The Proposal

Chapter 10 Chapter 10 The three men piled into the black Cadillac sedan Roger had rented for the expedition, Roger at the wheel. Carlucci noticed the stiffness with which Terranova got into the car, and cast a glance of inquiry at the dark-haired agent. "Castellano got in a lucky shot twenty four hours ago. I took a knife in the ribs." Carlucci blinked. "You’ve been stabbed? Why aren’t you in a hospital?" "‘Cuz Brod and Castellano probably have them all staked out, waiting for me to turn up so thmove me from a room to the morgue," Vince replied, grimly. "It’s thanks to Rog and some little white pills I’m on my feet at all," he elaborated, giving credit where credit was due. "You play hardball, Terranova," Carlucci exhaled noisily. "They don’t call ‘em the major leagues for nothing," Vince agreed, leaning slowly back against the leather upholstery, coughing as he pressed an arm hard against his ribs. ÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅ Roger slowed the Caddy to a crawl, doing a preliminary drive-by of the warehouse Vince had given him directions to. Three large sedans and a limousine were visible in and around the wide-open freight doors. Lococco circled the block and pulled into the loading dock, ensuring that the car was not likely to be blocked into its parking space, should they need to leave in a hurry. He got out and opened the back door for Terranova, subtly assisting him out of the vehicle. The three of them made their way to the freight doors, halted a step inside by two of Capuzi’s personal guard. "Where’s don Capuzi?" Vince asked with cool disinterest, casting a glance around the warehouse. Meat hooks on their sliding track looped back and forth across the interior space, forming an odd sort of visual curtain. At least they were empty, Vince thought. The absence of carcasses lent a false sense of security, but the visual symbolism of the bloody remains of slaughtered animals was something he could do without. "Waitin’ on you, wiseguy," the hired muscle snapped. "Search ‘em," he directed his assistant, and was instantly obeyed. Roger had worn the H&K in its shoulder holster, as unconcealed as a concealed weapon was likely to get. The stiletto in its wrist sheath, the snub-nosed revolver in its ankle holster and several handfuls of ball bearings distributed through various pockets he apparently expected to be overlooked in favor of the obvious. He was relieved of the pistol in short order, and the three-quarter inch bearings in his trouser pockets prompted a more familiar contact than Roger had presumably counted on as the searcher thrust a hand into the pocket and seized a handful. Roger tensed at the touch, eyes flashing. "What the hell?" The lackey muttered, examining the steel orbs in bemusement. "Ball bearings?" he shot a look at the muscle covering Vince. Vince shrugged. "Once a mechanic, always a mechanic" The man whose machine pistol hovered a bare two feet from Vince’s chest snorted. "You can take the grease off the monkey but he’s still an ape," he said disparagingly to Lococco’s expressionless face. "Your tailor must love you," the second thug commented, moving on to Carlucci. "Who’s he?" the gun-wielding one asked Vince of Carlucci. "My accountant," Vince answered in the same surly tone in which the question had been asked. "Your accountant. You just don’t got any idea how deep the shit you’re in is, do you, smart-mouth?" Vince glared at him, unblinkingly, not bothering with a reply. "Give the monkey back his balls," the man told his associate, dismissively. Roger took the bearings, letting them roll in his palm before dropping them back into an overcoat pocket. He met Vince’s eyes and Vince quickly suppressed a shiver at the expression he saw in Lococco’s gaze. Roger fell into step on Vince’s heels, both hands in his coat pockets as they followed the second thug into the plant through the maze of hooks and chains. Capuzi and three of his household guard were waiting in a clear area near the meat lockers. The pair of rusting forklifts parked randomly at the edges of the space gave it a look of tired abandonment. The don looked up at Vince’s entrance, glancing appraisingly at his companions. "Where is your stepfather?" he asked. Vince frowned. "He’s not here?" "No," Capuzi answered. "I thought he would be coming with you." Vince shook his head, negatively. "When I talked to him this morning, he said he’d see me here." He didn’t bother to conceal his worry as he pulled his phone out of his greatcoat pocket and dialed Aiuppo’s number. It rang, unanswered, for long