too smart to touch the money, but you knew the exact balance. A nice addition to your retirement, wasn’t it?”

“I never liked you, Kostidis,” Harding whispered. “You’re a self-righteous fanatic, a…a…damn it, stop staring at me like that!”

Nick was unmoved, but it almost made him sad to look at Harding.

“You were the biggest disappointment of them all,” Nick whispered. “I couldn’t believe it. I would have put both of my hands in the fire for you, Jerome.”

Harding bit his lip and lowered his head.

“What do you have to say about these allegations?” Jenkins asked.

“I won’t say anything without my lawyer!” the police commissioner snapped. “And if you’ll excuse me now, I’ve got work to do.”

Connors rummaged in his briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper. “I have an arrest warrant for you, Mr. Harding. You are under arrest for corruption, obstruction of justice, failure to report planned crimes, providing preferential treatment, and multiple counts of coercion.”

“Kiss my ass, you punk.” Harding laughed disdainfully. “I’ll wipe my ass with your arrest warrant!”

“If you say so.” Connors remained calm. “In that case, we can add resisting arrest to the list.”

He walked across the room and opened the door to signal the two US marshals waiting outside.

“Mr. Harding?” one of the deputies said as he pulled out the handcuffs. “Come with me, please. You have the right to remain silent—”

“I know my rights!” Harding snapped at the man and turned toward Jenkins, Connors, and Engels. “You’ll live to regret this! My lawyer will tear you apart—all of you and your ridiculous arrest warrant! There’s going to be a hefty claim for damages!”

“I hope you can afford a good lawyer now that your foreign assets have been seized by the IRS.” Connors smiled coolly. “I’m afraid that you’ll also be prosecuted for tax evasion.”

Harding’s eyes narrowed as the handcuffs clicked shut.

Connors nodded. “Take him out through the basement. I don’t want his arrest to be public. He’s not allowed to make a phone call until further notice.”

While the others discussed the next course of the operation, Nick once again lapsed into a state of dull brooding. He wanted to drive around the city with the police and personally search the warehouses, docks, and known gangster hangouts on the Lower East Side and in Little Italy. But instead, he sat in this office, extremely tense, as he waited for the sparse updates coming in. Unfortunately, all the leads that had looked so promising had come to nothing so far. Two staff members at the Portland Square Hotel remembered some men hanging around in the hallways, but the descriptions were so contradictory that the police artist gave up after a few minutes in complete exasperation.

Nick bitterly reproached himself for not being on the alert for possible pursuers as he rushed to Alex. He couldn’t rid himself of the gnawing thought that he was the one who’d put Vitali on Alex’s trail. Why hadn’t he listened to his instincts and convinced her to come with him? If he had insisted, she would be safe now. Nick buried his face in his hands. Seeing the bloodstains all over the hotel room had triggered the same terrible feeling as the moment when the car exploded with Mary and Christopher in it.

“What do you think, Nick?” Connors asked, and Nick jerked up.

“W…what? About what?”

Lloyd Connors looked at the mayor with concern. He had a feeling that for Nick, there was more to this than uncovering a bribery scandal. Connors noticed the dark circles around Nick’s eyes. He would have loved to say something encouraging to him, but there was unfortunately nothing to say. If the woman was actually in Vitali’s clutches, then the odds were definitely against her.

Alex regained consciousness, but she had completely lost any sense of time and space. The hard mattress she was lying on smelled old and musty. She tried to open her eyes, but the men had blindfolded her. Her head buzzed from Sergio’s blows, and her mouth was dry as a bone from the ether that they had used to knock her out. Her bound hands and feet were numb. The memory of what had transpired suddenly rushed back.

“Totally tame, the little wildcat,” a man behind her said in Italian, and Alex barely dared to breathe.

“I’ve never banged such a fine lady before,” she heard a second man say. “The boss said we can do whatever we want, didn’t he?”

Alex swallowed frantically, and her body stiffened in fear. She couldn’t expect any sympathy, especially after hitting one of the guys over the head with a bottle. But maybe they would leave her alone if they thought she was unconscious.

“We could have a little fun with her, right?”

“Why not? The boss won’t be back for a few hours.”

While the men talked to each other in hushed tones, Alex realized the utter hopelessness of her situation. No one knew where she was, and her arms and legs were bound. Why hadn’t she listened to Nick this morning and gone with him? Her thoughts were racing, but there was no possibility of escape. She was completely and utterly at Sergio’s mercy.

“Let’s go,” one of the men said. “I have to take a leak. And then we’ll get the others. I’m sure they want to have some fun, too.”

They moved away. A door opened and closed again with a faint squeak. The room had to be quite large. It smelled damp and unused, like an old basement.

“Hello?” Alex whispered hoarsely after a while, but no one answered. Apparently, both of her guards had left the room. As she moved her hands and feet, the numbness turned to a painful prickle.

She managed to sit up and lean against a tiled wall. She rubbed her head against her shoulders, rotating her arms until the duct tape around them slowly loosened. With her fingernails, she worked on the tape around her ankles. Sweat streamed from her pores from the exertion, and her heart pounded. The men could return at any moment, and then her efforts would be in vain.

Her blindfold loosened and she finally caught a glimpse of the room where she was being held. The room was completely empty, and there were circular tracks on the ceiling. It looked like a slaughterhouse, which meant that she was likely in Manhattan’s Meatpacking District in Chelsea, between Ninth and Eleventh Avenues. She ripped the tape from her feet and stood up. Dizzy, she forced herself to walk across the room to a metal shelf. She ripped the tape around her wrists on a sharp edge, not caring whether she might cut herself.

Alex frantically looked for an escape route. She could reach the frosted glass skylights if the decrepit metal shelf would hold her weight. She had to at least give it a try. She climbed up the wobbly shelf as fast as she could. She could reach the edge of the window with her fingertips. Desperately, she shook the rusty window lever, and it moved a fraction of an inch at a time. Suddenly, the skylight popped open. Alex wanted to jump for joy.

At that moment, the door opened at the other end of the large room. The men knew immediately what was going on, and they hollered wildly at each other and ran toward her. Alex gripped the window ledge, mustered all of her strength, and pulled herself up. She kicked the shelf with her foot, and it came crashing down. Panting from exertion, she hurled her body through the open skylight and dangled outside. The drop on the other side was about twelve feet, but she didn’t care. She kept slipping, let her feet slide down the wall, closed her eyes, and let go.

“The cops are searching the entire city,” Luca said to his boss. “They’re arresting anyone they don’t like. I bet that every single prison cell within a radius of a hundred miles will be triple-booked by the end of the night.”

“Hmm,” Sergio said, glancing at his watch, “maybe we should get it over with now.”

He wasn’t particularly alarmed by the intense police response, because Jerome Harding had reassured him during brunch just a few hours ago that the investigation had nothing to do with him, that it was solely about solving the St. John murder. Harding promised to call him immediately if he found out something different. Sergio knew that he could rely on Harding. And the cops could search as much as they liked, because in three hours Alex would be dead.

“How’s Maurizio doing?” Sergio inquired as they drove toward Chelsea.

“I had him taken to Sutton,” Luca answered. “That crazed woman nearly smashed in his skull.”

Sergio nodded grimly. Despite his anger at Alex, he felt a hint of admiration. This woman was truly courageous, an almost equal opponent. But after spending seven hours tied up and gagged in the cold storage room of an old meat factory, she’d get the picture that he always won, and that she had no chance against him.

While they were stuck in traffic, Sergio toyed with the idea of leaking a story to the press that the honorable mayor had banged a wanted murderer last night. As great as that sounded, he needed to wait until Alex’s body was floating in the East River. Then he could focus on finishing off the mayor.

Sergio grinned bitterly. No one had drawn a line from MPM and LMI to him. And once Alex was gone, there’d be no one left who could. The storm would die down, and he would remain quiet until then. The preparations for his charity ball in a few days were in full swing. Not one person had sent regrets, which was a good sign. If the cops had already grilled any of his friends, there would have been mass cancellations long ago. New Yorkers were the quickest to notice when someone should be shunned in high society.

“A tempest in a teapot,” Sergio muttered and shrugged his shoulders. It wasn’t anything more than that.

Alex felt like the fall had broken every single bone in her body. Unable to move, she lay flat on her back, gasping for air. Tears of anger soaked her face as she heard hurried steps. She was surrounded by a half dozen angry-looking men who pulled her up roughly and dragged her back into the building. Despite her pain and fear, she kicked at them, bit the hand of one, and wriggled like a fish. Her attempt to escape made Sergio’s men even angrier. Her situation had worsened significantly.

Alex fought against the terror and weakness with all her might. Things couldn’t get worse. She was determined not to collapse in front of Sergio, begging for mercy. When she heard his voice, she closed her eyes.

“The bitch ran away from us,” one man said. “We had to use a bit more force with her. I’m sorry, boss.”

“Put her on her feet,” Sergio said coldly. “I want to look her in the eyes. And then leave us alone.”

They roughly pulled Alex up. She stumbled and leaned against the wall, suppressing a groan.

“Look at me,” Sergio ordered, and Alex slowly raised her beaten face. She realized in surprise that her fear of dying had vanished, giving way to a strange serenity. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Instead, she felt nothing at all.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions that you had better answer. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Alex nodded.

“Nelson warned me about you from the very start.” He stood directly in front of her, observing her with a cruel smile, his hands deep in his coat pockets. “He saw through you right away—what a devious bitch you are.”

“You made the biggest mistake of your life listening to him.” Alex’s voice was hoarse. “He was afraid that I could have more influence over you than he ever had. I would have done anything for you if you hadn’t lied to me from the start.”

The smile vanished from Sergio’s face.

“He betrayed you,” Alex said. “He blew his brains out instead of continuing to work for you.”

“Shut up!” Sergio snarled at her.

“They’ll all turn their backs on you,” Alex continued, “but I would have stayed by your side—”

“I told you to shut up!” he roared.

“You know it yourself.” Alex didn’t blink. “You know you trusted the wrong people. Even your wife ran away from you. Did you know that she came to me on the day that she left you?”

Sergio’s face turned red. Her words hit a nerve. He struggled to keep his cool.

“Where did you get the bank statement that I found in your apartment?” he asked in a gravelly voice. Alex stared into his eyes and remained silent.

“Don’t think that you can deceive me,” he hissed. “I know you’re trembling with fear.”

“I’m not afraid anymore,” Alex replied. “You’ve already decided to kill me. It makes no difference whether or not I talk.”

“What grandiose words,” Sergio mocked her, “but I will show you how small you are—how pathetically small!”

Alex detected a spark of insanity in his blue eyes. Sergio walked to the door and called his men. She waited as they took their places all around her.

“Comu si dici in sicilianu?” she said. “Omertà. Isn’t that right? I won’t say a word.”

Sergio pressed his lips together.

“I thought you didn’t understand Italian,” he said, and Alex shrugged her shoulders. Sergio took off his coat and handed it to Luca.

“I won’t say another word,” she said. Sergio’s fist flew at her face that same moment. She felt her lip burst again and her nose break. He brutally grabbed her by the hair, pulled her head back, and leaned over her. His face was so close to hers that she could see every single pore. Saliva pooled at the corners of his mouth.

“You’ll beg me to kill you,” he hissed. “Count on it! You damned little whore!”

Alex felt warm blood running across her chin, but she didn’t bat an eye.

“Speak!” Sergio let her go. “I don’t have all day.”

Alex closed her eyes. Her head was about to explode.

“Where is the money that you stole from me?”

Alex shrugged her shoulders again, although every movement hurt like hell.

“Tell me where it is!”

“No.”

Sergio stared at her in a raging fury.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath, “okay. I can handle losing fifty million dollars. I won’t go bankrupt. You can’t blackmail me with that. But what about the bank statement? What about the e-mails from St. John’s computer? Who knows about them? Did you run to Kostidis?”

The thought that she’d spent the night with the hated mayor made him insane.

“What did you say to him when he fucked you?”

Alex grinned, although it hurt. Sergio had lost. His jealousy and vanity consumed him.

“I told him,” she said, looking Sergio square in the eye, “that he fucked me better than you.”

Sergio lost it. He beat her with both fists until Luca and another man grabbed his arms. Sergio breathed heavily. Alex lay crumpled on the floor, but not a single sob crossed her lips. Whatever Sergio had thought about the weakness of women, Alex proved him wrong. And he hated her even more for it.

“Go on,” he said and massaged his sore knuckles, “give her the special treatment!”

They grabbed her, tore her clothes off, and tied her up on a metal table dressed in just her underwear. The blows with the leather strap split the skin on her thighs and chest. Her agony took her breath away, but she suppressed any cry of pain. She became dizzy and almost blacked out, but they brutally kept her from losing consciousness.

“Talk!” Sergio hissed, clenching his hands in his pockets. He had been quite certain that it wouldn’t take long to get her talking, but now it turned out to be a problem. He particularly feared losing face in front of his men.

