He strode confidently through the concourse and took a lift to the fourth floor quite deliberately. The corridor he stepped out into was very quiet. A door opposite said Storeroom, then there was an elevator with very wide doors, obviously designed to carry stretchers and trolleys. Next to it a door said Staff Rest Room. Mori opened it without hesitation and went in.

There were washbasins and toilet cubicles and a row of pegs, some of them occupied by overalls and white coats, one of which had a plastic security card pinned to it in the name of a Doctor Lynn, Radiology. Mori put it on and went out.

He took the elevator down to the third floor, exited, and strolled confidently along, looking for the clinic Salamone had described, and there it was. General Heart Surgery. He opened the swing door and went in.

There were two or three patients on the benches, a young black nurse at reception. She looked up and smiled and Mori put his hands in his pockets so that the white coat parted just in case she knew the name on the identity card.

“Can I help you, Doctor?”

“I’m new, I’m afraid, Radiology. I’ve got to see a patient up here on Tuesday morning, an inmate from Green Rapids Detention Center. I was just checking. You know, getting my bearings. A heart patient.”

“Oh, sure, Mr. Kelly. He’s been here on several occasions. Yes, you’re in the right place. Clinic Three right down the hall, that’s where he’s treated.”

“Well, thank you,” Mori told her and went down the hall. He glanced through the round window in the door of Clinic Three, saw a patient on a trolley, a nurse bending over him.

He passed on to a door marked Fire Exit, opened it, and found himself in a quiet corridor. The doors opposite were marked Freight Elevator. He called it up and when it arrived, punched the basement button. When he stepped out, he found doors standing wide to an underground car park, walked through, and found himself in the car park where he had left his limousine. He stood there smiling, then went and opened the driver’s door, took off the white coat and threw it in the back, then he got behind the wheel.

WHEN KATHLEEN RYAN entered the Pharmacology Department of the hospital, the young doctor on duty was Indian, a Doctor Sieed. She wore a sari. She knew Kathleen and liked her.

“What can I do for you, nurse?”

“My uncle is an angina patient. I was just talking to him and he told me he was on new pills, something I’m not familiar with. Dazane.”

Doctor Sieed nodded. “A recent addition. It has an excellent record, but the dosage is critical. One, three times a day.”

“Yes, I noticed that.”

“Overdose can be a problem. Three at the same time would actually promote a severe angina attack.”

“Of a critical nature?”

“Probably not, but it would give the patient a bad shock for a couple of days. Tell him to be careful.”

“Thank you.”

Kathleen went along to the staff room, got her coat and shoulder bag, and left by the main entrance. As she walked across the car park, Giovanni Mori drove past her in the limousine and turned into the main road.

TEN

THE DON WAS in an expansive mood when Sollazo went to see him. “You look pleased with yourself, Marco.”

“I think I have a solution.”

“Good, but family business first. Anything for me to sign?”

“A couple of property deeds, a transfer. I have them here.” Sollazo opened his briefcase and took out various papers.

“Let’s get on with it.” He produced a pen and did what was necessary. “Good. Now a couple of my very special vodka martinis.”

“The best in the world.”

“Of course.” Russo went behind the bar and mixed the drinks, and Sollazo sat on a bar stool. The martini was excellent and he savored it with pleasure. The old man toasted him. “The Ryan business. Tell me.”

Which Sollazo did in finest detail. When he was finished, the Don said, “You really think Mori could manage this on his own?”

“Absolutely and so simple. No one else involved.”

“It would require Ryan’s co-operation.”

“But, of course.”

“And he’ll want his niece with him.”

“Naturally.”

“So how will you persuade him?”

“To quote your favorite film, ‘I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”’

The old man nodded. “There must be no link between you and Ryan, no link with the Family. In the event of success, we don’t want the police tying us in.”

“No problem there. When I go to Green Rapids, it’s to see Salamone, all perfectly legitimate, but the regime there is so ridiculously liberal, prisoners walking round the park area with their families or attorneys, that it’s possible to talk to anyone. Salamone tells me the girl visits her uncle again tomorrow at eleven. I’ll see him then and take the opportunity of speaking to Ryan.”

The Don sipped his martini thoughtfully. “Tell me, Salamone’s expectations of some sort of movement as regards reducing his sentence. Have you any hopes there?”

“None at all, but I try to keep his hopes up for other reasons. He knows a great deal about Family business.”

“Too much. There is an old Sicilian saying, ‘Better to lop the branch than lose the tree.”’ The Don nodded gravely. “And there would be the point that he is the only link between us and this Ryan affair.”

“He’s entirely disposable,” Sollazo said calmly. “So he has an accident one day. We have friends in there happy to oblige.”

“Good. I’ll let you get on with it, then.”

IT WAS A fine bright morning just before eleven when Sollazo strolled through the park with Salamone.

“You’ve done well for us,” the lawyer said. “The Don is pleased.”

“Great.” Salamone nodded eagerly. “And how’s my case going?”

“I’m working on it, Paolo, these things take time.”

At that moment he saw Michael Ryan and Kathleen move down toward the lake and sit down in one of the rustic shelters.

KATHLEEN WAS SAYING, “Dazane, that new heart pill you’re on. You have to be careful to stick to the right dosage.”

“Sure and I know that. One, three times a day.”

“I checked with Doctor Sieed. If you took three at the same time it would actually promote an angina attack.”

“And that would be curtains?”

“Let’s say you wouldn’t feel too good for a while.”

At that moment Marco Sollazo appeared before them, elegant in his dark suit and long Armani raincoat.

“Good morning, Mr. Ryan.” He smiled at Kathleen. “Miss Ryan.”

Ryan went very still. “You’ve got the wrong names, mister, you must have made a mistake.”

“I don’t think so.”

Kathleen said, “Leave off, Uncle Michael.” She looked at Sollazo grimly. “What’s it about?”

“To start with, I know all about you. Michael and Kathleen Ryan, still wanted in Ulster for a number of terrorist activities on behalf of the Loyalist cause. I suppose the British could apply for your extradition if they knew where you were, Miss Ryan.”

“Damn you,” she said. “What is it you want?”

“The gold bullion that went down ten years ago on the Irish Rose off the coast of County Down, and please don’t say you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

They both sat there staring at him. Finally Ryan said, “You seem to know a great deal.”

“I know everything.”

“Right, then,” Ryan told him. “Then you must know that the Irish Rose sank in the darkness with a bad sea running. We were off course. I don’t know where it went down.”

“Yes, you do. You had a gadget called a Master Navigator in your pocket, a sort of mini computer that perfectly calculated your course and position.”

Ryan, for once, looked amazed. “But how could you know such a thing? Only myself knew that and Kathleen when I told her.”