minutes. Vince caught Roger’s eye, seeing the furrowed brow and the narrowed eyes that signified Lococco’s awareness of trouble. "I don’t like this," he said, finally hanging up and shoving the phone back in a pocket. He turned to Capuzi. "With respect, don Capuzi, I think Rudy may be in trouble. Brod and Castellano have been planning a coup — that’s what Carlucci is here to prove — and they may be gunning for him. I need to find him. Now. Before they can get to him, if it’s not already too late." Capuzi scowled. "You’re sure of this?" he asked, angerorinoring his voice. "Oh, yeah," Vince assured him. "About as sure as a knife in the ribs can make me. They’re gunning for both of us, and have been since Sunday when you gave me seventy two hours to get the goods on Grecco. Well, I’ve got what you wanted, and Grecco is in the morgue courtesy of Castellano’s prima facci. I don’t want Rudy to end up being his slab-mate." Capuzi turned to his lieutenant. "Take Richie and Al and go with Vincenzo to don Aiuppo’FindFind him. Bring him to me. And if you find Brandon or Michael, bring them, too." He faced Vince again. "You say you have proof Tony was a thief?" Vince reached into his overcoat, slowly withdrawing the sheaf of papers McPike had given him. He handed it to the don’s lieutenant, who reached for it, and eased the pinkie ring off his finger. "The account number is engraved on the inside of the band," he told them, tossing it to Capuzi, who caught it cleanly out of the air, eyeing Terranova speculatively. "There’s over a half million in that account," he said. "The Winfield deal wasn’t the first one he’d skimmed." Capuzi slid the ring onto his own finger after checking it quickly for the number there. He nodded at Vince. "Go. Find Rudy. Join me at my home. It seems you, your stepfather and I have business to discuss." Vince nodded sharply and turned to Carlucci. "Mario, stay with don Capuzi. Show his numbers man what you showed me," he ordered, ignoring the flash of panic in the man’s eyes. Vince glanced at Capuzi, continuing. "Mario thinks he’s tracked down a second set of books Castellano’s guy’s been keeping on the extra take they’ve been hauling outta Brooklyn. If you’re planning on shutting them down, you’re gonna want proof, or some of the other families may start screaming." Capuzi nodded, beckoning to Carlucci, who swallowed and stepped to the don’s side. Capuzi’s lieutenant strode toward the front of the warehouse, Vince and Lococco right behind him. With a sharp command, the man called two more of Capuzi’s men to heel, and the small group swept out of the packing plant, heading for the cars as Capuzi’s man made cursory introductions. "I’m Cal McLean and these two bozos are Richie Donatello and Al Toscano." He handed Roger back his H&K. "Vince Terranova, and my partner, Roger Lococco," Vince said, shaking the offered hands as they hurried toward the cars. "You know where Rudy’s house is?" McLean nodded, getting into the driver’s seat of the Lincoln parked behind Roger’s Cadillac. Vince got into the passenger seat as Roger climbed behind the wheel. "You think the Bobbsey twins got to Rudy?" Roger asked grimly as he put the car in gear and roared out into traffic, heading for the main cross-town artery that would take them back to Brooklyn, McLean and the rest of Capuzi’s boys on their bumper. "If they did, and if they got into my laptop, they may know about Tracy. They make Rudy give her up and they’ve got leverage on me, and they’ll know that. They aren’t gonna be shy about using her, either," Vince replied, equally grimly. Roger accelerated.   They screeched to a stop at the curb in front of Aiuppo’s house and clambered out of the vehicles, drawing guns and stalking up to the front door. It stood ajar, that simple fact sending a frission of fear down Vince’s spine as Roger took point, sticking his head rapidly inside the door and glancing around. A body lay sprawled on the foyer floor, blood pooled around it on the parquet marble. Lococco, gun at the ready, slipped inside, peering sharply into the rooms that opened off the entry hall. Empty. He waved the rest of the men in behind him, and they entered, cautiously, slipping along walls, poised on the balls of their feet. He felt Vince at his back, the .357 held muzzle-up as Terranova scanned the front of the house for signs of life. Every instinct he had told Roger that whatever had happened, it was over, the perpetrators long since gone. Still, he was beginning to realize that it paid to play it safe when dealing with a pair of loose cannons like Castellano and