"That's wise. First things first. I think we're both aware that it's not in either of our interests to involve the police. Do we have an understanding on that?"

"We don't have an understanding on anything, except that you will give me back my son. I want to speak with him."

"I'm afraid that won't be happening. Let's just say he's wearing jeans and a red sweatshirt and Nike sneakers, and he's carrying some chess books and a wallet with a picture of his family in his pocket. As far as the rest, I'm afraid you'll have to trust us on that."

"You don't have any idea who you're dealing with," Nordeshenko threatened into the phone.

"Oh, yes I do. I know who I'm dealing with, Kolya Remlikov. Kolya Remlikov."

Chapter 98.

IF SOMEONE HAD suddenly burst in and blasted Nordeshenko up against the wall with a shotgun, he would have been no less stunned. No one had uttered that name to him in ten years.

He realized he was dealing with a more serious adversary.

"You hurt him," Nordeshenko said, "you'll be paying for that mistake the rest of your life."

"Hurt him?" the American caller said. "I believe that's more your style, Remlikov. You mean hurt him as in the elevator of the courthouse back in New York? Like what you did to those two marshals?" him?" the American caller said. "I believe that's more your style, Remlikov. You mean hurt him as in the elevator of the courthouse back in New York? Like what you did to those two marshals?"

Whatever color was left in Nordeshenko's face drained.

Who could this be? Who had traced him? Even Cavello's people didn't know who he was. This was worse than a ransom. His whole life was unraveling. Even Cavello's people didn't know who he was. This was worse than a ransom. His whole life was unraveling.

Nordeshenko's mouth was as dry as sandpaper. "How much do you want?" he muttered.

"How much do we want? Not a cent, not a penny. You can have your boy back and go on with your decrepit, lying life. All you have to do is give me a single piece of information."

"Information." Nordeshenko wet his lips. "And what is that?"

"Cavello," the caller answered.

Nordeshenko's heart crashed to a stop. He had never once given a client up. He had never traded with anybody, never considered it. The list of people he worked with was sacred.

The American went on, "I'm giving you one hour. one hour. After that, you'll never see your boy again. Your ident.i.ty and Interpol dossier will be turned over to the Israeli police." After that, you'll never see your boy again. Your ident.i.ty and Interpol dossier will be turned over to the Israeli police."

"And what if I can't help you?" Nordeshenko asked. "What if I don't know?"

"Then I'd start packing."

What could he do? They knew his name. How to reach him. They knew it was he who had helped Cavello escape. And they had the one thing that he valued most in the world in their possession. "Okay," he said.

"Give me your mobile phone number-I'll contact you within an hour. Drive down the hill. Wait for my call. The meet will be quick. And Kolya, I think we both know what a tragedy it would be if the police were involved."

"You've got a lot of b.a.l.l.s," Nordeshenko said. "Whoever you are." But he gave the man his number.

"That's quite a statement, Kolya, after what I've seen you do."

The line went dead. Nordeshenko gave Mira a rea.s.suring nod. Then he signaled to the South African.

"Come on, Reichardt. There's work to do."

Chapter 99.

WE DROVE THE CAR to an abandoned tobacco warehouse I had scouted in the seedy Hadar section of town. And waited. The boy was sleeping peacefully. I gave him a breath of fresh ether every time he stirred.

Over the years, in the course of my job, I'd done a few things I wasn't proud of. None like this. The boy was innocent, whatever his father had done. We watched him sleep in the backseat. Andie was sitting next to him, calming him. Once or twice she brushed his light-brown hair.

The exchange couldn't come too quickly for either of us.

"Where are we going to meet?" Andie asked, the boy's head resting on her thigh.

"You mean, where am I I going to meet him? In the Baha'i Gardens. Six o'clock. There's an outdoor concert going on an hour later. The place should be jammed." going to meet him? In the Baha'i Gardens. Six o'clock. There's an outdoor concert going on an hour later. The place should be jammed."

Andie nodded.

"I'll need to tape his mouth and bind his hands, Andie. It's necessary. He'll be awake. I want him in the car with you. You can rea.s.sure him he's going to see his father in a few minutes. When it's time, I'll call you. You drive up, look for my signal, then you let him go. And you get the h.e.l.l out of there-you understand? I don't want you anywhere around after it's done."

"Where?"

"Back to the hotel." We'd changed lodgings this morning, out of the fancy Panorama to a smaller pension in the Old Town, where we didn't even have to leave our pa.s.sports. "We're leaving for Tel Aviv tonight."

"Where are we heading?"

"Paris. Late flight out. a.s.suming all goes well."

"And after that?"

I opened the car door. "That part of the itinerary is yet to be determined."

The boy stirred. The anesthetic was wearing off. Soon, I would let him wake. I glanced at my watch for about the fiftieth time. The hour had pa.s.sed. "Time."

Andie smiled bravely.

I got out and called Remlikov on his mobile. I told him the location where we were going to meet. I didn't want Andie to hear what I had to say.

I came back to the car and sat in the front seat. "It's done." I nodded, leaning back with a sick expression, as if I'd been chewing rancid meat.

