(Chapter 22. Emily's safe house, beach house, United States Court House. March 28.)

As the alarm went off, Emily yawned and stretched and moaned when the stabbing pain shot out from her back, catching her entire body off guard. She took several slow breaths to bring the pain under control, then she settled back against her pillows and sighed. This was it, THE BIG DAY. The trial began at nine. She figured after the formalities of opening statements and so forth, the DA would be ready for Moretti by ten. She had no idea how long it would take both the prosecution and defense to question him, but at the end of the day, he would be Agent Wagner's problem and she would be free again.

She frowned, feeling guilty that she had considered him a problem as she sat up, grabbed her laptop off the nightstand, and activated it. At first, Moretti had been a pain in the ass, but as Emily had gotten to know him, she'd found he wasn't such a bad guy. Granted, the rules of his world were somewhat different from her own, but he lived by those rules and he had a sense of honor, which was more than she could say for some of the so-called good men she had know in her life. And once he had decided to turn state's evidence, he had never once wavered. Despite what he had done in the past, she had to admire that kind of courage and integrity.

Her frown deepened as she tapped away at the program that would give the FBI's missing persons/most wanted page and the facial recognition program a Moretti-and-Emily shaped blind spot. She would probably have to answer some questions herself, about kidnapping a federal witness and stealing a few cell phones, not to mention hacking into federal and LAPD computer systems, but at least she would be out of hiding. She could stop wearing disguises and skulking around, dodging security cameras that might be linked to the FBI's facial recognition program and generally avoiding people. She could stop feeling like a criminal and go back to being a cop. And she could get some medical attention for her aching back and maybe some stronger meds for her creeping ick. She knew she needed antibiotics at the very least.

A soft knock sounded at her door.

"Em, it's 7:00. Ya up?"

"Yeah."

"Whatcha want for breakfast?"

"Nothing."

"Ya sure?"

"Yeah, but don't let me stop you. You're gonna have a long day. You'll need something."

"Ok. How ya feelin'?"

She gave it some thought and finally said, "Too soon to tell."

She heard Moretti chuckling on the other side of the door. Then he said, "Well, don't take too long to decide. We should be at the courthouse by ten."

"I already had that planned, Moretti. Go get your breakfast."

"Ok. See ya soon."

"Not if I see you first."

She heard Moretti chuckle again and smiled to herself to know he could laugh in spite of the danger he was facing, and there was no doubt he was still in grave danger. She knew she could get him to the trial all right. She had worked that out two weeks ago when she had gone to the courthouse for the phony trial. She knew it had been a trap, but even so, she had used the opportunity to scope out the courthouse and found a way in that she was sure no one else knew about.



At eight o'clock sharp, Steve had arrived at the courthouse, and he had promptly begun pacing through the courtroom. He had hand picked the entire team of LAPD officers helping with this detail, and he knew he could trust each of them. Jesse had personally vouched for the paramedics on the chopper and the waiting ambulance, so if anything did go wrong, which he reminded himself it wouldn't, he knew he could count on the emergency medical personnel to do their jobs. Ron's people had worked for him for years, and Judge Greer had assured him that there was no reason to be concerned about the court employees.

Unfortunately, all criminal trials were open to the public, and when Moretti arrived to testify, anyone in the observation gallery could be gunning for him. There was also a slim chance that Vinnie Gaudino had gotten to one of the jurors. If someone were in desperate straits, a promise of assistance for a small favor might just be what it took to eliminate Moretti permanently.

Then there was Emily herself. She had been a wild card from the start, and if she didn't like the looks of things, she could easily refuse to bring Moretti in. While that wouldn't create any immediate safety issues, it was entirely possible that Judge Greer would be obliged to dismiss the charges. Moretti was the main witness against Gaudino, and the whole case hung on his testimony. Without him to explain, all the other documents the DA had were just so many scraps of paper.

Steve glanced down at his hand and noticed all the diodes on the glove were glowing amber. He paused, closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths, reminding himself that they were as ready as they could be for whatever might happen. When he opened his eyes again, the damned diodes were still amber, and his frustration at the lack of change caused a couple of them to shoot into the red, which angered him still more. Soon all of the diodes were bright red, and his tension was still mounting.

Suddenly, he remembered the first day Olivia had hooked him up to the biofeedback monitors. He had gotten quickly upset then, too, and she had helped him calm down quickly. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His mind searched for a pleasant thought to settle on, and soon he was remembering shooting hoops with his son and Keith. He and Keith had made a good team, and had almost given Steven a run for his money. Maybe when all this was over, Emily could join them for a little two on two. Unexpectedly, Steve found himself smiling at that prospect, and when he opened his eyes, he found the diodes back into the green and amber.



Moretti pulled out his seat at the breakfast table to find a full suit of the latest generation of body armor draped neatly over his chair. It was the same stuff Emmy and her goons had worn when they kidnapped him. Lightweight and breathable, the high-tech fabric was no heavier than a typical cotton dress shirt, yet it could stop all conventional ammunition at any distance over twenty-five feet.

As he unfolded the shirt, he noticed the shoulder had been bloodied and the fabric had been repaired. It had also been expanded by adding a center panel in the front and back. He shook out the pants and saw that they had been enlarged in a similar fashion by adding panels to the side seams.

With sudden, sickening dread, he realized that this was Emily's body armor, enlarged to fit him. The bloodied shoulder was where she had been shot while kidnapping him. Somewhere she had acquired enough of the fabric to alter this suit for him, but she was intending to go into the courtroom completely unprotected. Suddenly, he was furious.

