That's when the bride made her mistake.

She singled out one of the old men, leaned down, and kissed him on the cheek. The balding man was in a wheelchair, hands on his lap. He looked feeble and out of it, as if he were recovering from an illness, maybe a stroke. He had on thick black-rimmed glasses, no eyebrows, like Uncle Junior onThe Sopranos.

I stood up and focused the lens on him. I watched her take him by the hands and try to get him up. The guy looked like he couldn't pee upright, and he could barely wrap his arms around her, never mind get up and dance.

Then my heart slammed to a stop.

You arrogant sonovabitch! You came!

"Tom, Robin, that old geezer with the black glasses. The bride just gave him a kiss."

"Yeah," Tom Roach came back. He was inside a van in the parking lot watching pictures sent from cameras planted in the club."I got him. What's the problem?"

I took a step closer, zooming in with the lens.

"No problem.That's Dominic Cavello! "

Two

"THIS IS A GO!" I barked into the mike attached to my shirt collar."Target is a bald male in black glasses, seated in a wheelchair at a table on the left-hand side of the deck. It's Cavello! He is to be treated as armed and likely to resist."

From where I was, I had a firsthand view of the next few minutes of action. Tom Roach and Robin Hammill jumped out of the van in the parking lot and headed for the entrance.

We had manpower, backup all over the place-even agents posing as bartenders and waiters on the inside. I had a Coast Guard cutter half a mile offshore, with an Apache helicopter that could be mobilized if necessary.