Recoil.

Brian Garfield.

Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.

-JOHN MILTON, Paradise Lost.

PART ONE.

THE HUNTED.

CHAPTER ONE.

New York State: 1819 July.

1.

THE DOOR CLOSED BEHIND HER WITH A SHUDDERING STEEL crash. The corrections officer at the desk looked up once, dropped his eyes to the stack of forms and did not look at her again. "Name?"

"You know my name."

"We get a lot of visitors."

She said, "Anna Pastor. Mrs. Frank Pastor."

He filled in a s.p.a.ce at the top of a form, writing with a ball-point. "You're here to see ...?"

"My husband." She took one step forward and placed the visitor's pa.s.s on the desk. She kept her hand on it.

It took forty minutes; then she sat in a hard chair at the long table. It ran wall to wall: The mesh part.i.tion filled the s.p.a.ce from tabletop to ceiling. She had learned how to ignore the flyspecked green walls and the men who stood just inside the doors with their pot bellies cinched up by black pistol belts.

Frank came in and faced her through the mesh in his drab uniform. She smiled at him. He drew out the chair and sat down.

"They all send regards."

"How are the girls?"

"Sandy has a cold. I'm keeping her in bed today. Ezio told me he heard a rumor about your parole."

When he smiled it made her think of the early days. He was still thin but he'd gone bald on top and that had aged him. She said, "We'll have to get you a hairpiece."

"What rumor?"

"Two months at most. Maybe six weeks."

"Well now." He smiled again; he began to relax.

"It's only a rumor, Frank."

"Sure."

She said the rest with a nod: The parole board had been reached, the pet.i.tion would be affirmed; the fix was in.

"Eight years," he said.

"Don't think about it, Frank."

"Nothing else to think about. Nothing else to do except think about it." He looked around from guard to guard; his voice dropped. "There was a piece in the Post last week. Page five."

"I saw it. I gave it to Ezio."

"You ask Ezio for me, ask him to find those four gentlemen."

"We'll see if we can't give them to you at the front gate. As a coming-out present. Gift-wrapped."

It inspired his quiet laughter.

THREATENED WITNESSES LEAD NEW LIVES.

Federal Marshals Provide Protection WASHINGTON, July 18-More than 1,000 American families are living false lives under a.s.sumed names given them by the U.S. government. Their new ident.i.ties are all that protect them from violent retribution.

Last week's congressional budget hearings brought to light the formal existence of a federal witness relocation program, a key element in the Justice Department's effort to grapple with organized crime.

When witnesses are threatened by organized crime figures against whom they intend to testify, the government offers to protect these witnesses by giving them new ident.i.ties, new locations, new jobs, and sometimes even new citizenship if the case is judged so dangerous that it seems advisable to relocate the witness abroad.

The protective service is granted to witnesses both before and after they give testimony: In many cases it is a lifetime service. (Witnesses need protection not only from those against whom they have testified, but also from other criminals who may fear being squealed on by the same witnesses.) Head of the program is F. Scott Corcoran, a.s.sociate director of the U.S. Marshal's Service. Interviewed in his office in Falls Church, Va., Mr. Corcoran expressed surprise at what he called "all this sudden interest by the press."

Mr. Corcoran said, "We're not a clandestine organization. We've been on the books of the Justice Department seven years now. We don't hide our budget appropriations under phony headings or cla.s.sified listings. We're out in the open. The only secret here is the ident.i.ties of the people we service."

Last week's congressional budget hearings included debate over an $11-million annual appropriation request for the Witness Security Program, a joint operation of the Justice Department's Criminal Division, the U.S. Marshal's Service and the FBI.

"We're surprised but pleased by this sudden attention," Mr. Corcoran said. "I think the publicity definitely helps. A big part of our job is a.s.suring potential witnesses against organized crime that they can avail themselves of our protective services."

Witnesses' names are changed legally, in closed federal court sessions, so that no unlawful acts are committed by administrators of the program. "We're not perpetrating frauds on anyone except the Mob," Mr. Corcoran insisted.

But he conceded that some known criminals, granted immunity from prosecution in return for their testimony, have been relocated under new names without the knowledge of local law enforcement agencies. "We couldn't very well broadcast the witness' new name to every police department in the country," Mr. Corcoran pointed out.

Asked about the program's degree of success, Mr. Corcoran replied promptly, "Our batting average is 998. We've had two witnesses attacked out of more than a thousand we've relocated. There's no binding evidence that either of the two victims was discovered by the Mob-the murders haven't been solved, but they may have been coincidences."