“What will you do if I die before that?” Alex mumbled through her swollen lips. Any sign of arrogance had vanished from Sergio’s face. In the bright fluorescent light, she noticed the bags under his eyes and the increasingly sagging skin on his neck. She realized that even Sergio Vitali had to capitulate to her stubbornness. The pain in her body was like a dull droning. Alex could no longer distinguish which body part hurt the most, but her triumph over Sergio in his rage and helplessness eased the pain.

“I’ll have all of my men rape you!” Sergio threatened. “Until you open your fucking mouth! Is that what you want?”

Alex was silent. She closed her eyes; she didn’t fight back when they loosened the tape around her ankles and the first man attacked her—a fat, slimy guy who stank like sweat and garlic. The edge of the metal table rammed painfully into her back with every thrust. Without a word, Alex endured the pain and humiliation. She stopped counting after the third man. She just heard Sergio’s angry voice from a far distance. Nothing mattered anymore. She was just a numb shell. The minutes stretched into hours, and Alex felt like she was looking at herself from above. She saw her injured body, her face swollen and disfigured by the beating. Her thoughts wandered to Nick. Not even this brutality could defile her memory of the most beautiful night of her life.

“And?” Alex heard Sergio’s mocking voice. “Do you like it? Or do you finally want to talk to me?”

If it would have helped her at all, she would have told Sergio everything. Yes, she would have begged him, beseeched him, done everything just to live. But he would kill her anyway. She needed to remain strong. She knew her pride would drive him crazy.

Speechless with anger at her persistent silence, Sergio watched as one man after the other lustfully pounced on Alex. The sight of these men panting like animals, taking possession of the body of this woman he’d once truly loved, filled him with disgust. There were even worse methods for forcing a person to talk, but something deep inside made it impossible for Sergio to have them sever Alex’s limbs or mutilate her.

“She stopped breathing,” one of the men said. He leaned over Alex and felt for her carotid artery. Sergio jumped up from his chair. He stared at Alex’s lifeless body. The humiliation he’d suffered in front of his men drilled into him like a barbed hook. Nevertheless, he felt respect for this woman who dared to defy him. She wasn’t afraid of him. He ran both hands through his short hair. Alex had been right. Nelson had given him bad advice. What a great companion she would have been to him! She would have remained loyal if he had only allowed her to stand by his side.

Sergio’s anger suddenly subsided and made way for a leaden fatigue. Beautiful, passionate, brave Alex! He would never meet a woman like her again. She dealt him a major defeat with her death. But above all, his feeling of invincibility had died with her. Alex had beaten him. In every sense.

“What should we do with her?” Luca asked. Sergio winced. Impatiently, he chased away these sentimental feelings. This little whore deserved to die. She had lied to him, betrayed him, stolen from him. Basta. Life goes on. He needed to clear his head.

“Throw her in the river,” he said coldly. Then he turned on his heel and walked out.

Nick didn’t get a wink of sleep all night. Shortly before one thirty in the morning, he had left the US Attorney’s Office and walked the two blocks to city hall as it began to snow. He could no longer stand to just sit there and wait. And he could hardly bear how Jenkins and Engels talked about Alex. She was nothing more than just a witness to them. They didn’t care that she was a human being. They were completely indifferent to whether she was innocent or guilty. They’d certainly solve the corruption case without Alex. Nick had a feeling that Vitali would manage once again to squirm free. His high-powered lawyers would squash every allegation, and he’d probably intimidate anyone who considered revealing anything to use against him. But Nick didn’t really care about Vitali. His thoughts revolved around Alex. Where was she? What had they done to her? Was she still alive?

Nick knew that he wouldn’t be able to cope if something happened to her. His intense feelings were completely different than the love he had felt for Mary. He couldn’t quite explain it to himself either. But his attraction toward Alex was far more than the desire of a man over fifty trying to regain his youth.

He entered city hall through the back door and walked to his office. The security guards greeted him respectfully. No one asked him what he was doing here at this time. He strode into his office and switched on the small lamp that drew a warm yellow circle of light on his desk. Nick sat down in his wet coat. His gaze wandered over the spacious office and landed on the framed portraits of his predecessors. This office was the place he had wanted to be ever since he was a little boy. It was his dream, and he had achieved it. He had spent so many nights working, neglecting his family. Nick was used to fighting, but now he was tired. There was a different life out there, one without politics, outside the public eye. He intensely longed for this life more than ever before. He sighed despondently. He had achieved so much, but he’d lost even more. He hadn’t watched his son grow up because he had no time. He knew the New York TV stations better than his own home, and some reporters were more familiar to him than his own son. His days were ordered by his schedule, from early morning until late at night.

And then Alex appeared in his life, and she succeeded in doing what Mary had tried in vain for so many years: Nick started to take a hard look at himself. Suddenly, he no longer understood the driving force behind his crazy ambition—what his enemies had labeled his “obsession.” Why had he been so unwilling to compromise? It was Alex who had made him take a critical look at himself. And when he did this, he realized that, during all those years of fighting, he had completely forgotten to live.

No, Alex couldn’t be dead! It simply couldn’t happen. Nick wrapped his arms around his chest, doubling up.

“Dear Lord,” he whispered in desperation. “Please, don’t let her die…”

Travis Stewart cursed. On the short path from the car to the docks, the wet snow had soaked through his jacket and the wind was icy cold. To make matters worse, he had overslept. Dawn would break in about a half hour, and cops would be teeming everywhere. He needed to hurry. He cursed as he climbed down the quay wall’s rusty ladder and jumped into the small motorboat. He pulled out a metal briefcase from beneath the oiled tarpaulin, and he was about to climb up the ladder again when he heard engine noise above him.

“Shit,” he whispered. If that was the cops and they caught him with a briefcase filled with drugs, then he’d go back to the slammer. Travis stuffed the briefcase under the tarp and cowered in the boat. Car doors slammed, and he heard male voices. Suddenly, silhouettes appeared farther down the quay wall. Travis saw them razor-sharp against the brightening night sky. They carried a heavy bundle that they dragged to the edge of the old pier. People often threw garbage in the river here because the current was strong. But that wasn’t garbage! For a split second, Travis could see a person’s body being dumped into the water. He ducked down automatically. If those guys saw him, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him as well.

But they didn’t see him. They disappeared immediately. Travis stared at the dark-gray water and saw wildly flailing arms in the current. There was no doubt that this was not a dead body drifting in the ice-cold water, but a living human being! He really shouldn’t care. Helping people only caused trouble. He strained to stare into the water. A head suddenly emerged just six feet from his boat’s bow. Travis threw himself forward with such force that the boat nearly capsized. Now he was completely soaked, but his fingers closed around a handful of wet hair. Then a hand grabbed for his. A woman’s face appeared. She coughed and spat water. Her eyes were wide open. The woman was more dead than alive, and she lost consciousness as Travis pulled her into the boat—but she was alive! He stared at her in surprise. She was completely naked. He took off his army jacket and placed it over the woman’s shivering body, which was covered with cuts and bruises.

It wasn’t easy to climb up the slippery rungs of the rusty ladder with her weight on his back. The snow was falling heavier around him as he stumbled to his car, which was parked a few hundred yards away at an abandoned storage shed. Then he opened the door and placed the lifeless woman on the passenger seat. He grabbed an old wool blanket from the trunk and wrapped it around her. The last thing that he needed now was for her to kick the bucket in his car. He put the car in reverse, turning it around.

“Nick?”

Nick jerked up, dazed and confused. He needed a moment to realize where he was. He remembered that he had gone to his office last night, and apparently he’d fallen asleep at his desk. Then he remembered Alex.

“Hello, Frank,” he said. “What time is it?”

“Almost six.” Frank stood in front of the desk.

Nick sat up straight.

“Do you know if they found Alex?”

“I don’t think so.” Frank shook his head. “I heard an announcement on the radio that she was missing just before I got here.”

He noticed his boss’s reddened eyes, his tormented face, and wondered why this woman affected Nick so deeply.

“I need to call Connors,” Nick mumbled.

“You should get some sleep,” Frank said. “You look terrible. Have you been sitting at your desk all night?”

“I came here at one thirty. I was with Connors until then.”

“Do you think Sontheim is still alive?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know,” Nick whispered.

“That would be bad. Without her testimony—”

“Damn it!” Nick cut him off harshly. “I don’t give a shit whether or not she testifies! I just pray to God that she’s still alive!”

Frank stared at his boss in concern. He slowly began to understand that this was no longer about Vitali or uncovering this whole scandal. At this point, Nick only cared about this woman’s life.

Nick’s face looked desperate. He turned away from the lamplight and stroked his forehead.

“Frank…I…” His voice was hardly more than a whisper. His dark eyes were black with despair. “I…I fell in love with her, when she came to me at the cemetery and listened to me. She…she was understanding and compassionate, and suddenly I could bear everything that had happened to me. She gave me the courage to keep living; she even saved my life.”

He took a sobbing breath, and Frank understood at once that Nick wasn’t just feeling wretched about Alex’s disappearance; he was also tormented by feelings of guilt about Mary. He watched a tear flow down Nick’s cheek.

“I couldn’t bear to lose Alex now as well.”

Frank had never seen Nick Kostidis cry before, and to see this man whom he admired and truly liked in such pain hurt him to the depths of his soul.

Sergio sat in his office at the VITAL Building and watched a photo of Alex flash on the news. They could keep frantically searching for her all they wanted, because they’d never find her. The telephone rang. Sergio looked up. It was his private, tap-proof line that he used only for special calls.

“It’s me,” a male voice said on the other end of the line. “What about the woman?”

“She won’t talk again,” Sergio replied.

“Good. I have my hands full putting the brakes on the deputy US attorney and the mayor. It’s inevitable that some people will have to be sacrificed.”

“It’s all right,” Sergio replied calmly. “De Lancie wasn’t that valuable anyway, and Whitewater was about to retire.”

“Connors arrested Harding. I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Harding was arrested?” Sergio froze.

“Yes, but that won’t be a problem either. He won’t utter a word—he’s too smart for that.”

“And too greedy.” Sergio relaxed a bit.

“Maybe,” the man laughed.

“The important thing is that you keep me out of this mess.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. Once enough heads have rolled, the president and the public will be satisfied. There will be heated discussions, some people will pack their bags, and then everything will be business as usual again.”

“What about Kostidis?” Sergio asked.

“What about him?”

“Don’t underestimate him.”

“Kostidis isn’t involved in the investigation, and the deputy US attorney does as I say.”

Sergio nodded. “What should I do?”

“Just act normal. If the woman doesn’t reappear, then the US Attorney’s Office has nothing concrete but the statements. And as long as no one spills the beans, there’s no trail leading to you.”

“How sure can I be about that?” Sergio furrowed his brow. “They’ll pressure people.”

“No, I’ll make sure that it doesn’t happen,” the man said with a quiet laugh. “We’ve fixed bigger things than this before. Just think of the Iran-Contra affair, or Kennedy, or Watergate.”

Sergio laughed too.

“All right,” he said, “everything else should be as we discussed. Once this unpleasantness is water under the bridge, then we’ll take on Ortega and you’ll be a hero.”

“Very nice. I’ll call you when I hear something new.”

“Thanks,” Sergio said, “I’ll see you soon.”

He hung up, grinning in satisfaction. That pathetic idiot from the US Attorney’s Office and this bastard of a mayor should just try to keep on him! Neither of them would even get close.

Tate Jenkins entered Connors’s office with a cup of coffee in his hand. The deputy US attorney sat at the conference table with a bleary-eyed expression in front of a stack of files.

“How far are your people with the indictments, Connors?” Jenkins inquired, sitting down.

“They’re working on it,” Lloyd Connors replied and leaned back. “But without Alex Sontheim’s testimony, we have nothing but speculation.”

“That woman doesn’t matter anymore,” Jenkins said. “The material we have is enough to remove half of the city’s political elite. We already have a dozen confessions. What else do you want?”

Connors looked at the deputy director of the FBI, astonished. “I want the people who pull the strings,” he said. “I want the mastermind behind this, not just the small fries.”

“I don’t know whether you can call the police commissioner of New York or the US attorney for the Southern District ‘small fries.’” Jenkins raised his eyebrows. “Get your people moving, Connors. I don’t feel like waiting until Christmas. I want the indictments on my desk by tomorrow.”

“But I can’t possibly go public with this whole thing tomorrow!”

“Why not?” Jenkins took a sip of coffee from his plastic cup. “We have bulletproof evidence; we should pounce before anyone disappears or blows their brains out.”

“I want the mastermind,” Connors persisted, “and in my opinion, that’s Vitali. If it says in the newspaper tomorrow that his bribery scheme was busted, then he’ll cover his tracks. We need Sontheim as a key witness against him.”

“And what if she took off and doesn’t surface again?” Jenkins asked. “How much longer do you want to wait, Connors? Until the whole case goes up in smoke?”

There was an awkward silence before Connors responded.

“But I—”

“Let me tell you something,” Jenkins interrupted him. “Let’s wait another twenty-four hours. We’ll go public if she doesn’t show up by then. I’m getting pressure from above. The president expects something to happen, you understand?”

“Yes, of course,” the deputy US attorney said with a helpless shrug, “but if we don’t get to the root of this, after a brief interruption things will just be the same again.”