Storming into her room, he yelled, "Dammit, Em!"

She jumped and winced in pain when he startled her.

"What?"

Throwing the suit at her he said, "I can't wear this!"

Looking at him innocently, she said, "Yes, you can. I altered it so it would fit."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. I can't wear this and let you go in there . . . naked."

"You can, and you will, Moretti," she said coolly, still tapping away at her laptop. "It's no good to me now anyway. It has to fit snug to work. Otherwise, the slack in the fabric just goes into the flesh around the bullet. I had a lot of extra fabric for repairs, and that was the only sensible use for it. See, the stuff is really strong, but the fibers are brittle, and when you fold them repeatedly, they tend to break. We were constantly blowing out at the elbows, shoulders, knees, waist, and hips. The suits cost a fortune, so our source just gave us a bolt of the cloth and told us to fix it ourselves. I had just enough left to enlarge that suit for you."

Moretti's eyes had briefly glazed over. He wasn't the slightest bit interested in the details of maintaining a full suit of body armor. When he realized she was finished talking, however, he went right back to arguing with her.

"I won't wear it, Em, not if it means you going without."

"Listen to me, you stupid stubborn ass," she suddenly flared at him, "I have given up way too much to keep you alive this long. I will be in disguise. Nobody will spot me. You will be on the stand, out in the open, a sitting duck. If you get shot, all we've been through will be for nothing. Wear the damned suit."

Moretti gave it some thought, and finally said, "Ok, but if you get hurt, I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Fine, now get out of my bedroom."



"Come on, O, you need to get dressed. The trial starts in an hour."

Olivia sat on the foot of the bed staring into her closet. "I don't know what to wear."

"Huh?"

"I . . . I don't know what to wear, Keith. What should I wear?"

O wasn't the vain and shallow type concerned about looking good and being seen. Keith took one glance at her and knew she was dangerously close to breaking down. Olivia had always been emotionally fragile, with good reason, and Keith had striven to be understanding when she found herself out on the edge. Today, though, his patience was used up. She had confided in Steve about all the tragedies and terrors of her past, yet, she had left him, her husband of thirty years, to fumble along blindly through her emotional minefield, and he resented it. For the first time in their marriage, he responded with frustration rather than compassion.

Taking her navy suit from the closet, he tossed it in her lap and said, "Can the histrionics and get dressed. I am leaving in twenty minutes with or without you."

When she visibly shrank in on herself, he immediately felt sorry for what he had said, but he was just too angry to apologize.



Emily sucked in a painful breath as she sat down at the small vanity in her bedroom to begin her makeup. It had taken her just under an hour to shower, dress, and dry her hair. The crud was slowing her down and she now wished she had set the alarm for six thirty. No matter how fast she tried to move, she felt as if she were traveling through Jello, and she wasn't sure she would get Moretti to the courthouse on time. She didn't suppose it mattered much, though, because she felt certain the DA and his other witness could fill the first couple of hours if necessary. She'd spoken with Agent Wagner a couple of times before she went underground, and she knew he had enough to say to make his testimony last quite a while.

Emmy ran a fingertip over the row of different colored foundations lined up like little soldiers in front of the mirror and then picked out a rich tan color. She had an image in her mind's eye of what she wanted to look like today, and this color would do nicely for Petra. She'd been working this character out for a while, and had chosen the name to match her personality. Petra was Italian for 'rock,' and that's what she intended to be for Moretti. On this, their final, difficult day together, he would be able to look to her for strength and stability.

Selecting a pair of fake moles--they sure weren't beauty marks--she laid them out on the vanity top and attached a few dark wiry hairs to them. Petra was homely, but not hideous. Then Emily took her bottle of liquid latex film and painted the sticky white liquid thinly on her forehead and thicker at the corners of her eyes and mouth. To make the wrinkles that would age her beyond her years, she contorted her face as the stuff dried. The new makeup was a wonderful thing, and when one only needed a few wrinkles and not a nose or a whole face, it was much faster than making a full mask or even a half-mask. It was also much more reliable because it could adhere directly to the skin instead of having to be glued on, and as a result there was less chance of it coming off at an unfortunate moment.

She went to the bathroom for a couple of Advil and a glass of water and by the time she got back to the vanity, the latex had dried enough to texturize. She took a piece of paper with a fine pattern on it that came with the liquid latex and pressed it firmly to her face until she felt the warmth of her hand through the paper and the latex. She gently peeled away the paper, and now the white rubbery film looked like it was made of thousands of tiny dermal cells all packed together. Once she had dabbed the foundation across her cheeks, brow, and chin and evened the color out with a cosmetic sponge, the phony wrinkles blended in perfectly with her own, unlined, youthful skin. A little shading around her nose made it appear broader and a darker hue under her eyes sunk them in.

Regretfully, she realized she didn't need to do much to look older than she really was. The bug that had gotten her down was doing that for her just fine.

The she turned to the tedious chore of putting on her menopause moustache one hair at a time. Each fine dark strand had to be tipped with a special invisible adhesive and applied to her face individually for the effect to be convincing. As she thought about how much easier it would have been to go as a man, she resisted the urge to sigh because that would scatter the hairs hither and yon. As a man, she could have just daubed a little spirit gum on a fake handlebar moustache, stuck it to her face and been ready to go, but Petra, the stoic, supportive Italian woman, with heart of gold, will of iron, and face of stone, had captured her imagination, and Emily had to get her just right.



