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Korkin had recovered some of his bluster. “This is so goddamn outrageous,” he exclaimed, his round face again turning a bright red. “You have the audacity to pass this fraudulently manufactured tape off as evidence? I’m going to see all of you brought up on charges for this!”

“Calm down,” Stillwall said. “The tape is genuine. As far as I’m concerned your client wore a wig and fake facial hair to the robbery.”

“That is asinine.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But if your client cooperates with us, tells us where he was from two to three yesterday, we’ll try to clear this up.”

“There’s nothing to clear up,” Korkin stated emphatically. “As far as I’m concerned this charade is over. Unless you’re charging my client, in which case I’ll be more than happy to—”

“Russ, this isn’t worth wasting time over. I played golf yesterday. Eighteen holes at the Swampscott Greens.” Lombardo rubbed his jaw, his expression thoughtful. “If that tape’s for real, then the guys behind this did a first-rate job planning that robbery,” he said. “Their execution may have sucked, but whoever thought this out, fucking first-rate all the way. If you catch the guy and can’t build a strong enough case to convict, tell him he’s got a job with me anytime he wants. No hard feelings on my part.”

“Awfully generous of you, Raymond. How about the names of your golf buddies?”

Lombardo rattled off the names of his foursome.

“We done here?” Korkin asked as he pushed himself out of his chair.

“I don’t think so,” Spitzer said. “I still like the idea of your client disguising himself under a ski mask, assuming he did get his hair cut on Saturday like he claims.”

“What do you mean like I claim? You think I’m lying about something so fucking easy to check up on? Or about playing golf yesterday?” Lombardo demanded.

Spitzer ignored him. “We’re going to be holding your client for the next twenty-four hours while we decide whether or not to press charges,” he added.

Korkin shook his head, exasperation showing in his bulging eyes. “I’m heading straight to Federal Court to file an injunction,” he warned. Then to Lombardo, “Ray, don’t say another word to these people.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Lombardo said.

“They’re nothing but a bunch of fucking clowns.”

Resnick was pouring himself a cup of coffee when Agent Spitzer approached him.

“There’s no doubt in my mind that that’s Lombardo on the videotape,” Spitzer said.

“What if you end up with a dozen witnesses claiming he was playing golf yesterday?”

“Then he paid those people off.” Spitzer paused, then added, “You were right all along about him intentionally posing for the surveillance camera. That was a good pick-up.”

“You think this is all some elaborate scheme on Lombardo’s part?” Resnick asked, struggling to keep his incredulity in check.

“Why not? You know how juries are. This allows him to claim we’re framing him, but we screwed up not realizing he had cut and dyed his hair.”

“Sounds too complicated to me,” Resnick said. “Why bother with something like that?”

“Because he thinks he’s smarter than we are.”

“I don’t know. Exposing himself so he can later claim he’s being framed doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Then what’s your explanation?”

“Either we’ve got some very clever bank robbers who knew where the surveillance cameras were hidden or someone very stupid in the FBI trying to sneak that tape in to frame Lombardo.”

“No one in the FBI manufactured that tape!”

Resnick took a sip of his coffee. “In that case we’ve got some very clever bank robbers.”

Dan had tried to ignore the phone ringing, but Carol shook him until he opened his eyes.

“Craig Brown from the Lynn Capital Bank is on the phone,” Carol told him. Dan wanted his wife to just go away, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, the sunlight hurting his eyes and forcing them shut again. Shielding them, he squinted at his wife. “What time is it?” he asked, his voice barely above a croak. It was funny how he felt like he had a bad hangover. Not even as much as a beer the previous day.

“It’s already eleven thirty,” she said, her expression both brittle and alarmed. As lousy as he was feeling, the look on her face made him feel worse. He took the phone from her, grunted okay a few times and hung up.

“What did he want?” Carol asked.

“He wants to hire me to find out why their security system didn’t work. I’m meeting him at the bank at one thirty.”

