"It's not as bad as it looks," Alex assured him. "I was lucky. A few cuts, some nasty bruises, a few broken ribs, I think."

Eugene stared at the floor, torn between empathy for his friend and sympathy for himself if he didn't get Alex's signatures on the contracts. Cuts and bruises heal. Ten million bucks are forever.

Only thirty minutes before, Maria had stormed back downstairs, suitcase in hand, and announced that she had booked a flight back to New York and scheduled a meeting with the most venomous East Coast divorce lawyer money can rent. A real loud-mouthed cutthroat with sterling references. Among those references, Eugene well knew, were wives two and three, whose divorces the lawyer had handled with appalling effectiveness. Practice makes perfect-how sadly true. Wife Three had walked away with twice what Wife Two got. Eugene shuddered to think how much Number Four might cost.

Alex stole a glance over his shoulder, took in the two boys by the exit, and noted that Vladimir had slipped in and joined Katya at her table in the center of the room. Vladimir and Katya were partially blocking the views of their pals by the exit.

Not that it mattered; they were arranged perfectly to keep him and Elena bottled up.

He needed time, and Alex looked at Eugene and said, "Incidentally, please call your friends in New York. Tell them I require another thirty minutes."

"Not possible, Alex."

"Please make it possible."

"You know the stakes. If this deal's not locked down by five tonight, I'm deeply, deeply screwed."

Alex and Eugene stared across the table at each other, frustration hanging in the air like mist. Alex eventually noted, "Surely your contract with them has an Act of God provision. Am I right?"

"Do I look stupid?"

"So use it, Eugene. I was an innocent victim, a hapless passenger in a taxi accident. That's a shining example of an Act of God." He pointed at his own face. Eugene needed no reminder.

"Alex, these contracts have been months in the making."

"I think I know that."

"I faxed copies to your office a week ago."

"And I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

"Seven whole days. Surely you've had more than enough time to study them."

"I'm a slow reader."

"Damn it, Alex, I-"

"Look, Eugene, let me be honest. I once signed a contract my lawyers and I had examined only the day before. During the interim, without mentioning it, the other party slipped in a few clauses, a few very expensive clauses. I trusted them, Eugene. I signed the contract without noticing the changes. That little stunt cost me two million dollars."

"You're kidding."

No, not kidding; lying, definitely, though he offered a regretful shrug and lied again. "I swore I would never sign another contract I haven't read on the spot. Please get on the phone and buy me some time."

"This is me, Alex. Eugene Daniels."

Alex bent forward, inspected him closely. "Yes, no doubt about it."

"How many deals have we done together? Five? Six?"

"Four."

"All right, four. Have I ever cheated you? I'm telling you, nothing, not a word has been added or subtracted from the contracts I faxed you." He awarded Alex a look of complete bewilderment. "It's the same paper, Alex, identical, down to the commas. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

"Good. Then it's settled."

A brief pause. "You trust me, too, don't you, Eugene?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Good. Then let's just dispense with those contracts. A useless waste of time. What's paper between friends? Let's just swap a few hundred million on a handshake."

Eugene lowered his head in defeat. "All right, all right, I'll try," he said, frowning tightly. "These people are absolute bastards, though."

"And right now, their mouths are watering for the easiest ten million they ever made. Your money, Eugene."

"But if I invoke the Act of God clause, they get nothing, right?" Eugene said, letting the words fall off his tongue. The frown began to melt. "Nothing, not a thing," he said, answering his own question, suddenly smiling. As hard as they had made him beg, work, and sweat to cobble this deal together-their nearly unending selfish demands, their noisy bickering over inane details, their lousy New York manners-and now, holding ten million of his dollars as ransom; well, the thought of suddenly yanking the rug from under their feet was exhilarating. What fun.

"That's right," Alex said, reading his thoughts. "The only people who will walk away from this richer and happier are the lawyers and accountants who prepared this deal."

Eugene wasn't drunk but he had inhaled enough thick German swill that any ability to think with real clarity was hours behind him. Alex was right, though. Every word made sense.

After all they'd put him through these past months, if the sharks in New York refused to give him another thirty minutes he'd tell them all to piss off. Take a flying leap and kiss your own fanny before you hit the floor.

"Please, make the call," Alex implored him, looking suddenly apologetic. He glanced quickly over his left shoulder: Vladimir and Katya were eyeing him closely. Once they saw Eugene stabbing numbers into his cell phone, things could instantly turn ugly. Alex put a hand on Elena's arm and smiled pleasantly at Eugene. "Excuse me. In all the excitement today, I never had a chance to use the bathroom."

Without waiting for an answer he stood and left Elena with Eugene. Eugene's plump fingers were already stabbing his cell phone. He couldn't wait. His only regret was that he couldn't watch their faces.

Alex approached the table where Katya and Vladimir sat. Both were glowering and trying to look utterly fierce. Why try? They could be wearing clown suits and sipping pink margaritas through striped straws; they would still smolder with menace. Alex stared directly at Vladimir and hooked a finger.

Katya was the smart one and he preferred to avoid her: Vladimir did his thinking with his fists and would be easier to fool. Not easy, but easier.

Vladimir had been watching the heavy American businessman at the table begin dialing numbers into his cell phone, and then-surprise-Alex standing up! Then walking in his direction! He turned to Katya. She shrugged noncommittally. Did the rich boy have a death wish? Where did he think he was going? Vladimir quickly pushed away from the table, stood, put a hand on the gun in his rear waistband, and trailed Alex.

The pair of hired guns by the exit were just lifting their pistols out of their laps when they saw Vladimir following behind Alex. They decided to sit and wait.

Alex offered a friendly nod as he walked past, then stopped beside a vacant pillar in the massive lobby and allowed Vladimir to catch up. The lobby, like the restaurant, was sparsely populated-it made it ridiculously easy for Alex to pick out Vladimir's people, a tough-looking couple lounging on comfort chairs right beside the entrance, smoking and glowering at anybody who passed by. And through the glass window, huddled directly beneath a fancy outdoor lantern, stood two more men in black jeans and black leather jackets. The moment Vladimir reached hearing distance, he hissed at Alex, "What in the hell are you doing?"

"What anybody in my position would do. The man at the table has to make a call to New York. It's not an option. I wouldn't want you to draw the wrong impression."

Vladimir opened his lips and was on the verge of speaking, but Alex cut him off. "His partners requested a thirty-minute extension. They want to add a few conditions. It's not uncommon. I probably should have warned you-antsy investors who come up with last-minute concerns, demands, and conditions. He's calling to nail down their issues."

Vladimir studied Alex. Nervous. Alex was fidgeting with his hands, his knees trembling so badly they were almost knocking together. Mr. Big Shot: all that money, all those businesses, one of the richest, most powerful men in Russia. Yet here he stood, nerves shot, ready to crumble. How utterly disappointing. Then again, Vladimir had worked damned hard to incite an earthquake of nervousness. In fact, he should be more worried if Alex seemed the least bit nonchalant. "If he's calling the police," Vladimir threatened, "he's arranging your death sentence."