"Yes, Minister Chen, I will convey your regrets to Mark Sloan and his family. I know they were looking forward to seeing you after your visit to Silicon Valley, and thank you for calling, sir."

Leigh Ann looked at the clock. It was 8:30. She had just enough time to make the necessary calls and e-mails to cancel the security arrangements for the Chinese Trade Minister's visit before she went to the trial. Now that she had nothing else to do, the Chief would never question her presence there, and she could just say she came to the courthouse to tell him in person.

By 8:35, she was on her way out of the station.



Emily looked at the reflection in the mirror. Petra had a dark, dry complexion, a thin moustache indicative of the change of life, and two moles sprouting hair, one on her right cheek and the other on her chin. Crows feet at the corners of her eyes and deep laugh lines gave the impression of one who had lived much in her fifty-odd years and ill applied makeup gave her away as a plain, sensible woman, not given to flights of fancy, but doing her best to look sharp for an important event.

Rouge, just a little too red, brightened her withered cheeks, and glossy, Crayola lipstick covered her thin lips, feathering out beyond the edges because she had neglected to apply lip-liner. The salt and pepper hair was pulled back into a severe bun at the base of her neck, and large, thick- lensed glasses rested on the bridge of her almost aquiline nose, the frames so big and round that every time she smiled, her cheeks raised them up and carried them a little farther down her nose. Every now and then, she had to push them up with her middle finger. Her nails were short and ragged, and her hands were work-roughened. She was dressed severely in a plain wool suit, her jacket and skirt both solid black, and her white collared blouse very plain. She wore hose that bagged slightly at the ankles and sensible black shoes, and except for her perfectly ordinary silver watch with the black leather band, her only jewelry was an onyx brooch pinned to the lapel of her jacket and matching stud earrings. Only the snub-nosed thirty-eight in the shoulder holster was out of place, and she would ditch that as soon as Moretti was safely in place.

Petra was undoubtedly a solid, steady woman on whom someone could depend as surely as the Rock of Gibraltar. She looked at herself once more in the mirror and nodded with satisfaction, then picked up the phone.



At about 8:35, Steve's cell phone started vibrating. He'd turned it off the moment he'd entered Judge Greer's courtroom knowing the man's distaste for the devices. Two years ago, he had left the ringer on by mistake, and had been in the courtroom testifying on a case when Maribeth had called him to ask him to pick up a gallon of milk on his way home. He'd switched the ringer off immediately, let the voicemail function take a message, apologized to the court, and went on with his testimony as if nothing had happened. Judge Greer had allowed him to finish, and he was stepping down from the stand, feeling as though he had dodged a bullet, when the judge had charged him with contempt of court because the sign on the door to the courtroom said to turn off all electronic devices. Since he didn't have the cash on him to pay the fine, he had been forced to spend the night in a private cell in the county jail. A number of local reporters and one nationally syndicated editorial cartoonist had had great fun at his expense.

As far as Steve knew, the only person who had ever gotten away with having a ringing cell phone in Judge Greer's courtroom had been a witness on dialysis waiting for a heart transplant. The woman was in such a desperate situation that she was too afraid to trust the courthouse operator to contact her during the trial, and had refused to testify unless she could have the phone with her and turned on at all times. Naturally, the call came in the middle of her testimony, and Steve still wasn't sure if Greer would have let the woman go in for the surgery before serving her time or paying the fine for contempt if she hadn't requested and received permission to have the phone on her before the trial began.

He flipped open the phone and began to speak. The trial hadn't started and the judge wasn't there yet, so he was safe.

"Sloan here."

"If everything looks good, Moretti will be there by ten."

"Emily!"

The line was already dead. The diodes on the glove all shot up to red.



At twenty minutes before nine, Leigh Ann signed out of the station on her way to Judge Greer's courtroom. She unclipped her police ID and slipped it in her pocket as she left the desk sergeant, and when she got to the door, she stopped, and smiling, she held it open for 'Fredo Cioffi and Charles Donovan as they each brought in a dolly loaded with boxes she knew contained the tapes from Mr. Gorini's warehouse. For a moment, she felt his loss afresh, then she smiled with the satisfaction of knowing that before the day was out she would finish what he had started.

"Come on, guys, give me something," a young man whined as he followed them in. "Oh, excuse me," he added vacantly as he half noticed Leigh Ann still holding the door.

"No way, Murdoch," 'Fredo told him as he and Donovan headed toward the evidence lockers. "You know individual officers can't talk to the press about an ongoing investigation without approval from their superiors."

"But guys," the young man was still following them down the hall, "I'm not the press. I'm freelance, and I gotta eat. Just a hint, please? Enough for one story?"

Glancing about as if to make sure the coast was clear, Donovan told 'Fredo, "Stay with the stuff," and he headed back toward the young reporter, "Come here, Lenny," the officer said, putting an arm around the reporter's shoulders and whispering conspiratorially as he walked him back down the hall. "I'll tell you something."

The reporter eagerly took his notebook and pencil out of his pocket and leaned in to hear what Donovan had to say. As they got back out into the lobby, Donovan pointed at a sign and told him, "That sign says, 'No unescorted visitors beyond this point.' Now, if you ever follow me down that hall again, I will arrest you, got it?"

"Man," the reporter complained as Donovan rejoined 'Fredo and they shared a laugh at his expense, "you guys suck!"

