YOU NEVER QUITE KNOW when the breakthrough comes, that one, case-altering clue. Usually it's not anahha! Just someone talking to someone else, rolling over to escape prison time. Sometimes it's one of those moments, though. A blur in a sky full of shining stars that all at once takes shape and becomes stunningly clear.
For me, that moment came while watching the courthouse tape. Thoseforty-seven seconds I'd been over so many times.
A buddy in C-10 kept me going with updates on the case for old times' sake. A female court employee named Monica Ann Romano had been found murdered the day after Cavello's escape, and they were looking into it. Her mother said she'd been seeing someone. She'd never met him-nor had Monica Ann's friends at work-but she knew he had an accent of some kind. The cops were thinking she may have been blackmailed into planting a gun inside the courthouse.
The getaway Bronco had been ripped apart for prints and DNA. The house where Denunziatta's sister had been killed turned up nothing. The neighborhood around Paterson, New Jersey, was being canvassed. Every toll camera on I-95 and the Jersey Turnpike was being reviewed.
It was the middle of the night when I found it. I hadn't been able to sleep.
I was at my desk on my computer, going through the courthouse tape for maybe the thousandth time. I had printed off the face of the guy with the beard to show to Ogilov, running over what leverage I could apply. Which was basically none.
I'd let the tape roll to the end. My eyes were growing heavy. It was after two in the morning. I needed a little sleep. I made a move to rewind.
Then suddenly, I stopped.
I blinked. It was a eureka sensation, as though I'd just found a cure for cancer or a deadly virus.There it was.
I leaned forward, panning in with the remote on the accomplice with the beard. But not his face this time-or the gun or his watch-things that were already burned into my memory.
On the sonovabitch's shoes.
I pressed the remote, zooming in on the shoes. I was wide-eyed now. There was a distinct rubber logo above the heel.
Some kind of circle-with a wavy line bisecting it.
Jesus, Nick! Why hadn't I seen this before?
I knew those shoes.
My chest started to pound. Three years before I had made a special trip to the Middle East, to train inspectors.
The shoes were Israeli-made. For the Israeli Army.For extra support.
I had even worn them when I was there.
CAVELLO'S ACCOMPLICE had to be Israeli. I actually had something.
The frustration of losing that black Bronco was fading away.
It was almost morning. It took another cup of strong coffee to keep me focused, but I started going back through the books of terror suspects I had gotten from Homeland Security. I felt I had something to fix on. The needle in the haystack had just gotten a bit larger. Most faces appeared to be Middle Eastern, but I leafed past those. I was looking for a European. I had an approximate height and weight.
Three o'clock turned into three thirty. Then four. There were books and books of faces to scan through. Hundreds. Pakistanis, Basque separatists, al Qaeda sympathizers, FALN. IRA. All were on some kind of terror-watch radar. All had been thought to be in the country at some time. Many had explosives knowledge. Four started to bump up to five. I never even noticed when the first rays of light hit my window.
Then something made me stop. I came upon someone else. Maybe I'd passed him before. Maybe I'd passed the face a dozen times.
The man had short brown-gray hair and Slavic features, serious, slate-gray eyes.
Russian-and that wasn't all that interested me.
He was an ex-member of the Spetsnaz Brigade. Army Special Forces. He'd been stationed in Chechnya. In 1997 he went AWOL. For a long time he had simply disappeared. He was thought to have gone over to the rebel side.
Remlikov. Kolya.
I pulled out the file.
He'd been implicated in several Mafia-type slayings throughout Russia and Europe. A corrupt police inspector in St. Petersburg. A testifying gangster in Moscow. He was also being sought for questioning in the very public killing of a Venezuelan oil minister a year ago in Paris.
But what really stopped me wasn't just his résumé. Which had promise. Or even those brooding, dark eyes.
It was that he'd been wounded-in Chechnya. His right leg had been struck by shrapnel from an exploding grenade. He was thought to still walk with a slight limp.
I was thinking about those shoes.
I put the small file photo close to the screen, side by side against a frame from the courthouse tape.
Holy shit! It was a long shot, but it just could be.
I glanced at the clock. It was already after five. Nothing was going to happen here, but that meant it was lunchtime halfway around the world.
