He was right, it was too good to last. It started in September, and in June she told him it was over. Why? Because it was time to be over. There was a marriage that she had ignored for a year, there were children to reclaim, there was the wheel that turned her life and still was turning. He had ridden that wheel to almost full circle, and now it was time to step off. To his credit, he stepped off gracefully. He accepted what had been granted to him, and he walked away as filled with memories as a camel is with water when he comes from the well. His wheel was turning, too, it was time to go on to something new, time to find a purpose, and he found it soon enough when he met Zahra in Paris, and she introduced him to the cause that would occupy his days.

The cause, yes, always, but still there were times for memories. He switched on the phonograph, the battered old friend that helped to keep him sane, and searched through his stack of records. He found her Tosca, put it on, and lay down to listen. It was an old recording, overused, but the pureness of her line cut through the hisses and scratches. As always, he was transported close to tears by her voice.

The tears of a killer, he thought. The tears of a warrior. The tears of a celibate monk. He turned the volume up for the Vissi d'arte. Such sadness. Yes, she gave her life for art, and mine…? He knew very well what his life was for, and he knew very well how it would end some day, but until that day there were memories. Like these. He closed his eyes, and let the music roll over him.

16

IT took Sammy nine hours and an incredible amount of Langley muscle to spring Vince out of Atlantic City. He couldn't do it by himself, he didn't have the clout. He had to go to Delaney for it, something he hated to do, and Delaney had to go as high as the DDI before the local police would play ball. Even so, it took nine hours, and by the time Vince made the street there were only two days to go before the Polk-Van Buren game. When he called the Center, they told him to go to New York. Sammy and Delaney would meet him there.

The house on East Sixty-fourth Street that the Center used for a New York base was a four-story brownstone with a weathered façade. The top two floors were bedrooms, and the second floor was filled with a gleaming mass of electronic equipment. The interior walls of the ground floor had been knocked out to make one large room. In the days before Sammy took over it had been called the Operations Room, but now it was called the Saloon. Operations were still handled in the back of the room, but up front was an eighteen-foot mahogany bar complete with stools, rail, and a back mirror. There were "Wanted" posters of Old West pistoleros on the walls, a sepia-tone of Lillie Langtry, and a Rubenesque nude in faded oils. Sammy had wanted to put in spittoons, but Langley had turned down the requisition.

Vince stood behind the bar, his preferred spot. Sammy and Delaney sat on stools. Vince dropped a single cube of ice into a glass, and poured a splash of Wild Turkey for himself. To no one in particular, he said, "I had some dynamite cognac down there."

Sammy asked, "Is it true that the Atlantic City slammer has slot machines in the cells?"

Vince nodded. "Every one a loser."

"As long as you're pouring," Delaney said pointedly. "Scotch."

Vince looked at Sammy, who nodded. He made the drinks, and pushed them across the bar. Delaney said, "Lay it out for me. How do you see it?"

Vince shrugged. "Nothing complicated. Domino gets close to Giardelli, and she uses his connections to set up the fix. As soon as I walk into the scene, she knows that I can blow her out of the water, so one of us has to go, Carmine or me."

"Why Carmine?"

"I've been thinking about that. I've had plenty of time to think."

"Don't be that way. We did it as fast as we could."

'Why Carmine, not me? Because the way that she sees it, I'm Company, which means that we're working for the same people."

"You're not. She's a freelance working for a dead man."

"I said the way she sees it. I think it was spur of the moment. She decided not to wax a company man when she didn't have to. All she had to do was keep me on ice until the time frame was over. So she does the job on Giardelli, and sets me up for it. She figured that by the time I worked my way out of it, if I worked my way out of it, she'd be home free."

"Where does Anthony fit?"

"I figure him for a recruit, nothing more. He and Domino, they put on an act about hating each other, but they're probably screwing like rabbits."

"You sure he's the one who slugged you?"

"No question. What have you got on him?"

"Middle-level muscle, name of Riordan. He and the woman have dropped out of sight. God knows where they are now."

"Have you been able to run down anything on Domino? Ogden got her out of Baghdad years ago. That should show in your banks."

"It doesn't," said Delaney. "He must have done it on his own. We still have nothing on her."

"Which leaves us where?" Vince turned to Sammy. "We've got the game coming up the day after tomorrow. What do we do now, coach?"

"Punt," said a gloomy Delaney.

"It's basketball," said Sammy. "I don't know, Vince, I really don't. You gave it a good shot, but it didn't work. The way I see it, we're out of options."

"We can't just sit back and let it happen."

"What else can we do?" Sammy spread his hands helplessly. "The Company gave us the job, we're bound by the rules that they established. The whole point here is to keep the Company clean, which means that we can't go public. We can't go to the cops, we can't go to the media, we can't go to the college. We can't do anything."

"I know what I'd like to do," said Delaney. "I'd like to get those two kids and beat their brains out."

Sammy sighed. "We can't do that either, even if we wanted to. You take those two… what's their names?"

"Holmes and Devereaux," said Vince.

"Polk doesn't have a chance without them. You take them out of the lineup, and Domino gets what she wants."

"Punt," Delaney said again.

Head-to-head, Vince said, Sammy?

Sammy kept a straight face. What?

There's a way.

Show it to me.

Vince showed him. Sammy started to shake his head, but caught himself. No way. He'd never go for it.

It's worth a try.

I'm not sure that I'd go for it, either.

What choice do we have?

It isn't a question of choice. It's a question of what's possible, and this isn't.

Ask him.

Why me?

Because that's what you get paid for.

Not nearly enough. Sammy cleared his throat, and Delaney looked up. "Vince has an idea."

Chicken.

"Vince?" Delaney looked confused. "Oh, you've been doing your number."

"It's just a thought, and I don't think much of it…"

"Thanks, buddy." Vince slammed his glass on the bar. "I'll tell it myself. Look, these kids sold out. They agreed to dump the game for twenty-five grand apiece, right?"

"Right."

"And we want them to play it straight, right?"

"Of course."

"So we buy them back."

Delaney frowned. "I don't follow."

"We outbid Domino," Vince said patiently. "We offer them a chunk of money to play to win. A big chunk."

Delaney's frown deepened. "Wait a minute. You mean we bribe them?"

"Call it fighting fire with fire. We double the offer. Fifty thousand each if they play it straight."

"Impossible." Delaney's voice was cold and stiff. "You're asking me to authorize the use of Company funds to bribe a couple of basketball players? Impossible."

"Why? I'm talking about a hundred grand. You spend ten times that much every time you knock off some South American politician."