Brod. Lococco waved Cal and his men up the stairs and he and Vince made their way toward Rudy’s library. The library seemed to be the epicenter of whatever had happened. The big wingbacks had been overturned and the massive library desk had been swept clear of it’s burdens, the crystal decanters splintered on the hardwood. It was Roger who saw him first. "Vince!" he said sharply, getting Terranova’s attention. Vince joined him, kneeling beside the man who lay panting on the floor between the fallen chairs. "Lou!" Terranova exclaimed, recognizing Louis Falcone, his stepfather’s favorite young wiseguy. "What the hell happened here?" "Vinnie, they took the don…" the voice was a bare whisperd bld blood began a slow trickle from the corner of the younger man's mouth as he peered up at Vince. "They musta had a guy on me, ‘cuz I spotted the tail on my way here from the hotel," he continued haltingly. "I’m sorry, man, I led ‘em right to her." "Roger, get an ambulance," Vince ordered, eyes never leaving Lou’s face. "You mean Brod and Castellano?" he asked, knowing the answer. The younger man nodded feebly. "Some of their guys. They left me here to tell you where to find ‘em…" Vince fought the urge to shake the man. "Where the hell did you and the old man stash Tracy?" he demanded, biting back his fear. His pulse was beginning a dull roaring in his ears and he had to strain for Lou’s reply. "The Wessex Hotel, downtown," came the barely audible answer. 1932." "Alright, hang in there, kid," he said, straightening the sprawled limbs and propping Falcone’s head on the backrest of the chair that had fallen beside him. Vince tugged open Lou’s suit coat and shirt, looking for the source of the blood that slicked his chest. The man had taken a round point-blank to the upper abdomen and Vince knew a bad wound when he saw it. "How long ago’d they hit you? How much of a lead do they have?" "15, maybe 20 minutes," Falcone whispered. He stared up into Vince’s eyes. "I’m sorry, Vince. She’s a lady." "That she is," Vince agreed. Behind him, he could hear Lococco’s urgent tones as he spoke to the emergency operator. "I expect you to apologize to her when this is over." "You got it, Vinnie," Falcone sighed, eyes drooping closed. Vince felt for a pulse. It was there, though weak. He closed his own eyes for a split second, then rose to his feet painfully. "Roger, we’ve got a 20 minute lead to cut down," he told Lococco as Roger finished up his conversation with the emergency operator. "Rudy’s been snatched and Castellano’s guys are taking him downtown to the hotel where he’s got Tracy." Roger digested this unhappily. "Midday traffic is bad enough, but we’re coming up on the beginning of rush hour," he observed, checking his watch. "We’re never gonna catch them." "Not with you driving," Vince agreed grimly. "You don’t know the city well enough." "You’re not up to it, so don’t even think about it," Roger rebuked him. "We can get one of Capuzi’s guys to chauffeur us." Without waiting for Vince’s response, Lococco headed back to the staircase, calling for McLean. It was Donatello, by the ready consensus of his fellows, who drove them. Roger braced both himself and Terranova as they went rocketing through traffic at a breakneck pace, barely avoiding multiple collisions and pedestrians. McLean and Toscano, in the second car, clung, limpet-like to their bumper as they streaked across town. Evenatelatello could not circumvent the increasingly heavy traffic of the heart of the city, however. Their progress was slowed to a crawl by the congestion. Vince struggled to keep from fidgeting, from uttering aloud the stream of invective that ran through his brain. He felt Lococco watching him and it was all he could do not to take his mood out on him. Anxiety had given way to out-and-out fear by now, and the inability to take any sort of action only amplified it. When thenallnally reached the Wessex with its view of Central Park, Vince was crawling out of his skin. There was no way of knowing whether any of Donatello’s racetrack moves had bought them any time, he acknowledged as Richie roared into the basement parking garage of the hotel, radials screaming on the concrete of the ramps, all three of them scanning the floors for any movement. Unbelievably, on the fourth level down, they spotted Brod, Castellano and the half-dozen or so wiseguys that clustered about the elevators, Rudy Aiuppo in their midst. Donatello wrenched the Cadillac out of the curving arc of the ramp and gunned the big cawn twn the aisle straight at them, fishtailing the vehicle so that it swung