I opened my desk and leafed through packets of business cards I had held together with rubber bands. I had a number, somewhere, for the antiterror desk at the Russian Security Service in Moscow. I'd used it when we wanted to extradite a contract killer who had worked for the Russian mob and had fled back home. I frantically searched through my files and found it. Lt. Yuri Plakhov. Federal Security Service. FSS. I dialed the thirteen-digit European number. I was praying to find him at his desk. It was a prayer answered when I heard his voice.
"Plakhov,vot. "
"Yuri, hello. You may remember me." I reintroduced myself, reminding the Russian official who I was. It was a bonus to be able to keep this call this far away from the Bureau.
"Sure I recall you, Inspector." Yuri Plakhov's English was well practiced and colloquial."We tracked down that mafioso of yours. Federev, right?"
"Good memory, Yuri," I congratulated him."Now I need you to run someone else through your files." I read him off the name.
"Rem-li-kov?" He stretched it out."Rings a bell." I gave him a moment while he punched it in."A little early back there, is it not, Inspector?"
"Yes," I answered quickly, not into small talk."It is."
"Here it is, Inspector.Remlikov, Kolya. Wanted in questioning with several murders throughout Russia and Europe. Quite a dossier. Among his credits, he's suspected of taking part in bringing down an entire apartment building in Volgodonsk, in which a government official resided. Twenty-four people were killed."
My adrenaline was pumping."How do I find this man, Yuri?"
"I'm afraid I'm unable to give you his mobile number, Inspector." Plakhov chuckled."It's clear here he's used several aliases and passports. Estonian, Bulgarian. Names of Kristich. Danilov. Mastarch. We think he was in Paris last year, when that Venezuelan oil minister was killed. The trail is very gray. I doubt he is in Russia. It says he is known here, Inspector, as theeh-oop, the Eel. Very slippery, yes? I can send a facsimile of his fingerprints, if you like."
"Please," I answered. The Eel. A slimy fucking eel. Things were starting to add up."Where would I start to look, Yuri?"
The Russian paused, scrolling farther down the file."Perhaps with your own State Department, Inspector. Judging from what I see, they may be better help than us."
The State Department, our State Department."Why is that?"
"Remlikov's last-known whereabouts. He is thought to be in Israel, Inspector."
FINALLY I WAS ONTO something. The bearded face now had a name, and a history. Remlikov's prints came in over the fax a short time later, but my eyes had started to close.
I dozed off until nine. Then I shaved and showered, and called a colleague I had worked with at the FBI. I asked if I could meet him around ten.
Senil Chumra was a plump, likable Indian whose office wasn't in the Bureau's official place downtown. He was in a nondescript warehouse building up on Eighteenth and Tenth, overlooking the river. Chumra headed up a specialized area of the department we called CAF.
Computer Assisted Forensics.
These were the guys who could trace e-mails, hack into computers, worm their way through coded passwords, track the complicated movements of cash overseas. I had last worked with him tracking the flow of Cavello's union paybacks to the Cayman Islands. Senil's other talent was manipulating digital images.
"Hello, Nick." The techie lit up as I walked through the door of his lab. The technical guys always liked it when one of the so-called glamour boys showed up."Haven't seen you in a while. What have you been up to?"
"I'm good, Chummie," I lied."Busy." These technical whizzes worked in their own little specialized cocoon up here. No reason he'd know what I was up to-or in this case,wasn't."You got that e-mail I sent over?"
"I got it." The Indian wheeled over to a Mac screen down the line, maybe a little disappointed."Got it uploaded right here."
Senil touched a mouse, and the image of Cavello's bearded accomplice jumped onto the screen."Okay, Nick, tell me-what is it you want me to do?"
"I want to change around the image, Chummie. See if it matches someone I know."
He nodded, hunching over the screen and cracking his knuckles. He clicked the mouse again. A grid appeared over the image."Shoot."
"First, I want to lose the beard."
"Easy." Senil typed in a few coordinates, and the image immediately narrowed in to just a square of the suspect's face. Then, using a cursor, he outlined the area of the beard. Gently, he moved his cursor back and forth, as if he was airbrushing.