“You’ve got twenty-four hours to find the woman,” Jenkins cut him off. “One full day, and not a minute more. Then we’ll step in front of the press.”

Jenkins finished his coffee. Connors turned to his files again. He was dead tired, and not particularly optimistic about the case. If Alex didn’t show up soon, then Vitali would get away again unscathed. Connors thought about Nick, and he slowly understood his frustration. Vitali was slippery as a fish.

Alex scanned the small room. It was daylight behind the dirty curtains. She moved carefully, and sharp pain flashed through her body. She looked at her wrists and saw the blood-encrusted wounds where the restraints had cut deeply into her flesh. And suddenly the memory was there again, and the horror returned in a vicious wave, bitter as bile. She remembered all of the gruesome things that had happened to her. A tear ran down her disfigured face. She had experienced the worst things imaginable to any human being, and during those horrifying hours—where she thought she’d go crazy out of fear—something had irrevocably broken inside of her. To be at someone’s mercy, the futility of being unable to defend herself, had been worse than the pain, even worse than realizing that they were trying to kill her. The wounds and bruises would heal, but what about the trauma? Just a few days ago, she was one of the highest-paid investment bankers on Wall Street, juggling billions of dollars. She knew the most important people in the city, in the entire country. Until recently, she had a bright future ahead of her. Now she had nothing left but her bare bones, and even that wouldn’t be worth much if Sergio found out that she was still alive. He’d do anything to finally finish her off.

Alex curled up beneath her blanket and sobbed. Her life would never be the same again. The spirits that she had called upon herself would haunt her for her whole life. She saw no future; there was no one she could trust. Alex suddenly paused. Yes! There was someone who cared for her, someone who could possibly help her. She lay motionless in her sagging bed, the thin mattress’s springs cutting into her back, and she stared at the dirty ceiling that had turned yellow from the nicotine of thousands of cigarettes. She needed to call Nick. Right now.

“Nick, I can’t wait any longer,” Lloyd Connors said in an emphatic voice. “I know what it means if we make this affair public today, but what the hell am I supposed to do?”

The deputy US attorney was a shadow of his usual self.

“Jenkins gave me an ultimatum, damn it! Time’s running out!” He ran his hand across his exhausted face. He had come to see Nick at city hall to escape the tension in his own office for a while.

“Vitali will slip through our hands again,” Nick muttered in a dull voice, “just as he has so often before. I knew it.”

Connors sighed. In the past hours, he had thought about nothing else except how they could prove Vitali’s involvement in the bribery scandal. But it was almost impossible without Alex Sontheim. Even van Mieren’s video testimony was unlikely to be allowed as evidence in court if there weren’t any other witnesses confirming his statements. And Jenkins forbade him to look for exactly that. “Focus on solving the corruption case,” he had said.

Connors knew that Vitali’s clever lawyers would tear him apart if he charged him without ironclad evidence. This would probably mean the premature end of his career; the other side would bombard him with actions for libel and other damages until he gave up. If Alex remained missing, then Vitali had managed to save his neck once again.

“I’ve got only one chance to bring him before a court,” Connors said tiredly. “There’s the murder case from 1963, with that Stefano Barelli who van Mieren claims Vitali shot dead. There’s no statute of limitations for murder, and maybe we can find that witness van Mieren mentioned.”

Nick made a resigned gesture.

“I’ve only got eight hours left, Nick,” Connors said, leaning forward. “I’m supposed to step in front of the press and make everything public tomorrow morning.”

The mayor nodded. “I understand.”

“If we at least had a trace of Alex,” Connors said, slamming his fist on the table, “at least a tiny clue, but we’ve got nothing. She simply vanished from the face of the earth.”

Nick remained silent. It had been three days since Vitali got hold of her. He’d certainly killed her, because he knew how important she was to the US Attorney’s Office. She was a threat and had to be eliminated as such.

“We made a big mistake involving the Feds,” Connors said gloomily. “They have no interest in uncovering the whole thing.”

“Of course not,” Nick replied bitterly. “It’s all about cover-up. Damage control. It’s always been like that. No one had any interest in uncovering this bribery scandal. Everyone was afraid to be sucked into the maelstrom. Especially now that the president has major foreign policy issues, he can’t afford these domestic problems. If it got out that the corruption reached as far as federal departments and the Senate, the public response would be explosive.”

“But we can’t just pretend that nothing happened!” Connors was appalled.

“Yes,” Nick said, nodding wearily, “we can. And you will. How many times do you think I felt like I was tilting at windmills? It’s not easy to do unpopular things, and there’s hardly anything less popular than a bribery scandal. I’ve fished in troubled waters many times, and time and again I had to realize that what felt honest and seemed like the right thing to do was never appreciated by the big bosses. Politics is dirty business. Everyone gives and takes. That’s how politicians and their old-boy networks survive.”

“I refuse to accept that!” the deputy US attorney protested.

“I used to be as idealistic as you are, Lloyd,” Nick said, shrugging his shoulders, “but if you want to have a career, then you have to learn to act against your convictions.”

“Of all people, I can’t believe that you would say something like that!”

“Why not? For years, I’ve fought for what I felt was right, and I’ve made many enemies. It was lucky that I was often fighting things that also bothered politicians in Washington and Albany: organized crime, insider-trading scandals on Wall Street, common criminals in New York City—all of these issues were things that had the government’s support. I was fighting the small guys without a big lobby: Mafia bosses, criminal stock brokers and bankers, murderers, rapists, drug dealers. But this time we’re stepping on the toes of respected politicians.” Nick sighed. “One crow doesn’t peck another crow’s eyes. It’s always been like this.”

Outside the window, snowflakes fluttered from the slate-gray December sky. Nick used to love the weeks before Christmas: the festively decorated city, the shop windows, the snow in Central Park, the eagerly expectant children’s eyes at the huge Christmas parade, and the ice-skaters at Rockefeller Center and at Wollman Rink. Around Christmas, the hectic pace of the city seemed to slacken for a few days every year, and the people seemed a little friendlier than usual. But Nick didn’t notice any of this today. There was no Christmas tree at home, and instead of Mary, members of his staff took care of writing the Christmas cards this year. For the first time in twenty-five years, Nick wouldn’t spend Christmas with Mary’s family in Montauk.

Nick’s direct line buzzed on his desk. He picked up.

“Mr. Kostidis?” Nick didn’t recognize the female voice on the other end.

“Yes, speaking.”

“Is it really you?”

“Yes, of course. Who am I speaking to?”

“One moment,” the woman said, “stay on the line. There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

Connors watched Nick’s changing expression. His hopelessness and exhaustion vanished instantly; the mayor immediately sat up.

“Nick?” He heard her voice and he almost died of relief. It was her!

“Alex!” he exclaimed. Connors jerked upright. “Where are you? How are you doing?”

“Nick,” Alex said in a thin voice, “can you come get me?”

“Yes, of course!” Nick exclaimed. “Where are you? Tell me! I’m coming right away!”

“I’m in Brooklyn,” Alex replied, slurring heavily. “It’s a bar called Blue Bayou at the docks near the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway.”

“I’ll find it. I’m leaving right away.” Nick’s whole body trembled.

Alex whispered, “Please hurry.”

Nick jumped out of his chair. He was dizzy with relief and happiness. She wasn’t dead!

“We need to drive to Brooklyn immediately!” The deputy US attorney looked at him with hope, but also suspicion.

“It sounds like a fucking trap to me,” he said. “You won’t go there alone. I’m calling Spooner. I want him to go with you.”

Nick stared at him. In his relief, he didn’t even think about the possibility that someone could have forced Alex to call and lure him into an ambush. If that was the case, then Alex’s life was still in danger.

“Nick, please!” Connors already had the telephone receiver in his hand.

“Let’s bring him then,” Nick agreed reluctantly.

The Blue Bayou turned out to be a sleazy dive bar at the docks. The colorfully lit letters of its neon sign somewhat disguised the seediness of the joint, but it was definitely the place that Alex had told them about.

“She’s supposed to be here?” Spooner raised his eyebrows.

“Is there another bar with this name near here?” Nick snarled at the officer impatiently.

“We’ll check the establishment,” Spooner said. “Stay in the car.”

“No,” Nick said as he opened the door and got out. “You stay here, Spooner.”

“We have strict orders to protect you, Mr. Kostidis,” Spooner’s colleague Khazaeli interjected. “If this is a trap—”

“Then I have shitty luck!”

Nick slammed the car door shut. Didn’t Alex risk her life for him once? He owed it to her to come to her without the two US marshals at his side. But Deputy Spooner stepped in his path.

“Mayor or not,” he said, “I have my orders, and I don’t feel like being suspended because of your stubbornness.”

“I don’t give a damn,” Nick replied. “Let me through!”

He pushed the US marshal aside and walked around the building until he found the kitchen door. Under no circumstances did he want to be seen by a dozen people at this bar.

Nick knocked on the door, and Spooner and Khazaeli stood behind him.

“At least keep your weapons out of sight,” Nick asked them.

“So that these guys can gun us down?” Spooner cocked his Glock. “I don’t think so!”

The door opened a crack, and an unshaven, pockmarked man peeked out suspiciously.

“Are you…?”

“Yes,” Nick replied impatiently. “I’m Nick Kostidis.”

“And those guys?”

“US marshals,” Spooner said. “Open the door, pal!”

Nick rolled his eyes. Deputy Spooner was as diplomatic as a steamroller.

“Come in,” the man said, opening the door, and Nick entered the incredibly dirty kitchen. The place made a mockery of New York’s health regulations.

“Hi, Mayor Kostidis.” A fat woman with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth appeared in the doorway. “I can’t believe it! We all voted for you—me and my regulars.”

Nick forced a smile. “I want to see Ms. Sontheim.”

“Unbelievable. Ain’t it, Travis?” The corpulent woman rammed her elbow into the pockmarked man’s side. “The mayor himself in my place.”

Nick shook with impatience.

“Travis here pulled the girl out of the river,” the fat woman said, patting the man’s back. “She was butt naked and half dead—the poor thing.”

Nick turned pale. Had Vitali really tried to get rid of Alex in the river in classic Mafia style?

“Come with me, Mr. Kostidis.” The fat woman waved to him. She planted herself in front of the two US marshals.

“You stay down here, boys,” she said with an authority that tolerated no dissent. “The babe’s in pretty bad shape, as you can imagine. And I’m sure that she doesn’t want to see any cops.”

“But—” Spooner was about to protest.

“Nope. You stay here.” She heaved herself up the narrow staircase, and Nick followed her along a dimly lit hallway to a door.

“You better be nice to her,” the fat woman said in a quiet voice. “She got roughed up pretty good, the poor thing. Lost her memory and had a high fever. But she’s doin’ better since midday today. She remembers what happened now.”

Nick nodded. His heart was racing, and he would have loved to charge past the big woman.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said in a surprisingly gentle way, “you got a visitor.”

She stepped aside, and Nick entered the room. He didn’t notice the greasy wallpaper, the worn-out carpet, the nicotine-yellow curtains, the decrepit furniture, or the red lamp that made this room what it was in the evenings: a pay-by-the-hour motel. Nick only had eyes for the slender figure that sat at the head of the bed with her arms wrapped around her knees.

“Alex! Oh my God, Alex.”

Her face had been mangled terribly, looking like one big bruise. Blood had dried on her cheeks, chin, nose, and busted lips. Burst blood vessels surrounded her eyes.

“Nick,” she whispered. Her eyes were filled with fear and looked nearly dead. Only a picture of misery remained of this beautiful young woman. He knelt down in front of the bed and looked at the wounds on Alex’s wrists. She was wearing a jogging suit that was much too large.

Nick had a feeling that more had been destroyed than just her beautiful face. A broken human being crouched before him.

“He came to the hotel,” Alex whispered. “I thought that you had come back, that’s why I opened the door.”

Nick frowned as he tried to hold back the tears. This was all so simply horrifying. Tears of anger rose in him and a lump caught in his throat. What unfeeling animals could do such a thing to a woman?

“I didn’t tell him anything. Not a single word,” Alex continued.

She was speaking mechanically; her expression was empty, trancelike.

“They beat and raped me. He said that he would kill me. I couldn’t defend myself. He sat on a chair and watched, and then he…laughed…”

Her voice failed her. She swayed back and forth while the tears ran down her face. Nick felt a wild, powerless anger. Sergio Vitali—this brutal, merciless monster without regard for human life—had destroyed Alex. And then Nick’s heart tensed when he remembered her expression of happiness back on the beach in Montauk. That seemed like light-years ago.

“Come with me, Alex.” Nick extended his hand.

“If he finds out that I’m still alive,” she said, her gaze wandering around the room aimlessly, “then he’ll try to kill me again.”

“I’ll look after you, I promise you.” Nick’s voice sounded brave. He extended his hand patiently to her, until Alex finally let go of her knees and grabbed it.

“Oh, Nick,” she suddenly sobbed. “Why did all of this have to happen? Why?”

She threw her arms around his neck, pulled her sobbing body toward him, and buried her face in his chest.

