The Clause (10 page)

I sighed. Didn’t really matter. I had to get out of Edgewater, and not on the bike; it was poison. Bad enough that every cop around was looking for it, but it had also been through a number of tollbooths and airport license-plate scanners. And who knew how many facial-recognition scanners had profiled me with the bike?

Going on one in the morning, it had been almost exactly twenty-four hours since I let Trudy slip into the grinders, and that thought made me even more exhausted as I trudged back down the hill toward River Road. I rigged up Phone #2 and called 411. I called a taxi and then unrigged the phone.

The walk to the Edgewater Ferry Terminal took only ten minutes, and a blue van with “GW Taxi” on the side was waiting for me.

The bald driver pointed at me through his open driver’s window as I approached. “Manhattan, right?”

“Yup.” I opened the back door, climbed in after my saddle bag, and slid the door closed. “Plaza Hotel.”

The driver gave an approving nod. “Schmancy.”

Twenty-one

DCSNet 6000 Warrant Database

Transcript Landline Track and Trace

Havana Social Club Jukebox

Peerless IP Network / Redhook Translation

Target: Roberto Guarrez

Date: Monday, August 9, 2010

Time: 112–122 EDT

ROBERTO: MIGUEL, CLOSE THE DOOR. SO, MR. VUGOVIC, I HOPE YOU AMUSED YOURSELVES WITH OUR RAT, RAMÓN. PLEASE SIT. CAN WE GET YOU SOMETHING TO DRINK?

VUGOVIC: I DON’T DRINK.

ROBERTO: NOT EVEN WATER? AH, YES, KURAC. BARELY HUMAN.

VUGOVIC: WHAT CAN YOU TELL ME ABOUT UNDERWOOD?

ROBERTO: [LAUGHTER] AND WHY IN THE NAME OF MOTHER MARY SHOULD I HELP THE KURAC? YOU WAKE ME IN THE MORNING AND KEEP ME UP AT NIGHT. YOU COME TO MY TOWN AND CREATE TROUBLE. YOU SNATCH ONE OF MY MEN—GRANTED, A PIGEON I NEEDED CULLED FROM THE FLOCK—AND CHIMP HIM. IMAGINE IF I CAME TO YOUR TOWN AND DID THE SAME? WERE IT NOT FOR OUR GOOD RELATIONS WITH THE RUSSIANS, YOU AND YOUR CREW WOULD ALL BE EATING PHONE BOOKS IN THE LANDFILL.

VUGOVIC: WHAT CAN YOU TELL ME ABOUT UNDERWOOD?

ROBERTO: THE WAY THE CORPORATION OPERATES HERE ON THE GOLD COAST, OR AT THE AIRPORTS, IS THAT SOMEONE WHO WANTS A FAVOR NEGOTIATES WITH US. THERE IS GIVE AND TAKE. BUT IN THE END THE TERMS ARE THE CORPORATION’S. NOBODY DEMANDS ANYTHING FROM US. I WOULD HOPE YOUR BOSSES HAVE BETTER MANNERS. EVEN THE RUSSIANS CAN MANAGE THAT. I WILL ASK AGAIN, AND IF YOU STILL HAVE NO MANNERS THEN WE ARE FINISHED HERE. GIVE ME A REASON TO HELP YOU FIND UNDERWOOD.

VUGOVIC: YOU WANT SOME SORT OF PERCENTAGE?

ROBERTO: [CLAPPING] VERY GOOD, MR. VUGOVIC! YOU SEE, WAS IT THAT HARD TO BE CIVIL? MY UNDERSTANDING IS THAT THESE GEMS ARE WORTH ABOUT ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILLION TO THE ISRAELIS. YES?

VUGOVIC: [UNINTELLIGIBLE]

ROBERTO: [LAUGHTER] YOU THINK YOU ARE THE ONLY ONES WITH SPIES? THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS THINGS? THE CHINESE ARE WAY AHEAD OF YOU. CIGAR?

VUGOVIC: I DON’T SMOKE. THE CHINESE? WHAT CHINESE?

ROBERTO: WHAT IS THE CORPORATION’S CUT?

VUGOVIC: FIVE PERCENT OF WHATEVER DEAL WE STRIKE WITH THE ISRAELIS. BUT ONLY IF WE CATCH UNDERWOOD BY NOON TOMORROW. OTHERWISE THE DEAL IS OFF. WE NEED TO GET UNDERWOOD IMMEDIATELY.