"What are you onto these days?" he asked while he worked, his fingers guiding the cursor like a surgeon's."Things have to be pretty hot up there for you C-10 boys, what with Cavello and all. What're you thinking, he changed his face on you?"
"Sort of," I said, not picking up on his inquisitiveness."Just a hunch."
"A hunch." He sighed, dropping the conversation."This process is called grafting and displacement," he said, continuing to carve away the facial hair, tracing it around the chin."Essentially, we eliminate a field: skin tone, a scar, in this case, a beard." In a moment the facial area was blank, and Senil retrieved a section of skin from another part of the image and filled in the space."Then we just graft onto it." He smoothed out the facial lines."Cut and paste."
"That's good," I said, leaning over his shoulder."Now what do you say we try and alter the hair. Make it short and close to the skull. A little darker."
"You mean like this?" He pressed an icon, and a file of various hairstyles came up. Then he chose one fitting my description and basically transplanted it over the newly configured face.
"Now set the hairline back a bit. Around the sides."
Chummie started playing around with the cursor again.
"Yes, like that. Now, can we ditch the eyeglasses?"
"Faster than Lasik." He grinned."Cheaper, too." It took about a minute of more grafting and displacement.
The man's dark glasses disappeared.
"Fucking A!" I exclaimed. The image on the screen almost knocked me on the floor.
"Anything else, Nick? If you're not satisfied, give me the word. I'll make him look like anyone you like."
"No, Chummie." I patted his shoulder."I think we're done."
I pulled out the file of Kolya Remlikov that Yuri Plakhov had faxed me. I put Remlikov's face side by side against the altered image of Cavello's accomplice.
"Bingo," Senil Chumra said.
We were staring at the same man.
THIRTEEN YEARS OF working my way up through one of the most bureaucratic law enforcement agencies in the world told me to go straight to the Javits Building and drop what I had right on ADIC Cioffi's desk.
There wasn't much doubt that Kolya Remlikov was the man who had sprung Cavello.
I got as far as hailing a cab on the corner. Then something made me hold back. I wasn't sure exactly what.
Maybe it was the thought of handing Remlikov over to the very people who had let him escape. Or the sudden realization of just how difficult this could prove to be-getting through channels, interrogating him. Which agencies would be involved? Would I be involved? One leak and Remlikov could disappear. And with him, Cavello. Then where would we be?
I'd spent so many years doing the right thing. Suddenly the right thing didn't seem so right anymore.
I waved the taxi on.
I just went back and leaned against the building for a while, holding the photos, trying to decide what the right thing was. When it hit me, I told myself,For a professor of criminal ethics, Nick, you're about to do one very stupid thing.
I looked up a number in my BlackBerry and placed a call. I asked Steve Bushnagel if he had plans for lunch. Steve was a partner in a private law firm now, but he used to advise the FBI. He was an expert on matters of extradition and international law.
"Lunch? Where?" Bushnagel asked.
"Cheap and fast," I said."I'm buying."
"How fast?" the lawyer asked.
"Hop into the elevator. I'll be right outside."
When he stepped out of the lobby of the big glass tower on Sixth Avenue, I was leaning on a parked car, holding out a couple of hot dogs."Ketchup or mustard?"
"Not to be particularly lawyerly about it-but how 'boutboth. "
We sat on a ledge on the busy corner, the lunch-hour crowds streaming by."Steve, I've got someone I want to get to who's fled to Israel."
"Get to?"
"I need to get him back."
Bushnagel took a bite."Are we talking fugitive or citizen, here?"
"Citizen, I suspect. He's been there awhile."
"And what you want him for, these are crimes committed in the United States, not Israel, right?"
"We're just talking, right, Steve?"
He waved his dog at me."I assure you, you're not paying me enough for anything more specific."
I grinned."Okay. Then we might be talking some other things in Russia and France as well."
"Hmmph." Bushnagel grunted."The Israelis are cooperative-to a degree. You remember Jonathan Pollard? We arrested him for espionage in 1985-in the Israelis' eyes, unjustly. They've been trying to get him back unsuccessfully for twenty years. And that electronics guy who fled there? ‘Crazy Eddie' Antar? Look at how long it took to get him back. Of course, it all depends on what we'rereally talking here."
