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215-555-3452

TWO HOURS.

Good. I got to him, at least in some small way.

Maggie looked at the laptop’s clock: 5:30.

But now what? Two hours to do what?

She stared out at the ocean. The sun had almost set. It was casting out the bold, dramatic rays of golden light that always made her feel at peace.

Gazing at it all now, she just felt numb.

A minute later another text message bubble popped up:

267-555-9100

IT TOOK A LOT OF WORK BUT I HAVE YOUR MONEY.

Maggie looked at it for a long moment.

What is it about these books that is worth so much? That these two will kill?

And why can’t they just kill each other?

Then—problem solved.

“Is that possible?” she said aloud.

She shook her head, then turned and watched the sunlight slip away.

[TWO]

Players Corner Lounge

Front and Master Streets, Philadelphia

Monday, November 17, 5:15 P.M.

Dmitri Gurnov was back down on his knees, looking again inside the door of the old steel safe. It was three feet tall, about that wide, and bolted to the concrete floor in the corner of the small, dirty office. He had to use his cell phone as a makeshift flashlight because the dim light from the bare bulb hanging from the power cord overhead was worthless.

He first had gone in the safe to make sure that there was enough cash before he sent the message to the woman saying that he had the money she demanded. It wasn’t the entire two hundred grand—more like fifty grand—but he never intended on delivering it all. He was getting just enough, if it came to that point, to look to her like he had the full amount.

She won’t know because she will be dead.

And this problem will go away for good.

Then I have to deal with Carlos Perez. And eventually Ricky.

Gurnov’s go-phone had then vibrated. Its small screen showed a message from Julio:

215-555-3582

CAPT J WANTS TO KNOW IF MULE DELIVERED

WHAT DO I TELL HIM?

And I have to pay for that damn lost coke!