ROBERTO: HE WASN’T AT HIS BEACH HOUSE?

VUGOVIC: DO WE HAVE A BARGAIN?

ROBERTO: TEN PERCENT. THAT IS A STANDARD FINDER’S FEE.

VUGOVIC: SEVEN AND WE HAVE A DEAL. OTHERWISE I WALK.

ROBERTO: I AM EXTENDING MY HAND—YOU WON’T SHAKE IT?

VUGOVIC: I DON’T SHAKE HANDS.

ROBERTO: [LAUGHTER] REALLY, YOU KURAC HAVE COMPLETELY LOST YOUR SOULS, HAVEN’T YOU? IT IS A BARGAIN THEN. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?

VUGOVIC: ABOUT THE CHINESE.

ROBERTO: THEY ALMOST GRABBED UNDERWOOD ABOUT AN HOUR AGO, ABOUT TEN BLOCKS FROM THIS SPOT.

VUGOVIC: EXPLAIN.

ROBERTO: THEY HAVE A DEAL WITH UNDERWOOD TO TAKE THE GEMS FROM HIM. THEY DELIVERED TRAVEL DOCUMENTS AND AIRLINE TICKETS TO HIM, BUT ATTEMPTED TO SEE IF THEY COULD TAKE A SHORT CUT TO THE GEMS AND SANDBAG GILL. HE WAS ON A MOTORCYCLE, AND A CHASE BEGAN. A CHINK WHO TRIED TO FOLLOW GILL IN QUEENS GOT A BEATING FOR HIS TROUBLE EARLIER IN THE DAY, AND THIS SAME CHINK WAS STILL ANGRY WHEN HE WENT COWBOY AND LET THE PURSUIT GET OUT OF HAND. THEY ACTUALLY TRIED TO SHOOT GILL. THE TONG HAS LET THE COWBOY SIT IN JAIL TO MAKE SURE HE IS OUT OF THE WAY UNTIL THEY CLEAR UP THINGS WITH UNDERWOOD. THEY DON’T WANT HOTSHOTS RISKING THE LOSS OF A HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILLION.

VUGOVIC: THIS ALL HAPPENED TONIGHT? HERE?

ROBERTO: GILL LED THE CHASE ALONG THE RIVERWALK, AND THEN DROVE INTO THE WEEHAWKEN TRAIN TUNNEL, AND THE CHINESE FOLLOWED HIM THERE, TOO, BUT A TRAIN CAME THE OTHER WAY AND THERE WAS ALMOST A VERY BAD COLLISION. THE POLICE WERE EVERYWHERE AND I WAS GETTING CALLS ALL EVENING ABOUT IT. THAT IS THE ONLY REASON I AM STILL AWAKE AT THIS HOUR. QUITE AMUSING IN A WAY. MOSTLY BECAUSE THIS WAS ALL HAPPENING WHILE YOU WERE DRIVING BACK FROM A FRUITLESS SEARCH AT THE BEACH. MEANWHILE, THE CHINESE ALMOST HAD HIM. I CAN SEE YOU DON’T FIND ANY OF THIS AMUSING OR IRONIC.

VUGOVIC: I DON’T LAUGH.

ROBERTO: ONLY WHEN YOU BEAT PROSTITUTES DO THE KURAC LAUGH AND SING. I HEARD WHAT YOUR MEN DID IN NEWARK. THE ITALIANS AREN’T HAPPY.

VUGOVIC: WHAT WAS THE NAME OF THAT CHINESE, THE ONE WHO CHASED GILL?

ROBERTO: I DON’T KNOW. HE IS BEING HELD AT THE WEEHAWKEN POLICE STATION, WILL PROBABLY BE ARRAIGNED BY HUDSON COUNTY TOMORROW MORNING.

VUGOVIC: CAN YOU TELL ME HOW WE MIGHT FIND UNDERWOOD AND IN TURN YOU MIGHT EARN YOUR SEVEN PERCENT, CUBAN?

ROBERTO: YOU HAVE BEEN TO HIS AND TRUDY’S HOMES AND FOUND NOTHING. NOT SURPRISING, THEY WERE PROFESSIONALS. YOU MIGHT TRY HIS VAN, THE ONE HE USES FOR WORK. IT IS PARKED IN A LOT ON RIVER ROAD BEHIND A GAS STATION AND REPAIR SHOP. IT IS WHITE AND SAYS “THE SCREEN MAN” ON THE SIDE.