"Talking?"
"In the post-9/11 world." The lawyer shrugged."Do the Israelis want something from us? Are the other governments involved? Look, Nick, I didn't become a complete dummy when I left the government. I know we're not chasing tax cheats here.
"If the evidence is solid, you could definitely get the guy held for questioning. But what kind of access you'd have, and how long that would take, that's all up for grabs. How time sensitive is this?"
"The highest." I shrugged glumly."Off the charts."
"Always is. Well, factor into this the matters of state, too. Does this have any rhythm for the Israelis? Do they want to make a deal with us? Do they want to make a deal with the Russians or the French before they turn him over? It'sdelicate, Nick-and I don't think that's a word that sits particularly well with you."
I nodded.
"Look, you'd get him held. You get a lot of people involved. But what happens next is anybody's guess. Then there's always the chance they drag their feet, the guy slips away, and you never hear from him again."
"I can't take that risk," I said, shaking my head.
"I understand." Bushnagel nodded."Problem is, though, it's still the only game in town."
"In the real world, yes." I nodded. I balled up my wrapper.
I knew Steve was wondering why I had come to him. He had left the government long ago. There were plenty of lawyers on staff who could handle this kind of matter."Just for the record, Nick"-he looked closely at me-“is there any other?"
I TRACED THE EDGE of my fingernail along the slope of Andie's back.
"Don't." She stirred, snuggling up to me.
I'd been thinking all night. Since I left Steve Bushnagel. In the real world, I knew, I would have Remlikov arrested. I would lead the interrogation. He would give up Cavello, and I would go get him. That was my job. It was just that the"real world" had gotten a lot more complicated lately.
I ran my fingers along Andie's spine again. This time she turned and faced me, resting on her arm. She saw something was serious."What is it?"
"I may have a line," I said,"on the man who blew up the bus."
Andie sat up, the sleep already gone from her eyes."What are you talking about, Nick?"
"I'll show you."
I reached over and opened a manila envelope I had on the night table. In a long row on the bed I spread several black-and-white glossies: Homeland Security photos of Kolya Remlikov and the ones Yuri Plakhov had sent me.
"His name is Remlikov," I said."He's Russian. He's a killer for hire. And a particularly good one. He's got a very bloody résumé. I think Cavello may have gotten him through the Russian mob. I think he's in Israel."
Andie's eyes widened at the photos. I put down the one Chummie had doctored in his lab, showing the man in the elevator without his disguise. They stretched wider. She picked it up and stared at the angular, dark-featured face a long time.
"Why do you think he was the one who blew up the bus?"
"This." I removed two final photographs. The first was one I had given Senil. This photo I had found myself, from hours and hours of plugging through the courthouse security cameras. Not from the day of the escape. But from earlier.
From Cavello'sfirst trial.
"Take away the sideburns and the dark glasses." I put a cleaned-up image next to it.
"Oh my God!" She picked it up, jaw tightening, gazing at the face with a hurt, stunned expression. Then her eyes filled with tears.
"Why did you keep this from me?" she asked, her back to me.
"I didn't. I only got these photos today."
"So what happens now? You give this to your people?" she said excitedly."They go and get him? Tell me that's the way it goes."
"I don't know. It may not be that easy. The Israelis will have to be contacted. It involves governments. Procedures. This sort of evidence is highly speculative. Photos can always be doctored. You never know what will happen."
"What do you mean, you don't know? This man killed federal marshals, and he helped Cavello escape. He blew up the loaded juror bus, Nick. He killed my little boy."
"I know. But it's complicated, Andie. Remlikov is a foreign citizen. There may be other governments involved. Other law enforcement agencies. Then the Israelis have to agree to give him up."
"What are you saying, Nick?" Alarm rose up in her eyes."They can go get this guy. You know where he is. These are your people, Nick. What does the Bureau think?"
I shook my head. Waited a second. Then I spoke again."I didn't take it to the Bureau, Andie."
She blinked like a fighter trying to clear his head after a stunning punch. She kept looking at me, trying to read my face."What are you saying, Nick?"