“When’s that other man supposed to call?”

“This evening,” he said, remembering he was supposed to have a second interview that day. “After seven o’clock.”

As he pushed himself out of bed, a wave of nausea rolled through him. He had to steady himself against the bedpost until it passed. God, he felt sick, like he had suffered food poisoning. Slowly he trudged off to the bathroom.

When he looked in the mirror, he saw that his rash was gone. All at once it struck him how goddamn pathetic his situation was. He started laughing and, as he did, his stomach hurt like hell. But he couldn’t stop himself. At least he could be thankful for something, even if it was something as insignificant as his rash disappearing. The thought of that just made him laugh harder.

21

The two men were chained to a bar so that their arms were stretched over their heads and the tips of their toes barely able to touch the floor. The room they were in was soundproof, so there was no real reason for the gags in their mouths other than for the psychological effect and also to keep their screaming from giving Petrenko a headache. They were both animated now, both trying to make noise. Petrenko ignored them as he slipped on a butcher’s apron and then a set of goggles. He picked up a pair of latex gloves and pulled them over his hands, then stood clenching and unclenching his fists, making sure his fingers would have the flexibility to do what they’d need to. When he felt ready, he gave Yuri a nod.

Yuri and two other men unchained the heavyset Arab and carried him to a table that was wrapped in plastic. Plastic sheeting was also laid out under the table covering a good area of the floor. After a night chained in the position he had been, the man would have no strength in his arms, no ability to fight back. Yuri and the two other Russians dumped the Arab on the table like he was a sack of flour and then handcuffed his wrists and ankles to metal rings at both ends of the table. Petrenko picked up a scalpel and held it to the light.

The other man, the one named Abbas, tried to scream through his gag when he caught sight of the scalpel, his body contorting wildly. Petrenko shook his head sadly at the man and addressed him as if he were addressing a child.

“There’s no point in acting this way,” Petrenko told him. “You are going to die later today. Nothing you do will change that. Whether you die easily or not will be up to how long it takes you to tell me where my money is. And you will tell me. Believe me, you will be begging to tell me.”

Abbas was nearly epileptic as he tried to make a noise through his gag.

“You don’t understand,” Petrenko said. “I don’t care what you might have to say now. After you watch what happens to your friend, then I will care.”

He turned away from Abbas and walked over to the heavyset Arab handcuffed to the table. The man’s eyes grew wide as he saw the scalpel. He tried frantically to talk through his gag. In his panic he started choking on it. Petrenko couldn’t afford to let him die so quickly. He had no choice but to remove the gag.

“Please,” the man was saying as he gasped for air, tears streaming down his face. “I will tell you anything you want to know, anything…”

Petrenko in Russian asked Yuri to get him some cotton. He waited patiently for Yuri, all the while listening to the heavyset man blabber on and on about how he would tell Petrenko anything he needed to know. When Yuri returned with a bag of cotton, Petrenko tore off two pieces and stuffed them in each ear. Otherwise, he knew, this man would give him a headache.

The heavyset man’s voice was now barely a hoarse whisper; still though trying repeatedly to convince Petrenko that he would tell him anything he wanted to know.

Petrenko stopped him. “Unfortunately for you,” he said, “you have nothing to say that I care to hear.” Then pushing the edge of the scalpel against the man’s bare chest, he went to work.

Joel had been on the road for five hours before he arrived in Manhattan. The first thing he did was stop off for an onion bagel with cream cheese. Closing his eyes, he savored every bite of it. Back in New England the bagels were
dreck
, nothing but glorified rolls. After he finished it, he bought another one. He’d have no problem eating a dozen of them in one sitting, but he would have to limit himself to two. His waistline couldn’t afford more than that. As it was, he was going to have to pay later by doing several hundred sit-ups when he got home.