VUGOVIC: WE KNOW ABOUT THE VAN. TELL ME MORE ABOUT THIS WOMAN, TRUDY.

ROBERTO: MILITARY, LIKE GILL.

VUGOVIC: WHERE DID THEY MEET?

ROBERTO: SHE WAS A REAL ESTATE AGENT. HE USED HER TO ACCESS APARTMENTS HE TARGETED AS A PROSPECTIVE SOURCE FOR SPARKS. ONLY SHE DIDN’T KNOW AT THE TIME THAT’S WHAT HE WAS DOING.

VUGOVIC: SPARKS?

ROBERTO: JEWELRY. IT IS A LOCAL TERM. THEY SPARKLE, AND BECAUSE THEY ARE STOLEN, THEY ARE ALSO HOT. LIKE A SPARK. TRUDY BECAME SUSPICIOUS OF GILL AND CAUGHT HIM. ROMANCE STEPPED IN.

VUGOVIC: HE FUCKED HER.

ROBERTO: [SIGH] DO YOU UNDERSTAND NOTHING? SHE WAS IN THE NAVY, A DIVER. SHE LIKED DANGER, AND SO SHE LIKED A DANGEROUS MAN. HE LIKED A DANGEROUS WOMAN. THERE WAS SOME BACK AND FORTH, BUT SHE WANTED IN ON HIS BUSINESS. REALLY QUITE EXTRAORDINARY TO HAVE A ROMANCE THAT WAS FOUNDED ON BURGLARY, ON SLIDING DOWN ROPES AT NIGHT FROM TALL BUILDINGS. THEY WORKED PERFECTLY TOGETHER, AND SEEM VERY MUCH IN LOVE.

VUGOVIC: SO UNDERWOOD WILL DO ANYTHING TO KEEP HER ALIVE?

ROBERTO: THAT WOULD GO AGAINST THE CLAUSE.

VUGOVIC: THE CLAUSE? EXPLAIN.

ROBERTO: THE CLAUSE IS PART OF THE CONTRACT ONE SIGNS WHEN ONE FALLS UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF OUR ENTERPRISE. IT IS ONLY FIGURATIVE. THERE IS NO PAPER TO SIGN, BUT IT IS JUST AS BINDING. IT HAS BEEN A PART OF THE CORPORATION SINCE THE BEGINNING, AND HAS BEEN ADOPTED WIDELY AMONG ALL PROFESSIONALS OPERATING AROUND HERE. THE CLAUSE RECOGNIZES THE FUTILITY OF LETTING ANY MEMBER OF A PROJECT BE GRABBED BY THE POLICE IF AVOIDABLE, TO INCLUDE AVOIDING HOSPITALS.

VUGOVIC: DID GILL FIND ANOTHER CAT DOCTOR?

ROBERTO: PERHAPS THE CHINESE FOUND HIM ONE, I DON’T KNOW. BUT HE WILL NOT TAKE HER TO A HOSPITAL, AND AT A CERTAIN POINT HE WOULD LET HER DIE.

VUGOVIC: I THOUGHT HE LOVED HER?

ROBERTO: SEE? YOU DO LAUGH, IF ONLY A LITTLE. GILL LOVED HER ENOUGH THAT HE WOULD NOT DISHONOR HER BY VIOLATING THE CLAUSE. HE IS SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT POSSIBLY SAVING HER ONLY TO PUT THEM BOTH IN PRISON IS A POOR OPTION.

VUGOVIC: DID THEY HAVE ANY FRIENDS? WAS THERE ANY PLACE THEY WENT TO EAT AND DRINK?

ROBERTO: LIKE MANY FRIENDS OF THE CORPORATION, THEY COULD OFTEN BE FOUND TOGETHER AT NAPOLI ON MAIN STREET IN FORT LEE. IT IS A RESTAURANT, AND THERE IS A BAR. I DOUBT GILL WOULD GO THERE NOW. HE WILL NOT WANT TO BE SEEN.

VUGOVIC: HE MUST BE TIRED AFTER HIS CHASE THROUGH THE TRAIN TUNNEL AND NEED REST. IF HE GOES TO A HOTEL HERE WE WILL HEAR ABOUT IT. THIS WOMAN TRUDY MUST BE WITH A FRIEND, SOMEONE WHO IS TAKING CARE OF HER. THIS IS WHERE HE WILL GO.