"I'm saying a man like this would disappear the second he knew people were onto him. And the instant Cavello finds out we're onto them, he takes off, too." I looked at her, eyes clear."We've lost Cavello twice. We're not losing him again."
I think, at that moment, she knew what I was proposing. The angry flush on her face was swept away, and it was replaced by a look of clarity. When she looked at me again, I think she understood what kind of man I was.
"I told you I was going to get him, Andie."
She nodded."I'm not even going to ask, Nick. I just want you to know, whatever it takes, I'm with you. Do you hear me? Do you understand?"
"Not on this," I said."This is something I have to do alone. You don't want to be involved."
"No." Andie smiled thinly."That's where you're wrong. I know exactly what you have to do, Nick. And I'm already involved."
"Not like this." What I had to do was in another country-and was way, way outside the law.
"Yes,like this, Nick. Like everything." She picked up Remlikov's photo."I lost my son. I want Cavello, too."
"You know what's going to happen over there? You know what we're talking about, Andie?"
She nodded."Yes." She leaned her head against my chest."I know what's going to happen, Nick. I'm praying that it does."
"We're leaving in two days," I said.
THE REEDY MAN in tortoiseshell glasses leaned back against the park bench and looked at me."These prints you sent me-where did you get them from?"
Charlie Harpering and I were old friends. We were sitting in a tiny park across from the courthouse: the historical Five Points inGangs of New York. Charlie had spent many years at the FBI. Now he worked for Homeland Security. It was he who had procured all the files for me.
"Never mind how I got them. What I need to know is if there was a match."
Harpering studied me long and hard. What I was asking him to do-to go around all normal channels and procedures, to give me information that he might not pass on to his boss-was a lot to ask, even of a friend.
"You know, I could screw up a well-earned pension over this."
"Trust me." I gave him a big smile."Retirement's way overrated. This is important, Charlie. Was there a match?"
The Homeland Security man let out a breath. Then he opened his briefcase and set a file on his lap. He nodded."Yeah. There was a match."
He opened a plain manila file. Facing me was a blowup of the fingerprints Yuri Plakhov had faxed me.
"They belong to an Estonian," Harpering said."Stephan Kollich. He came in through JFK on a commercial visa, April twelfth."
April 12. Cavello was sprung from the courthouse six days later.
A wave of validation surged up inside me. Remlikov had been here.
"You'll see he left seven days later." Harpering pointed farther down.A day after the escape!"Back to London. Out of DC."
"And on to anywhere else?" I asked.
"All she wrote, I'm afraid." The Homeland Security man shrugged."At least, under that name."
"Thank you, Charles," I said, tapping him on the chest."Here." I slid over a shopping bag containing the bound Homeland Security files."I won't be needing these anymore."
He tucked the bag between his legs."What the hell are you up to, Nick? You know I did this out of friendship. Anyone else, we'd be in a federal office right now. Who is this guy?"
"Let's call it a career move. We'll try and figure out later if it's up or down."
Harpering sniffed, agreeing."I see what you mean about retirement. Then I might as well take you the distance, Nick-whichever the hell way it goes."
"What do you mean?"
He took two additional sheets out of his case and slid them into the file."Kollich's visa application. For old times. And just for the record, it didn't come via Tallinn, Nick. Estonia. It came from Tel Aviv."
I blinked."Jesus."
"Gets even better." Harpering dropped the file on my lap."Assuming you're trying to find him, of course. Good luck, Nick." Harpering stood up."Give the sonovabitch a shot in the balls for me."
I looked down at the new file. There was an address on the visa application:225 YehudiRoad.
Haifa.
RICHARD NORDESHENKO WAS contemplating a chess move with his son on the terrace when the doorbell rang.
"Get that for me, Pavel." Mira was out shopping. The boy went to answer the front door.
Nordeshenko was enjoying his new life. He had tossed his cell phone into the sea and let the one or two contacts he still trusted know he was out of business.For good.
Every day he went swimming in the Mediterranean. He picked up his son after school and drove him to chess. At night he took Mira to the fancy shops and cafés in Carmel Center. He tried to put to the back of his mind that just a few weeks before he had gotten away with a crime covering the front page of every newspaper.
