“I only want you to be happy,” she said, which was a lie. She was starting to want a lot of things beyond the horizons of her entitled husband’s happiness. “Like you said.”

They walked back to the Justice Department together. He carried his sleeping son in one arm and the helmet in the other, with which he hailed a taxi so Francesca wouldn’t have to carry the boy home. Billy kissed her good-bye, but with no more passion than if he were a friend of the family. He did say “Thank you,” but he never did remember what day it was.

The cab merged into the traffic on Constitution. “Happy anniversary,” she whispered.

“What’s that, ma’am?” the cabbie said.

“Nothing,” she said, pulling Sonny closer, willing herself not to cry. “Nothing at all.”

That afternoon, Billy did in fact get in to see Danny Shea. According to the notes taken shorthand by the attorney general’s secretary, what happened was this:

At 15:37, AG [Attorney General Daniel Brendan Shea] fit junior staff attorney Bill V. Airdale [sic] into a ten minute break in his P.M. schedule so long as BVA could accompany AG as he went for his daily run 10X up and down the building’s main stairwell. [Many books about the Sheas include accounts of her trailing behind AG as he held meetings in this manner, though her technique for managing to take shorthand this way has been lost to history.] BVA agreed.

BVA discussed his qualifications for this job and his desire to be involved more with prosecutorial matters that would result in more time in the courtroom and less in the library. BVA wondered if his Harvard degree had anything to do with his present dissatisfactory assignment, seeing as so many top officials in AG’s office were from Princeton. AG categorically denied any such bias, citing several Jews and Negroes from state-supported schools who held high office in the JKS administration, as well as the job with Senator [censored] that AG personally helped secure for Miss [censored] from the University of Miami, whom the AG referred to as BVA’s “girlfriend.” BVA apologized. AG accepted.

BVA nonetheless expressed unhappiness with his current assignment and asked about the possibility of a transfer. AG referred BVA to BVA’s own unit supervisor. BVA expressed disappointment with AG’s reluctance to act personally in the matter, especially given [several heavily censored lines follow; among the few words not blacked out are “Van Arsdale Citrus Co.,” spelled correctly, despite the earlier gaffe with Billy’s name].

AG said he did not understand.

BVA explained that his parents [two more censored lines].

AG expressed surprise, insofar as no such factors had accompanied AG’s decision to hire BVA. AG admitted that MCS [his father, former ambassador to Canada M. Corbett Shea] was the first to urge AG to hire BVA. AG’s understanding was that this had primarily to do with BVA’s excellent record at Harvard but also was aided by BVA’s fine service alongside the aforementioned Miss [censored] during the JKS election campaign.

BVA, somewhat breathless and thus difficult to understand, seemed to express skepticism that family connections hadn’t played a role and couldn’t play a role now.

AG admitted that this was true, but that those connections existed between MCS and the family of BVA’s wife, whose maiden name was [censored].

BVA asked if he’d been “foisted off” on the AG.

AG said it was more complicated than that. While reminding BVA of his sworn responsibilities, vis-à-vis confidentiality, AG said that he was in fact preparing a comprehensive plan to [prosecute] “the [censored name of BVA’s wife’s family] and people like them.”

BVA responded that he fondly hoped for the same thing, and certainly would not pass said information on to his wife or any member of her family.

AG expressed surprise and asked if that was really true.

Exercise session was completed.

BVA said he was committed to doing “anything and everything” to see to it that any crimes being committed by his wife’s family be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, and that otherwise his own political future would be [nonexistent]. BVA said he had firsthand knowledge of secret aspects of her family’s illegal activities that could be of use in AG’s comprehensive prosecutorial plan.

AG expressed his pleasure at this news and said he was optimistic he could work something out, vis-à-vis BVA’s proposed reassignment. He handed BVA a fresh white towel and thanked him for his time and candor. Meeting concluded at 15:47 EST.

The airport Michael Corleone used when he came to New York was nearly at the end of Long Island. It had once been a private airport but had been under government control since World War II. Several years before, Nick Geraci, who of course no longer flew, had rigged it so that various planes owned or operated by the Corleone Family could land there.

Michael taxied toward the hangar where Geraci was waiting. He stopped about fifty yards short of it. Geraci walked across the tarmac alone. Al Neri got out and searched him. Geraci took a deep breath and climbed the stairs.

“Leave that door open,” Geraci said to Neri.

Neri glanced at Michael, who nodded. Neri left the door up and positioned himself outside it.

“So that’s how it is between us now?” Michael said.

“What’s how it is?”

“I have you searched,” Michael said, “and you won’t meet with me behind closed doors.”

“The searching, I can’t speak to,” Geraci said, “though I have no argument with it. And since I’m sure the lovely and talented Mr. Al Neri out there is packing one or more deadly weapons, I think it’s clear that my trust in you remains as solid as ever. It’s just… I don’t know if you realize this, but this is the first time I’ve been inside an airplane since… you know.”

Michael did know. He said nothing. He filled out a flight plan for the next leg of his trip.

“Even when I take my kids to Coney Island,” Geraci said, “if a ride leaves the ground, it leaves without me. I’d consider it a personal favor if we could keep the door open and, if you don’t mind too much, while you’re sitting right there, if you could kill the engine.”

Michael had heard about Nick Geraci’s tremors, but this was the first time he’d seen them. They weren’t as bad as he’d imagined.

“We’ll split the difference,” Michael said, finishing the form and tossing it to Neri so he could run it over to the tower. “You keep the door open, and I’ll keep the engine running.”

Did Geraci really think that Michael would take off without Neri? With the door open? That Michael would be so reckless he’d try to pull something like that in an enclosed space with a former heavyweight boxer who, tremors notwithstanding, kept himself in good shape and looked like he could knock Michael Corleone into a brain-damaged tomorrow?

“All right,” Geraci agreed. “Let me just say this, and I’ll go. It’s just something that I wanted you to know about. I don’t know where to start, so I’ll just say it. I’ve worked out a deal for us to get back into Cuba.”

Michael’s surprise was genuine, even though nothing Geraci was saying came as any news. Not the offer from the one-eyed “Jewish” CIA agent, not fenced-off land in New Jersey, guarded by a crew of federal agents and a pack of rottweilers. Not the combustible mix of mercenary Sicilians and aggrieved, once-wealthy Cubans who’d overcome their differences (language, culture, motives, you name it) and an unfortunate stabbing incident (one of Geraci’s men, recuperating nicely back in Toledo, Ohio) and were only a few weeks away from trying to sneak onto the island, in assassin squads of two or three, in the hope that the killing of one man would produce certain desirable results. What shocked Michael was that Nick Geraci was telling him about it at all.

“When you say you’ve worked out a deal for us,” Michael said when Geraci finished, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”