broadside across the roadway 30 feet from the now madly scrambling hoods, driver’s side facing away from the thugs. He and Lococco were out of the vehicle in nanoseconds, guns drawn, elbows steadied on the roof of the car. Behind them, they could hear the shriek of McLean’s car as it followed them down the ramps. Vince, more slowly, got out on the passenger side, not bothering to arm himself. He strode forward, locking eyes with Castellano, who stood calmly, gun muzzle held firmly against Aiuppo’s temple. Beside him, Brod, smiling, held his automatic aimed straight at Vince. "Let the old man go," Vince said flatly. "In your dreams, Terranova," Brod laughed. "Look around you. You are definitely out-gunned." He waved his free hand casually at the six men flanking them, all with weapons in hand, all of them trained on Vince and his small party. Vince began to speak and was silenced by the earsplitting squeal of McLean’s car breaking to a smoking halt beside their Caddy. McLean and Toscano were out, guns in hand, before the air had cleared. "I wouldn’t," Calvin McLean said, cockins gus gun, the noise loud in the cavernous space. "Not unless you’re looking for war with Capuzi," he informed them. "My orders were fairly explicit." Brod and Castellano exchanged the briefest of glances. "This has nothing to do with Queens. It’s an internal matter," Brod stated. "Not any more," McLean replied. "When you start ripping off your own don, your… business partners… are gonna start wondering whether your hands are in their pockets, too. Cherry has some questions he’d like to ask the two of you." Michael Brod’s expression was carefully neutral "We have business to finish with Rudy and Terranova. If don Capuzi wants to see us, he can make an appointment." McLean laughed. "You really want to play it this way?" "It’s over," Vince told the pair. "It’s up to you whether you want to walk away — or get carried." Castellano eyed Vince coldly. "Tell me, what’s it like to fuck the Steelgraves? First you screwed Sonny and Dave, and now you’ve got Dave’s daughter doin’ a lap dance with you. I’d be real interested in knowing how good she is. She a screamer?" Vince snarled, reaching for his pistol, faintly aware of Lococco’s soft expletive behind him. The knowledge that he was being played did not slow him for even half a heartbeat, and he leveled his pistol at Castellano, finger tight on the trigger. The tension in the air, already high, went stratospheric. "The way I see it, you’ve got two choices. I can shoot you now, or I can let Capuzi do the honors. But either way, you are dead. Now let Rudy go." "I don’t think so," Castellano said as the elevator behind him chimed and the steel doors slid open. Together, he and Brod stepped backward into the car, taking Rudy with them, their respective guns never wavering from their targets. "Kill the bastard," he commanded his men as the doors closed between him and Vince. Vince didn’t hesitate, swinging his gun toward the nearest of Castellano’s wiseguys and firing as he advanced on the elevators, slamming a hand into cal call button in furious haste. He ignored Lococco’s shouted command to hit the deck, instead, turning the gun on a new target, oblivious to the cement chips that whined off the wall behind him. The berserker rage that swept him left no thought for his own safety. The imperative to get to Tracy overwhelmed everything else.   Roger cursed at Vince's reckless actions, turning to Donatello. "Cover me!" he shouted, leaping out from behind the Cadillac, dodging gunfire as he sprinted the ten yards to the elevators. He caught Vince by one arm and hurled him to the ground, going down in front of him, shielding him, firing at the source of the shots that howled past them. Behind him, he heard Vince’s hammer fall on empty chambers and he ejected his virtually empty clip, shoving a fresh one into place, and tossed the H&K to Terranova as he reached into his coat pockets for the ball bearings there. He surged to his knees, keeping himself between Vince and the shooters, and let fly, the bearings smashing through car windows and into their human targets, nearly as effective as his gun at short range. Almost inaudible in the din of gunfire, the elevators chimed again, and a pair of steel doors opened with majestic slowness behind him. "McLean — can you handle them?" he shouted to Capuzi’s lieutenant, getting back an affirmative. "I’m going after Aiuppo," he told him, scrambling upright and making a grab for Vince, hauling him to his feet and thrusting him bodily into the elevator as the doors began to close. He