As Leigh Ann watched the exchange, an idea was born in her mind. She slipped quickly out the door and down the steps of the police station. When she got to the street, she ducked around some bushes beside the steps and waited for the reporter to emerge.



Lenny Murdoch walked away from the police station sulking. His rent was a week past due already, and he was fresh out of leads. When he saw Donovan and Cioffi heading into the station with boxes of evidence and noticed boxes and boxes more in the van they had left under guard in the street, he knew something big was up, but they hadn't budged, and the officer guarding the van had threatened him. Now, he didn't know what to do.

"Psst!"

Lenny paused, glanced around, shrugged, and resumed walking.

"Psst! Over here!" a sharp whisper turned him around and he walked over to a woman in her late thirties who was cowering in the bushes. When he got to her, she pulled him close and said, "I've got a story for you."

Wary of another ego bruising joke he asked skeptically, "What?"

"It's about those boxes. They're full of tapes. From what I hear, a lot of people could be going to jail."

"Yeah? Who?"

"Two city councilmen, a police commissioner, three city contractors, and a U.S. Senator, for starters."

"And who are you to know that?" he asked the woman.

She winked and said, "An unnamed source within the police department."

Murdoch shook his head and said, "Sorry, I need more than that before I trust you."

"Hey," the woman said, "you're desperate for a story. What do you care?"

"Despite public opinion, some of us do give a damn about the truth," he said. "I may be desperate, but I won't print unconfirmed rumors."

Taking a deep breath and rolling her eyes heavenward as if she were thinking it over, the woman reluctantly pulled her ID out of her pocket. Placing her thumb over her name, she turned the card toward him, revealing her picture, the words LAPD Civilian Police Assistant, the department seal, and Deputy Chief Steve Sloan's signature.

Surprised, Lenny said, "Oh, shit, you do know what's going on, don't you?"

She bobbed her head noncommittally and said, "Sort of. I know it's big, but I'm not sure how big."

Murdoch's face rumpled into a frown then. "So why tell me? You could lose your job."

She chewed her lip nervously and said, "I know. But they're hiding something," she said gesturing toward the building as if to include everyone in it in the cover-up and conspiracy. Having already seen the inventory of items 'Fredo and Donovan had prepared for the Chief, she knew exactly what was being hid, and who had hidden it, but there was no point in giving that information out yet. "After the scandals three years ago, well, if there are still dirty cops in the LAPD, then I think they need to be stopped."

She jumped in fear and cowered into the shrubbery when she heard Cioffi and Donovan laughing as they left the building and headed back to the van for another stack of boxes.

"Do you have a card?" she begged.

"Huh?"

"A business card. I can't be seen talking to you, but I'll call you as soon as I know something."

"Oh, yeah." Murdoch handed her a slip of stiff white paper with his phone and fax numbers and his e-mail on it.

She snatched it away and said, "I have to go. I'm supposed to be somewhere soon and if they miss me, they might start asking questions."

"Be careful," Murdoch called to the woman as she scurried off.

Leigh Ann smiled slightly as she heard the genuine concern in the man's voice.



By quarter to nine, Olivia and Keith were climbing the steps to the United States Courthouse on Spring Street. Knowing Emily, it would be at least another hour before she made her grand entrance, although she was just as likely to try to slip in unnoticed by prying eyes. Either way, Keith wanted to be there early to get the lay of the land, and O just wanted to be near her husband during this critical time.

"Liv! Keith! Wait up!"

They stopped and turned at the familiar voice and saw Steven approaching. Liv smiled at him. Keith glowered.

"Steven," she said, "I'm glad you could make it."

"I had to be here, Liv. Emily is, well, she's very special to me."

Liv patted his cheek. "I know, sweetie, and you're special to her, too."

"Uh, thanks, Liv."

Steven smiled at this gentle woman. He could easily see why his dad was so fond of her. She had a comforting presence about her. This was the first time they had discussed his relationship to her daughter. For some reason, while things were so up in the air with Em on the run, they had avoided the subject by mutual agreement. Now, though, the few words Liv had spoken were all Steven needed to know she understood the feelings he and Em shared for each other, and the tone of her voice when she spoke them plainly voiced her approval.

"Come on," she said, taking his hand in hers, "Keith is going to be working with your dad, you can keep me company."

"Ok," Steven agreed. "I'd like that."

When they walked into the courtroom, Steve turned and frowned at them. "Steven! Liv? What are you doing here?"

Steven and Liv stopped to talk, but Keith pushed past him without a word and, limping slightly, moved down to the front row of seats to look around the room

"She's my daughter, Steve, where else should I be?"

"Dad, Em and I were dating for five months before all of this started. A couple weeks ago, you told me she said she was sorry. Today, I'm going to tell her she had no need to apologize."

Steve nodded, but his guts burned as he realized how hurt and angry his son would be when he learned the truth about Emily. The pain got worse as he wondered how he would explain keeping the facts from his son all this time, and before he realized it, he had pulled a roll of antacid tablets out of his pocket and started chewing a couple.

"Dad?"

"Steve!"

Looking from the tablets in his hand to the two worried faces before him, he raised a warning finger and said, "Not today. Now, have a seat and stay out of the way."

As they moved to sit in the second row of seats behind the prosecution, Steve glanced down and saw all the diodes on the glove glowing red. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for several moments, and when he looked again, they were mixed red and amber.

