"I'd know that by-"

"And, since I was a teenager, I've been too busy with my career to ever have a real romance." Faith gazed into his eyes. "But I think I might finally be ready." She gave him a determined look. "Now it's your turn. Tell me something about you."

"Like what?"

"Like what do you do for fun?"

Typically, he would have sidestepped the question, but he was tempted to answer. Maybe because she was one of those creative types he rarely got to spend any time with but found so compelling, or because he wanted her to be interested in him. At least, tonight. "The other night I won five grand shooting pool out in Bed-Stuy."

Faith giggled and waved. "Sure you did." you did."

"Seriously. I'm not too bad."

"Uh-huh. Where do you play?"

"Places in the Bronx and Brooklyn where there's real talent."

"Do you take a posse for protection?"

"No. I go by myself."

Faith shook her head. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"Believe what you want."

"Give me a break, Christian. Win or lose, you wouldn't make it out of those places alive. Come on, tell me something else. Something I can believe."

"Something else," he repeated. "Like-"

"Like, do you have any brothers or sisters?"

He hesitated, glancing away after a few moments.

"Christian."

"No, I'm an only child."

"Oh. Well, how about this? Tell me something you believe in."

"Something I believe believe in?" in?"

"Yeah. Something that guides your life. A principle."

Gillette thought for a few seconds. "Okay, I don't really trust anyone."

She looked up, the smile on her face disappearing. "Why?"

"Because sooner or later, everyone will let you down."

Jose and Alex stood on the deck of Jose's home, gazing through the gloom at the house that would be Alex's.

As instructed, Jose had walked across the lawns separating the homes at nine o'clock this morning and bid $500 thousand dollars-thirty thousand more than the listed price. The professor had laughed callously at the offer, a.s.suming Jose had no way of paying for another house in the neighborhood. So Jose had turned around and walked back home.

Ten minutes later the man was on Jose's doorstep, out of breath. Apologizing profusely for his insolence. He'd called the bank officer Jose had given as a reference and found out that Jose could pay cash.

Alex's chin fell slowly to his chest, and he rubbed his eyes to wipe away the moisture. "I'm going to be able to give my children a nice home, hermano, hermano," he whispered. "I'm going to be able to give them a real chance at life."

Jose put an arm around his brother's shoulder. "I know, Al. I say the same thing to myself every day."

"This is beautiful, Christian." Faith stood beside Gillette on the balcony of his duplex apartment overlooking Central Park. The lights of the West Side shone brightly in the distance. "Really."

"Thanks."

She turned so she was facing him. "I had a wonderful time tonight."

"Good."

"I want to get to know you better," she said quietly. She kissed him deeply, then stepped back, slipped off her top, and tossed it over the railing. Allowing him a few seconds to see her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in the moonlight, nipples erect in the chilly November night, before putting her arms around his neck and kissing him again. "I don't want to go home yet."

"And I don't want you to see Jeremy Cole," Gillette said firmly.

She moved back again, stepped out of her jeans, and stood before him naked, arms at her sides. "Okay."

"Ready, Alpha?" The voice came crackling through the walkie-talkie.

The man hesitated, making certain the sensors were online, making certain the laptops were picking up everything. He checked each screen to make absolutely sure that all of the sensors were transmitting data. He didn't want to have to do this again. For some reason he had a bad feeling about being up here this time.

"Affirmative. Alpha instructs you to blow the load."

Moments later, the Explorer shuddered as the dynamite detonated.

6.

Allies. As vital in business as in war. Because business is war. As vital in business as in war. Because business is war.

"GOOD MORNING, CHRISTIAN."

Gillette rose from his chair at the head of the long conference table. He'd been waiting ten minutes. Typically, he would have walked out after five. But not with this man. "h.e.l.lo, Miles," he said, nodding respectfully.

Miles Whitman was chief investment officer of North America Guaranty & Life. With more than three trillion in a.s.sets, it was the country's largest insurance company. Whitman had sole authority over a trillion of that, making him one of the most influential people in the financial world. He could make and break Wall Street careers with his decisions, because an investment banker was nothing without a dependable flow of cash-and Whitman controlled the biggest river of all.

For the most part, Whitman invested in liquid securities: bank deposits, federal and state debt obligations, and the stocks and bonds of highly rated public corporations. But, like most insurance companies and other big investors, North America Guaranty-known as "NAG" in financial circles-allocated a percentage of its portfolio to private equity firms like Everest Capital. To the gunslingers like Christian Gillette who were generating huge returns. Whitman and his staff didn't have the expertise to buy and manage companies themselves, but, like everyone else, they salivated at the profits.

"I see you've adjusted quickly to your new position," Whitman observed drily, sitting down.

