Cavello was being brought through an underground passageway from the Manhattan County Jail two blocks away, where he was being held in his own wing on a maximum security floor. From there, he was transported to the seventh floor in a guarded elevator.

I only wished we had sequestered the jury. This was the biggest organized crime trial in years. But the judge wanted to make a name for herself. Miriam Seiderman had her eye on the state supreme court. She had assurances from the lawyers, from the defendant himself. She wanted the trial conducted in the open light of day.

The door finally opened near the rear. A buzz of anticipation rippled through the air.

Two burly-looking marshals led the defendant inside. Cavello's hands were cuffed in front of him. He was dressed in a brown checked sports jacket and a restrained olive tie, his graying hair nicely trimmed. He didn't look like the animal everyone was expecting. More like a normal, everyday citizen you might see riding next to you on the train.

Cavello took a look around and nodded, as if impressed with the crowded room. The marshals took him to a chair next to his lawyer. They freed his hands. Kaskel leaned over and whispered something in Cavello's ear that made the defendant smile. Our gazes met for a second. His eyes lit up, and he smiled again as if to say,Good to see you here, Nicky. You really think you can beat me?

Sharon Ann Moran, the judge's clerk, stood."All rise."

Through the side door, Judge Seiderman entered the room. She was a smallish, attractive woman with graying hair, a pleasant face, and a tastefully short skirt beneath her judge's cloak. This was the biggest case of her life, too. She took her seat behind the bench and motioned everyone down.

"Mr. Goldenberger, is the government ready?"