ROBERTO: INTERESTING THEORY, BUT I THINK HE WILL KNOW BETTER THAN TO MAKE A MOVE SUCH AS THAT. HE WILL NO LONGER BE RIDING THAT MOTORCYCLE. THE POLICE HAVE THE PLATE, AND AFTER THAT CHASE ARE STOPPING EVERY MOTORCYCLE THEY SEE.

VUGOVIC: THAT MUST MEAN HE WILL TAKE A CAB.

ROBERTO: [CLAPPING] BRAVO, MR. VUGOVIC. I WOULD GUESS HE WILL LEAVE NEW JERSEY AT THIS POINT, THINGS ARE TOO HOT HERE FOR HIM NOW WITH THE POLICE LOOKING FOR HIM AS WELL AS THE KURAC AND THE CHINESE. CATS SEEK A JUNGLE TO ELUDE THE HUNTER.

VUGOVIC: HOW DO I FIND THESE CHINESE, THE ONES WHO ARE PURSUING UNDERWOOD?

ROBERTO: IF I HAD TO GUESS, I WOULD SAY UNDERWOOD MADE CONTACT THROUGH EAST TRADING JEWELERS. DOC HUANG.

VUGOVIC: I MAY NEED YOU AGAIN.

ROBERTO: NOT UNTIL MORNING. I AM AN OLD MAN, I LIKE SLEEP VERY MUCH.

VUGOVIC: OLD ENOUGH THAT YOU STILL DEAL WITH THE CIA? THEY MIGHT KNOW WHERE GILL IS.

ROBERTO: THE BAY OF PIGS WAS A LONG TIME AGO. I WAS ONLY TWENTY-THREE WHEN I LEFT HAVANA WITH MY FAMILY. EVEN IF THAT WERE SO, I DOUBT SPIKIC WOULD WANT THE CIA INVOLVED.

VUGOVIC: WHY DO YOU SAY THAT?

ROBERTO: I’M JUST GUESSING THAT SPIKIC MAY BE A WANTED MAN IN SOME SECTORS.

VUGOVIC: WHO TOLD YOU THAT?

ROBERTO: AS I SAID, JUST A GUESS. AND NOW, IF YOU DON’T MIND, I’D LIKE TO GET SOME SLEEP.

VUGOVIC: WE HAVE AN OLD SAYING: SLEEP IS FOR THE DEAD.

ROBERTO: HOW CHARMING. WE HAVE A SAYING AS WELL: A MAN WHO SLEEPS WELL LIVES WELL. GOOD EVENING.

[PAUSE—BACKGROUND SOUNDS UNKNOWN]

ROBERTO: MIGUEL? DO YOU THINK THE JUKEBOX IS ON?

MIGUEL: YES. WHETHER THEY WILL HEAR WHAT WE HAVE SAID IS UNKNOWN.

ROBERTO: WHERE IS THE MICROPHONE?

MIGUEL: IT DOES NOT MATTER. SPEAK ANYWHERE IN THE ROOM AND THE JUKEBOX WILL HEAR YOU. THE BUG IS VOICE ACTIVATED, AND IT SENDS THE SIGNAL ON THE SAME PHONE LINE THAT THE JUKEBOX USES TO PLAY MUSIC.

ROBERTO: TRULY AMAZING. REMEMBER WHEN THEY USED TO HAVE RECORDS IN THEM THAT DROPPED INTO PLACE AND THE NEEDLE SWUNG INTO PLACE?

MIGUEL: I AM SORRY. I DO NOT.

ROBERTO: THEY STILL HAVE THEM IN HAVANA. I FEEL IDIOTIC TALKING TO A JUKEBOX.

MIGUEL: THEN TALK TO ME.

ROBERTO: WHO DO YOU THINK LISTENS TO THIS DEVICE?

MIGUEL: I DO NOT KNOW.

ROBERTO: THE FBI?

MIGUEL: PERHAPS.

