'And I know you, Blake Johnson. You came out of Vietnam with a chestful of medals, joined the FBI, and saved President Jake Cazalet from assassination when he was still a Senator. Shot two bad guys and took a bullet. Now you run the Basement, downstairs at the White House, as a kind of private hit force for the President. But unfortunately, Blake' — he paused to take a puff —'I don't think Cazalet can save you now.'

Blake snapped two fingers at Falcone. 'Another brandy.' He turned to Fox. 'There's an old Sicilian saying, which you might appreciate, since I know you have a Sicilian mother. When you have sinned grievously, the devil is waiting.'

Fox laughed. 'Would your devil be you or Sean Dillon?'

'Take your pick. But God help you if it's Dillon,' Blake told him.

Fox leaned closer. 'Let me tell you something, Johnson. I hope it's Dillon. I've been waiting a long time to put a bullet in his brain. And in yours.'

Blake said, 'You killed my wife.'

'Your ex-wife,' Fox said. 'But it wasn't personal. She got too close, that's all. I wish you could have understood that.'Fox shook his head. 'You've caused me a lot of grief. Now you'll have to pay for it.' Fox smiled. 'I hope Dillon is stupid enough to come. Then I'll have you both.'

'Or we'll have you.'

Fox said to Falcone. 'Take him back.'

He turned down the light, and Russo punched Blake in the belly. Blake doubled over and they took him out between them, feet dragging.

2

NEW YORK

IN THE BEGINNING

It was a wet March evening in Manhattan when the Lincoln stopped at Trump Tower, the snow long gone, but replaced by heavy, relentless rain. Jack Fox sat in the rear, Russo at the wheel, Falcone beside him. They pulled in at the kerb and Falcone got out with an umbrella.