“I’ll take care of you, Alex.” Nick pressed his face into her hair. “I promise you, my love. I’ll protect you.”

He held her tight, cradling her in his arms like a baby, letting her cry. Once she calmed down a bit, he picked her up and carried her out to the hallway, where the fat woman was still on guard. Nick’s eyes met with hers.

“Thanks,” he said. “Thank you for your help.”

“It’s okay,” the woman replied and stroked Alex’s stringy hair. “Take good care of her.”

He carried Alex down the stairs, past the marshals to the car. In the car, Alex cuddled in his arms. Her whole body shivered even though the car was warm and she was wrapped in a wool blanket. Nick murmured senseless, calming words that one might say to a child; his sympathy for her was so deep.

“Where are we going?” Deputy Spooner asked curtly.

“Goldwater Memorial on Roosevelt Island,” Nick replied, “and keep a low profile, please.”

“Of course, sir.”

As the car drove off, Nick stroked Alex’s beaten face and held her tightly in his arms. He searched for consoling words, but there was no solace. Nick remembered his own emotions all too well. In the days following Mary’s and Christopher’s deaths, he couldn’t bear to be spoken to. The lights of the Brooklyn Bridge illuminated the injuries to Alex’s face. Nick wished that he could spare her everything that was waiting for her. She would have to endure endless questioning by the US Attorney’s Office, the SEC’s investigation unit, the NYPD, the doctors, and especially the FBI. Time and again, they would force her to remember what she probably wanted to forget. Often enough during his tenure as a US attorney, Nick had had to ask such questions. He had never realized how painful they could actually be.

The news that Alex had surfaced again put Lloyd Connors into a state of sheer euphoria. His exhaustion was forgotten. With fiery zeal, he and his staff worked overnight on the indictment against Sergio Vitali. However, Alex’s murder charge had to be redacted for her to be a credible witness of the prosecution. But Oliver Skerritt’s testimony would prove Vitali’s guilt, along with St. John’s documents, and—last but not least—Nelson van Mieren’s confession that now had unexpected weight because Alex was alive. Alex had witnessed a hired assassin reporting the killing of David Zuckerman to Vitali. Vitali could not possibly wrench himself free from this accusation. It was six forty-five when Tate Jenkins stepped into Connors’s office accompanied by two men.

“Your time is almost up now, Connors,” the deputy director of the FBI said with a patronizing smile. “How far along are your people with the indictments?”

“Done,” the deputy US attorney replied. “We’re ready to go whenever you give the signal.”

Jenkins nodded in satisfaction.

“What does your plan look like?”

“We have signed confessions from fifty-three bribed individuals,” Connors explained. “There are eleven more people on the list we haven’t spoken to; Whitewater is dead, and Harding still refuses to cooperate. I plan on doing nothing.”

The smile vanished from Jenkins’s face.

“What do you mean?”

“After talking to Mr. Engels, I’ve decided to investigate this without going public,” Connors countered in a calm voice. “The Department of Justice shares my opinion that it’s better if we don’t raise too much dust. We’re going to offer a plea bargain to those willing to cooperate. They’ll avoid tax-evasion charges by paying the back taxes that they owe. We will refrain from prosecuting on criminal corruption charges as long as these men voluntarily resign from office and never run in the future.”

“But—” Jenkins’s jaw dropped in astonishment; he was struggling for words.

“Engels has spoken to the president’s advisor Jordy Rosenbaum,” the deputy US attorney continued, “and the president prefers this quiet solution to avoid an emotional public discussion.”

Jenkins was silent for a moment. Relief was clearly etched into his face. At that moment, Connors knew for sure that his instincts hadn’t failed him, and that Nick was right again. It was unbelievable. Jenkins was in league with Vitali.

“What about Vitali?” Jenkins actually asked.

“Nothing,” Connors said, shrugging his shoulders. “What can we do? Given the current evidence, we can’t prove anything. Until this woman reappears, I won’t even think about preparing indictments that would just be thrown out due to a lack of evidence.”

It was silent in the large office.

“Oh well.” Jenkins cleared his throat and then smiled. “It appears I’m no longer needed in New York. However, I want you to update me regularly about the progress in this case.”

“Of course.” Connors nodded. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Nick Kostidis stood at the frosted door of the private internal medicine ward on Goldwater Memorial Hospital’s third floor. He stared out the window. Ever since he’d found Alex in that sleazy dive, something had changed inside of him. The sight of her battered face, the fear and horror in her eyes, made him forget his own sorrow. Now, he felt a hot, raging fury, a wild thirst for revenge. His time of paralyzing numbness was over, and Nick knew with certainty that he wouldn’t allow Vitali to get away unscathed this time.

The sun pushed through the thick cloud cover and shone on the skyscrapers behind the United Nations. Somewhere over there, Vitali was sleeping calmly, thinking that Alex was dead. Just as dead as Mary and Christopher, Britney Edwards, David Zuckerman, Clarence Whitewater, and Zachary St. John. But he was mistaken. Alex was alive and would soon overcome her shock. And he—Nick Kostidis—would do everything in his power to support her in her testimony.

Nick’s eyes burned from exhaustion, but there was no time to sleep. Lloyd Connors and Gordon Engels had come to the hospital the very same night. They agreed to keep Alex’s reappearance hidden for the time being. Nick and Connors managed to convince Gordon Engels that Jenkins was no longer on their team, and Engels had called the president’s chief of staff and the attorney general—both of whom gave a green light to a strategy excluding the FBI from the investigation.

A few days earlier, Connors had hired a private detective to find the eyewitness to the murder Vitali had committed in 1963—at least according to van Mieren’s testimony.

“I don’t just want to throw Vitali into prison,” Connors had said. “I want him in the electric chair.” He was deeply shocked to see how brutally Vitali had treated Alex.

The frosted glass door opened, and Dr. Virginia Summer, senior physician of the internal medicine ward, stepped out. She balanced two paper cups of hot coffee. Nick had known Ginnie Summer for a long time. She’d been a friend of Mary’s, and her husband was a senior partner at a much-respected law firm. Nick had studied with him back in the day at NYU. “Hello, Ginnie,” Nick said. “How’s Alex?”

“As good as can be expected under the circumstances,” Dr. Summer said as she handed him one of the coffees. “She has broken ribs and severe contusions, but fortunately no life-threatening internal injuries. With a few days of rest and good medical attention, she’ll be over the physical part of this very soon.”

The doctor gave him a scrutinizing glance.

“And you?” she asked. “How are you?”

Nick looked at her; he shrugged his shoulders and stared out the window. The city that he had always loved, that he’d always fought and lived for, felt hostile all of a sudden. A sip of the hot, strong liquid revived his spirits.

“I’m doing pretty well,” he replied. “I’m slowly getting used to Mary not being there when I come home.”

He swallowed hard. Was it unfair to Mary that he had fallen in love with Alex? Would it have happened if she hadn’t lost her life?

“You look very tired,” Ginnie determined. “Go home and get some sleep. Ms. Sontheim is in good hands with us.”

“I know.” Nick smiled tiredly. “That’s why I brought her here.”

The doctor nodded.

“You seem to truly care for her,” she said. “Is it true what they say about her on TV?”

“No,” Nick said, shaking his head, “none of that is true.”

He sat down awkwardly on an orange plastic chair, and the doctor sat next to him.

“I’ve never before seen you so worried,” Ginnie said, “and so compassionate.”

Nick turned his head and looked at her in astonishment.

“You’ve changed,” the doctor said.

“Have I?”

“Yes,” she said. “Since I’ve known you—almost thirty-five years now—you’ve always been self-involved. Many ambitious men are selfish, but it was more than that in your case. I never envied Mary being married to you.”

Nick sighed.

“I admired you, regardless,” Ginnie continued. “You had a vision that you fought for with all your might. You always succeeded in inspiring people with your ideas. But sometimes you were downright self-righteous and inconsiderate.”

“I’ve realized that,” Nick admitted. “I was too uncompromising and made many mistakes.”

He turned the coffee cup in his hands.

“And now? Has something changed?” the doctor asked.

“Oh yes,” he said. “I’ve been punished severely for my arrogance, and I’ll have to live the rest of my life with the guilt of knowing that Mary and Chris died because of me.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Alex came to me at a time when I was seriously contemplating suicide. She came and listened to me like no one else did. She wasn’t afraid to talk to me. All I heard from our friends were empty phrases. All of a sudden, everyone seemed afraid of me. Only this woman, whom I hardly knew, came to me and she helped me to survive. I’m deeply indebted to Alex. She saved my life in two ways.”

“I get it,” the doctor said quietly.

“Do you?” Nick looked up, and Dr. Summer saw the agony in his eyes. She grabbed his hand. This revelation that he had true emotions, was capable of acting without expediency, suddenly made him likable in the doctor’s eyes.

“Mary was a friend of mine,” she said quietly. “I liked her so much. But she’s dead, and you must live on. No one expects you to mourn forever and be lonely.”

Nick stared at her. Then he frowned, as if he were about to burst into tears. He watched Ginny Summer leave behind the frosted glass door, and then he turned toward the window and leaned his forehead against the cold glass. Self-righteous and inconsiderate. An egoist. Yes, that’s what he was. Filled with conviction about the righteousness of his actions, he’d never even considered the feelings of all the people he indicted and prosecuted. He’d been too enamored by his own success and reputation to even evaluate himself. Now, he’d received a painful lesson in humility. Fate had punished him severely for his mistakes, but it had also given him a second chance.

The posh St. Regis Hotel had become a major construction site ten days before Christmas. An army of interior decorators and craftspeople worked at full speed to transform the foyer, the ballroom, and the adjoining conference rooms into a magical winter wonderland. Truckloads of fir trees, fake snow, and countless lights hinted at how the finished space would look on Saturday evening.

The chief designer—a young interior architect with a serious face, who chain-smoked and wore her dark hair in a ponytail—walked around the hotel with a clipboard under her arm. She had the chaos totally under control, directing the electricians, the painters, the carpenters, and the decorators.

Sergio smiled happily as he saw what a work of art was being created solely for his charity ball. “Hello, Sharon. You’re doing wonders.”

“Oh, Mr. Vitali,” Sharon Capriati replied with a mixture of impatience and awe. “Do you like it so far? Just wait until everything’s finished.”

Sergio gave her a look that, in his experience, no woman could resist. The young woman threw him a cutting look and then laughed. Her austere face was pretty. Sergio wondered what she was like in bed. He examined her firm, small breasts beneath her gray T-shirt and her well-shaped behind in her skintight jeans.

“Stop!” Sharon Capriati suddenly turned around and waved at two men transporting large wall pieces on a lifting cart. “The pavilion goes over there! Next to the fir forest!”

She turned toward Sergio again, smiled apologetically, and made a note on her clipboard.

“Maybe you should have invited your guests to the Caribbean,” she said. “This is going to be quite an expensive affair.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sergio said, shrugging his shoulders. “I want everyone to still be talking about this next year. I booked the best bands, and the food will leave everyone speechless. What about the champagne fountain?”

“It’s going to be right at the center of the ballroom,” she answered, absentmindedly sticking a pencil behind her ear. Sergio examined her closely.

“You’re doing a great job,” he remarked. “Would you like to join me for lunch today?”

“That’s very nice of you.” Sharon Capriati smiled the same impersonal smile that Alex had mastered so perfectly. “But I’m very busy. After all, you want to have a party here in twenty-four hours.”

“Maybe another time?”

Sergio felt a prickling feeling of excitement rise inside of him. This woman was a completely different type, but somehow she reminded him of Alex, with her pronounced self-confidence and professionalism. Unexpectedly, the idea occurred to him to take her to the ball as his date. He stepped closer toward her.

“I’m terribly busy before Christmas,” she said, not even looking up from her clipboard and shrugging her shoulders, which annoyed him. What, was she a lesbian?

“Why don’t you accompany me tomorrow evening at the party?” he said.

But instead of excitement, he received polite testiness.

“Listen, Mr. Vitali.” Sharon Capriati sounded like a kindergarten teacher talking to a slow-witted child. “You hired me because I’m the city’s best interior architect. I’m doing my job. That’s what you pay me for. Let’s leave it at that.”

This clear-cut rejection left Sergio speechless.

He nodded and raised his eyebrows. “Whatever you say. I won’t bother you any longer.”

“Okay then.” She smiled briefly, but she had already turned away and walked over to a group of electricians installing spotlights for the stage.

“Dumb bitch,” Sergio muttered, offended. He walked up the stairs leading from the foyer to the ballroom and turned around on the last step. The view was just as grand as his first impression. Sergio could already tell that his party would be a success. It was the pinnacle of the holiday season in New York, and nearly a thousand guests would be arriving from all over the United States and even Europe. New York VIPs, politicians from Washington, Hollywood movie stars, famous athletes, and corporate bosses from all over were expected. But Sergio would be attending by himself, with no woman on his arm this year. Constanzia had vanished, and Alex—who had accompanied him last year—was dead. Sergio’s face darkened thinking about her, and he turned around so abruptly that he almost collided with Luca.

