“Such as?”

“It can wait.”

“Then don’t talk rubbish. How’s your health?”

“Not bad. I take the pills, do as I’m told. They’ll be taking me down to Green Rapids General Hospital on Tuesday morning for another heart scan.”

“I’m on the night shift, but I’ll go in and look out for you. I’ll see you again tomorrow anyway, I’ve got the time in the morning. Around eleven.”

“That’s nice.”

They got up and walked away and Salamone went back up through the trees.

As they approached the security gates, Kathleen said, “Are you still on the same pills?”

“No, a new one.” He took a plastic bottle from his shirt pocket. “There you go.”

She checked it. “Dazane?” That’s a new one on me. I’ll check it out at the hospital.” She gave the bottle back to him and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be seeing you.”

SALAMONE PHONED THROUGH to Sollazo’s office using one of the prisoners’ call boxes. The secretary was dubious. Mr. Sollazo was busy, but she finally gave in to Salamone’s persistence and put him through.

“What have you got?” Sollazo asked. “It better be good.”

“I overheard Kelly and his niece talking. She talked about how she’d hoped he’d be able to make a break when he transferred from Ossining to Green Rapids. Some chance. Nobody’s crashed out of here since it opened.”

“So why should this interest me?”

“She was talking about false passports she’d got from some forger called Cassidy, who used to share a cell with Kelly at Ossining.”

“Now that is interesting,” Sollazo said. “Anything else?”

“Not really. Oh, yes, he’s going to Green Rapids General Hospital on Tuesday morning to have a heart scan. As I said, he suffers from angina. By the way, she said she was going to see him again in the morning at eleven.”

“You’ve done well, Paolo, keep up the good work. Just one thing I didn’t tell you. Liam Kelly is actually Michael Ryan, once a big activist in Irish politics on the Protestant side, and never take him for granted. He’s killed more men than he can remember.”

“Jesus!” Salamone said.

“His niece is Kathleen Ryan. She, too, has killed in her time. These aren’t ordinary crooks, Paolo, they are revolutionaries and, as we know, such people are like wild dogs, a little touched in the head. Never take them for granted.”

“I won’t, Mr. Sollazo, and you’ll do what you can for me?”

“That goes without saying.”

Sollazo put down the phone, sat there thinking about it, then buzzed his secretary. “Find Mori for me, he should be somewhere about.”

He went back to the legal brief in front of him, smiling slightly as he saw the fatal flaw in the District Attorney’s case. There was a knock at the door and Mori entered.

“Yes, Signore,” he said in Sicilian.

Sollazo sat back. “I’ve heard from Salamone, more information on Ryan and his niece. It seems she got false passports from a forger called Cassidy, who shared a cell with Ryan in Sing-Sing. Find him and bring him to me. Somebody will know him.”

“No problem,” Mori told him. “I’ll make a few calls,” and he went out.

IT WAS ONLY one and a half hours later that he parked his limousine outside the small photo and print shop on a Bronx side street and entered. A black youth was attending a machine that churned out holiday snaps.

He paused and came to the counter. “Yes, sir?”

“Mr. Cassidy. Tell him he’s wanted.”

“He’s in the back, I’ll get him.”

“No need, kid, I’ll handle it myself.”

Mori went behind the counter and opened the door. Cassidy, a small balding man with wire spectacles, was working on what to Mori looked like a share certificate.

Mori said, “Up to your old tricks?”

Cassidy, who knew trouble when he saw it, stood up. “What is this?” he blustered.

“I represent the Russo family, and Don Antonio’s nephew and lawyer, Mr. Marco Sollazo, would appreciate your help in a small matter.”

Cassidy went very pale and removed his spectacles with a shaking hand. “Anything I can do.”

“I thought you’d feel like that. You do a nice line in false passports, and I take it you’re the careful kind of guy who keeps records. Am I right?”

Cassidy licked his lips nervously. “That’s right. Who are we talking about?”

“A guy you shared a cell with at Ossining, Liam Kelly. His niece came to see you some time ago.”

“Sure,” Cassidy said. “I’ve got all the details.”

“Then stick them in a file and let’s go. Mr. Sollazo doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“IRISH PASSPORTS YOU say?” Sollazo said to Cassidy, who stood before his desk.

“Sure, Mr. Sollazo, in the names of Daniel and Nancy Forbes. There was no problem getting a current photo of Kelly. They have one of those photo machines at the prison. They’re always needing pictures for various security tags the cons use up there.”

“When was this?”

“Eighteen months ago. They’re current passports of the European Community variety with brown covers. Kelly’s supposed to be an artist. I thought that was good because he paints in his cell.”

“And the girl?”

“Nurse, which is what she is.”

“I know,” Sollazo said. “And this was first-class work?”

“Oh, sure, entry and exit stamps for everywhere from Hong Kong to the U.K. I even gave them visas for Egypt. Good work, I swear on my life, Mr. Sollazo.”

“I’m sure you’re telling the truth.” Sollazo turned to Mori. “If he proves false, Giovanni, you have my permission to break both his legs and arms.”

“A pleasure.” Mori didn’t even smile.

Cassidy was sweating. “Please, Mr. Sollazo, I’m an honest guy.”

Sollazo burst out laughing. “Get out of here.”

Mori saw him through the door, then returned.

“Anything else, Signore?”

“Yes, I want you to go and see Salamone. It seems Ryan is being taken to Green Rapids General Hospital on Tuesday morning for a heart scan. Find out all you can, how the system works when they take one of the inmates for that kind of check.”

“Does the Signore mean what I think he means?”

“Perhaps. Afterwards, check out the hospital. I don’t need to tell you to be discreet. You always are.”

“Thank you, Signore,” Mori said, face impassive, and went out, and Sollazo went back to work.

SALAMONE WAS DESPERATELY afraid of Mori, but then most people were, for he was the Russo family’s most feared enforcer, so he received him with some trepidation. They walked over the grass toward the lake and Mori told him why he had come.

Salamone, eager to please, was more than helpful. “They use a special security ambulance to take guys down to the hospital. I’ve gone myself when they’ve had a stretcher case needing a nurse.”

“How many guards?”

“The driver and a guy riding shotgun beside him. Usually another two in the back with the cons. It depends how many, but I can tell you Tuesday morning is light, just Kelly or Ryan, or whatever they call him, and a guy called Bryant, who’s going to have a keyhole op on his prostate. I’ve seen the schedule.”

“Fine,” Mori said. “So where would they take Ryan?”

“Third floor. There’s a clinic there called General Heart Surgery.”

“So a guard takes him up there or two maybe?”

“Usually one. I mean, the guy has a heart condition. He’s handcuffed, of course.”

“At all times?”

“Not while he’s having treatment.”

“Good,” Mori said. “That’s all I need to know. You know the old saying from Sicily? ‘Keep the tongue in the mouth or it gets cut out.”’

“Jesus, Giovanni.” Paolo sounded shocked. “I mean, I love my Don.”

“Sure you do.” Mori patted his face and walked away.

THE HOSPITAL CAR park was full, but someone pulled out as Mori arrived, so Mori took the space which he noted was reserved for the Chief of Surgery. He went in through the main entrance. It was very modern, lots of tiling and high technology, staff everywhere, nurses in uniform, doctors in white coats, and many people who were presumably visitors.