slipped inside himself as three layers of steel shut out the gun battle. He turned to face Terranova, who stood, leaning heavily against the wall, face gray and his breath coming in the shallow gasps that immediately told Lococco that his lung had collapsed again, probably as a result of being thrown none-too-gently to the ground. "What the hell did you think you were doing back there, you stupid shit?!" he demanded, advancing on Terranova with outrage in every muscle. He pulled open Vince’s coat and suit with one hand as he fished in his pocket with the other. He ripped open the silk shirt, and without further preparation, uncapped the seven inch needle, flicking off the sterile end piece, and threaded it with barely restrained fury most of the way into Vince’s chest from under the left side of the rib cage. He pulled the short length of bandaging tape off the cap, tossing the plastic to the floor, and fastened the needle down against the skin of Terranova’s upper abdomen. Blood began a steady, frothy drip from the exposed end of the needle as the air trapped in Vince’s chest slowly escaped. "That stunt could have gotten us both killed!" The elevator doors opened onto the main floor of the hotel, and Roger whirled to face the startled crowd that waited there, the little knife dropping from its sheath into his hand, point weaving with the lethal grace of a snake about to strike. "Get the next one," he snarled, hitting the ‘close’ bu. Vi. Vince, breathing still labored as he fought the pain, locked pleading eyes with Lococco, his voice shaky. "Roger, don’t let them get to her. Kill them if you have to," he said harshly. His muscles were beginning to quiver as well, presumably as the last of the amphetamines were burned out of his system. Roger doubted his ability to keep his feet much longer the thought confirmed when Vince turned Roger's automatic in his grasp and handed it to Lococco butt-first. "Just don’t let them get near her." Roger took the gun, handing Vince the snub-nosed revolver from his ankle holster in dark silence. He could see Terranova’s hold on strength and consciousness slipping and cursed the necessity that had caused him to knock Vince down hard enough to re-injure him. "I’ll do my best, Buckwheat, but Rudy may get damaged some," he said as the elevator doors opened onto the nineteenth floor. He pulled the emergency stop button and stuck his head out of the elevator for a rapid glance down the hall in each direction, spotting Brod, Castellano and Aiuppo turning a corner at the far end of the corridor. Without another word, he sprinted down the hall after them, footfalls astonishingly silent on the plush carpeting. He reached the turn in the hall and took a quick look. The threesome had stopped at a suite door and were pounding on it. "Tell them to open up, old man," Castellano told Aiuppo, finger tightening on the trigger of his gun as he pressed it harder against Rudy’s temple. Aiuppo shot him a contemptuous look and said something cutting in Italian, spitting in Castellano’s face, and turning to the door, he shouted a warning to the occupants of the room, again in Italian. Castellano, in a fit of temper, smashed the butt of his gun against the old man’s temple, knocking him to the floor, dazed, and wiped the spittle from his face. He leveled the automatic at the fallen don, preparing to fire. "Say goodnight, Gracie," he hissed. Lococco knew he wouldn’t get a better opportunity, and he leveled the H&K at the gun in Castellano’s hand, firing. The automatic went flying and Castellano collapsed, shrieking in agony as the next round hit him in the knee. Brod spun around and opened fire on Lococco’s positiRogeRoger ducked back behind the corner as plaster dust exploded from the wall at face level. He knew he needed to make short work of the man. It would be only a matter of minutes before the police would be summoned, if they had not already been called. He was distracted from his quarry by Terranova’s halting arrival. Vince half-staggered into the open, presenting himself as a target to Brod, cleaarly hoping to draw his fire to allow Roger to finish him. He ignored Lococco’s shouted epithets and aimed the snub-nosed revolver at Brod, pulling the trigger. Roger doubted his ability to hit anything, but as a ruse, it worked admirably. Brod’s attention — and his gun — were instantly fixed on Vince. In that instant, Roger fired, and Brod pitched over backward in a boneless sprawl and lay motionless on the burgundy carpeting. Vince, at the end of his strength, sagged heavily against the wall and slid slowly