“What’s the matter?” Sergio asked him, still rankled by the interior designer’s rejection. He looked Luca up and down. The otherwise calm and cold-blooded man seemed agitated.

“I just got a phone call from Sandro Girardelli,” Luca said quietly. “He works in the administration of Goldwater Memorial.”

“And?” Sergio suddenly had a queasy feeling in his stomach; he was overcome by a sense of foreboding.

“A woman was admitted during the night three days ago,” Luca continued. “She was immediately brought to the private ward of a Dr. Virginia Summer, and the hospital administration doesn’t know who she is or why she was admitted. No one from the hospital’s staff is permitted to enter the room. It seems as if no one is supposed to know she’s even there.”

“Continue,” Sergio prompted him, looking suddenly petrified.

“Two US marshals guard the room around the clock,” Luca said, “but the woman has a visitor every night. It’s none other than Mayor Kostidis.”

“You told me that you dumped her in the river!”

Sergio struggled to keep his voice down. Alex was supposed to be dead! He’d seen with his own eyes that she had stopped breathing. There was no way she could still be alive.

“My men dumped her into the East River—at the Brooklyn docks where the current is the strongest,” Luca reaffirmed. “I swear to you that she was dead.”

“If this woman at Goldwater Memorial is Alex,” Sergio replied grimly, “then she certainly wasn’t.”

Sergio’s thoughts somersaulted in his head.

“I have to call Jenkins,” he said, biting his lower lip. He walked quickly through the foyer of the St. Regis. Then he stopped and turned around to Luca.

“A hospital is a wonderful place to make someone disappear,” he said. “You do it, Luca. You and Silvio. I don’t want this to go wrong again. Go over there and blow her away. And this time, I don’t want to hear any bad news, capito?”

Harvey Brandon Forrester was used to tracking down people who had disappeared. He had founded a private investigation practice twenty years ago, and he specialized in lost causes. His four partners preferred to limit themselves to easier cases, like following unfaithful spouses or finding defaulted debtors, but Forrester liked the more complicated cases. Strictly speaking, he was more of a bounty hunter than a private detective. Because of his excellent connections with the US Attorney’s Office and many renowned law firms in New York, he couldn’t complain about a lack of work. His search for the eyewitness in the 1963 murder of the gangster Stefano Barelli turned out to be more difficult than expected. Difficult because Forrester could hardly investigate in Little Italy. His client wanted to avoid anything becoming public about this investigation. Forrester had spent two long days searching the police files they’d provided him. He read the interrogation records and indictments, looked at pictures, reconstructed the sequence of events, and finally reached the conclusion that there had to be not just one eyewitness but at least six or seven. But the US Attorney’s Office was looking for one man in particular: the son-in-law of the owner of the small trattoria where Barelli was shot. His name was Vincente Molto, and he’d been missing since that day.

Forrester combed through documents and electronic records to find more information about the eyewitness. Vincente Molto was born on July 24, 1940. He married Lucretia Amato in May of 1962 and left New York with his wife on May 28, 1963, for an unknown destination. So the man had to be sixty years old. Forrester browsed the police computer and got lucky. Vincente Molto had been convicted of a crime in 1961—aggravated assault. There was a picture, fingerprints. And a note in the file stating that he was suspected to be a member of the Genovese family.

Harvey Forrester spent three sleepless nights; he tapped all available sources, spoke to reliable informants, and finally traveled to Florida where he actually made a find. In Tarpon Springs, a small town outside of Tampa, he found Valentine Mills living in a small house with a view of the Gulf. Forrester watched the man for a full day before was he sure that he’d found the right person. Although Vincente Molto had gained a hundred pounds since his mug shot had been taken, the unusually bushy eyebrows and the receding chin were the same. Forrester called Lloyd Connors on the phone.

“I found your man, boss,” he said. “He’s living under a false name in Florida, near Tampa.”

“Are you one hundred percent sure?” The deputy US attorney’s voice sounded tense.

“One thousand percent,” Forrester replied. “I’m never mistaken.”

“Okay,” Connors said, “I’ll send two US marshals. Don’t do anything that could give him advance warning.”

Lloyd Connors could hardly believe his luck. He hadn’t had particularly high hopes that Forrester would find the man that Nelson van Mieren had mentioned in his testimony. If this Molto—now Mills—was also willing to testify against Vitali, then everything would be clear-cut. The deputy US attorney smiled grimly. Maybe he could charge Vitali with the murder of Stefano Barelli. This murder, committed on March 17, 1963, was definitely a case for the electric chair. Van Mieren claimed that Barelli had tried to push Vitali out of the business. So Vitali killed him with a shot to his neck. The murder charge would be the icing on the cake when seeking a warrant for Vitali’s arrest. Connors picked up the telephone and called Nick Kostidis, but his secretary said he was out of the office taking care of private business. The deputy US attorney dialed Nick’s cell phone number.

“I’m on my way to the hospital right now,” Nick said after he heard about Forrester’s find. “I think we should move Alex to a different location.”

“Is she capable of answering some questions tomorrow? I want to arrest Vitali tomorrow evening at his grand ball, and I urgently need her testimony for that,” Connors replied.

“I think she’s ready,” Nick said.

“Good,” the deputy US attorney said as he leaned back, “she’s my best trump card against Vitali. Take good care of her.”

Two paramedics in scrubs entered Dr. Virginia Summer’s private ward at Goldwater Memorial Hospital. One of them pushed a stretcher, while the other held a clipboard under his arm.

A young doctor came out of the nurses’ station.

“Hello, can I help you?” he asked.

One of the paramedics, a stocky man in his midforties, smiled in a friendly way and looked down at his clipboard.

“We’re supposed to transfer one of the patients in your ward to another hospital,” he said. “Ms. Alexandra Sontheim.”

The doctor gave him a suspicious look.

“We don’t have a patient with that name. Can I see your papers?”

The paramedic standing behind the doctor reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a revolver with a silencer. While the doctor stared at the papers, he raised his weapon and pulled the trigger. The stocky man caught the young doctor and placed him on the stretcher, while the other entered the empty nurses’ station to check out the ward’s patient listings.

“Room 16 is the only one that’s allegedly empty,” he said.

Both men walked along the hallway until they reached room 16. They didn’t waste time knocking, but entered immediately.

“Best regards from Sergio,” Luca said. From a distance of about six feet, he aimed at a patient lying beneath white hospital bed linens and fired four times.

“That’s it,” he said, putting the weapon in his jacket pocket. Both men left the ward unseen and took the elevator to the ground floor.

Nick Kostidis and Frank Cohen entered the foyer of Goldwater Memorial Hospital accompanied by the US marshals Spooner and Khazaeli.

“Fucking idiot!” Deputy Spooner grumbled. “That guy almost hit my brand-new Dodge.”

Khazaeli tried to calm his colleague down. A dark Lincoln had suddenly pulled out of a parking spot and almost hit Spooner’s car in the hospital parking lot. The driver—a fat paramedic—didn’t apologize and simply drove away.

“He’s still an idiot!” Spooner shook his head. At that moment, the beeper on his belt went off.

“It’s the head office,” he announced after a quick glance at the device. “Shit. My cell phone doesn’t work in the hospital.”

He turned away and walked to the desk to make a phone call. Nick, Frank, and Khazaeli waited in the hall until he was done. When he saw Spooner’s face, Nick was overcome by a strange feeling—a kind of dark premonition. He felt like someone had punched him in the stomach.

“What’s the matter?” he asked the US marshal, struggling to control his voice.

“Something’s wrong,” Spooner responded with a grim face. “Boyd and Roscoe are unreachable. They’re not at their post.”

“Who are they?” Nick asked impatiently. Spooner didn’t answer, but he disengaged his Glock’s safety catch and rushed to the staircase.

“The marshals guarding Sontheim,” Deputy Khazaeli said. He also pulled out his gun and pressed the elevator call button. Nick turned ice cold. All the color vanished from his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Frank asked as they got into the elevator with two nurses, who were staring aghast at Khazaeli’s pistol.

“I don’t know,” the US marshal replied. “Both of you wait in the elevator until we figure this out.”

Nick’s whole body began to shake. The elevator stopped on the third floor with a quiet ring.

“Stay here!” Khazaeli repeated, but Nick shook his head.

“I certainly won’t,” he replied.

“Damn it!” Tension was etched into the US marshal’s face. “I don’t want to argue with you! Do what you want!”

Frank objected, but Nick wasn’t listening. “Nick, maybe we really should—”

Nick’s dark eyes were black with fear. He felt like charging past the officers. At that moment, the private ward’s glass door was flung open, and a young nurse came out screaming.

“Dr. Walters!” she screamed. “Dr. Walters is dead!”

Spooner and Khazaeli ran past her, with Nick and Frank following. In front of the nurses’ station a collapsible stretcher held a man whose eyes were wide open. Blood dripped from his half-closed mouth onto the light-gray linoleum floor. Terrified doctors and nurses were shouting hysterically and some were crying. Frank, who couldn’t stand the sight of blood, fought his nausea and turned away.

“Which room is Sontheim in?” Deputy Spooner yelled at Nick.

“Sixteen,” Nick whispered. His heart was racing: his mind refused to accept what seemed obvious after seeing the murdered doctor. Vitali had heard that Alex was still alive and didn’t hesitate. His killers had already finished their bloody job. Ginnie Summer was suddenly standing in front of him. Her usually friendly face looked shocked, terrified.

“Nick!” she shouted in a shrill voice, grabbing his arm. “What’s going on here?” Who did this?”

“I…I don’t know.” His watched as the two marshals as they ran down the hallway, then returned his gaze to the dead doctor. He didn’t want to know what had just happened in room 16. He didn’t want to see Alex’s body riddled with bullets. He had failed once again. Hadn’t he promised that he would protect her?

“Nick…” Frank touched his arm, and the mayor flinched.

“Mr. Kostidis!” Deputy Spooner shouted at the same moment and waved to him.

“No,” Nick whispered, “please, please don’t…”

The few steps to the door of Alex’s room felt like miles to Nick. But he registered that Spooner looked relieved; soon he was staring uncomprehendingly at a bed riddled with bullets.

“Someone stuffed blankets and pillows beneath the bedding,” Deputy Khazaeli explained. “The killers probably thought it was a human body and blazed away at it.”

“But where is she?” Nick whispered.

“Here,” Spooner said, “she seems to be okay.”

Alex cowered on the floor of the adjoining small bathroom, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. When she realized it was Nick, she silently extended her arms, and he fell on his knees in front of her. His relief was overwhelming as Alex flung her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” Nick whispered in a tearful voice. “I’m so sorry. I promised that you would be safe here.”

“Please get me out of here.”

“I will,” Nick said as he stroked her hair. “Don’t cry—everything will be all right.”

Gordon Engels accompanied them out to the hallway with five US marshals.

“Is she all right?” he inquired.

“Yes,” Nick replied, “but what about your people who were supposed to guard her?”

“They’re both dead,” Engels said, his expression frozen. “I don’t know yet how it happened, but they were both shot in the neck just like the doctor. We found their bodies in the laundry room.”

Nick felt Alex shudder in his arms.

“I know who shot them,” she whispered. “I was just about to leave the room. I don’t know why, but I had a really strange feeling. Then I saw the doctor standing in the hallway with two paramedics. One of them suddenly pulled out a gun, and from behind, he shot the doctor in the head. I knew they were here for me because I recognized them.”

She started sobbing.

“Who were they?” Nick asked in soft voice.

“Sergio’s closest men. Luca di Varese. Silvio Bacchiocchi.”

The bloody murders at Goldwater Memorial Hospital dominated news broadcasts that day. Camera teams from all over the country besieged the hospital building. Gordon Engels decided to disseminate false information in order to protect Alex. He announced to the waiting television reporters and journalists that unidentified perpetrators who fled the scene had shot two police officers, a doctor, and a hospital patient for no apparent reason. Engels assumed that both perpetrators wouldn’t go into hiding because they believed they were unidentified; he knew they’d be arrested the following evening. Nick took Alex to the St. Ignatius monastery. She’d be safe behind the Jesuit monastery’s fortresslike walls.

Alex wore a gray hooded sweatshirt and jeans. Her hair was tied in a simple ponytail. Traces of terrible abuse were still clearly visible on her face. For the questioning by the US attorneys, the Jesuit fathers provided a large room, empty save for a table and chairs. Punctually at seven in the morning, Lloyd Connors and Royce Shepard from the US Attorney’s Office arrived at the monastery accompanied by Gordon Engels and Truman McDeere. Nick and Frank Cohen were there of course, and Nick felt a sting in his heart as Alex entered the room accompanied by Oliver Skerritt. He had his arm protectively around her shoulders and only reluctantly let go of her when the questioning commenced. The deputy US attorney introduced himself and his colleagues and then asked Alex if she had any objections to them recording the conversation on tape.

“Ms. Sontheim,” Lloyd Connors began, “because of the urgency of this situation, we’ve decided to postpone the questioning by the SEC. Mr. Kostidis told me that you waive your right to legal representation. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” Alex’s voice sounded firm. She sat upright, her hands placed on the table in front of her, looking at the deputy US attorney attentively.