'That will have to be good enough,' he thought, 'at least for today.'



Promptly at nine o'clock Tony, the same bailiff who had taken Steve into custody on his contempt charge, began the trial. At the same time, DA Conrad Downs sent a runner to the security office for Ron, who was supposed to be his first witness. Cheryl and Al Cioffi were there with him, and they would be keeping an eye on the video monitors until he finished his testimony. Then he would go back and watch the monitors with the guard while they went into the courtroom.

"Hear ye, hear ye, this court is now in session, the honorable Judge Jason A. Greer, presiding. Silence is commanded. All rise!"

The crowd stood as Judge Greer entered the courtroom, his black silk robes billowing around him as he strode purposefully to the bench. He paused a moment before he sat and surveyed his courtroom. He was a man who obviously relished his job. The rituals and routines of the court, unchanged for two hundred and fifty years brought him alive every time, and the gentle cadence of the bailiff's ceremonial introduction never failed to remind him of the power he wielded within these four walls and the responsibility he bore to use it wisely. He took his seat.

"Be seated," Tony told the audience.

"And what are we starting with today, Tony?" Judge Greer asked as if he didn't know.

"Case number 1702-6542-33, Your Honor," Tony read from the folder in his hand. "The United States versus Vincent, a.k.a. Vincenzo, a.k.a. Vince, a.k.a. Vinnie, Armando Gaudino on charges of money laundering and racketeering."

Greer accepted the folder from his bailiff and pulled his reading glasses low on his nose. He checked through the documents briefly. He knew everything was in order, but he always made one more check to be sure.

Peering over his glasses at the defendant, he asked, "Mr. Gaudino, do you understand the charges that have been levied against you?"

"I do, Your Honor," Gaudino replied formally, and Greer smiled inwardly, realizing Gaudino had almost as much experience at this as he had himself.

"And how do you plead?"

"Not guilty, Your Honor."

Turning to the court recorder, he said, "Let the record reflect that the defendant has entered a plea of not guilty." Then he looked at the prosecuting attorney and said, "Mr. Downs, you may begin your opening statement."

The despite the worry over Emily and the stress of wondering if Moretti would actually show up, Steve let the familiar rhythms of the beginning of a trial lull him. As he glanced down, he saw the diodes on the glove fluctuating between green and amber.



Em, now Petra, sat carefully in the passenger seat of the Viper. Moretti was driving because she had told him a woman like Petra looked out of place behind the wheel of a sporty little car like that. Petra was more the station wagon type, but she could ride along with her husband as he entered a midlife crisis. What she didn't tell him was she really wasn't sure she was in any condition to drive. After four Advil, her back was still killing her, and the only thing preventing the dry heaves was a supreme effort of will.



About halfway through the defense attorney's opening statement, Steve felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Leigh Ann smiling down at him. If he hadn't been in Greer's courtroom, he probably would have cursed aloud at the shock. As it was, his stomach washed with acid and the diodes on the glove all blinked red.

"Hello, Chief."

"Um, hello. What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be working on the Chinese Trade Minister's visit?"

"Minister Chen cancelled, Sir," she whispered. "He sends his regrets to you and your family. I'll just have a seat at the back now."

Steve nodded mutely.

When she was gone, Keith leaned over and asked, "What in the hell is *she* doing here?"

Steve whispered back, "For some reason the damned Chinese Trade Minister cancelled early on us. We'll just have to keep an eye on her."

"I don't know about you," Keith said, "but I don't have eyes in the back of my head."



By 9:20, opening statements were over and Ron Wagner had taken the stand. His testimony was deadly dull but vital to the case. It was his job to explain what made the FBI suspicious of Gaudino in the first place and how the FBI had begun to gather evidence against him. More importantly, he had to tell the jury how they had made contact with Moretti. Nobody had told the judge or the defense, but it was also his job to keep talking until Moretti arrived.



"Just keep going," Em said as Moretti slowed down near the courthouse.

"But, Em . . . "

"Go two blocks and hang a left," she said, "and trust me."

Moretti did as he was told, grumbling all the while, and parked where she told him. While Em plugged her laptop in to the Viper's power port (not original equipment, Moretti noticed with some irritation, again annoyed at how some idiot had ruined the sporty little car) and uploaded her program, he got the jack handle out of the trunk of the car and pried up a manhole cover. Then she tossed him a set of gray coveralls and slipped into another set herself, Petra's skirt bunching up around her hips and making a bulge. Finally, she got two small flashlights, a briefcase, a black balaclava, and a small wallet out of the trunk. She put the wallet in the breast pocket of the coverall and stuffed the balaclava in her hip pocket, gave one flashlight to Moretti, and handed him the briefcase.

She slipped into the manhole, groaning softly in pain.

"The old courthouse was leveled in the big quake of '05. They re-built on the same site, but when the money started running out, they left certain parts of the interior unfinished," she explained to Moretti as she sank into the earth, her voice beginning to echo. "Toss me the briefcase," she added when she got to the floor of the tunnel.

Moretti dropped the case and followed her into the tunnel, pulling the cover back in place over the hole. When he joined her in the tunnel proper, they turned on their lights and began walking.

"The offices and courtrooms were eventually finished, but since the basement is just maintenance and storage, they left it alone," she continued as Moretti fell into step behind her and they strolled quietly through the surprisingly dry vacant tunnel. "This sewer hasn't been used since it was ruptured in the quake, so we have a decent path in. A hole at the other end opens onto a door in the basement of the courthouse. They were planning an underground footpath to the Roybal Federal Building, but when the money ran out, they just gave it up."

