He thought he'd struck pay dirt when he found a padded envelope be-hind the radiator, but it contained only cash. Money he d squeezed from his victims, no doubt. Jack was tempted to take it, just for spite, but he couldn't let Cordova know someone had been in his office. The success of this whole fix-it depended on that.

He went back to the computer. The cooling fan was running, but the hard drive was silent. Russ's disk had done its job. Maybe.

Jack removed the disk and pocketed it. He felt weird leaving the place without knowing for sure that he'd accomplished what he'd come for. Of course he could turn on the computer and, if it wasn't pa.s.sword protected, open a few files to check, but he might unknowingly leave some sort of trace that could make Cordova suspect someone had been here.

Better to trust Russ and leave clean.

He returned to the hallway and locked the door behind him. Then he yanked the duct tape free of the jamb. The tape would leave a little adhesive behind, but that couldn't be helped. Unless Cordova got down on his hands and knees and checked the plunger with a magnifying gla.s.s, he would never know.

Time to head back to the Ritz. He needed his beauty rest. He was expecting an important call in the morning.

WEDNESDAY.

1.

Jack spent an uncomfortable night at the Ritz Carlton. Not because there was anything wrong with the twelfth-floor park-view room-it was superb. The front desk manager hadn't blinked when Jack had declared that he didn't believe in credit cards and laid down three of a kind of Maria Roselli's thousand-dollar bills as an advance on his stay. But despite all the comforts he kept thinking he should be at Gia's place, watching over her, ready to jump should anything happen. By reminding himself that the Ritz was only a few blocks from Sutton Square-closer than his own apartment-he managed to drift off to sleep.

He was up early, and showered and dressed before he called Gia to make sure she was okay. She was. No surprise there. If something had gone wrong, she had his room number and would have called.

At eight-thirty room service delivered his breakfast and he turned on his Tracfone. Four minutes later, as he was digging into a pair of deliciously runny eggs Benedict-Gia would have made a face-the phone rang.

"Mr. Farrell?" said a woman's voice.

"Speaking."

"Oh, I'm so glad I finally contacted you. I've been calling this number since yesterday."

Jack smiled. Bet it drove your boss crazy that no one answered.

"Who are you and why are you calling me?" Jack knew the answers, but Jason wouldn't. "If you're selling something-"

"Oh, no! My name is Eva Compton from the New York City Dormentalist Temple. I'm calling from the Grand Paladin's office and-"

Jack let out a little gasp. "Dormentalist? I have nothing to say to you people! You threw me out!"

"That's why I'm calling, Mr. Farrell. What happened yesterday was a terrible mistake. Please come back to the temple so that we can rectify this unfortunate error. We're all terribly upset here."

"You're upset? You're You're upset? I've never been so humiliated in my entire life! You Dormentalists are awful, heartless people and I want nothing to do with any of you. Ever!" upset? I've never been so humiliated in my entire life! You Dormentalists are awful, heartless people and I want nothing to do with any of you. Ever!"

With that he thumbed the off b.u.t.ton and glanced at his watch-8:41. Jack made a mental wager that they'd call back in twenty minutes.

He lost. The phone rang at 8:52. Jack recognized the accented ba.s.s voice immediately.

"Mr. Farrell, this is Grand Paladin Jensen of the New York City Dormentalist Temple. We met yesterday. I-"

"You're the rude man who kicked me out!"

"And I'm so sorry about that. We made an error-a terrible error-and we'd like to rectify it."

"Oh, really." Jack drew out the word. He wasn't going to let Jensen off the hook easily. "You said I was a phony, that you ran a check on my name and found out I didn't exist. So why are you calling a man who doesn't exist, Mr. Jensen? Tell me that?'

"Well, I-"

"And why are you calling me 'Mr. Farrell' when you say that's not my name?"

"I-I don't have any other name to call you. Look, if you'll just come back, I'm sure we can-"

"You also said you don't allow lies in Dormentalist temples-only truth. If that's true, why do you want me back?"

"Because... because I was too hasty." Jack could almost hear him squirm. "After you left I did some investigating and learned that your RT made several errors. Errors which would rightfully upset anyone."

"I'll say!"

"I promise you she's being disciplined. She'll be sent before the FPRB and-"

"The what?"

"The Fusion Progress Review Board. Her behavior will be reviewed and appropriate disciplinary measures taken."

Electroshock therapy, I hope, Jack thought, remembering that hapless mouse.

He figured it was time to waver, but not before twisting the knife.

"Well, that's encouraging, but what about you? You didn't even give me a chance to speak. Are you going before this FPRB?"

"Well, ah, no. You have to understand, Mr. Farrell, that the Church i& under constant a.s.sault, and sometimes we get jumpy. I realized that you had volunteered your real name but I wouldn't listen, so I discussed the matter with Mr. Brady."

Time to be impressed. "Luther Brady? You discussed me with Luther Brady himself?" Brady? You discussed me with Luther Brady himself?"

"Yes, and he was very upset that you'd come to the Church for help and we'd turned you away. He wants to meet with you personally when you come back."

b.u.mp it up to breathy-voiced awe: "Luther Brady wants to meet with me me? That's... that's..." a little catch in the voice here "... wonderful! When can I come back?"