After his lunch, he headed over to Forty-Seventh Street and found the jewelry store his uncle Hyman worked at. Entering the store, he spotted his uncle, sitting on the same stool he had sat on for over fifty years. Eighty-two years old, half a foot shorter than Joel, with only a few white wisps of hair left on his mostly bald head. Along with his big ears and large veined nose, he looked like some gnarled figure that could’ve been carved out of wood instead of flesh. The old man did a double-take when he saw Joel. Sliding off his stool, he moved with a surprising quickness to meet his nephew.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. He took hold of one of Joel’s hands with both of his, his own hands thick and swollen. “I haven’t heard from you in three years and you just pop in here, just like that. What’s wrong with you, you can’t call first?”

“I’m sorry, Uncle Hymie, but I decided kind of spur of the moment to drive down here. I’ve got something I’d like to show you.”

“Eh, that can wait. You have lunch yet?”

“Yeah, I had a couple of bagels.”

“Bagels? You call that lunch? Let me take you to a deli, get you a nice brisket sandwich. Maybe some matzoh ball soup?”

“I don’t have time for that now, but I plan on stopping off at the Carnegie and taking a few pounds of pastrami and corned beef home with me. Also a bag of potato knishes. Can I show you what I got?”

“Always in a rush.” The old man shook his head, making a tsking noise. “You haven’t seen me in three years and you can’t even spend time to have lunch with me.”

“All right, if you’re going to make a federal case out of it—”

“Never mind, you’re in too big a hurry. What do you have that’s so important for me to look at?”

“Can we go to the back room?” Joel lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’d like a little privacy.”

The old man eyed his nephew suspiciously. “Did you do something to get yourself in trouble?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” Joel muttered, indignant, his voice still barely above a whisper. “I’d just like a little privacy, that’s all, I don’t need everyone in this store gawking at what I want to show you.”

There were only half a dozen other people in the store, none of them paying Joel or his uncle any attention. The old man shrugged and led Joel to the back of the store and into a small room that was only slightly bigger than a closet.

“So what do you have?” his uncle asked, now showing a little curiosity.

Joel took a silk pouch from his pocket and emptied a diamond into his hand. His uncle took the diamond from him, studied it and then looked back at his nephew.

“What are you doing with an uncut diamond?” he asked.

“Let’s just say I found it.”

“Tell me the truth. Did you steal this?”

Joel made a face. “Of course not,” he said. “Come on, Uncle Hymie, just tell me what it’s worth, okay?”

The old man stuck a magnifying glass in his eye and studied the diamond. “This is very good quality.” He popped the glass out of his eye and held the diamond in his open palm. “Two and one quarter carats.” He gave his nephew a long, careful look. “Retail, this would go for twenty-two thousand, wholesale, fourteen thousand. If you were someone off the street, I could probably get you nine for it. You, if I forgo my commission, twelve. Do you want to sell?”

Joel rubbed a hand along his jaw as he did the math in his head and realized that he had over a million dollars in diamonds. “Not right now,” he said. “Maybe in a little while. What if I’m able to get my hands on more diamonds like this?”

“How many more?”

“Fifty, a hundred, I don’t know yet. How many would you be able to buy?”

“Joel, what did you do?”

“Nothing. This is all above board. So tell me, Uncle Hymie, how many diamonds like these would you be able to take off my hands?”

“Everything is so above board that you had to show me this diamond in private, eh?” The old man sighed heavily. “But, I guess if not me, you’ll get yourself in trouble with someone else.”

“Look, Uncle Hymie, I’m not in the mood for a lecture. How many diamonds like these can you buy?”

“Gott im Himmel,”
the old man muttered to himself, then to Joel as he smiled wistfully, “Uncut, this quality, as many as you have.”

When Dan was brought into Craig Brown’s office, the bank manager introduced him to Alex Resnick, telling him that Resnick was a Lynn police detective investigating the bank robbery. Dan shook hands with the man and sat down.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Brown was saying, “but the detective is also trying to find out why our security system didn’t work. You won’t mind answering a few of his questions?”