"Em, how did ya find all this out?"

In the soft glow of their flashlights, she looked at him as if to say, 'What kind of stupid question is that?'

"Oh," he said, "th' Internet."

"Right, it took a little digging, but anyone who knew what they were looking for could find the information. Then when Chief Sloan tried to set us up a couple weeks back, I got here a little early and checked it out."

"If anyone could find it, how do ya know nobody's waitin' for us at th' end of that tunnel?"

"Like I said, anybody who *knew what they were looking for* could find it. I doubt very much anyone was looking for an underground entrance to the courthouse."

"But ya ain't sure."

"Nothing's a sure thing, Moretti, but I'll bet we're the only people ever to go through this tunnel since the construction was halted."

"Yep, an' you're bettin' my life."

She looked over her shoulder at him and said, "I know that's just nerves talking, Moretti, because anything that happens, I'll get it first." She turned then, and gave him a squeeze on the shoulder. "It'll be ok."

Moretti took a deep breath and nodded. "Right. Thanks, Em."

She nodded back, turned, and they continued down the tunnel in silence.



When the defense did not stipulate to Ron's testimony, the hearts of the prosecution, the police, and FBI sent up a silent cheer. If Gaudino's lawyers had agreed to accept everything Ron intended to say as unimpeachable truth, there would be no need for Ron to testify. The prosecution would immediately have to produce its only other witness, Giancarlo Moretti, who was still missing in action.

Now, after listening to Ron drone on for about ten minutes, Steve almost wanted to tank the whole operation and let Gaudino go. Never in his life had he ever met a man who could make anything sound so mind-numbingly boring. Ron was not a dull guy, but he couldn't tell a joke to save his life. People lost interest by the time he got to the punch line. Why did Steve expect his testimony on investigative procedures be any different? He was good at one-liners, though. It was a shame his testimony couldn't be delivered as a series of dry-witted wisecracks. At least that would prevent the jury from slipping into a coma.



"Ok," Emily said, pushing Moretti down a turnoff in the tunnel and handing him the briefcase. "You wait here until I call you. If you hear anyone else, run like hell."

"Right," Moretti would have preferred to stick with her and cover her back if something went wrong, but he knew, if he got into a fray and was killed, everything she had been through would be for nothing. He wouldn't do anything to waste her efforts the past few weeks, so he just followed orders.

As Moretti peeked around the corner to watch, Emily walked up to the door at the end of the tunnel and pressed her ear against it, listening for voices. All she heard was the noise of circulation fans and the hum of the central heating and cooling unit. She eased herself down to kneel in front of the doorknob, and slipped the leather wallet out of her breast pocket. It took her seventeen seconds to pick the lock.

She unzipped the coverall and reached inside to draw her gun, then she opened the door and slipped into the utility room. From there, she moved on to search other parts of the basement, and within five minutes, she was sure the coast was clear. She went back to the side tunnel and called to Moretti and he came sprinting down the hall.

Without a word, she led him to a ventilation shaft, and they began crawling silently through the ductwork.



Harold Miles, head custodian for the Spring Street Courthouse moved his cart of recyclables purposefully down the corridor to the back door where he would empty it before going on to the next floor, loading up, and repeating the process. It usually took him two hours to get all the recycling out. He started when he arrived at eight and finished just before the truck came at ten. Then he took his break.

Usually, he took his ten o'clock break in Judge Greer's courtroom. He enjoyed watching the distinguished jurist work. Greer insisted on proper decorum in his court and had once charged a defendant with contempt of court for chewing a big wad of bubble gum while on the witness stand. The nineteen-year-old had been blowing bubbles, cracking his gum, and smacking his lips like a pig feeding at the trough for about five minutes, and had ignored his own attorney when the lawyer had asked him to get rid of it. When the young wannabe thug stuck the gum on the underside of his seat as a challenge, he was also charged with vandalism and received a second contempt charge. Harold had seen him later that same week, dressed in the bright orange prisoner's jumpsuit, on his back on the sidewalk outside the courthouse, scraping gum off the undersides of the public benches.

Today, though, Harold was undecided about whether he wanted to spend his break in the judge's courtroom. Last time they had brought Vinnie Gaudino in, it was a set up to trap Giancarlo Moretti and that young lady cop who'd kidnapped him. Gaudino had been a cop in costume and the girl had figured out it was a trap. She had caught Harold in the restroom, drugged him, and given him a note for Deputy Chief Sloan. With the testimony Moretti was expected to deliver, Harold wasn't sure if Judge Greer's court was the safest or the most dangerous place for him to go today.



Emily crawled past an open duct and stopped. She motioned Moretti down the duct to her left.

"It's a dead end," Moretti whispered.

"I know. It's Judge Greer's chambers. I was in here last time, before I drugged the janitor and sent him in with the message for the Chief."

Moretti crawled down the duct to the open vent at the end and peered through the grate. Emily was right behind him.

"Whatcha see?" she asked.

"Big desk," he whispered, "probably mahogany. There's a football on it."

"And three framed pictures on the shelf behind it?"

"Yeah. A pretty lady, a young man, an' a family of five."

"That's his wife, his son, and his daughter and her family."

"Oh."

"You see the clock?"

"Yeah, it's twenty-five minutes to ten."

"Ok, take these." She handed her gun and the briefcase up to him.