down to the floor, panting as Roger loped down the hall to check on the bodies. Lococco checked Brod for a pulse and found none, moving on to Castellano who lay whimpering and clutching his knee. Roger kicked his gun down the hall in Vince’s direction, seeing Vince stop its slide with a quick grab. He turned to Aiuppo, giving the old man a hand as he struggled to his feet, checking the rapidly swelling lump on the don’s temple. Aiuppo brushed him off. "I am fine," he snapped at Roger, raising a fist ap sap sharply at the door in what was clearly a code. It opened instantly, an armed wiseguy peering through the slitted opening. The door opened the rest of the way as he confirmed it was Aiuppo on the other side. "Take the woman and get her to my home," he commanded. "Now!" he added when his man hesitated a split second in the doorway. This time he was obeyed immediately. Lococco headed back down the hall to Vince, who sat limply propped against the wall, breathing shallowly. He knelt beside Terranova as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, dialing 911. Behind him, he heard Aiuppo’s man yank an unwilling Tracy Steelgrave into the hall. "Get your hands off me, you ape," she demanded, her anger unmistakable. "Tracy, you must leave, immediately," Aiuppo interrupted. "The police will be here any moment." "So what? I’m not the one who’s going to have a problem with them," she snapped at the old man. Roger glanced back over his shoulder at the little scene as he spoke to the emergency operator for the second time in as many hours. He could see very little of the woman, Aiuppo and her two bodyguards blocking his vision. Her temper, however, was unmistakable. Disinterested, he returned his attention to Vince, watching what fading consciousness Terranova had focus on the woman’s voice, a faint smile playing over his mouth as he caught the argument. Vince watched her, what was visible of her, like a man presented with visions of eternal paradise, with an astonished joy at seeing her again after two months, even under these conditions. As though she could feel the weight of his gaze on her, she glanced his way. Roger saw the instant of horrified realization and heard her scream Vince's name before Aiuppo’s men seized her and hauled her spitting and fighting down the hall in the opposite direction toward the far elevators. Vince sighed and surrendered to the welcome oblivion of darkness. ÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅ Tracy looked up at Aiuppo’s entrance, her eyes cold. "How are they?" The old don sank wearily into the now-righted leather chair, not replying immediately. He was relieved to see that someone had taken the time to straighten up the destruction Brod and Castellano’s men had wrecked upon his home. He had been dreading returning to the ruins. He sighed. "Vincenzo is in Intensive Care," he told her, eventually. "Luigi is still in surgery. The doctors do not seem to think he will survive." "What about Vince? When can I see him?" she asked flatly. "Not until he regains consciousness," Rudy said tiredly, leaning his aching head against the backrest and clg hig his eyes. He saw no reason to tell her that Lococco had categorically refused to leave Vince’s side, and was even now standing guard over Terranova. He had no doubt that if she knew, Tracy would insist on joining him in that vigil. She looked away, staring unseeingly at the cold hearth. "Was it everything you hoped for?" she asked him bitterly. "Are you satisfied? Vince is hurt — I don’t know how badly. You’ve manipulated Capuzi into supporting your bid to put him into Brooklyn, Bis dis dead, Castellano is disgraced and under house arrest, and you’ve managed to link my name to Vinnie’s, publicly, ending any chance we had to make a life together outside the mob and your little game." She turned to meet his rheumy eyes. "Tell me something, Rudy," she inquired. "Was it you who arranged for Tony Grecco to testify?" Rudy met her anger calmly. "You over-estimate my abilities, my dear. No, I had nothing to do with Grecco appearing before the Grand Jury. But I was certainly capable of making use of the opportunity. I do not expect either you or Vince to forgive me for what I have done. But I do expect that, slowly, you may both come to understand why I did it. Will you remain here?" She didn’t reply right away. "I’ve arranged for a substitute instructor for my classes for the rest of this week. It’ll be a miracle if Georgetown asks me back next semester," she said. "I6;ll6;ll stay through the weekend." "I would prefer that you stay with