"You know, I'm okay with this, Nick. I am. I am. There's just one thing that doesn't seem right." There's just one thing that doesn't seem right."

"What's that?"

"Remlikov. And the blond guy. They're the ones who killed Jarrod. They get off free?"

"We knew that coming over here, Andie. We came for Cavello. He's the one who ordered it done."

Suddenly, I heard the sound of the boy stirring. "Father?"

I got out of the car and opened the rear door. "Here." I tossed Andie a baseball cap. "I want you wearing this at all times. And the sungla.s.ses. The boy cannot see your face. This is when it starts to get dicey, Andie. I want you to be very careful from this point on."

"Yeah, thanks." Andie nodded flatly.

I took the rope and some duct tape. She stroked the boy, as if she were comforting Jarrod. "Sshh . . . it's going to be all right."

"And one more thing." Our eyes met, as close as I could come in this moment to an embrace. "After the exchange, you wait an hour, that's all. If I don't come back to the hotel, you drive to Tel Aviv. You make that flight."

"a.s.suming things go wrong."

"You won't know. You just take off. Okay?"

She shook her head. "I'm not leaving you."

"Believe me, if I'm not back in an hour, you won't have to worry about that."

Chapter 100.

I'M NOT SURE who first decided to build the vast, mult.i.terraced gardens that climb steeply up the slope of Mount Carmel and are dedicated to the Baha'i faith, but whoever it was had perfect insight into the art of the clandestine exchange.

The grounds were public enough to get lost in and open enough to spot any unwanted accomplices hanging around. It had multiple exits leading to heavily trafficked thoroughfares. Tours were constantly going around, and that Thursday, late in the afternoon, the gardens were as crowded as the lawn at a Tanglewood concert.

If this goes well, I told myself, trying to calm my nerves, I told myself, trying to calm my nerves, I might even give some thought to converting. I might even give some thought to converting.

I got there at 6:45 p.m., a few minutes early, and stood around the statue of someone named Sayyid Ali Muhammad, or the Bab, on the lowest level of the gardens, where I told Remlikov we would meet. I had given him only thirty minutes' warning, not much time to prepare. The elaborate park had eighteen different terraces. He didn't know whether I was at the upper or lower gardens. And with Ben Gurion Street only meters away, it would be easy for Andie to drop the boy and escape.

Me-that could be an entirely different story.

I'd done secret meets dozens of times, but always with the confidence that someone with a listening device and a sniper's rifle was watching my back. Never naked, on unprotected turf-and with the slight complication of having kidnapped some cold-blooded killer's kid.

Crowds were starting to form. Some Israeli folksinger was performing two levels up. The setting couldn't be better. I told myself, just think like it's Madison Square Garden. All I had to do, once the exchange was made, was blend in with the crowd and get away.

At five of six, I took out my cell in front of the statue and gave Remlikov our final call. "Are you here?"

"I'm here. What about my son?" What about my son?"

"Walk to the statue of Ali Muhammad off Ben Gurion Street. You know it?"

"I know it. How will I know you?"

"I'll be the one holding the twelve-year-old with tape over his mouth. Don't worry, I'll know you."

Remlikov sniffed, unamused. "It will take me a few minutes. I'm on the upper level."

"Don't bother, then. In five minutes, I'll be gone." I punched off the line. He'd be here. I didn't want to give him a single extra moment to prepare.

Chapter 101.

I HAVE TO ADMIT, the following couple of minutes were as tense and heart-stopping as any in my life. I tried to focus on the crowds, mostly young people and families heading up to the higher terraces. An occasional policeman wandered by, dangling the ubiquitous Uzi.

I checked my Glock one last time. I adjusted my sungla.s.ses. I tried to calm the riot in my gut.

5:59 p.m. Come on, Remlikov. This has to happen now!

Then I spotted him coming out of the crowd. He was wearing an open-collar print shirt and a black leather jacket. A few people pa.s.sed in front of us, but he focused directly on me. Must've been the chess book I was holding prominently. He walked right up to me. He removed his sungla.s.ses and took a long look into my eyes. I had seen the faces of many professional killers. There was always a dull glaze in the eye, even when they smiled. Remlikov had it in spades.

"Stand in front of me," I said, shifting my back to the statue. I didn't want any sudden ambush taking me by surprise.

He glanced at the chess book. "I believe that's mine."

I handed it over to him.

"And my son, son," he added as if we were talking merchandise.

"Cavello," I replied.

"You've come a long way on the premise I know where he is." He smiled.

"You're wasting time that could be very valuable. I leave here in two minutes."

"Two minutes." He pursed his thin lips. "I'll take my chances. Neither of us wants to walk away empty-handed. You surprised me today. Surprise is a reaction I've grown used to doing without. I'd take it as a courtesy if you told me how you found me."

"The business in New York or your real name?"

"Any order." He shrugged back politely.

I glanced toward the ground. Then I looked back at him with a slight smile. "Your shoes." He was still wearing them. "Not very high-tech, I'm afraid. But I hear they're all the rage in this part of the world."