Mr. Corcoran added, "I'd like to point out that there have been certain instances of witnesses refusing our protection. In a large number of cases those people have gone home and been shot to death or blown up when they started their cars. We're providing the only successful defense against that kind of retribution. The program has been very successful in encouraging witnesses to step forward. It's putting a big dent in the operations of organized crime in this country. This program is the main reason why you're seeing a lot more prosecutions of organized crime leaders today."

But he admitted it could be a severe jolt for a witness to start life over again under a new name. "He's got to leave all his friends behind. Sometimes he's got to take a step down, professionally or financially. Sometimes he's got to face his children, confess his wrongdoing to them so they'll understand why they've got to live the rest of their lives under new names. But it's been a great advantage to some of these people. Some of them have done very well for themselves. We've got two witnesses we relocated several years ago who've become millionaires under their new ident.i.ties."

The program has grown rapidly over the past few years. "Sometimes we process two new families in a single week," Mr. Corcoran said. "People are getting the word-there is a way out of their dilemma, and we're here to help them."

2.

She put the soup pot on the front burner, heard the doorbell and glanced at the monitor screen above the refrigerator. It was Ezio's face, a pattern of gray dots; he stared gravely into the camera.

She pressed the door-release b.u.t.ton and saw him walk out of the picture; then she heard the front door.

"I'm in the kitchen."

His wide body filled the doorway. "How's Frank?"

"I haven't seen him smile like that in years. He even laughed."

"Yeah." The cigar had gone out. Ezio snapped his gold lighter. He didn't look at her; he rarely did. She was still the outsider: He did not let her forget she was the second Mrs. Pastor.

She put the lid on the pot. "Sandy's got a cold, I'm making her some lentil soup. Want some?"

"No. I'm on my way to a meeting. Just checking in."

"He saw the article in the Post. He wants the four of them found." She searched his face. "Any progress?"

He was looking at the monitor screen; his answer was reluctant. "You could say so. We're getting close to their files."

"How close?"

"We'll know Thursday, one way or the other."

"Better find them, Ezio."

"I know. Say h.e.l.lo to the girls for me." He put his hat on and left.

She took the lid off. It was bubbling. She opened the cabinet and took down a soup bowl. On the monitor screen she saw Ezio walk away toward the elevator.

The youth had crow's-wing hair and a pointed face. He called himself C. K. Gillespie but Ezio called him Charlie because he didn't like the arrogance of people who used initials in place of a name. He thought of Charlie as a flyweight kid, although Charlie was ten years older than he looked, had a busy law practice in Washington and had done satisfactory work for the Pastor organization.

Charlie came into the office at ten minutes to four. Ezio was reading the Wall Street Journal. "You're twenty minutes late."

"We were in the holding pattern. This place swept for bugs?"

"Once a week. And the jammer's always running. You ought to apologize a little for being late."

"I never apologize for something that isn't my fault."

"It's just good manners, you know."

Charlie sat down. He was slim in the sharkskin suit. It looked vaguely Sy Devore, Ezio thought-something West Coast about it. He couldn't wear clothes like that; from the age of six he'd been built like a beer truck. He had decided he looked best in winter tweed and summer seersucker, and those were all he ever wore.

"And you ought to wait for somebody to ask you to sit down before you sit. It's presumptuous."

"Ezio, I like you a lot but I don't need courtesy lessons from you. I match my manners to the company I'm in."

"Don't patronize me, Charlie, I'm not one of your Texas hillbilly clients."

"No." Charlie smiled a little and that made Ezio wonder how the kid actually did picture him. As a gorilla with an education, probably. Charlie still had a lot of things to learn and one of them was about jumping to oversimplified conclusions.

Ezio said, "Mr. Pastor's anxious for news from Washington."

"I met Mrs. Janowicz this morning."

"And?"

"The security's pretty tight there."

"We already knew that, Charlie."

"I'd prefer you didn't call me that."

"When you're in this chair you can call yourself anything you want. Right now I'm in this chair and you're in that one, Charlie. Now tell me about that secretary-what's her name again?

"Janowicz. Mary Janowicz."

"Polack?"

"Irish. She's married to a Polack."

"Polish-American, Charlie. An important attorney like you shouldn't stoop to ethnic slurs. Only thugs and bigots use words like that."

Charlie smiled again: He didn't rise to it. But Ezio liked to bait him because someday he was going to find out whether the kid had b.a.l.l.s.

"She's got a girl friend she loves once or twice a week. She wouldn't want it broadcast. The people she works for are stuffy about that kind of thing."

Ezio made a face. "So am I, as a matter of fact."

"We've got three hundred feet of infrared film. She's a little fat but you could possibly get six bucks a ticket in a Times Square p.o.r.n house. She got the idea all right. Then also of course we offered her money to cooperate. Enough money to make her start thinking about the possibilities."