For the next thirty-five minutes, Carlo and Brennan had stayed where they were next to naked Abundance, alternately watching Franco's car with a pair of binoculars Brennan had thoughtfully brought along. They couldn't see much, just two silhouettes having an active conversation from the looks of their intermittent hand gestures. While they waited, they finished the sandwiches they'd gotten at Johnny's. Without knowing where they were going or how long it would take, they'd jumped at the chance to haw some food.

The stakeout had gradually become boring until both men sat up a little straighter when the NYPD officer had appeared and closed in on the car.

"What's going down?" Carlo had questioned. Brennan had the binoculars at the time.

"I don't know. They're just talking."

"Let me see!" Carlo said. He took the binoculars from his colleague, who was lower in the organizational hierarchy. Carlo and Brennan had known each other for years from living in the same neighborhood and attending the same high school.

"Franco's walking toward us," Carlo said as he continued watching through the binoculars.

"Uh-oh," Brennan said urgently. "Angelo is driving away! What should we do?"

"Let's stick with Franco," Carlo said. "He's stopped at the Trump Tower entrance. My guess is he's waiting for someone to come out of the building."

"What about Angelo? I could get out and stick with Franco while you tail Angelo."

Carlo shook his head. "My bet is Angelo's just going around the block. Let's stick where we are. I'm starting to think they're planning on snatching someone."

"That's crazy with all these people around, not to mention the cops."

"I can't argue with you there," Carlo said, and then quickly added, "I think he sees who he is after. He just tossed his cigarette into the gutter."

"Who is it, a man or a woman?" Brennan questioned. He eyed the binoculars and had to resist an urge to grab them away from Carlo. After all, he'd had the sense to bring them along.

"I think it must be that girl with the green coat. She's taking a cab, and he is, too. I bet he's pissed because Angelo's not in sight."

Carlo tossed the binoculars into Brennan's lap and put the Denali in gear.

"What are we going to do?" Brennan asked while searching for Franco and the girl. "God, the girl looks like she's twelve. What could Franco and Angelo be after her for?"

"It doesn't make much sense."

"Uh-oh! The girl's got a cab and is about to leave Franco high and dry. Should we try to follow her or stick with Franco?"

"We'll stick with Franco, you dope."

Brennan pulled his eyes from the binoculars and cast an angry look at Carlo. He didn't like being called a dope.

"Well, lucky for Franco. He's caught himself a cab as well. Hang on! We're off to the races."

"YOU MUST BE joking," the taxi driver said, twisting around to look at Franco sitting in the backseat."'Follow that cab!' That's the first time I've actually heard that outside of the movies. Are you for real, man, or is this a joke?"

"It's no joke," Franco said. "Keep that cab in sight and you got yourself a twenty-dollar tip."

The driver shrugged and turned back to drive. A twenty-dollar tip was well worth a little extra effort.

Franco bounced around in the backseat and had trouble handling his cell phone. Giving up for the moment, he struggled with the seat belt instead. Once he got that secured, he wasn't being thrown about quite as much, especially since the car had steadied to a degree once it had gotten up to speed. It was still relatively hard to dial the number, because the driver was weaving in and out of the lanes.

"Where are you?" Franco demanded the moment Angelo answered.

"I'm stuck in traffic on Sixth Avenue going north. Where are you?"

"In a cab heading south on Fifth. The bird has flown."

"Okay. As soon as I can, I'll head south."

Franco flipped his phone closed. He was irritated at himself for two reasons: He should have had some sort of a plan when the girl or woman, whichever she was, appeared. More important, he should have insisted they take Angelo's humdrum Lincoln Town Car for their evening activities instead of his babied Cadillac. The idea of Angelo wrecking his car or even denting it in New York City's rush-hour traffic made him sick.

"We're coming up on the cab in question," the driver said proudly. "Want me to pull up alongside?"

"No!" Franco said quickly. "Just stay behind."

The two taxis made good progress down Fifth Avenue, catching the lights. Franco began to wonder if Paul Yang gave them the wrong information about her living in New Jersey, of if she did, whether she was going out on the town for the evening, which would complicate things.

Franco's fears were dispelled near the New York Public Library, when Amy's taxi suddenly braked and turned right. Franco relaxed a degree, sensing they were headed toward the Port Authority Bus Terminal.

Flipping open his phone, Franco called Angelo. "Where are you?" he demanded, as he'd done previously.

"I'm just turning south on Seventh Avenue," Angelo said. "Where are you?"

"We're heading west. I'm pretty sure we're going to the bus terminal, but I'll know better once we hit Eighth Avenue."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, especially not knowing if you are going to be in the area. I suppose I have to follow her into the terminal and get on the bus with her."

"Yeah, well, lucky you."

"Screw you," Franco said. He regretted not thinking faster when the cop came up to the car. He should have had Angelo get out instead.

"If I don't hear from you sooner, I'll call you when I'm at the bus station."

"Okay."

"I hope this is worth it."

"It's worth it," Franco said. "There's millions at stake."

Franco flipped his phone closed as they came to the traffic light at Eighth Avenue. As he expected, they turned right. A minute or so later, he tossed the fare plus some change and an extra twenty dollars through the opening in the Plexiglas divider and jumped out before the taxi had come to a complete stop. Amy was already entering the terminal.

As usual during rush hour, the terminal was a sea of people. Tailing Amy was easy in one respect and hard in another. The easy part was her strange hair color, which was like a neon light. The hard part was her height. If Franco didn't stay directly on her, she disappeared out of sight within seconds.

Suddenly, a problem reared its ugly head, one that Franco had failed to anticipate. Amy got into a line to purchase a ticket, but Franco had no idea where she was going. As the ticket line quickly moved forward, Franco panicked. He thought about pushing ahead and just standing to the side when she ordered her ticket so he could overhear where she was going. But he dismissed it out of hand. He didn't want to call attention to himself, because he didn't want her to recognize him later. Just another face in the crowd was not a problem, but doing something out of the ordinary right next to her was quite another story.

Franco was the fourth person behind Amy, and when it was her turn at the ticket window, he strained forward in an attempt to hear, but it was futile. As she retreated from the ticket window, she had her ticket in her hand, and she passed within several feet.

That was when Franco realized there was yet another problem Amy was walking away, and there were three people in front of him. Panicking again, trying to keep Amy in sight, he pushed ahead, saying, "Excuse me, I'm going to miss my bus, do you mind?" Several of the people grudgingly let him pass. The third, however, stood his ground.

"I don't want to miss my bus neither, pal," the man said. His face was coated in a fine white dust, suggesting he was a plasterer or a painter.