So there you are. But thats not the biggest hole in all this. Remember, Harmsisnta jailhouse lawyer. Hes never filed anything else in court. If Fiske checks out your claim, hell find out you lied. And when Fiske does that and I have to believe he will then everything blows up.

Its not like I had a lot of time to think up a plan, Rayfield said hotly.

Im not saying otherwise. But by lying to him, you just made him a big liability. And we have yet another problem.

Whats that?

Everything Harms said in his appeal happens to be true. Did you forget that? The truth is funny. You start looking here and there and all of a sudden the wall of lies starts to topple over. Guess where its going to land? Do you really want to take that chance? Because when that wall comes down, the only place youre going to be retiring to is Fort Jackson. And this time on the other side of the prison cell door. That sound good to you, Frank?

Rayfield took a weary breath and checked his watch.

Shit, Id take Nam over this any day.

I guess we all got a little too comfortable. Well, its time to earn your money, Frank. You and Tremaine just get it done. And while youre taking care of business, remember this: We all either survive this together, or we all go down together. *����*����* Thirty minutes later, after his debriefing by Rayfields assistant, Michael left the prison building and walked in the light rain to his car. What a sucker hed been. He felt like tearing up the appeal papers, but he wouldnt. Maybe hed put them back into the process. Still, he felt sorry for Rufus Harms. All those years in prison had taken their toll. As Michael pulled out of the parking lot, he had no way of knowing that most of his radiator fluid had been collected in a bucket and poured into the nearby woods. Five minutes later he looked on in dismay as the steam poured out from the hood of his car. He got out, gingerly raised the hood and then jumped back as a cloud of steam momentarily engulfed him. Swearing angrily, he looked around: not a car or human in sight. He thought for a moment. He could walk back to the prison, use the phone and call a towing service. As if on cue, the rain picked up in intensity. As he looked up ahead of him, his spirits brightened. A van was approaching from the direction of the prison. He waved his arms to flag it down. As he did so he looked back at the car, steam still pouring out. Funny he had just had it serviced in preparation for the trip. As he looked back at the van, his heart started to beat rapidly. He looked around, and then turned and sprinted away from the van. It sped up and quickly overtook him, blocking his way. He was about to race into the woods when the window came down and a gun was pointed at him.

Get in, Victor Tremaine ordered. ["C16"]CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was Saturday afternoon when Sara Evans drove to Michaels apartment and looked at the cars parked on the street. His Honda wasnt there. He had called in sick on Friday, something she had never known him to do before. She had called his apartment, but he hadnt answered the phone. She parked, went in the building and knocked on his door. There was no answer. She didnt have a key. She went around to the rear of the building and climbed up the fire escape. She looked in the window of his small kitchen. Nothing. She tried the door, but it was locked. She drove back to the Court, her worries increased tenfold. Michael was not sick, she knew that. All this had something to do with the papers she had seen in his briefcase, she was sure of it. She silently prayed that he was not in over his head. That he was safe, and would be back to work on Monday. She went back to work for the rest of the day and then had a late dinner with some of the other clerks at a restaurant near Union Station. They all wanted to talk shop, except for Sara. Usually a devoted fan of this ritual, she simply could not get into the conversations. At one point she wanted to run screaming from the room, sick of the endless strategizing, predictions, case selections, the subtlest nuances analyzed to death; mushroom clouds from mere mushrooms. Later that night she lingered on the rear deck of her home. Then she made up her mind and took her boat out for a late-night sail on the river. She counted the stars, made funny pictures from them in her mind. She thought of Michaels offer of marriage and the reasons she had refused it. Her colleagues would be amazed that she had. It would be a brilliant match, they would say. They would have a wonderful, dynamic life together, with the almost absolute certainty that their children would be highly intelligent, ambitious and athletically gifted. Sara herself had been a scholarship lacrosse player in college, although Michael was the better athlete of the two. She wondered whom he would ultimately marry. Or if he even would. Her rejection might cause him to remain a bachelor the rest of his life. As she sailed along, she had to smile. She was giving herself far too much credit. In a years time, Michael would be off doing something incredibly fantastic. She would be lucky if he even remembered who she was five years from now. As she docked her boat and wrapped the sails, she stopped for a moment to catch one last breeze off the water before she headed back to the house. Barely a twenty-minute non-rush-hour trip due north would deliver her to the most powerful city on earth, to her place with the most awe-inspiring legal minds of her time. And yet all she really wanted to do right now was snuggle under her blanket with the lights off and pretend she never had to go back there. Reasonably ambitious all her life, she suddenly had no drive to accomplish anything else of note in her professional life. It was like she had used up all her energy in getting to this point. Marriage and being a mom? Was that what she wanted? She had no siblings and had been pretty spoiled growing up. She wasnt used to being around kids all that much, but something pulled at her in this direction. Something very strong. But even so, she wasnt sure. And shouldnt she be by now? As she went inside, undressed and climbed into bed, she realized that having a family required one thing to start: finding someone to love. She had just turned down one opportunity to do so with a truly exceptional man. Would another chance come along? Did she want a man in her life right now? Still, sometimes one shot was all you got. One shot. That was her last thought before falling asleep. ["C17"]CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was Monday and John Fiske sat at his desk, digesting yet another arrest report on one of his clients. By now he was extremely adept at this process. He was only halfway through the report and he could already tell the sort of deal the guy could expect to get. Well, it was nice being good at something. The knock on his office door startled him. His right hand slid open the top drawer of his desk. Inside was a 9mm, a leftover from his cop days. His clientele were not the most trustworthy. So while he would represent them zealously, he was not naive enough to turn his back on them either. Some of his clients had shown up at his door drugged or drunk, with a grudge against him for some perceived wrong. Thus, his spirits were lifted considerably by the feel of hard steel against his palm.

Come on in, doors unlocked.

The uniformed police officer who stepped through the doorway brought a smile to Fiskes lips, and he closed his desk drawer. Hey, Billy, how you doing?

Ive been better, John, Officer Billy Hawkins said. As Hawkins came forward and sat down, Fiske saw the multicolored bruises on his friends face. What the hell happened to you?

Hawkins touched one of the bruises. Guy went nuts at a bar the other night, popped me a couple of good ones. He added quickly, Thats not why Im here, John.

Fiske knew Hawkins to be a good-natured sort who didnt let the constant pressures of his job overwhelm him. He was always as reliable and serious about his job as he was casual and friendly off duty. Hawkins glanced nervously at Fiske.