"Anytime you wish, but the sooner the better as far as we're concerned."

"I'll be right down."

"Excellent! I'll have somebody meet you at-"

"Not just 'somebody,'" Jack said, unable to resist one last turn of the blade. "You. I want the Grand Paladin himself there to bring me in."

Jack heard Jensen swallow, then say, "Why, of course. I'd be happy to."

Oh, yeah. I'll bet you're just dying to be my escort to Luther Brady.

Jack considered asking Jensen to bark like a dog but canned it. He grinned as he ended the call.

Finding Johnny Roselli was turning out to be fun.

2.

Grand Paladin Jensen took up most of the elevator cab. Jack managed to squeeze in beside him and find a way to stand without rubbing elbows with his black uniform, but that was it. The two of them pretty much maxed out the s.p.a.ce. Gollum might have been able to make it a threesome, but that was iffy.

As Jensen pressed the 22 b.u.t.ton, Jack decided to go into chatty mode.

"All the way to the top, huh?"

Jensen nodded, staring at the doors. "That's Mr. Brady's floor."

"The whole whole floor?" floor?"

Another nod. "The whole floor."

"I'm really looking forward to meeting him. Will he be waiting for us?"

Jensen had the look of a man trying to be cool while a Doberman sniffed his crotch.

"He's expecting us."

"Do you have a first name, Mr. Jensen?"

"Yes."

Jack waited a few seconds. When it became obvious Jensen wasn't going to volunteer anything else, Jack said, "And that would be...?"

Jensen kept staring straight ahead. "That would be a name I don't use."

Yessiree, the size of a GE double oven but less personality.

"And speaking of names," Jensen added, finally looking at Jack, "what do we call you?"

Before Jack could answer, the cab stopped but the doors didn't open. He noticed that the floor indicator read 21 21.

"Are we stuck?"

"No, merely being cleared through."

Jack checked the upper corners and spotted a mirrored hemisphere front left. Security camera. Seemed like Luther Brady didn't like drop-in company.

The cab began moving again, then stopped on twenty-two. The doors slid open onto a hallway with a gleaming parquet floor and walnut-paneled walls. Ahead a pair of doors stood open revealing a large sunny s.p.a.ce. A young, gray-uniformed receptionist sat behind a black desk to the right.

"We're expected," Jensen said.

She nodded knowingly. "Of course. Wait here and I'll announce you."

But Jack kept going, like a moth heading for the light, ignoring calls from Jensen and the receptionist. He strolled through the doors into a high-ceilinged room clad in the same walnut paneling. He squinted in the light from the skylights and windows. To the left he noticed a pair of chromed steel doors sliding shut across a recess that contained what appeared to be a giant sphere.

A familiar-looking man rose from a huge desk by the windows. Jack knew him from TV, usually in a tape clip a.s.sociated with a sound bite. But he hadn't seen that expression before: Luther Brady was furious.

"I tried to stop him, Mr. Brady," said the breathless receptionist behind him, "but he wouldn't listen."

The anger flashed out of Brady's face as quickly as it had come. He was smiling now as he came around the desk and started toward Jack.

"Quite all right, Constance," he said, dismissing her with a left-handed wave. He thrust out his right hand as he approached Jack. "Our guest, it would seem, has a rather unpredictable nature."

Constance left, shutting the door behind her. Jensen remained, standing with his feet apart, his hands clasped in front of him. Like some dark stone idol.

"I'm so sorry," Jack said. "I didn't mean to barge in. It's just that, well, the thought of meeting Luther Brady himself, in person, it... well, it just blew my manners out the window. Really, I apologize."

"Quite the contrary," Brady said. "It is I"-a quick glance at Jensen here-"we who should be apologizing to you for the way you were treated yesterday." who should be apologizing to you for the way you were treated yesterday."

"Don't give it another thought." Jack clasped Brady's hand in both of his and gave it a hearty shake. "This is such such an honor, sir." an honor, sir."

Brady's supercilious expression indicated that he agreed.

"But you have me at a disadvantage, sir. You know my name but I don't know yours." He laughed. "I certainly can't call you 'Jack Farrell' now, can I."

"It's Jason... Jason Amurri."

"Jason Amurri," Brady said slowly, as if rolling an unfamiliar sound over his tongue.

You're good, Jack thought. Very good.

No doubt Brady and Jensen knew all about Jason Amurri by now, but Brady was putting on an excellent show.

Ernie's job had been to find a rich recluse in his thirties, someone who didn't get his pictures in the pages. He'd been justly proud of coming up with Jason Amurri.

Ernie had said Jason was the younger son of shipping magnate Aldo Amurri-not Ona.s.sis cla.s.s, but up there-with a personal fortune somewhere in the couple-of-hundred-million neighborhood; nice neighborhood, but due to become lots nicer when he inherited Daddy's company. Unlike his older brother, Jason was anything but a jet-setter. He was a recluse who'd spent much of the past ten years on the continent, mostly in his chateau in Switzerland. As such, he was not paparazzi fodder and so there was almost no public record of what he looked like.