Who's behind it all?

I don't know.

The vice president? This Asiphar?

No. I don't think so.

How did you find out about it?

I work for a man in this country who has an interest in this sort of thing. That's how I know. I did some legal research for him on extradition laws.

I know your reputation as the big Mafia lawyer, getting thugs out of jail on technicalities.

Everybody's entitled to a defence.

And now you're spilling, so you get a break? Remo was disgusted with him.

Yes. I'm spilling so I get out of here and I get safe conduct some place. "And I'll tell you the truth, Father," he said, sneering the title, "I'm getting tired of telling my story to every nit the government sends through the door."

"Well, I'll be the last one," Remo said. He got up and went to the door again, peering through the keyhole.

O'Brien still sat at his desk, now reading a newspaper, his broad back rising slowly with his breathing. A radio played softly alongside O'Brien's desk.

"Okay, then," Devlin said. "How do I get out of here? Do I call a press conference or what?"

"No, that's not necessary," Remo said. "We've got it all worked out."

Remo knew what he had to do. His hand shook slightly as he pulled the wooden crucifix from a pocket in the billowing robe and showed it to Devlin. "See here," he said, pointing with his left hand. "That black pill at the bottom of the feet. When the guard comes in, kiss the cross, and nip the pill off with your teeth. When you're back in your cell, bite into it and swallow it. It'll knock you out. Our men are in the prison hospital now. When they bring you in, they'll decide you need special treatment. Put you in an ambulance and send you to a private hospital. The ambulance will never get there. Neither will you."

"Sounds too easy," Devlin said. "I don't think it'll work."