ROBERTO: HELLO, FBI. I HOPE YOU ARE LISTENING AND THAT YOU WILL FOLLOW THE KURAC. I AM DOING YOU A FAVOR, PLEASE REMEMBER THAT. WE LOOK FORWARD TO YOU RIDDING US OF THE KURAC, THE SOONER THE BETTER. AND BECAUSE I KNOW I WAS BEING RECORDED, NOTHING I SAID TO SUGGEST THAT I WAS IN ANY WAY INVOLVED WITH A CRIME SYNDICATE IS TRUE. I MADE IT ALL UP TO KEEP HIM TALKING SO YOU CAN LISTEN, AND ANY STOLEN MONEY THAT VUGOVIC WOULD GIVE ME I WOULD REPORT DIRECTLY TO THE POLICE. NOT THAT THEY HAVE ANY INTENTION OF HONORING ANY KIND OF DEAL WITH ANYONE. I AM A COMMUNITY LEADER AND BUSINESSMAN, AND AS FAR AS I KNOW THE CORPORATION IS A MYTH.

MIGUEL: WHAT ABOUT UNDERWOOD?

ROBERTO: IF HE ALLOWS HIMSELF TO BE CAUGHT, THAT IS HIS FAULT. SOMETHING TELLS ME THE CAT WILL FIND A WAY TO SLIP BACK INTO THE JUNGLE. LET’S GO. MY PILLOW CALLS ME.

*END*

Twenty-two

Why stay at one
of the most expensive hotels in town? Because they have the best security, though I didn’t kid myself that they could actually stop any of my pursuers. I asked for a room on the thirteenth floor, the one with the ledge. It needed to be between two empty rooms, which I told the desk clerk was because I was a light sleeper. Price: twelve hundred and change a night. I paid with a credit card to make sure my pursuers could find me before too long, even if the hotel security did slow them down.

The lobby is like pictures you see of palaces in Europe, with a white vaulted ceiling and chandeliers, everything trimmed in gold, the furniture plush, all the staff in spiffy uniforms and alert. Fucket, they sure as hell better be like that at twelve hundred a night.

I walked to the ornate elevators, which looked like they should be in a museum.

There wasn’t much traffic in the lobby at two thirty in the morning on a Monday: mostly hotel staff, and they tried their best not to look at me like I had two heads. In my canvas shirt, cargo pants, white hair, and carrying a saddle bag, I didn’t exactly look the type to stay at the Plaza. That was good. The bellhops and staffers would remember the shabby man with the messy white hair and Jets cap when the Kurac arrived and started asking questions. Maybe the staff guessed I was an aging rock star.

For twelve hundred dollars I imagined the presidential suite. More like the governor’s suite. Governor of Rhode Island. It was just a hotel room with a small sitting area, a “butler’s pantry” (kitchenette), fancy tile bathroom, better linen, and a window. I put a Do Not Disturb tag on the door handle and looked out the window. There was a healthy ledge at that floor. I took a quick shower. Shampoo helped remove the weird acid smell the Nice ’n Easy left in my hair. Drying off, I looked at myself in the mirror, at the blond dude with the angry old scar across his belly and bloodshot eyes. Damn, it had been a long road. And the road seemed to stretch out far into the distance, like across a high desert, and I had to walk it by myself. My jaw muscles tightened as I thought about Trudy. To see her just one more time, to have her curl up next to me and smell her, and to sleep …

My breath came short. My vision swam. A panic attack was creeping up on me, so I slapped myself, hard, and turned away from the mirror. That helped, so I got busy, which helped some more.

The Jets cap and canvas shirt went into the trash can along with the saddle bag littered with gum wrappers, rope, and bolt cutters. I stuffed a handful of unsold sparks and cash into my belly bag next to the three passports (Michael Thomas, Marcia Thomas, and Phil Greene) and ticket to Iceland. The crumpled straw trilby was my new hat, and I slipped on the drab tropical CVS shirt. But the cargo pants were all I had, and some of the pockets were stiff with wads of cash. My spring steel kit in my teeth, I examined the window lock, then opened the window and crawled outside. There was practically no breeze, even thirteen stories up. I turned south on the ledge. Below me to the left was Grand Army Plaza, complete with fountain and Fifth Avenue on the other side. It was a short distance to the next window, and I cupped my hands over the glass. The bed wasn’t made. That meant the maid might come in at any time to remake it.

So I crawled slowly backward to my room’s open window and back inside before crawling out the opposite direction, toward 59th Street and Central Park. The park’s dark trees were dotted with streetlights that stretched north into the distance like a black starry night rolled out onto the earth’s surface. Like a giant hole of outer space that I might have been able to leap into and fall through the vast nothing surrounded by the solar system, the galaxy, the universe, to drift in the void with Trudy.