"What do you mean?"

"You're at the head of my my table." table."

"Donovan training," Gillette replied unapologetically. "Always take the head of the table. Especially Especially when it isn't yours. Gives me an immediate edge. People a.s.sume I'm running the meeting, even when I'm not." when it isn't yours. Gives me an immediate edge. People a.s.sume I'm running the meeting, even when I'm not."

Whitman chuckled, running his manicured fingernails along the razor-sharp part in his snow-white hair. "That's why we elected you chairman last week, Christian. Right here in this room." He made a sweeping gesture toward the far end of the table. "Because you take control," he said, adjusting his trademark bow tie. "I should be more specific," he said, holding up a finger. "Those of us who know what we're doing elected you." "Those of us who know what we're doing elected you."

"Thanks for hosting the meeting, Miles."

"Glad to. Hopefully, the speech I made right before the vote about backing you and not Troy helped sway one or two of the limited partners who were on the fence."

"Apparently you swayed just just enough." enough."

"Checked the results, did you?"

Gillette watched the other man stretch, fingers straight out as he reached for the ceiling. Whitman was sixty-two but still very active. He played squash three times a week at the Harvard Club against men half his age-and won-and cross-country biked at least twenty miles each weekend through the Connecticut state forest adjacent to his Greenwich property. "Of course I did."

"Good for you. Always understand who's with you." Whitman finished stretching. "And, more important, who's against against you." you."

"I appreciate your talking to Ann Donovan, too. Without her 25 percent voting bloc, I would have lost."

"How did you find out about that?" asked Whitman curiously.

"Ann told me at the funeral reception. She said she was going to vote for Troy but that you convinced her that wouldn't be a good idea."

"I'm glad she took my advice. I felt strongly about that." Whitman turned his head to the side and grinned. "You okay? You look a little tired this morning."

"I'm fine."

"Already feeling the stress of running the second largest private equity firm in the world?"

After peeling off her clothes on his balcony at midnight, Faith had led Gillette to his bedroom and kept him up most of the night making love to him over and over until he'd finally ushered her down to the lobby and into a taxi at six this morning. He'd given her one of his shirts to replace the top she'd tossed over his railing, and he'd been relieved when they hadn't been met by a mob of paparazzi. Faith was a popular target.

"I'm not feeling any stress at all, Miles. I'm saddened by Bill's death, but I'm ready to carry on the Everest legacy."

"Very good," Whitman said approvingly. "Just the right amount of deference to the fallen leader, combined with energy for the future. Did you talk to a consultant or are you just a natural?"

"My father was a senator," Gillette reminded Whitman. "I know what to say and when to say it."

"Oh, that's right." Whitman's expression turned serious. "How are the troops at Everest doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the general just died. You'll have to be careful you don't lose lieutenants. Especially the good ones. Marcie, Kyle. They may think their prospects for getting rich just took a hit, and they may consider going somewhere else. You have to convince them that Everest won't miss a beat with you as chairman."

"I'll take care of that in the next few days." Gillette checked his watch. Today was jammed, but he didn't want to rush this man. "I need to talk to you about Troy."

Whitman glanced up. "What is it?"

"He's gone."

"Gone?"

"I fired him at the funeral reception."

"You're kidding. Why?"

"He was having s.e.x with a woman who worked in the marketing department at one of our companies, a company Troy was chairman of."

Whitman rolled his eyes. "Oh, Jesus. So you were staring down the barrel of a ma.s.sive s.e.xual hara.s.sment lawsuit."

"Exactly."

"How did you find out?" Whitman asked.

"You don't want to know."

"As your biggest investor, I need need to know. This'll get out, and I need to be able to support you with evidence. People will call and ask me about what you did to him." to know. This'll get out, and I need to be able to support you with evidence. People will call and ask me about what you did to him."

Gillette's mind flashed back to the image of Mason on top of the young woman in the bas.e.m.e.nt. "He invited her to the funeral reception, Miles. While you were talking to Senator Stockman on the first floor, they were in a bas.e.m.e.nt bedroom."

"Christ!" Whitman banged the table. "What an idiot."

"Yeah. Like you said, that kind of c.r.a.p could put us in court and cost us tens of millions of dollars."

"And a lot more than that in bad press," Whitman agreed. "You had no choice. But how do you know he was having s.e.x with her?"

"I walked in on him."

Whitman stared at Gillette for a few moments without blinking. "How did you find out he was down there?" he finally asked.

"One of my people tipped me off."

"Who?"

"Kyle."

Whitman raised both eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes."

"You figure Kyle saw an opportunity, a chance to get one of you guys out of the way so he could move up?"

"Probably."

"What did you give Mason in severance?"