The first day, Thomas Colfax had complained about the food that was served to him, and from then on General Wallace had arranged for all of Colfax’s meals to be catered. In the weeks that Colfax had been confined at the fort, his slightest suggestion had become their command. They wanted to do everything they could to please him, and Colfax took full advantage of it. He had had comfortable furniture moved in, and a television set, and he received a daily supply of newspapers and current magazines.

The sergeant placed the tray of food on a table set for two, and he made the same comment he made every day.

“Looks good enough to eat, sir.”

Colfax smiled politely and sat down at the table. Roast beef rare, the way he liked it, mashed potatoes and Yorkshire pudding. He waited as the marine pulled up a chair and sat down across from him. The sergeant picked up a knife and fork, cut off a piece of the meat and began to eat. Another of General Wallace’s ideas. Thomas Colfax had his own taster. Like the kings of ancient times, he thought. He watched as the marine sampled the roast beef, the potatoes and the Yorkshire pudding.

“How is it?”

“To tell you the truth, sir, I prefer my beef on the well-done side.”

Colfax picked up his own knife and fork and began to eat. The sergeant was mistaken. The meat was cooked perfectly, the potatoes were creamy and hot and the Yorkshire pudding was done to a turn.

Colfax reached for the horseradish and spread it lightly over the beef. It was with the second bite that Colfax knew something was terribly wrong. There was a sudden burning sensation in his mouth that seemed to shoot through his whole body. He felt as though he were on fire. His throat was closing, paralyzed, and he began gasping for air. The marine sergeant sitting across from him was staring at him. Thomas Colfax clutched his throat and tried to tell the sergeant what was happening, but no words would come out. The fire in him was spreading more swiftly now, filling him with an unbearable agony. His body stiffened in a terrible spasm and he toppled over backwards to the floor.

The sergeant watched him for a moment, then bent over the body and lifted Thomas Colfax’s eyelid to make sure he was dead.

Then he called for help.

60

Singapore Airlines Flight 246 landed at Heathrow Airport in London at seven-thirty A.M. The other passengers were detained in their seats until Jennifer and the two FBI agents were out of the plane and in the airport’s security office.

Jennifer was desperately anxious to see a newspaper to find out what was happening at home, but her two silent escorts denied her request and refused to be drawn into conversation.

Two hours later, the three of them boarded a TWA plane bound for New York.

In the United States Court House at Foley Square an emergency meeting was taking place. Present were Adam Warner, Robert Di Silva, Major General Roy Wallace, and half a dozen representatives from the FBI, the Justice Department and the Treasury Department.

“How the hell could this have happened?” Robert Di Silva’s voice was trembling with rage. He turned to the general. “You were told how important Thomas Colfax was to us.”

The general spread his hands helplessly. “We took every precaution we could, sir. We’re checking now to see how they could have smuggled prussic acid into—”

“I don’t give a shit how they did it! Colfax is dead!”

The man from the Treasury Department spoke up. “How much does Colfax’s death hurt us?”

“A hell of a lot,” Di Silva replied. “Putting a man on a witness stand is one thing. Showing a lot of ledgers and accounts is something else. You can bet your ass that some smart attorney’s going to start talking about how those books could have been faked.”

“Where do we go from here?” a man from the Treasury Department asked.

The District Attorney replied, “We keep doing what we’re doing. Jennifer Parker’s on her way back from Singapore. We have enough to put her away forever. While she’s going down, we’re going to get her to pull Michael Moretti down with her.” He turned to Adam. “Don’t you agree, Senator?”

Adam felt ill. “Excuse me.”

He quickly left the room.

61

The signalman on the ground, wearing oversized earmuffs, waved his two semaphores, guiding the jumbo 747 toward the waiting ramp. The plane pulled up to a fixed circle and, at a signal, the pilot cut the four Pratt & Whitney turbofan engines.

Inside the giant plane a steward’s voice came over the loudspeaker, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have just landed at New York’s Kennedy Airport. We thank you for flying TWA. Will all passengers please remain in their seats until a further announcement. Thank you.”

There were general murmurs of protest. A moment later the doors were opened by the ramp crew. The two FBI agents seated with Jennifer in the front of the plane rose to their feet.

One of them turned to Jennifer and said, “Let’s go.”

The passengers watched with curiosity as the three people left the plane. A few minutes later the steward’s voice came over the loudspeaker again. “Thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen. You may now disembark.”

A government limousine was waiting at a side entrance to the airport. The first stop was the Metropolitan Correctional Center at 150 Park Row, that connected into the United States Court House at Foley Square.

After Jennifer had been booked, one of the FBI men said, “Sorry, we can’t keep you here. We have orders to take you out to Riker’s Island.”

The ride to Riker’s Island was made in silence. Jennifer sat in the back seat between the two FBI men, saying nothing, but her mind was busy. The two men had been uncommunicative during the entire trip across the ocean, so Jennifer had no way of knowing how much trouble she was in. She knew that it was serious, for it was not easy to obtain a warrant of extradition.

She could do nothing to help herself while she was in jail. Her first priority was to get out on bail.

They were crossing the bridge to Riker’s Island now, and Jennifer looked out at the familiar view, a view she had seen a hundred times on the way to talk to clients. And now she was a prisoner.

But not for long, Jennifer thought. Michael will get me out.

The two FBI men escorted Jennifer into the reception building and one of the men handed the guard the extradition warrant.

“Jennifer Parker.”

The guard glanced at it. “We’ve been expecting you, Miss Parker. You have a reservation in Detention Cell Three.”

“I have the right to one phone call.”

The guard nodded toward the telephone on his desk. “Sure.”

Jennifer picked it up, silently praying that Michael Moretti was in. She began to dial.

Michael Moretti had been waiting for Jennifer’s call. For the last twenty-four hours he had been able to think of nothing else. He had been informed when Jennifer had landed in London, when her plane had left Heathrow, and when she had arrived back in New York. He had sat at his desk, mentally tracking Jennifer on her way to Riker’s Island. He had visualized her entering the prison. She would demand to make a phone call before they put her in a cell. She would call him. That was all he asked. He would have her out of there in an hour, and then she would be on her way to him. Michael Moretti was living for the moment when Jennifer Parker walked through the door.

Jennifer had done the unforgivable. She had given her body to the man who was trying to destroy him. And what else had she given him? What secrets had she told him?