me, in that case. I owe it to Vinnie to ensure your safety." Aiuppo closed his eyes, leaning his head back again. "I’ve had just about enough of your ‘hospitality’," she retorted, "but I get the feeling that that wasn’t a request. Just another of your politely phrased orders." Rudy smiled without opening his eyes. "Thank you for indulging an old man’s whims," he then sighed. "Have Leo show you to your room," he told her. Tracy knew a dismissal when she heard it and rose, leaving the battered and suddenly frail-seeming old man alone in his library. Silently, she walked up the stairs to the room she had first tenanted upon her arrival, Leo, her assigned goon, following at a respectful distance. She shut the door on him and slowly got undressed, putting on the silk nightgown the don had had waiting at the Wessex for her, and had apparently arranged to have brought here, along with the rest of the small but complete wardrobe he had procured for her. Wrapping a throw blanket around her shoulders, she settled herself on the window seat of her room, resting her forehead against the cold glass and stared out into the night. It had begun to snow, and she let her breath slowly fog the view out of the window. Soundlessly, she began to cry. ÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅ It was Saturday before Vince was free of the oxygen mask, finally able to breathe with only a nasal cannula to assist him, at last more conscious than unconscious. Lococco had stood guard the entire three and a half days, snatching sleep where he could and meals when McPike slipped into the hospital in the dead of night to relieve him for a few hours. He had finally taken time to return to the Waldorf for a shower and a shave, McPike having alerted him to Rudy’s plans for a mob summit at Vince’s bedside sometime Saturday afternoon. He and McPike had had the opportunity for some strategizing during those long nights, and had slowly hammered out the nucleus of a course of action, one designed to ensure that if Vince was put into position as Aiuppo’s cappo de tutti, it would be as a contractor. A freelancer, rather than Aiuppo’s hand-picked successor. It was the only thing either of them could come up with that might insulate Terranova, even marginally, from the internecine power-struggles within the mob. Roger had spent a great deal of time on the phone to the most trustworthy of his business advisors, setting up a series of corporations to hold the assets of the fictitious empire he was constructing as Terranova’s power base. It would eventually be funded with the hundred million that Frank had triumphantly presented to Beckstead as the fruits of an on-going Federal search for the last of the evidence outstanding in the Mel Profitt case. McPike had made it clear that it had turned up independently of Vince’s current situation, and had begun planting the idea of using it to fund the apparently inevitable mob penetration by Terranova. He had also begun laying the groundwork for Lococco’s inclusion as partner. That, he assured Roger, would be the true battle. Beckstead was vehemently opposed to civilian participation in Federal operations. Frank had proposed, and Roger had reluctantly agreed, that approaching the Attorney General might be the path of least resistance. McPike hoped to obtain special agent status for Lococco, and possibly Tracy, should her participation be as inevitable as they both suspected. He had scheduled a meeting with Attorney General Reno at her earliest convenience, which was some three weeks away, long enough, they hoped, for Vince to be back on his feet and able to play the role of super-mole convincingly for her. McPike had also arranged to passively bug Vince’s private hospital room Friday night, ensuring that the outcome of Aiuppo’s master plan would be know in its entirety. They had done what they could reasonably do without Vince’s active participation, and could now onlit. it. Roger sat in the chair he had dragged in from the waiting room three days before, feet propped on the undeployed railings of Vince’s bed where they projected below the mattress, sunglasses on, dozing fitfully. Four days of minimal sleep and DeSilva’s amphetamines had left him trembling, with nerves attenuated to the breaking point. He doubted his ability to hit the broadside of a barn with anything less than a tank by now, and had left his gun at the hotel, trusting that between them, Capuzi and Aiuppo’s security would be sufficient to ensure the safety of the assembled mob notables. He couldn’t bring himself to care much. The fact that McPike would have a small army of SWAT/HRT troops in the rooms on either side of Vince’s, should they be needed, relieved him of any responsibility save that of getting Vince onto the floor and behind cover if things got ugly.   