"What? E-excuse me?" she stammered.

"The name of your ship, Alicia." He had her wrists pinned. She couldn't move. "The one to Antarctica."

Andie froze. She stared back into his eyes. Her heart thumped as she struggled for an answer.

"Nothing goes out this time of year. They leave in the spring, not winter," Cavello said. "You're a fox, Alicia." He dug one hand into her throat. "But now I think it's time you tell me who the h.e.l.l you are."

Chapter 120.

THEY'D BEEN UP THERE for seven minutes. I knew I couldn't wait any longer. It didn't matter that the bodyguard in the Adidas warm-up was smoking a cigarette in front of the hotel entrance. Or that the other one, with the shaved head and mustache, had followed Cavello and Andie inside.

I had to go in.

Los Pelicanos wasn't exactly a five-star. It was sleepy and quiet, with a tiny lobby and a single clerk behind the desk. A cramped three-person elevator served its five floors.

I went around back to a small alleyway. I couldn't chance going into the lobby. Above me, there was an old fire escape, the kind with the lowest platform hanging from the second floor. I jumped, latched onto a grate, and yanked myself up. The window facing me opened to what looked like a hallway. But the window was locked.

I c.o.c.ked my elbow back and hit the pane. Shards of gla.s.s shattered all over the floor. I squeezed my hands through the splintered pane and lifted the frame. The window rose. Then I ducked inside the hallway, the Glock in my hand.

In front of me was the elevator landing and a narrow staircase leading to the upper floors. That's where Andie was, on three. I made my way up the stairs.

I stopped on the third-floor landing. I saw Shaved Head leaning against the wall. He had his back turned to me and was gazing out a hallway window.

I rushed him-and he must have heard me coming. In a frantic motion, he fumbled for his gun.

I flattened the muzzle of my weapon against his jacket and jerked the trigger, twice. The retort convulsed him, the sound m.u.f.fled against his body. He slumped against the wall, his hand still grasping for his gun. He slowly slid down as his eyes rolled back. A crimson stain spread out on his shirt.

I raced down the hallway to 304. I held back at the door for a second; then I heard a gasp-Andie.

Chapter 121.

"YOU KILLED MY SON!"

Cavello's eyes bulged as he tried to make sense of what she said. Then recognition spread across his face. He reached for the dog tag Andie always kept around her neck. It had Jarrod's birthday on it.

"You're from the trial! You're the one whose kid was on the bus!"

"You pig!" Andie tried to twist out of his grasp, but Cavello held her tight.

"You'll like this," he said. "I wanted to do you all through the trial. Right in the jury box."

Suddenly the hotel room door crashed open. Cavello spun around.

"Get off her!" Nick yelled as he stepped into the room, his gun leveled at Cavello.

The strangest look came over the gangster's face. He was shocked at first, staring at the gun muzzle. But then he couldn't hold back an incredulous grin. "Nicky Smiles."

"You told me to come and find you. So I did."

"You've been wasting your talents, Nicky. All these years, working for the FBI." He looked at Andie. "And you. You lost out on a really good time."

Without a word, Andie punched his face as hard as she could. "A good time? I had to keep from throwing up. You killed my little boy! You killed my little boy!"

"Well, that really stings, Alicia, or whatever your name is. Tell me, Nick, is this little rendezvous official? How'd you find me?"

Cavello rose from the bed, rubbing his jaw and moving it around.

"El Fin del Mundo. This is it. Remlikov sold you out."

"Remlikov?" Cavello squinted. "Who's that?"

"Nordeshenko," Nick said. "You got a lot to pay for, Dom."

"Yeah, well I figure I got time. The extradition treaties don't move so fast down here. Not to imply I'm not totally humbled-you guys coming all the way down here to take me back."

Nick stared at him coldly. "What makes you think anyone came down here to take you back?"

The color in Cavello's face began to drain. "You're a federal agent, Pellisante."

"Actually, not anymore. What do you think of that?"

Cavello sniffed. "Well, waddaya know. I'm impressed, Nicky Smiles."

In a swift motion, Cavello took the small writing desk by the window and hurled it.

Nick fired. The bullet tore into Cavello's shoulder.

Nick jumped back as the desk crashed against the wall. Cavello made a leap for the window, hitting it with his clenched fists. He crashed through the gla.s.s.

Both Nick and Andie ran to the broken window. They saw Cavello writhing on the ground, three stories below. Then he started to rise. He struggled to his feet, clutching his shoulder. And he began to stagger away.

Chapter 122.

I BOUNDED DOWN the stairway at the end of the hall, two steps at a time. Then I remembered Cavello's other bodyguard. He was still guarding the hotel entrance, and that was a problem.

I came to a stop on the second floor. The elevator was there. I reached in and pushed the b.u.t.ton for the lobby, sending it on its way. Then I backtracked and crept along the staircase, following the clanking elevator down.

I waited for the doors to open to the lobby.

The second I heard the elevator rattle to a stop, I stepped out, my pistol drawn.

Cavello's bodyguard must have heard the commotion upstairs because he had his semiautomatic pistol trained on the opening doors. He heard a noise and spun toward me. I squeezed, popping two rounds into the logo on his mint-green warm-up, blowing him back into the empty elevator car. Then I ran out the front door.

Outside the hotel there was no sign of Cavello.

I took off in the direction of the harbor, back toward the Bar Ideal, where the Range Rovers were parked.

As I turned into the square I saw Cavello. He was limping toward the cars, getting close.