Connors cleared his throat. “The sole purpose of today’s questioning is to compile evidence of Mr. Sergio Vitali’s involvement in this bribery affair. You could potentially serve as the prosecution’s key witness should there be a court trial. At this point, you may be the only person testifying. Please tell us briefly about your job at LMI.”

Alex nodded and gave them the information they needed. She recounted Levy’s propositions. She recalled all of the deals she had closed for LMI, and identified those from which Levy and Vitali illegally profited, with the help of St. John. She told them about the first time that she suspected someone was conducting secret deals with her information behind her back, and she described the trap that she’d set for St. John with Syncrotron. She made no secret of her relationship with Vitali. Then she told them about the birthday party at his house in Mount Kisco, where she accidentally overheard the conversation between Sergio and the man with the yellow eyes. Truman McDeere frowned, but he remained silent. Alex spoke in an emotionless voice, never averting her eyes from Connors.

“What can you tell us about the night Mr. Vitali was shot?”

“Everything,” she said. “I was there.”

Alex told them how Nick had warned her that afternoon about Sergio’s conflict with the Colombian drug cartel. She gave a detailed description of the assassination attempt and described the warehouse in Brooklyn where she’d been taken. Gordon Engels had been silent until then, but he asked a few questions.

Finally, Connors asked her to tell them how she became aware of the corruption conspiracy. Alex drank a sip of water and then recounted her inquiries and how they all led to dubious stock purchases through an investment firm called MPM. She told them about her trip to MIT, where she learned about the secret accounts on Grand Cayman and Vitali’s involvement in MPM. The deputy US attorney appeared to be satisfied with her statement.

“Let’s go back to the events of the night that Mr. St. John was shot dead,” Connors said. “What really happened?”

Alex related all the significant details.

“Why didn’t you inform the police?” Royce Shepard asked.

“I knew that Vitali had paid off the police commissioner and also the US attorney. I was afraid of him.”

“Where did the money go?”

“I changed the transactions to my name,” Alex said. “I knew who the money belonged to, and I thought that it might come in handy as protection. It was clear to me as I read the e-mails on his computer that St. John didn’t commit suicide. Vitali had him killed because he feared that he’d blow everything up. He planned to disguise his death as a suicide, but then he had a better idea. He could kill two birds with one stone by pinning the murder on me. St. John was dead, and I’d be discredited as a witness.”

“Where’s the money now?”

“I placed it in foreign accounts.”

“Why did you leave the country even though St. John’s statements proved you were innocent?” Engels asked.

“Who could I have proved it to?” Alex frowned, shrugging her shoulders. “No one would have believed me because Vitali had the right men on his side. I would have been arrested, and Vitali’s people would probably have killed me while I was in custody. Think about what he did to his own son.”

“What happened the day you disappeared from the Portland Square Hotel?” Connors inquired, and Alex lowered her gaze. Nick felt horrible. In the past, when he’d asked questions like this, he had no idea how painful they were. Each answer forced the person to relive the dread and horror.

“Mr. Vitali barged into my room with four of his men.” She spoke in an expressionless voice. “He beat me and had them tie me up. He left no doubt that he would kill me as soon as he heard everything that he wanted to know.”

All of the men in the room were silent.

“Vitali tried to force me to tell him everything that I’m telling you now. Then he beat me again and had his men beat and rape me. When he thought I was dead, they dumped me in the East River.”

Nick couldn’t take it anymore. For the first time since Alex had entered the room, she looked at him and saw that he seemed almost as tormented as she did.

“It’s okay, Nick,” she said quietly. “I want this guy prosecuted.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t spare you this, Ms. Sontheim.” Connors’s voice sounded apologetic. “But with your testimony, we’ll be able to charge Mr. Vitali with multiple crimes. I don’t want to risk letting him slip through our fingers again.”

Alex nodded.

“Are you willing to testify against him in court?”

Alex nodded again.

There was complete silence in the large room.

“Are you aware how dangerous such a testimony could be for you?”

“Yes,” Alex replied calmly, “I am. But I’m not afraid anymore. I won’t hide, and I don’t want a new identity. He will find me wherever I go. I’ll testify against him.”

The interrogation ended at twelve thirty. Nick and Frank drove to city hall, and the US attorneys started to prepare the arrest warrants. Alex not only identified David Zuckerman’s killer in photographs, but also the men who had raped her. She also identified Luca di Varese and Silvio Bacchiocchi as the murderers of the US marshals and the doctor at Goldwater Memorial. After that, twenty-three attorneys worked nonstop on the indictments and the arrest warrants until evening. They would drop the bomb in a few hours. Vitali had no clue that many of his “friends” had come to the St. Regis that evening because the US Attorney’s Office had forced them to. Very soon, the handcuffs would click around his wrists. Connors was determined to make sure that Sergio Vitali would never ever get out of prison.

Nick left his office at city hall in the late afternoon accompanied by two bodyguards. Connors asked Nick to come with him to the St. Regis to witness Vitali’s arrest, but Nick declined. He was tired, burned out. It suddenly seemed that he’d been robbed of all perspective, and he lost his ability to make even the simplest decisions. The past weeks and days had drained him, and now—with the goal that he’d doggedly pursued for so many years finally within his grasp—he realized that it no longer mattered to him. The price he had paid was too high. There was no one left with whom he could share the triumph of Vitali’s arrest.

And then there was Alex. Nick had a feeling that she would leave the city when this nightmare was over; he could understand why she wouldn’t want to live in this place anymore. She was still young and could start a new life somewhere else, allowing these ghastly events to become a dark shadow of the past. Maybe she had a chance with Oliver Skerritt, who apparently loved her and wasn’t leaving her side.

As his limousine crawled across the Brooklyn Bridge, Nick contemplated his own future. He still had one more year ahead of him as the mayor of this city that he both loved and hated. He would get through this year, because he owed it to the people who had elected him. Then he would be fifty-five years old. He could join a law firm, or even turn his back on New York and start a new life somewhere else.

His thoughts involuntarily drifted back to Alex. How strange life is! He ultimately had Vitali to thank, of all people, for having met her. Dusk was falling as the limousine passed through the entrance gate of the St. Ignatius monastery. Before Nick went to Father Kevin, he turned into the cloistered courtyard to visit the cemetery. There was no one left for him to talk to, but he felt that Mary listened to him when he visited her grave.

As the door to the cloister opened, he caught sight of Alex and Oliver Skerritt sitting on a bench beneath the bare branches of a mighty chestnut tree. The courtyard they sat in was illuminated by the last rays of the setting December sun. He felt a painful sting in his heart when he saw Oliver putting his arm around Alex’s shoulders. He stared at them for a moment; then he closed the door silently and took a different path to the cemetery.

On that bench in the courtyard, Oliver silently held Alex’s hand. Too many horrible things had happened, and the memories were too fresh to talk about.

“Why didn’t I listen to you?” Alex said in a quiet voice. “All of the things that happened to you were my fault. Mark and Justin might not even be alive.”

Oliver turned his head and looked at her. Everything that had happened between them seemed like a different life.

“Mark knew what he was getting himself into,” he replied. “Justin did too, and so did I. You never left any doubt that things could get dangerous.”

She didn’t react to his words; it was almost as if she hadn’t heard them. There was a lost expression on her pale face. Oliver put his arm around her shoulders again. She leaned slightly against him and closed her eyes.

“What will you do once all of this is over?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Alex replied tiredly. “I don’t know anything anymore. How about you?”

“I’m finished with New York,” Oliver said. “I’ll sell my loft and go back home to my parents. My dad’s getting old, so maybe I’ll take over his fishing fleet. And write a book. I definitely have enough material now.”

Alex smiled softly and opened her eyes again.

“Come with me to Maine,” Oliver suggested, “at least for a while.”

“To Maine,” Alex said and sighed. “That sounds far away enough from all of this.”

They were silent for a while. The pale December sun vanished behind the monastery’s church tower. It grew cold.

“I know that this probably isn’t the right moment,” Oliver whispered, “but I want you to know how much I care for you.”

Alex bit her lip and swallowed. Then she looked at him.

“I really like you, Oliver. But…” She fell silent searching for the right words.

“Alex, I don’t mean to put you under pressure in any way. You don’t owe me anything, but you should know that you’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met. I could live with it if you told me you didn’t love me, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t try.”

He smiled sadly, and she turned and looked at him.

“You love Kostidis, right?” he asked quietly. He found no answer in Alex’s green eyes, but then she slowly nodded.

“I think so,” she replied.

“He loves you. I probably don’t have a chance against him.”

Suddenly, Alex wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I wish that we’d met under different circumstances. I wish that I’d stayed away from Vitali. I wish that I never heard of LMI, SeaStarFriends, and all these things. Sometimes I wish that I had never come here from Germany.”

Oliver took her in his arms and held her tight.

“Who knows what good any of this did.” He gently lifted her face and looked at her for a long time.

“Do you promise that we’ll remain friends?”

“Yes.” Alex nodded seriously. “I promise you that. We will stay good friends. Forever.”

He smiled and carefully kissed her cheek.

The church bells started chiming.

“We should go inside,” Oliver said. “Otherwise, we’ll catch cold.”

They stood up, and Alex put her hands into her jacket pockets.

“I’m going for a little walk,” she said. “I need to be alone for a few minutes.”

Oliver looked after her as she crossed the courtyard, disappearing in the cloister’s darkness. It hurt him to see her so broken, so tormented, but he had long since realized that he wasn’t the one who could give her the comfort that she needed.

On the way to his family’s gravesite, Nick Kostidis didn’t encounter a single soul. The noise of the city was muffled by the thick walls. A few mockingbirds argued loudly in the tall yew trees, and two gray squirrels chased each other in the tops of the old oaks. The sun had melted the snow and left just a few remnants beneath the trees and in the shadow of the wall. It would snow again that evening. The clear, cold air smelled like it. Nick sat on the bench and stared at the gravestones, etched with the names of his entire family: his father, mother, two brothers, and now also Mary and Christopher. The pain of their loss overcame him so unexpectedly and violently that tears sprang to his eyes. He bent his head back and stared up at the sky. It was almost dark in the east. The first stars sparkled coldly and inaccessibly from afar, and the pale crescent moon announced the coming night. This was the night that would bring Sergio Vitali’s demise. An airplane passed silently, high above in the sky. The setting sun illuminated it and made its metallic body sparkle. How wonderfully quiet it was here! The cemetery was an oasis of peace and tranquility. Nick wasn’t frightened by the thought of sitting among all these dead people. The prospect of one day overcoming all doubt and sorrow calmed him.

“They’ll arrest him tonight, Mary,” he said quietly. “Today is the day that I’ve dreamed of for so long. Maybe I should rejoice, but I can’t. This was supposed to be my victory, but the victory is bittersweet.”

Nick shivered in the cutting cold of the December evening.

“Oh, Mary,” he exclaimed, “why didn’t I take more time for all of you? I keep thinking that I didn’t give you a good life. Why did I work so much and leave you alone? In all those years, you never complained.”

A tear rolled down his cheek.

“I always thought that we had so much time left, but suddenly…suddenly we ran out of time. Can you forgive me, Mary? I know these are just empty words, but if I had a chance to do things differently, I would.”

He felt so completely alone; he covered his face with his hands and sobbed. His guilty feelings were worse than the loss, even worse than his own terrible regrets. He was forced to suffer for everything that he’d missed out on with Mary. And still, Nick couldn’t help it that his grief for his family was mixed with a longing for Alex. It seemed inappropriate to him, almost like a betrayal, to be thinking about another woman at his wife’s grave.

He suddenly noticed a movement in the distance and raised his head. His heart started pounding when he saw Alex, strolling along the path, her head lowered and her hands dug deep in the pockets of her jacket. When she noticed his gaze, she walked over to him.

“I didn’t even know you were here,” she said quietly. “I thought you’d be there for the arrest.”

“No,” Nick said, shaking his head and quickly wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. “That’s none of my business anymore.”

Alex looked at him for a long time.

“Sit down,” he invited her. She hesitated.

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me.” He reached out his hand for her, and she sat next to him on the edge of the bench. In the fading daylight, her face looked almost as beautiful as before. They sat there in silence for a while.

“You should be there tonight,” Alex finally said. “You fought for this for so many years.”

“Did I really fight for this?” Nick shrugged his shoulders. “If I did, then I was wrong. It cost me everything I had.”

Alex turned toward him, and their eyes locked.

“Nick,” she said, almost shyly taking his hand, “I want to thank you—for everything that you’ve done for me.”

The sad, depressed expression in her eyes seemed to mirror the state of his own soul. Here they were now—two human beings treated unpleasantly by fate. After just barely escaping death, both of them would never view life the same way again. Both were devastated—marked forever by their experience, now condemned to be outsiders. For Nick, everything that was essential to him before now seemed unimportant: his reputation, other people’s opinions, absolute justice. Nothing was perfect or absolute in this world. Nick could live with this. He had no other choice. He’d lived the majority of his life, had celebrated great successes and triumphs over the course of a distinguished career. He was thankful for everything. He had more modest plans for his future, but what about Alex? She was still so young! Could she keep living with what she had experienced? Was she strong enough to forget what had happened?