Vince lay on his back, staring at the ceiling groggily. The mind-numbing exhaustion of the past few days was finally beginning to lift, and he felt half-way normal, despite the thick cough that still shook him. He watched Roger doze restlessly, distantly amazed by the conspiratorial industry Lococco and McPike had shown while he had been unconscious. When Lococco had briefed him on the steps they had taken, he heen een both impressed and irrationally angry that they had proceeded without his participation. Roger’s response had been a dismissive shrug, and the observation that Vince could arrange matters to his own satisfaction when he bothered to wake up long enough to venture an opinion: "So sue me," Roger shrugged. "You haven’t exactly been the life of the party," he told Terranova, ignoring his obvious annoyance. "We can always change things, but neither McPike or I are wild about the idea of you winging it Saturday afternoon when Rudy has his little conclave. So this is the story, Buckwheat; you and I are partners in a holding company with intes als all over the country. You’ve been handling, well, developing, the East Coast action, while I’ve been handling the West Coast. We’ve got our fingers in a whole lot of legitimate pies, and even a few dicey ones. Everything from restaurants to food service to fishing to wine to laundry to — pick your poison. We’ve even spiked it with a sizable dose of hi-tech." Vince frowned. "It sounds like you’ve transferred just about all your business interests into it," he observed. "Yeah. The way I figure it, we’ll be tied up in this little exercise, maybe for years. I won’t sit around on my hands hoping that my people can keep it together without me for that long without getting tempted to hack off a few chunks for themselves. So I’ve consolidated the whole package and cut you in for half the action. That way, anyone who checks is gonna have a real clear idea just how much you’re worth and just how well you’ve been doing without the mob. It’ll shore up your claim to be an independent, and besides, it finally gives me a way to hand off some of the cash to you. If you’re planning on marrying the woman of your dreams, you’re gonna have to be able to afford her. And don’t tell me you can raise a family on the piddley salary the government pays you." "People do it all the time, Rog." Vince snapped, acutely uncomfortably with the idea of sudden wealth. Yet even he could see the necessity for establishing a paper trail to support his claims of legitimate action. He supposed he was lucky in having a partner who had a ready-made fortune and no objection to using it on Vince’s behalf. Partner. He consid thd the word, with all its ramifications. In all his years as a cop, he’d never had the luxury of working with a partner on a day-to-day basis. McPike was probably as close as he could claim to have come to a partnership, though it had been a surreptitious one at best. His work with Lococco inside Mel Profitt’s organization had approached a partnership, intermittently, when Roger’s paranoid radar had not been hyperactive. But this would be the first time he would be working with the full knowledge and assistance of another agent. He hoped McPike would be able to convince the Attorney General of the need to legitimize Roger’s presence. And Tracy’s, for that matter. "So what are you calling this company of ours?" he asked Lococco at last. Lococco’s grin was manic with more than simply the amphetamines. "Pangea," he informed Terranova. "I figured it was an appropriate name for a coupla guys on the way to world domination," he laughed. "Wasn’t that the name of some hypothetical prehistoric supercontinent?" Vince inquired, unsure of his geology. Roger nodded. "The theory goes that in the pre-Triassic period, all the land mass on the planet was consolidated into a single supercontinent. Just think about it, Vince. One continent. No borders. No boundaries. Hell of an analogy to the global economy we’ve got going now, eh? Gondwanaland was the other one, and that one was only made up of the southern hemisphere continents. Besides, Pangea sounds better." Vince could not suppress his smile, as much at the awareness of Lococco’s pleasure in the pulling together of myriad details as at the ironic appropriateness of the name Roger had chosen. "I’ll give you that," he agreed, laughing.