“Of course not,” Dan said. As he smiled at Brown, he thought,
You sneaky underhanded little prick, trying to waylay me like this. Goddamn sneaky underhanded bastard
.

“Any idea what happened?” Resnick asked.

“Off the top of my head, maybe a couple of ideas.” Dan then turned to Brown. “Have you tested the system since the robbery?”

“Of course. We tested each alarm button. They all worked.”

“How about the system status?”

“What does that tell you?” Resnick asked.

Dan gave the detective a thin smile. “How long the system has been up and running. If the system was turned off before the robbery, we’ll be able to tell that.”

Brown made a show of looking through a stack of papers. “I don’t think I’ve gotten around to checking that yet,” he said.

“We’re wasting our time until we do,” Dan said, trying to keep his tone pleasant, all the while his mind spinning while he tried to figure out how he was going to handle this. He had known he was going to have to talk to the cops at some point, but he hadn’t expected it this quickly.

That little prick
, he thought as he followed Brown out of the office.
Goddamn underhanded little prick!

For a moment Dan daydreamed that he had pistol-whipped the bank manager when he’d had the opportunity. It had taken quite a bit of self-control on his part to only shove Brown the other day. He didn’t like the man – and this was even before Brown made the decision to farm out the software to India – and he resented the condescending comments Brown made to him afterwards.

“You don’t need this type of work,”
Brown had told him.
“After all, haven’t you made millions already in high tech? From what I’ve read, anyone who’s any good has.”

And…

“I don’t understand why you would want this – isn’t this only menial work? Anyway, I can’t justify paying you fifty dollars an hour when I can hire four Indian programmers for the same price.”

There were other jabs, many others. All made with a smug little smile.

When they got to the security system, Dan moved Brown aside so he could type in a command at the system’s console. He showed Resnick the response which indicated that the system had been up and running continuously for over thirty-four days.

“Too bad,” Dan told the detective. “This would have made things easy if someone had simply turned the system off before the robbery.”

“Could someone have hacked into it?” Resnick asked.

“Not if the system was built the way I designed it.”

“It was built exactly to your design,” Brown interjected, his tone defensive.

“If that’s true, then the system will only allow outgoing calls. No one can connect into it.”

“I’m not sure I understood something you said. What do you mean
if the system was built the way you designed it
?” Resnick asked.

“I had nothing to do with the implementation, only the design.” Dan grimaced as he straightened up. “I’m getting too old to crouch like this,” he said. “My knees can’t take it. What do you say we head back to Craig’s office?”

Resnick was frowning. “Anything you can tell by looking at it?”

“No. If it wasn’t turned off, then there are only two possibilities I can think of. Number one, no one pushed the alarm buttons during the robbery—”

“That’s ridiculous,” Brown interrupted. He was trying to appear indignant, but his act fell flat. He knew the FBI agent had suspected that and the accusation weighed heavily on him. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t muster up any genuine indignation.

“Well then, the only other explanation I can think of is that a backdoor was put into the software.”

“What do you mean by a backdoor?” Resnick asked.

“One or more of the programmers built in a way to make the system fail—”

“That’s preposterous!”

Dan turned to Brown, his affable grin hardening. “No, it isn’t. What’s preposterous is you having some firm halfway around the world building critical security software for you because they’re the cheapest ones you could find.”

“There was nothing wrong with what we did,” Brown insisted. He cleared his throat. “Would you be able to examine the software and figure out why it failed?”

“Sure, I could do that. Two hundred dollars an hour, one hundred and sixty hours guaranteed. Paid in advance.”

Brown’s head jerked as if he’d been sucker punched. “That’s r-ridiculous,” he sputtered. “We only paid you fifty dollars an hour to design the system!”

“If you don’t like my price I’m sure you could always offer it to the lowest bidder. Maybe that same firm in India who you had build the code. I’m sure for two hundred dollars an hour, they’d be able to get twenty people.”