“Why didn’t I listen to you before?” Alex broke the silence.

“You mean when we met at the Plaza?”

“Yes. You warned me about him, but I didn’t want to listen.”

Nick shrugged his shoulders.

“We have to have painful experiences on our own. Well-meant advice doesn’t replace life experience.”

“I did everything wrong,” Alex said and sighed. “I was arrogant and vain and enamored with success.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Vitali and Levy are criminals, and they’ll get their just punishment. St. John also knew what he was getting himself into—trust me. Sooner or later, Vitali’s entire empire would have collapsed anyway. Not only because of you, but thanks to Nelson van Mieren’s testimony.”

“I’m still so discouraged. I can’t stand the guilt.”

“I also keep blaming myself,” Nick said. “I wonder why my family had to die and I’m allowed to live. There’s no answer.”

Alex gave him a steadfast look.

“On the evening when you returned to the city,” Nick said quietly, “I was so happy. I was so relieved that nothing had happened to you. I was totally overwhelmed by my feelings. But then I felt guilty, because Mary is dead and will never feel happiness again.”

Alex sighed. Her breath drifted like a white cloud in the ice-cold air.

“Do you think that they will convict Sergio?”

“There is no way out for him this time,” Nick said with conviction. “I’m sorry that you have to go through all of this. The trial, the media hype, the slander of the defense trying to discredit you in every possible way.”

“I don’t care.” Alex let go of his hand. “It will give me satisfaction to see him tried. He hurt and humiliated me so deeply that every part of me is screaming for revenge. Something inside of me is broken forever. How could things get any worse?”

She shuddered.

“You’re cold,” Nick observed. “Let’s go inside.”

They stood up and walked slowly back to the monastery buildings. When they reached the church’s side entrance, Alex stopped. It was almost dark now.

“Will I see you again?” she asked. Alex’s eyes seemed unnaturally large in her pale, thin face. Nick thought about Oliver Skerritt. How he sat on the bench earlier today with his arm around her shoulders.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he replied.

“But I want to see you again,” she whispered.

After hesitating briefly, Nick nodded. “I need to go to Father Kevin, but it’ll only be for an hour.”

They entered the church. A slight smell of incense and fir boughs was in the air, reminding them that Christmas was just around the corner. The old Jesuit priest’s steps on the church’s polished marble floor echoed. Behind the high altar, they turned into the church’s side aisle. They entered the cloister through a small gateway connecting the church with the other monastery buildings, and went their separate ways.

Walking to her room in the monastery, Alex thought about Sergio. Today was his big day. She had accompanied him to the ball last year, and she remembered the magnificent party vividly. How arrogant and confident she had been back then! And Sergio…she felt a chill as she thought about him. At this moment, he was probably about to leave for the St. Regis looking handsome, meticulously dressed, and in the best of moods—with no clue what awaited him tonight. Or did he have a premonition? Had something leaked through somewhere? Maybe he had been warned and was on his way to South America or Europe. Alex felt a chill at the thought that he might escape. As long as he was free man, she wouldn’t be safe anywhere. Not even here behind the thick walls of this monastery.

Sergio Vitali stood in the gallery of the grand ballroom, looking around in satisfaction. The big charity ball had been organized by his VitalAid Foundation on behalf of disabled children. It was in its fifteenth year and was already a complete success. Every year was more magnificent than the last and its invitations more coveted. Sergio smiled. Even though Sharon Capriati had turned out to be a bitch, she was a true master of her trade. She had created the perfect scenery in just forty-eight hours: snow-covered pavilions and small forests, ice sculptures, and millions of Christmas lights and candles had transformed the bland ballroom, foyer, and adjoining rooms into a winter wonderland. The buffet table was loaded with the most exquisite delicacies prepared by the chefs of the hotel’s own posh Lespinasse restaurant, and the most expensive French champagne bubbled from the fountain.

Sergio Vitali couldn’t care less that Vincent Levy didn’t attend the ball this year. Clarence Whitewater was also missing and—unfortunately—also Nelson van Mieren. But that’s the way things were. Some people left, others joined. Sergio understood perfectly well how to select new people he could use. Even if some ambitious, young US attorney tried to shake his throne, it didn’t bother him much. Nick Kostidis had tried to take a crack at him in the past; now it was someone else. But none of them stood a chance. He had the better connections, and this ball was the ultimate proof of his unshakable power. Storms came and went. Some people were sucked up by them and swept away. But he—Sergio Vitali—withstood them all. He was untouchable.

Four men sat in an inconspicuous dark Chevy across from the St. Regis and observed the guests’ arrival. They didn’t talk much, and their faces were tense. Shortly after ten, the message the men were waiting for was transmitted over the radio.

“All units are at their posts,” the voice squawked from Deputy Spooner’s radio. “The entire building is sealed off.”

“What about Vitali’s people?” the US marshal asked in return.

“They won’t notice. They’re busy with the events at the hotel.”

US Attorney Lloyd Connors exchanged a glance with Gordon Engels.

“Okay. We’re going in,” he said curtly, grabbing a briefcase that was sitting by his feet. His heart was beating in his throat, and he noticed his palms were clammy from the excitement. The time had come. Nothing should go wrong. Deputy Spooner pressed the button on his walkie-talkie.

“To all units,” he said. “We’re coming in through the main entrance. Team C and D will follow, and secure the entrance, the elevators, and the foyer. Keep it low-key, understood?”

He waited for acknowledgment from his men, and then he nodded. The four men got out and crossed Fifth Avenue at Fifty-Fifth Street. Then they entered the Beaux-Arts-style hotel. Another group of four men got out of a vehicle parked further up the street. As was typical of a big society event held in New York, onlookers and press people were gathered behind barriers. Vitali’s security personnel denied access to any unauthorized person, but Spooner had prepared for that in his minutely detailed operation plan. Each of his men knew the stakes. They were intercepted at the magnificently decorated foyer’s entrance by these men, who’d exchanged their regular suits for tuxedos on this festive occasion.

“Can I see your invitations, please?” one of the bodyguards asked.

“US Marshals Service.” Engels pulled out his badge.

“I can’t let you in if you don’t have an invitation.” The blond, broad-shouldered man shrugged apologetically.

“Step aside,” Lloyd Connors said, “I’m the US attorney for the Southern District of New York. I’m here on official business.”

“Sorry, but I have orders—”

“What’s going on here?” A brawny, grim-faced man with a walrus moustache appeared behind the blond giant, reinforced by an army of bodyguards.

“Who are you, and what do want here without an invitation?”

“We’re here to see Mr. Vitali,” Lloyd Connors countered.

“Mr. Vitali is busy at the moment,” snarled the fat guy—who wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the appearance of multiple US attorneys and US marshals. “Come to his office on Monday.”

“Fine, if you want trouble.” Connors smiled thinly. “Deputy, arrest these men for obstruction of justice.”

He pushed his way through the group of bodyguards, who watched with dropped jaws as handcuffs clicked around their boss’s wrists.

“Wow.” Deputy Spooner whistled through his teeth as he stepped into the ballroom. “So this is what a party for the upper crust looks like! Holy smokes!”

With fully loaded trays, liveried waiters made their way from one magnificently decorated table to another as ladies in the finest designer gowns and gentlemen in tuxedos with tails enjoyed lobster bisque, salmon mousse, filet mignon, and truffles.

“I prefer a comfortable barbecue,” Lloyd Connors answered dryly, looking around the gigantic ballroom.

A full orchestra played onstage, and the guests sitting at tables on various levels of the ballroom were in a splendid mood.

“I’d like to know how many insurance companies are sweating blood tonight that all this stuff gets returned safely,” Deputy Spooner observed with his usual sarcasm.

“Keep your eyes peeled for Vitali,” Connors said. “I don’t want anyone to warn him before we find him.”

The US attorney was trembling with excitement. If something went wrong and Vitali escaped, every effort of the recent weeks would be in vain—not to mention the fact that he might be forced to resign tomorrow.

“Over there!” Royce Shepard whispered. “The table at the very top of the gallery. That’s him.”

“I see him.” Connors nodded with grim determination. “Come on, let’s get him!”

They shoved their way through guests, who responded with indignant remarks and looks.

“The complete corrupt gang in one pile,” Deputy Spooner said with a grin. “A thousand years of prison time sitting here. It’s too bad that we can’t take all of them with us at once.”

The monastery’s guest room was slightly larger than the simple cells in which the Jesuit priests lived. It had its own shower and toilet, which was an unheard-of luxury for the priests. That morning, Frank Cohen had brought Alex the suitcase she had left behind at the Portland Square Hotel. Alex stepped under the hot water of the shower. She still thought she smelled the sharp stench of men’s sweat on her skin. Just as she was drying herself off, someone knocked on the door. She wrapped the towel around her body and opened the door just a crack. Her heart jumped when she saw Nick in the dim of the hallway.

“Wait a second,” she said.

After she got dressed, he came inside.

Alex realized that she wasn’t the only one who had gone through hell in the past days. She could see the exhaustion in Nick’s face, his tired eyes and the dark circles beneath them.

“You look very tired,” Alex said quietly.

“I am,” Nick admitted. “I’m very tired. I’m longing for the days when I can get some sleep again.”

He sighed.

“Come and sit down for a moment,” Alex offered. Nick sat down on the edge of the bed. There was no other place to sit in the small room.

“I can handle it pretty well during the day because I’m distracted, but the loneliness sets in at night, and the nightmares full of explosions come with it.”

There was no bitterness in his voice, just resignation. Alex nodded slowly. She knew all too well what Nick was talking about because she felt the same way. The demons were faint during the day, but they came to life in the darkness and silence of the night. Then she heard the laughter of the men and their voices and saw their cruel, indifferent eyes.

“You’re freezing,” Nick sensed. It was cold in the small room because the heater gave off very little warmth. “I…I should leave now.”

“No,” Alex said and pleadingly put her hand on his arm, “please don’t. Stay awhile.”

Nick thought about Oliver Skerritt. It wasn’t right for him to be here.

“Alex,” he said, “I don’t want to—”

“Just wait a moment,” she interrupted him. “Please. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” Nick still hesitated, but then he nodded. Alex disappeared into the tiny bathroom and dried her wet hair. When she returned after a few minutes of primping, Nick was stretched out on the bed, sound asleep. Alex felt a deep tenderness for him. Should she wake him? No. He was so tired, so exhausted. She carefully took off his shoes, loosened his tie, and covered him with a blanket.

Then she sat on the floor, leaned against the wall, and wrapped her arms around her knees. So this is where they’d ended up. Nick Kostidis, one of the city’s most powerful and famous men, and Alex Sontheim, clever and intelligent Wall Street star. Like Icarus, they’d aimed too high and crashed. What was left of their former glory? Alex could hardly comprehend what had driven her to work those hundred-hour weeks. There wasn’t much left of the enticing feeling of success besides a bad aftertaste. Fueled by her ambition, she had refused to look beyond the shiny facades of material success. She had ignored every warning. Alex thought about Mark, Justin, and Oliver—who had confessed his love to her…Should she go to Maine with him?

Nick shifted a little. Asleep, he looked more relaxed and peaceful than she’d ever seen him before. He was no longer a stranger to her, but this had nothing to do with their night of passion. Their friendship had just gotten deeper that night. Alex felt safe and comfortable in Nick’s presence. She trusted him like she’d never trusted anyone before. She didn’t have to pretend around Nick; with him, she could be who she really was. And although Alex knew that she loved him, she was aware of the wide chasm that divided them. All of New York City stood between her and Nick Kostidis. She needed to turn her back on this city if she wanted to have a future, and that’s exactly what Nick couldn’t do. New York was his life, and Alex had accepted that long ago.

It was almost midnight, and Alex was so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open. She switched off the light, and the bright moonlight cast a dim glow over the room. Alex lay on the bed next to Nick. She felt his body’s comforting warmth, and as he moved in his sleep, she wrapped an arm around him. She was determined to stay awake to enjoy these precious hours, but after a few minutes she fell asleep.

Sergio Vitali sat between a princess from Monaco and Cassandra Goldstein, billionaire Simon Goldstein’s widow. He was in a splendid mood. His table guests included New York construction tycoon Charlie Rosenbaum, the oil billionaire James Earl Freyberg III, Secretary of State Oliver Kravitz, Senators Ted Willings and Fred Hoffman, Governor Rhodes, Time magazine publisher Carey Newberg, and Hollywood diva Liza Gaynor.

Lloyd Connors wasn’t particularly surprised to see Tate Jenkins also sitting there. The deputy director of the FBI certainly was astonished to see the US attorney coming up the small stairs leading to the gallery. Jenkins turned pale. Connors stepped toward the table, and the orchestra stopped playing abruptly, as though it had been given a signal.

“Mr. Vitali?” Connors cleared his throat. He noticed that his nervousness had disappeared. He had imagined this scenario hundreds of times. He felt like an actor playing a well-rehearsed role at the premiere, but the play had become reality. Sergio Vitali looked up indignantly.

