Beck kept his hands on Stepanovich’s chest, holding him at bay, but not so far away that he didn’t smell the sour stink of his breath. The thought of Stepanovich biting him made Beck furious. He suddenly brought two fists up hard into the underside of the Bosnian’s mouth, slamming his jaws shut and snapping his head back. But Stepanovich still held onto the back of Beck’s neck, launching three fast knee kicks to Beck’s ribs and hip.

Beck tried to twist away from the strikes, to block them with his elbows, but the Bosnian’s arms and legs were too long and the blows landed causing sharp, nearly paralyzing pain.

Beck cursed to himself, intent on ending this now. He focused, shifted away from another kick, timed his move, reared back slightly, not giving the Bosnian any warning, just enough to seem like he was trying to avoid the knee kicks, and then he snapped his head forward with enormous force into the center of the Bosnian’s face. He caught him perfectly, and heard the muffled crunch as Stepanovich’s nose cartilage split like shattering bamboo.

Beck felt the Bosnian sag. He let Gregor’s grip around his neck stay, so that the Bosnian remained close to him and twisted fast, hard right and left hooks into his chest and ribs with as much force as his hands could stand. The blows lifted Stepanovich off his feet. He was half conscious, immobilized by the body shots. Beck punched hard into both of Stepanovich’s arms, broke the grip around his neck, and shoved Stepanovich away from him.

Stepanovich staggered back and would have gone down, but he fell against the wall behind him. His broken nose streamed blood. He was doubled over in pain, and yet in a perverse way he seemed to relish the feeling. He spat a mouthful of blood and saliva at Beck, grinning at him, daring Beck to come finish him off.

But police sirens were sounding in the distance.

Beck couldn’t afford to get arrested for brawling. Clearly, he wasn’t going to finish off Stepanovich quickly. He turned away just as Demarco pulled up in the black Mercury. He slid into the passenger seat, and they accelerated away from the scene, heading downtown, away from Crane, his apartment, and Gregor Stepanovich.

Demarco said, “Can’t leave you alone for a minute without you getting into a fight.”

“Next time I’ll let you do it.”

“No thanks. Alex is done. He’s waiting around the corner on Washington.”

“That’s good. The next move would have been to just go and shoot those two pricks, which would have defeated the whole purpose.” Beck pointed down Greenwich and said, “Make your way around all these fucking one-way streets and come in from the highway side.”

Beck pulled out his cell phone and called Manny.

*   *   *

Manny listened carefully to Beck, said, “Okay,” and hung up.

Manny turned to the others in the Porsche and said, “Okay, maricóns, listen up.”

Manny turned the Porsche onto Hubert Street, heading west. He passed the first SUV parked near Greenwich, giving instructions as he drove slowly up the street.

Suddenly, he pulled up next to the SUV at the far end of Hubert near Washington Street.

Ciro and Joey got out first, moving very quickly.

Ciro went to the driver’s side and smashed the butt of his shotgun into the window, immediately flipped the shotgun around and placed the barrel against the driver’s head.

Joey B smashed the passenger window behind the driver, reached in, unlocked the door, and pulled it open. Holding the shotgun in his right hand, he grabbed the closest body with his left, pulled one of the men out of the SUV, and shoved him down to the street with enough force to ensure he didn’t get up.

In the meantime, Manny slipped out onto the street, a large knife in his hand, and punched holes into the two rear tires of the SUV.

Ciro stepped back, keeping his shotgun aimed at the remaining men inside the SUV.

Joey did the same as he dragged the man he had pulled out of the SUV with one hand and tossed him into the back of the Porsche. He shoved in after him, pinned him against the far door, and jammed the muzzle of his shotgun into the underside of the hostage’s chin.

At the other end of the street, the other SUV started to head toward Washington, but Manny and Ciro were back in the Porsche turning onto the West Side Highway and heading for the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel and Red Hook before any of the leaderless Bosnians processed what had happened, or figured out what to do about it.

The only Bosnian who knew what to do, Ahmet, did so because Joey B told him. Keeping his shotgun firmly under Ahmet’s chin, Joey said, “Don’t move.”

33

Alex Liebowitz slid into the backseat of the Mercury. Demarco drove north along the dark side street to Laight Street, then headed east, figuring he’d catch Varick Street and head for the bridge.

Alex said, “That wasn’t too bad. I was right to check the basement first. That dude’s apartment is like a satellite trading office. There’s a ton of security wiring going up to that apartment. He even has motion detectors up there.”

“So?”

“I worked around it. Got into the place, but there wasn’t too much I could do. At first, I thought I was going to get lucky. His computer was on. But he’s got a RAZ token password that prevents logging on. Thing changes every sixty seconds. I looked around for it, but couldn’t find it. I blind downloaded the hard drive and put a keystroke program on his computer. It’ll activate the next time he types in his pass code. Then I linked his Wi-Fi into a transponder in the basement that will send everything he does to a secure Web site I’ve set up. When he starts working, I’ll just shadow him and work it from there.”

“How long until you figure he finds out he’s been compromised?”

“I don’t know. Depends on his firm’s security protocols. I would imagine they run checks once a week. If not, I doubt he’ll notice anything if we just shadow him. If we start making moves in his accounts or anything, he’ll catch on at some point. ’Course if he has a regular security company that shows up in person and does a physical check, they’ll find out.”

“Nobody is going up there. What if he decides to work from his office?”

“Anything he does there will eventually show up when he logs in from his apartment.”

“But he has to log in from his apartment.”

“Yeah. But all he has to do is log in once, and we’re in.”

Based on the way Crane had talked about Milstein, Beck didn’t think he’d be working at the office any time soon. But he needed more information. He needed Olivia’s help so he could find out everything possible about Crane’s portfolio and anticipate his moves.

Beck said, “Okay you guys, head home. But first take me over to Church Street. I’m going to head uptown.”

Demarco said nothing. Just kept driving east.

“Alex, when you get home, see if anything shakes out.”

Beck hit his cell phone while Demarco maneuvered toward the uptown street.

“Manny?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the Battery Tunnel.”

“You pick up that package?”

“Yeah. We got what you asked for.”

“Good. When you get home, just put him in the basement. Don’t say anything to him. Put a bag or something on his head from now until then. Check him for weapons and all. Leave a jug of water with him. Nothing else. No lights. No talking.”

“Okay.”

“Demarco and Alex are heading back, too. I have to go check on Olivia. This thing has got to blow apart at some point. They have to organize and come at us, so hunker down and make sure Willie Reese has his boys out watching the streets.”

“I’ll call him.”

“And call Olivia. Tell her I’m coming. What room is she in?”

“Forty-oh-one.”

*   *   *

Beck had the cab drop him off on the Fifty-eighth Street side of the Four Seasons Hotel so he could get to the hotel’s elevators without walking across the huge open lobby that faced the main entrance.