At the next window I could see the bed was neatly made. Unless there were any other characters slinking around at two thirty in the morning looking for a room at the Plaza—which seemed unlikely—nobody else would check into that room until the next day’s check-in time, which was three in the afternoon. I would be long gone by then.

For most people, crawling back and forth along a high ledge would freak them out. Keeping your cool is all a matter of maintaining perspective, of concentrating on the ledge and not what is below it. If I actually looked down and thought about falling, I think I would have. You train yourself not to think about that possibility any more than you would about your morning coffee being poisoned. There’s sort of a zone you put yourself into, almost like a meditative state, and it’s all about what is close to you, not far away. Part of maintaining your perspective while crawling on ledges is to avoid backing up if you can avoid it. I’m not sure why, but backing up seems to invite vertigo. So it is always best to find a place to turn around even if it means extra work. In this case I didn’t have that luxury, so I backed up slowly.

From my kit I pulled a dowel and tried to simply lift the window. It was locked. A moment later it wasn’t—I had slipped in a hooked piece of spring steel, worked it under the latch, and pushed. I climbed over the sill into the room, turned around, and crawled back to my first room one last time to re-latch it with the spring steel, locked from the inside.

Did I worry that anybody had seen me crawling around out there? No. One thing you learn doing high-wire work is that nobody at ground level spends any serious amount of time looking up. Even during the day. And people in other buildings don’t spend a lot of time adjusting their focus beyond what’s in their apartment. Especially at that hour. The windows across the way were dark.

In my new room I turned on the television, sound off, to light the room. This compact suite was near the corner of the building and so was in an “L” shape. I went to the front door’s peephole and had a clear view toward the door to my first room. Keeping my eye at the peephole for hours didn’t sound like much fun, and the bed beckoned. If I could get sleep, I knew I should. At the same time it would be instructive to see who showed up at that door across the way, and how soon. Timing from then until I made my escape might be critical. I needed to know how tight the tolerances were.

With the safety hasp secure on the door, I stretched out on the bed and immediately felt my muscles begin to melt. Aside from all the moving around, I had been wound up emotionally. My mind raced with all that had happened, so I tried to concentrate on something from before all the craziness, before Trudy, back to my childhood, to something fun and simple. I tried to remember the taste of salt water taffy, of the interior smell of my Dad’s old Renault, to the sounds of my father playing the piano at night and singing along like he was a band leader at some fancy hotel in Milwaukee where he grew up. Sometimes my folks would have friends over after I turned in. I lay snug in bed listening to their gentle laughter and the ice cubes tinkling in their highball glasses as I fell asleep.

The wall behind me jolted me from near-sleep.

I was at the peephole a moment later.

The door to the first room was open, shadows of people moving around inside, but no voices.

A black woman and a Hispanic man soon came out and carefully closed the door behind them. They were both in FBI windbreakers that they were in a hurry to remove and push into shoulder bags before moving past my peephole and out of sight.

I got a good look at them. She had angular features, swept-back hair, and a crooked mouth. He had a heavy brow and frame, low hairline, not particularly tall.

I rubbed my jaw, trying to iron out this wrinkle. The Bureau hadn’t showed up to the party over Tito’s missing Cartier sparks. If the FBI were on to me, they had to be after the Britany-Swindol sparks, and the only way they would know I had them was if they first knew the Kurac had them. And if they knew the Serbs had them in New York, it most likely meant that they weren’t just spectators. They intended to intercept them and bust the Kurac. Probably at the point of sale to catch them red-handed. And then I came along and screwed up everybody’s plans. I wondered if Roberto knew about this, too, and decided to keep it to himself.

My brain did a flip, thinking about how much more complicated this made the mission. It was one thing to play cat and mouse with goons, and another with the Bureau. The FBI could stop an airplane on the runway, stop it from taking off, stop me from getting away. I had little doubt they had been listening in on everything the Kurac had said on their phones, maybe the Hong Kong friends too, and had a complete bio on Gill Underwood. They found my room because they had a tag on my credit card so that as soon as it was used they got an alert. The Kurac would be a step behind because they had to go through the Russians.