"Em . . . "

"After I get a message to the judge, I'm going into the courtroom. I can't take the gun in there, and you need the documents in the briefcase. You wait here, and don't come out until you see Chief Sloan, Agent Wagner, and my dad, got it?"

"But Em . . . "

"I mean it Moretti. Anybody else spots you up here, you shoot and run, got it? No one's got any business in the judge's chambers when court is in session, and if they come here, they're definitely up to no good."

"Ok."

"Good. Look for me in the courtroom behind Gaudino."

"All right. Be careful, an' don't get caught."

"Well, now, there you go spoiling all my fun," she joked, but when she laughed quietly at her own joke, Moretti heard her moan in pain.

"You should just turn yourself in now," Moretti told her. "You need a doctor."

"Not until I know you're safe."

"You're a good kid, Em."

"Thanks." She crawled away silently.

Moretti stayed crouched in the ventilation shaft and waited.



Having dumped the contents of his cart out the hatch and into the recycling bin, Harold went to the service elevator and headed for the next floor. Suddenly the car stopped. After trying the buttons several times, he pressed the emergency button, but nothing happened. Then the emergency hatch in the ceiling opened and with frightening speed, a gray-suited figure, face covered with a black balaclava came flying down at him.



Steve shifted uneasily in his seat and stifled a yawn. He'd once seen Judge Greer charge a juror with contempt of court for falling asleep and snoring during a trial. He liked Greer because the man saw court proceedings as a solemn and serious thing, and he respected him because, as he could personally attest, Greer showed no favoritism. Deputy Chiefs of Police who neglected to turn off their cell phones faced the same contempt charges as obnoxious, gum chewing teenagers, snoring jurors, and lawyers who addressed the court without wearing a coat and tie. In fact, Greer was the only judge Steve knew who still flatly refused to allow cameras in his courtroom.

Smothering another yawn, Steve shook his head and looked down at the glove. The diodes had been amber and green at the beginning of the trial, but now they were all amber. Intense boredom could be as stressful as too much action. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Keith's head bobbing.

Leaning over, he whispered, "Stay awake, or this judge will put you in jail. He's a good man, but a hardass if there ever was one."

Keith grunted softly, nodded, shifted in his seat, blinked a few times, and opened his eyes wide.



Before Harold could cry out, he found himself in a headlock, mouth covered, and the stranger was whispering harshly in his ear.

"I won't hurt you. I didn't last time. Will you be quiet?"

Too scared to do anything else, Harold just nodded, and he was released. Turning to face his assailant, he said softly, "Who . . . who are you?"

The stranger sighed and said, "The same person who drugged you in the john last time. I need you to deliver another message for me, but this time I don't have time to drug you and wait for you to come round."

"Why should I help you?"

"Because if I wanted to hurt you I'd have done it by now," the stranger said without menace, "and if I mean you no harm, then the only reason I could possibly have for coming to you this way must be to ask for help. Will you deliver the message?"

Harold thought a moment and nodded.



At twenty minutes to ten, Steve heard the door to the courtroom open again and turned to see a tall, slim, plain looking woman severely dressed in a black suit and white blouse enter. She had salt and pepper hair, overlarge glasses, and clownish makeup. As Steve watched, she moved awkwardly down the aisle, as if in pain, and took a seat directly behind Vinnie Gaudino, three rows back.

*Must be his sister,* Steve thought.

Emily/Petra had chosen her seat with care. Every time Moretti looked to her for support and encouragement, to the judge and jury, he would appear to be staring right at Gaudino. If he sounded nervous, he would get the sympathy vote, a man afraid for his life, and if he seemed calm, he would get the integrity vote, a man unafraid to speak the truth, despite what it may cost him.

Also, her mother and Steven were seated behind her to the right, and her father was off to the side, out of her peripheral vision, so she could resist the temptation to burst into tears and run into their arms for comfort. She was still in pain and had missed them all so much, and now that she was so close she could almost smell her mother's perfume, she just wanted to be held.

She took a deep breath and turned her attention back to the trial.

Agent Wagner was still rambling on in his testimony, and half the courtroom was staring with glazed eyes while the other half was fidgeting to stay awake. He finally finished his answer, and the prosecutor said, "No further questions."

There was a collective sigh of relief.

"Mr. Casale?" Judge Greer said.

When the defense attorney said, "I just have a few questions, Your Honor," a quiet collective moan was suddenly cut short by a sharp glance from Judge Greer.

The silence was punctuated by a small chuckle from Gaudino, but that died just as suddenly when the Judge cleared his throat.

Finally, the judge said, "You may begin, Mr. Casale."

The defense attorney threw out question after question, sometimes in quick succession, sometimes waiting several moments to see if Ron would add to his answer. His questioning had no apparent strategy, which made his intentions all the more apparent to the ones who understood what he was doing.

As Emily/Petra listened to the seemingly ill prepared cross-examination, she began to understand Casale's thinking. He had nothing on which to impeach Agent Wagner. The man had done his job, done it well, and followed the letter of the law. This shotgun questioning, hitting various topics randomly and repeatedly was meant to confuse the FBI agent. If Casale could make Agent Wagner stumble just once in his answers, he could use that and some other subtle questions to make the man appear incompetent and undermine his credibility.

Fortunately, Agent Wagner was possessed of a remarkably quick and agile mind, for a man his age, and was able to turn the tables on Casale rather quickly. Instead of just answering the questions, he prefaced each response with, "As I told the court before . . . " to make it appear Casale wasn't listening when he had answered the prosecution's questions.