"Father! There's a man."
Nordeshenko pushed himself slowly out of his chair and went into the living room. It might as well have been a squadron of Mossad he saw standing there.
"Hello, Remi."
"What are you doinghere? " Nordeshenko gasped. Reichardt. His face went slack and ashen.
"Just a little traveling, Remi. Some sightseeing. Throwing myself on the hospitality of old friends."
He turned to Pavel."Go and look at the board, son. I moved."
The boy hesitated.
"Go and look at the board, I said." His voice was much harsher.
Pavel swallowed."Yes, Father."
The boy left, and Nordeshenko turned back to the man at the door, feeling his every nerve grow tight."Are you insane? Come in, quickly," he said. He looked past Reichardt and up the street."Are you certain there was no tail?"
"Relax, Remi," the South African said."I've come through three countries. I've been doing this as long as you. You've got a nice-looking boy."
"It's notRemi here." Nordeshenko looked at him sharply."It's Richard."
Reichardt stepped in and whistled admiringly at the broad, spectacular view."Business must be good, Richard."
"Business is over," Nordeshenko said."And you better understand one thing clearly-my wife and son…"
"Don't worry," Reichardt said,"I won't be a burden. You said this was the quietest place in the world. It'll only be for a few days. Until the world cools down."
Nordeshenko didn't like this. It violated all the rules of the arrangements. But what choice did he have? There was no way to tie them to the States. No way to tie them together at all.
"All right," he said."Just a few days."
"Thanks," the South African said."But, Remi, you are mistaken on one thing."
"And what's that?" Nordeshenko asked, picking up one of Reichardt's bags.
"Our business." The blond killer sighed."It is never over."
THE LOUDSPEAKER CRACKLED."Delta Flight 8976 to Tel Aviv is ready for boarding."
I stood there waiting at gate 77, gazing down the terminal. My heart was racing pretty fast. I glanced at my watch. The plane was boarding. I had to get on it, with or without her.
Where was she?
Maybe she had second thoughts. That would be okay, I told myself. She'd be smart to stay out of this. She'd be smart to let me do what had to be done.
"All rows, Delta Flight 8976 to Tel Aviv."
I didn't have a precise plan. I had no idea how I was going to handle it when I got there. How could I? All I knew was that I was going to find Kolya Remlikov and somehow make him tell me where Cavello was. No professional courtesy here-no Geneva convention. I'd put the muzzle of my gun down his throat and cock the hammer. I'd blow off a kneecap if I had to. He would talk. The question was,then what?
A Hasidic family in black rushed past me onto the boarding platform, with loud shouts of relief. They looked to be the last ones on. I scanned the terminal. No sign. I put my travel case over my shoulder and went to board.
It was better this way, right?
Then I saw her. Hurrying toward me. Still a good ways down the corridor.
I felt a warm, glycerin wave of relief surge through me. Who are you kidding, Nick? You wanted her here very much.
Andie was wearing a red leather jacket, her hair tucked under a Knicks cap,Jarrod's cap, a travel bag slung loosely over her shoulder. She looked incredibly beautiful to me. And brave. I knew then I probably couldn't have done this thing alone. I wanted her with me. Andie made me believe it was right.
She stopped about two feet away.
"Let's get something straight." I tried to make a joke of it."If this was the altar, we'd be looking for a refund on the reception right now."
"I'm sorry, Nick. I had to say good-bye. To Jarrod."
That certainly shut me up.
She shook her head contritely."Actually, I've been sitting in the terminal next to the Burger King for the last hour."
"Second thoughts?"
"I don't know, maybe. Probably. But not about this. I love you, Nick."
I stood there looking at her, her eyes glistening. I nodded, gently placing my hand against her cheek."That's what I was thinking here. That I love you, too. That I might not be able to board that plane without you."
"I knew that's what you were bumbling around trying to say the other night."
The PA interrupted us-the final boarding call. We stood there another second. The ticket agents were getting ready to close the doors.
"So what are we doing?" I shrugged, shifting, unsure on my feet.
Andie stepped up to me, her eyes moist and strong. She locked her fingers in mine.
"Boarding. We're taking a trip together, Nick. Isn't it exciting?"