You might have thought that these syndicates would be as savvy as me about the phones, about not using them so freely. But they generally weren’t, at least not at that point; it wasn’t widely enough understood how sophisticated surveillance had become. Yet I’d had firsthand experience with the information that government data mining and SIGINT could provide. Believe it or not, and counter to their mandate and Title 50 of the United States Code that restricts spying on ordinary citizenry, the FBI, the CIA, and the NSA—between them—literally record everything that is said. Both over the phone and in many cases out in the open, by satellite. Everything texted or emailed is of course also stored and studied by software. This surveillance is of all U.S. citizens, and of course many, many people overseas, though I’m sure if you live in a yurt tending yaks or in a thatched hut collecting açai you may not be targeted. Whether an actual person actually listens, analyzes, and acts on what it recorded and the software flags is another matter. I don’t think they or the software care if you are cheating on your spouse or conducting shady business practices. Not yet, anyway.

Three adversaries might not seem that much worse than two, but mathematically it actually complicates the combinations of things to go wrong from four to nine permutations.

I sank down in front of the TV. On the screen was a telemarketer trying to sell a miracle rag.

Another movie flashed through my mind, another I didn’t know the name of. I saw a lot of them when I was at Portsmouth Medical cooling my heels. A gunslinger comes to a town split down the middle by two competing gangs, and this part I remember: the Rojos and the Baxters. The Rojos ambush a Mexican army payroll convoy and try to make it look like the Baxters did it. Meanwhile, our gunslinger joins both gangs without the other knowing; his loyalties are only his own. He plays one against the other so that the Baxters are destroyed. To make the Rojos show their hand, the gunslinger unearths a dead Mexican soldier who he positions outside of town as a survivor of the payroll heist and potential witness. While the Rojos ride out of town to dispatch this supposed witness, our gunslinger searches for and finds the gold. He is discovered and beaten, but escapes and recovers. When he returns to confront the Rojos, he has a steel plate hidden under his poncho, which freaks out the Rojo leader who only shoots for the heart, and is killed as a result. The gunslinger probably gets the gold, or some of it. I don’t remember.

I guess the reason that came to mind was because my odds would be improved if one of my adversaries were out of the picture. The Chinese had to stay because they were the only ones I had a remote chance of actually selling the Britany-Swindol sparks to and luring the Kurac into a confrontation. After the fiasco in the Weehawken tunnel, I was pretty sure the Chinese would have had enough theatrics and might meet. Ten million was a bargain, after all. If they didn’t make the drop, I could pull the plug and vanish. Regroup, maybe fly off and then come back for the sparks. Or just let the fire hose inspector have them. Fucket, the sparks and the mission weren’t worth my life. At least I hoped not.

Serbs would be in the game until the FBI took them out. Both were waiting for the sparks to show before they made a move. If one was in, so was the other.

If I was extremely lucky, the Chinese would show up at JFK just before the others. I had to plan for all three to make the scene, and use that to my advantage.

The wall behind me jarred, and I went back to the peephole.

One of the muscle-T Kuracs with snakeskin shoes was standing to one side of the open door to the other room. He was watching the hallway, one hand playing with an unlit cigarette.

I checked Tito’s watch. It had taken them about an hour and a half to locate me through my credit card swipe at the front desk. A little less for the FBI.

A moment later two Chinese in leather sport coats appeared at the end of the hallway and froze.

My mind immediately went to work on where I could hide so that the flying bullets wouldn’t tear through the walls and into me. Bathroom: the tile would help stop the bullets. Or I could curl up in the tub.

Vugovic was standing in the doorway to the other room, pointing at the Chinese.

“Get your boss, we need to talk.”

The Chinese pulled cell phones slowly from their belts while shrinking back around the corner, out of sight.

Vugovic turned back into the room, and I could hear the Kurac talking and rummaging around, stripping the sheets off the bed. I’m not sure what they hoped to find—I would have thought it seemed pretty obvious that I wasn’t in the room long enough to have left anything that would tell them where I was going next.

The two Chinese thugs appeared at the end of the hallway again. Two steps behind them was an older goon with black-framed, yellow-tinted glasses and a damaged complexion. They all had their hands in their jacket pockets. Slowly, chins up, they approached.

The Kurac guarding the door clucked his tongue, and Vugovic reappeared with a goon. It was good to get a closer look at Vugovic than before from the hill over the barn through binoculars. The streaked ponytail and close-cut hair to the sides looked the same, but from the peephole I could see that he had sort of a pinched, tucked-in jaw and bushy eyebrows over those flat, darting eyes. He looked like a major-league shitbag.