Emily had been watching the cross examination in amusement for about ten minutes when she noticed the bailiff come slip a note to the judge. She thought the judge would make a very good poker player as she watched his face. She was certain the note was about Moretti because it had come in exactly when she told Harold to deliver it, yet as Judge Greer read it, he betrayed no surprise or confusion whatsoever. He simply refolded the note and put it aside.

After the fourth, "As I told the court before . . . " reply, Dominic Casale snorted at Agent Wagner in frustration and disgust and said, "No further questions, Your Honor."

Looking to the District Attorney, Judge Greer said, "We will hear your redirect in just a moment, Mr. Downs. For now, both counsels, approach the bench, please."

Judge Greer may have had a great poker face, Emily mused, but the two attorneys sure didn't. When they heard his news, DA Conrad Downs grinned smugly and stood taller, chest out and shoulders square. Defense Attorney Dominic Casale, on the other hand, slouched over and stuck his lower lip out, his expression darkening by the moment.

Both lawyers went back to their tables and the Judge asked, "Now, Mr. Downs, would you care to redirect?"

"I have just one question, Your Honor."

"Very well, proceed."

"Agent Wagner, just to confirm for the court the point Mr. Casale seemed so intent on proving, during your investigation, did you, or any agent under your supervision, at any time engage in any illegal or irregular activity to secure evidence against the defendant?"

Ron leaned forward slightly to let the microphone amplify his voice better. "No sir," he said, "the investigation into Vinnie Gaudino's criminal and financial activities went strictly by the book."

Downs looked to the judge and said, "No further questions, Your Honor."

"The witness may step down."

Ron left the stand, but Downs indicated that he should remain in the courtroom rather than leaving for the security office. Confused, Ron slid in the seat beside Steve and Keith.

Judge Greer turned to the right and said, "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I remind you that you are not to discuss this case until all the evidence is in. Bailiff, will you show the jury out, please?"

Tony opened the door and motioned them through and down the hall to a private conference room.

"I'm calling a recess, and I want this courtroom cleared," a murmur spread throughout the court and Greer banged his gavel. "I *will* have order in this court." The room fell silent. "I need to see both counsels, Agent Wagner, Deputy Chief Sloan, and Mr. Keith Stephens at the bench now please."

As people got up and moved, two officers came and took Vincent Gaudino into custody again, and Emily just smiled.



Out in the lobby, Emily maneuvered herself close to her mother and Steven.

"Liv, what do you think is going on?" Emily heard her lover ask.

In a weary tone, she heard her mother say, "Emily is probably up to something," and she felt her heart break.

Steven laughed and said, "I figured that, but what?"

Emily was pleased to hear her mother brighten a little as she replied, "Emily is a clever girl, and it goes far beyond her incredible intelligence. She is highly imaginative and intuitive. My guess is she found some brilliant, overlooked, invisible way into the building and has Moretti stashed a few doors down the hall right now. He's under orders not to come out until Keith, your dad, and Agent Wagner come looking for him because they're the only people she knows she can trust, and she just slipped the judge a note telling him where to find Moretti."

'Oh, Mama,' Emily thought, shocked, 'I always believed you never understood me.'

"She's something else, isn't she?" Steven said.

"Indeed she is," Olivia replied, "and life has been hard for her because of it. I used to wish she'd tone it down to save herself some grief, but she's my daughter and I have always loved her, and now that I know what a fine young woman she has become, I wouldn't have her any other way."

A lump formed in Emily's throat at the pride she heard in her mother's voice, and she had to struggle to catch her breath. She moved away for fear of drawing their attention.



"The note says he won't show himself unless all three of you are here," Judge Greer said as he entered his chambers, "and you have to frisk everyone else in the room."

Steve was standing closest to the judge, and when Greer raised his arms to be searched, Steve began to feel distinctly uncomfortable.

Ron and Keith each patted down one of the lawyers quickly, but Steve stood still and said, "Uh, Your Honor, you don't mind, do you?" Judge Greer was not a man to trifle with.

"Hell, no, Sloan. Just do it so we can get on with this trial. I have seen enough 'accidental' deaths with Mafia trial witnesses to understand this man's caution."

"Your Honor, I object to your implication that my client is involved in organized crime," Casale said.

"Oh, stow it, Casale," Judge Greer said. "We're in chambers; save your show for the jury. We all know your client is a thief, a thug, and a killer, but I defy you to show that I have ever influenced a jury to believe that."

As Steve finished frisking the judge, a laugh came out of the wall. The six men turned toward the sound, and the grate came flying off the ventilation duct. A briefcase followed it. Then, to their amazement, Giancarlo Moretti came sliding out.

"He is also a pimp, a slaver-trader, a loan shark, a drug dealer, a pornographer, and a rapist," Moretti said as he shed a gray coverall, "but all I can prove is he ran a protection racket and didn't pay his taxes."

"Oh, the LAPD can prove the rest, now, Mr. Moretti," Steve said, casually, "thanks to your advice about dealing with Joey Russo."

Ron and DA Downs stood gaping at the man in shock.

Dominic Casale wanted to object again, but all he could do was sputter and spew as he received a warning look from Judge Greer.

Keith just stood smiling and feeling smug about the man his daughter had brought safely into court. He had told them, but they had to see it to believe it. Em had been one of the good guys all along.