"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?"

Chapter 89.

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 b.l.o.o.d.y resume. 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. 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's first first trial. trial.

"Take away the sideburns and the dark gla.s.ses." I put a cleaned-up image next to it.

"Oh my G.o.d!" 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, like this, Nick. Like everything." She picked up Remlikov's photo. "I lost my son. I want Cavello, too." 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.

Chapter 90.

THE REEDY MAN in tortoisesh.e.l.l gla.s.ses leaned back against the park bench and looked at me. "These prints you sent me-where did you get them from?"

Charlie Harpering and I were old friends. We were sitting in a tiny park across from the courthouse: the historical Five Points in Gangs of New York. Gangs of New York. Charlie had spent many years at the FBI. Now he worked for Homeland Security. It was he who had procured all the files for me. 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 pa.s.s 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! A day after the escape! "Back to London. Out of DC." "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 h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l 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. "a.s.suming you're trying to find him, of course. Good luck, Nick." Harpering stood up. "Give the sonovab.i.t.c.h a shot in the b.a.l.l.s for me."

I looked down at the new file. There was an address on the visa application: 225 Yehudi 225 Yehudi Road. Road.

Haifa.

Chapter 91.

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. 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 cafes in Carmel Center. He tried to put to the back of his mind that just a few weeks before he had gotten away with a crime covering the front page of every newspaper.

"Father! There's a man."

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.

"h.e.l.lo, Remi."

"What are you doing here? here?" 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 not Remi Remi here." Nordeshenko looked at him sharply. "It's Richard." 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 blond killer sighed. "It is never over."