With a glance back, Cavello pulled himself up into the lead Range Rover and started the engine. He jerked it into reverse, did a three-point turn, smashing into a street sign and sending a few onlookers jumping out of the way.

I ran over to my Land Cruiser, which was parked across the square. I pulled out after him. I knew that if he got to his ranch, he was lost to me. At best, there'd be months of red tape and diplomatic protocol, and a lot of explaining about my involvement.

Besides, I hadn't come down here to see him put on trial a third time.

Cavello gunned the Range Rover through the town streets, careening around tight curves, flying through any stop signs and red lights. I followed a few car lengths behind.

We made it to the east road out of Ushuaia-then he accelerated, going seventy, eighty, in the direction of his ranch. I picked up speed behind him. He pa.s.sed a slow-moving truck, gunning for the narrow s.p.a.ce between it and an oncoming bus, loudly honking its horn. Cavello didn't move out of the way. The bus driver hit the brakes. Cavello jerked the car back in its lane, missing the bus by inches.

I pa.s.sed the truck, doing everything I could to keep the Land Cruiser on the narrow, weather-beaten road. The speedometer climbed. We both got up to about 160 kilometers, close to a hundred miles an hour. I could make out the back of Cavello's head, checking me in the rearview mirror as I closed on him. His Range Rover began swerving. Once or twice I thought it was going to fly off the road.

Suddenly Cavello's window went down. I saw a semiautomatic.

I slammed on the brakes as bullets ricocheted off the Land Cruiser. I hunched low over the steering wheel.

Up ahead, I spotted a road sign, and a road approaching on the right. DAWSON G GLACIER. I hit the gas one more time, making up distance. Then I plowed into Cavello at full speed!

The Range Rover shot forward and spun. This time he couldn't control it. He hit the brakes, screeching into a hundred-and-eighty-degree spin. I thought he was going to roll over, and hoped he would. The Range Rover somehow righted itself and clung perilously to the shoulder, dust and gravel billowing everywhere.

I pulled forward and slammed my brakes, too. When I came to a stop I was blocking him. Our eyes met.

Cavello's only way out was into the canyon. He sent a spray of bullets my way. Then he took off up the road.

You're mine.

Chapter 123.

IT WAS A ROCKY, unpaved mountain road, barely wide enough for a single vehicle. If we didn't have SUVs, neither of us would have been able to stay on it for a hundred yards.

And it was starting to climb higher.

I pursued Cavello, my head nearly bouncing against the roof. I didn't know if he knew where he was heading. But I sure didn't, and I didn't like the idea of this ominous-sounding glacier ahead and the unknown terrain. The canyon walls rose above us, overhanging and steep. Cavello's vehicle sped ahead. It was hard to make up distance. Every time I hit a b.u.mp or a dip, I clung to the steering wheel as if it were a life preserver.

The land had the look of a primordial world. Vegetation dwindled down to nothing. Ahead, gleaming, snow-capped peaks came into view. Frozen cataracts hugged icy cliffs overhead. It was surreal.

We were going fifty or sixty, careering over huge b.u.mps and dips. Any second, either of us could blow a tire and be dead because of it. Cavello fishtailed perilously around turns, sc.r.a.ping boulders and branches.

I had to end this.

Cavello slid around another turn, and I floored the accelerator, ramming his back end. The Range Rover swerved, trying to hold the turn-then its wheels sputtered wildly into a gully.

The Range Rover rolled over, then landed upright in a cloud of dust. I slammed on my brakes and jumped out with my gun ready. I didn't see any movement, and it looked bad.

Suddenly, the pa.s.senger door creaked open. I couldn't believe it! Cavello, with a bullet in his shoulder, along with whatever other injuries he'd just sustained, crawled out of the vehicle. He was still holding the gun, and he sprayed a barrage of bullets my way. I moved behind the SUV as bullets pummeled the Land Cruiser, shooting out windows. He kept firing until the magazine was empty.

I called out to him. "End of the world, Dom-for you."

Chapter 124.

I STARTED TOWARD HIM, and Cavello began to hobble up the slope toward the ice field, limping horribly. What was with this guy?

"It's pay-up time, Dom. You remember Manny Oliva? Ed Sinclair?" I yelled, and my voice echoed.

He continued to claw his way up the slope, falling back, righting himself, grabbing at rocks and loose gravel. I kept up, maybe thirty yards behind.

Over a ledge ahead of us was a ma.s.sive block of ice. It was thirty feet tall-and vast-clinging to the valley walls between two mountains. It was breathtaking. Could've sunk a thousand t.i.tanic t.i.tanics, and Cavello was headed toward it.

He started to slide and fall. This time he cried out in pain.

"How about Ralphie's sister, Dom? Remember her? How about that little girl, the one you burned? What was she, a year old?"

Cavello backed up against an ice-filled creva.s.se that was maybe twenty feet deep. There was nowhere else to go.

He turned and faced me. "So what do you want now? You want me to kneel and beg? You want me to say I'm sorry? I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" He mocked me and everything I stood for, believed in.

I was breathing heavily, and exhausted. I reached out the gun, pointed it in the direction of the mobster's chest. He just stood there, at the edge, with nowhere to go. I'd waited for this for so long.

"Go on, Nicky Smiles. You won! It's cold, and who knows what kind of animals are up here in the wild. You want some last words? I'm so sorry, Nick. I really am. I'm sorry I never got the chance to f.u.c.k her first before you came in. Quite a piece of a.s.s. There you go, Nick. See how sorry I am! Go on. Shoot me! Shoot me!"