“Lloyd Connors from the US Attorney’s Office in Manhattan.”

“I know who you are,” Vitali replied, his smile failing to reach his cold eyes. “I don’t remember seeing your name on the guest list.”

“That’s right,” Lloyd Connors said, “I’m here on official business. I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw the awkward faces of Governor Rhodes and Senator Hoffman—both of whom would have loved to crawl into a hole in the wall. Vitali didn’t seem to be particularly disturbed by the US attorney’s appearance. No one could have ratted him out.

“Can’t you see that I have guests?” he said condescendingly. “I’m busy now. But help yourself to the buffet. It would probably be a welcome change from the cafeteria at the US Attorney’s Office.”

Only Charlie Rosenbaum and James Earl Freyberg III laughed.

“I must insist that you—”

“Listen, Connors.” The mask of friendliness fell off of Vitali’s face. “I don’t have time right now.”

His eyes narrowed as he saw Gordon Engels coming up the stairs in the company of Spooner and Khazaeli. His gaze drifted to Tate Jenkins, but the man was staring down at the table looking petrified. All conversation around the table fell silent.

The US attorney shrugged his shoulders. “Fine, if you prefer it this way. Mr. Vitali, I have a warrant for your arrest.”

“Excuse me?” Sergio Vitali froze, his face flushed. “You’re joking, pal! Leave with your people before I have you thrown out!”

Unmoved, Connors unfolded the paper.

“Mr. Vitali,” he said in a businesslike voice, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Stefano Barelli.”

It was dead silent around the table.

“What the hell?” Vitali’s face turned a darker red.

His guests avoided looking directly at their host. Spooner and Khazaeli walked around the table and stood behind him.

“US Marshals Service.” Spooner held his badge under Vitali’s nose. “Would you stand up please?”

Vitali gesticulated as if chasing away an insect, but he stood up.

“How dare you?” he exclaimed. “This is absolutely ridiculous!”

His face alternated between red and pale, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

“Come with me, Mr. Vitali.” Connors said coldly. “You’re under arrest.”

Sergio Vitali turned toward his guests.

“This is a regrettable misunderstanding that will be cleared up very quickly.”

Spooner took advantage of the opportunity and clicked the handcuffs around Vitali’s wrists, causing him to turn around angrily.

“Come on, mister,” he said, “let’s go.”

“You have the right to remain silent…” Deputy Khazaeli started with the usual admonition, but Vitali interrupted him angrily.

“Save your breath,” he snapped. “I want to speak to my lawyer immediately!”

In the meantime, the news had gone around that something unusual was happening at the host’s table. A pin drop could have been heard in the gigantic ballroom.

“This will have consequences for you!” Sergio Vitali hissed as Spooner led him past Connors. The US attorney simply shrugged his shoulders. He was about to turn away, when Gordon Engels held him back.

“Wait a moment,” Engels said. “I need to take care of something else.”

Connors looked at Engels in astonishment as he headed toward Tate Jenkins.

“Mr. Jenkins,” Gordon Engels said, “you are also under arrest. You’re charged as an accessory to the murder of David Zuckerman and with aiding and abetting organized crime.”

The deputy director of the FBI stood up without saying a word. His expressionless face showed that he understood. They had his number. Connors stared at Gordon Engels open-mouthed.

“Deputy Khazaeli,” the US attorney general said to his officer, “arrest this man and read him his rights.”

“Gordon,” Connors murmured, “I don’t quite understand.”

“We have suspected Jenkins for quite a while,” Engels replied quietly. “Two nights ago, we tapped a phone conversation between Jenkins and Vitali. That was the final proof we needed. Jenkins has been Vitali’s man for years.”

“I can’t believe it.” Connors shook his head in disbelief. “Nick’s really been right all along.”

“Yes,” Engels replied, “Kostidis had been right all these years. But his hard luck was that he lacked hard evidence.”

The guests of the VitalAid Foundation’s charity ball watched in shock as their host and his guest were led though the large hall in handcuffs. No one moved from their seat, and the room remained dead silent until the men walked out to the foyer. Only then did people awake from their shock, and all hell broke loose.

Connors could hardly suppress a smile. His triumph was complete. Of course, he could have made his arrest more discreetly, but he had very deliberately created this humiliating scene for Vitali. The US attorney only regretted that Nick couldn’t witness Sergio Vitali’s arrest in the public eye.

Massimo Vitali suddenly appeared in the foyer. “What’s going on here?” he exclaimed when he saw his father and Jenkins in handcuffs.

“Who are you?” Lloyd Connors asked.

“I’m Massimo Vitali.”

“We arrested your father,” the US attorney said. “You should get him a lawyer as soon as possible.”

Vitali’s eyes flashed angrily at Connors; he was furious to be in this very unflattering situation. Deputy Spooner pushed him along.

“Papa!” Massimo exclaimed in agitation. “What should I do?”

“Call Bruyner!” his father shouted. “And…”

And? Nelson wasn’t there anymore, and Judge Whitewater was also gone. Tate Jenkins, his valuable connection at the FBI, walked handcuffed behind him, and even John de Lancie didn’t seem to be in his post anymore. The seriousness of his situation slowly dawned upon Sergio. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t get away so easily this time.

“Papa!” Massimo’s voice sounded desperate.

“Come on,” Deputy Spooner urged, “go, go!”

Massimo stared after them helplessly. Sergio’s security personnel and the hotel staff were also paralyzed, and the crowd of guests curiously gathering around the ballroom’s doors whispered in excitement.

“Is that really necessary?” Sergio Vitali protested as Spooner directed him toward the main entrance. “Can’t we at least exit through the back?”

“Oh no, sir. You’ll get the full program.” Spooner grinned with satisfaction. “Like a man of your status deserves.”

Vitali put on a grim smile and straightened his shoulders. He kept a stony face in the flurry of flashes, showing his contempt for the reporters, the TV cameras, and the gawking crowd. Royce Shepard opened the back door of the limousine, and Spooner pushed Vitali into the backseat.

“Don’t touch me!” Vitali snapped. “I’ll make sure that you’re writing parking tickets in the future!”

“I’m looking forward to that,” Spooner replied calmly. He joined Vitali in the backseat, while Connors gave a brief statement to the agitated reporters. Sergio Vitali’s face was frozen solid. As the reporters knocked against the window to get a good shot of him, he didn’t turn his gaze once. Lloyd Connors sat in the front seat as the car drove off with a flashing red light and wailing siren. Gordon Engels and Tate Jenkins followed in a second car, and there was a full convoy behind them.

Connors exhaled a deep sigh of relief. He’d done it! He had doubted the success of this operation until the very last second, but he’d finally accomplished what Nick Kostidis had tried for so many years: he had arrested Sergio Vitali—the secret godfather of New York City. The evidence was overwhelming, and the prosecution’s key witness was alive. The message that di Varese and Bacchiocchi had also been arrested came over the radio. Vitali didn’t react at all.

“You’re getting a big kick out of this, aren’t you?” he said after a while in a disdainful tone. “That pathetic bastard will piss his pants in joy once he hears about it.”

“Who are you talking about?” Connors asked coolly.

“That damned son of a bitch Kostidis.” There was a glow of murderous rage in Vitali’s eyes. “I likely owe this entire spectacle to him!”

“You’ve been arrested,” Lloyd Connors said as he turned around, “because you killed at least one person and brutally abused Ms. Alex Sontheim.”

“That’s bullshit,” Vitali said, shaking his head. “Where are you taking me? I have a thousand guests, and you’ve got nothing better to do than to arrest me because of a little whore who stole from me and lied to me! I’ll complain to the attorney general himself about this!”

“Complain to whomever you want.” The smile vanished from Connors’s face. He thought about Alex’s disfigured face. He thought about Mary and Christopher Kostidis, who had to die because Nick stood in Sergio Vitali’s way. He thought about David Zuckerman and Zachary St. John, both sacrificed by Vitali after they’d outlived their usefulness and possibly posed a threat to him. He thought about the lawyer in Los Angeles who had been murdered in such a brutal way, and the many other people who’d died because this man had ordered it.

“We’re going to take some fingerprints now, and a few pictures,” Connors said, “and then you can spend a night on the taxpayer’s dime. It certainly won’t be as comfortable as you’re used to, but maybe you’ll learn to like what’s waiting for you for the next hundred years.”

“I won’t stay in jail for more than twenty-four hours!” Vitali hissed, but his arrogance was gone and his anger had given way to a helpless embitterment.

“The judge will decide that tomorrow morning,” Lloyd Connors replied in a calm voice. “Not you and not me.”

Nick Kostidis was startled out of his sleep in the middle of the night. It took him a few seconds to comprehend where he was and he realized in surprise that he wasn’t alone. Alex lay next to him sound asleep. Then he remembered that he had visited her. He’d simply fallen asleep in sheer exhaustion, and Alex had taken off his shoes and put a blanket over him. Nick smiled. The dial of his wristwatch indicated it was two thirty in the morning. He thought about Lloyd Connors. Had the US attorney managed to arrest Vitali? Nick got up carefully in order not to wake Alex and tiptoed over to the small bathroom. He closed the door and switched on the light. Stepping in front of the mirror, he stared at his face. He had spent the past six months in a world of nightmares, but now he had awakened from them and knew that he wanted to live again. And he owed it to Alex. The strong feelings he had for her seemed like a tender glowing light at the end of a long night, a thin, bright beam of hope that could lead him away from his vale of tears. In the face of these incomprehensible and irrevocable experiences, he had submitted himself to senseless self-pity for much too long. Now it was time to make a decision about the future. He wouldn’t go the US Attorney’s Office tonight as he had initially promised Connors. He didn’t want to see Vitali, and he didn’t care to know what had happened. It was strange, but he was really completely indifferent. He would hear about it all tomorrow morning.

Nick switched off the light and quietly went back to the bed. In the dim light coming in through the small window, he saw that Alex had woken up.

“Nick?” she whispered sleepily.

“Yes,” Nick said as he sat down at the edge of the bed and looked at her.

“I let you sleep,” she said quietly. “You were so exhausted.”

“Thank you,” he replied. Alex smiled. She really was enchanting.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Quarter to three.”

“In that case, we can sleep a few more hours.” She lifted the blanket, and Nick slipped beneath it.

“Do you think they arrested him?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” Nick answered. “Probably.”

The church bell chimed the quarter hour.

“Nick?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

He pulled her close. Thanks to this woman, his heart, which had turned into an icy block, had melted again. “I’m happy too,” he whispered, and carefully stroked her battered face.

“Will we ever be able to lead a normal life again?”

“I hope so,” he replied quietly. “I really hope so.”

Her eyes were close to his, and they looked at each other for a while, not saying a word.

“What are you going to do now?” Nick finally asked, though he feared her answer.

“I think I need to leave the city,” Alex responded. He nodded slowly.

“I understand that,” he said, his voice husky. “Where will you go?”

“I’ll probably go home for a while to my parents in Germany. I need some time to think,” she said. “And Oliver invited me to go to Maine with him.”

“And? What will you do?” Nick didn’t feel pain or disappointment. He knew she would leave. She needed time to heal her wounds.

“Maybe I’ll go. Oliver is a really good friend,” Alex replied. “What will you do?”

“I’m still the mayor for another year,” Nick said. “Someday, all this will be water under the bridge. Life goes on, and I’ll keep doing my job.”

“You’ll never leave New York, will you?” Alex asked quietly.

“I’ve thought about it,” Nick admitted. “I’ve never wanted to live anywhere else, but after everything that’s happened, I sometimes think that it would be better to move away from here.”

“The city would lose the best mayor it ever had.” Alex reached out her hand and tenderly touched his cheek, “and you wouldn’t be able to cope for very long without the hustle and bustle, the noise, the skyscrapers, and all that.”

Nick laughed quietly. “You think so?”

“Yes,” Alex said and smiled. “This city is like a disease. Once you’re infected by it, you can’t get rid of it.”

“And what about you?” he asked. “Do you have the disease?”

Alex turned her face so that she could better look at him. Her smile had vanished.

“I think I have a different disease. It has a lot to do with this city.”

Nick felt his heart start pounding. “Aha. And what disease is that?”

Alex rested her face on her hand.

“I’ll tell you,” she said quietly, “if you don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t breathe a word. What is it?”

“I fell in love with the mayor of New York City,” Alex whispered.

“Really?”

Alex nodded silently.

“Imagine,” Nick said, his voice hoarse, “and he fell in love with you.”

An enchanting smile brightened her face, and he was suddenly filled with such a rush of happiness that it almost hurt. He leaned over and kissed her gently.

“Could you imagine returning to New York one day?” he asked. Her smile widened, and her eyes looked deeply into his.

“If I can’t have you without this city,” she replied, “I may have to accept it for better or worse.”

On hearing these words, a wave of delight overcame Nick, and his heart jumped so wildly and happily that he thought it would burst. He put his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. Alex loved him the same way that he loved her. Even if she left tomorrow, he knew that it wasn’t the end, but a new beginning.