Dressed in solid black clothing, Monahan jimmied the lock on the rear delivery door of Quincy's office building. Knowing the interior was on camera surveillance, the ex-cop went up the inside stairwell to the fifth floor. As was the case in most buildings, the fire door was locked from the stair side. Monahan picked the mechanism and slipped through the door, hugging the wall to avoid the scope of the sweeping camera. Once in the alcove where he had spent his day hovering, Monahan watched the camera sweep, waiting for the right moment that would afford him the most time. He moved quickly, picking the lock on the glass door, and then Quincy's office. He moved into the room and set the bottle of pills on the stack of file folders. Curiosity overtaking him, Monahan took a quick look at the files, finding nothing of interest until he looked in the top drawer of Quincy's desk, and there he found a legal brief regarding Anthony Vandano.

After glossing through the information, Monahan returned it and headed for the door. He set the locks to click behind him, and he retraced his steps, waiting patiently behind the glass doors until the camera swept away. He set the lock and breezed through, heading toward the alcove to wait out the next sweep. And then his heart froze as he heard the footsteps on the marble floor: a nightwatchman. Monahan hadn't counted on rounds. Sweat beaded across his forehead as he waited, and the click of the guard's shoes continued to approach. He pressed himself hard against the alcove wall, hoping the man wouldn't sense him standing there in the dark. And it almost worked.

The guard was two steps past Monahan's position when he stopped and turned. Monahan could feel his heart pounding against his chest, and the sweat beading across his brow. The guard stepped back, inching toward the alcove, and Monahan leapt out at him, tackling him on the floor, pressing the man's head away to keep him from seeing Monahan's face.

"I don't wanna hurt you, old timer, so just stop fightin' me..."

But the guard kept at it, and Monahan had to sit on him. One of the guard's hands slipped free in the struggle, and he hit Monahan as hard as could with a flashlight across the head. Monahan's arm reared back and he slugged the guard twice, and the old guy passed out, then he dragged him to the alcove, where he sat him up against the wall.

"You'll be all right, old timer, which is more than I can say for me..."

Monahan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to the gash on his head. Feeling slightly woozy from the blow, Monahan leaned against the wall and moved as quickly as he could into the stairwell. Holding onto the railing, he made it to the bottom and proceeded out the back door and to his car, unaware of the trail of blood he was leaving behind.


Monahan tried to remain nonchalant as he made his way through the lobby of the Sands, but he felt dizzy, and the blood had soaked through his handkerchief. He stepped onto the elevator and made it to the 12th floor, and down the corridor to Brill's room. He pounded on the door.

"Brill...Brill!"

After a moment, the ex-sergeant opened the door, barely catching Monahan as he fell forward.

"Lieutenant! What the hell happened?" He pulled Monahan into the room and helped him to the bed. "Lie down, I'll get a cloth for that..."

Brill ran cold water over a washcloth and brought it to Monahan, whose eyes had glossed over slightly. Brill gently pressed the cloth to the wound, causing the Irishman to grimace.

"This looks bad, lieutenant..."

"Nightwatchman clipped me with a flashlight."

"You put the pills on Quincy's desk?"

"Yeah. There's no trace of anyone having been in there."

"But from the looks of this wound I'm betting that your blood's at the scene."

"Probably...but this happened out in the corridor, no one will know what I was doing in the building."

Brill removed the cloth and inspected the wound. "You need stitches."

"I can't exactly go to a doctor, Brill, that'd create a paper trail we can't afford."

"Quincy could do it."

"Too risky. I'll be all right. Just put a bandage on it and gimme some aspirin."

"If you say so."

"I say so." Monahan saw the concern lining Brill's face. "Don't worry. Look, you're gonna have to keep an eye on Quincy until morning."

"After a blow like that on the head, you shouldn't be alone," Brill said as he applied disinfectant and a bandage to the lieutenant's brow.

"Then get Danny up here if it'll make you feel better, but I want you to make sure Quincy gets to his office in one piece in the morning. Vandano arrive at the hotel yet?"

"Yeah, awhile ago. Anselmo told Danny there's a meet between him and his lawyer tomorrow."

"Yeah. The only thing we got going for us is that it's on Quincy's turf, so we might have a shot at keepin' him alive. The really bad news is that Quincy is supposed to meet him alone."

Brill's lips tightened into a line. "I got a bad feelin' about all this, lieutenant. A real bad feeling."

Monahan nodded slightly. "Yeah, me too. Now get going, I don't want Quincy left without protection. And Brill, don't park on Sycamore, keep an eye from the property behind Quincy's brother's house; the feds have Sycamore locked up."

Brill nodded. "I'll send Danny up here, and if you need anything, let me know."

"Go."

Brill walked out of the room, gingerly closing the door behind him. But even that was too loud for Monahan's pounding head.


Quincy stepped out of the front door, feeling exhausted from lack of sleep. He locked the door and then realized that the potted palm which normally sat on the right side of the stoop was now on the left, and he swallowed hard. He glanced up and down the street, but didn't see anything unusual; yet he recognized the signal for an immediate meet and quickly moved to his car, got in and drove off. Brill was waiting near the intersection behind Sycamore that he knew Quincy would have to pass to leave his neighborhood and head downtown. He saw the blue sedan drive by, waited a few moments, then pulled out, following the medical examiner. Instead of heading straight downtown, as Brill had expected, Quincy turned in the opposite direction on the highway. Brill continued to follow until the coroner pulled into a dingy motel on the side of the road. The ex-cop watched as Quincy locked his car and headed toward one of the corner rooms on the lower floor. After Quincy knocked, the door opened, and he stepped inside. Brill frowned, wondering what was going on. He picked up the walkie talkie and pressed the button.

"Team 2 to Team 1."

"Team 1, go ahead," came Monahan's tired voice.

"Falcon took an unexpected stop on the way in."

"What's your best guess?"

"Feds."

"That could mean something's gone wrong. Stay on shadow, and keep me posted."

"Acknowledged, Team 1. Team 2, out."

Brill set the walkie next to him and let out a long sigh. All he could do was wait.


One of Sequana's men pulled Quincy's jacket off and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Hey...what gives?"

"Relax, doctor," Sequana said, "we just need to hook you up for sound."

"You want me to wear a wire? What if Vandano figures it out?"

Sequana stared at him. "Relax. He thinks you're Michael, remember?"

"He had my brother killed, remember?"

"But he doesn't know that Michael was an agent any more than he's going to know you're not Michael."

"How can you be sure?"

"Dr. Quincy, you're going to have to trust me."

"Great."

Sequana's agent pulled up Quincy's undershirt and began attaching the equipment to his stomach and chest. He frowned slightly as he applied the tape.

"What's the matter, Louie?" Sequana asked.

"He's a little clammy, the tape doesn't wanna stick."

Sequana laid a hand on Quincy's skin and frowned. "You're kinda warm, doctor, everything okay?"

Quincy shrugged. "Doesn't matter one way or another, does it?"

Sequana sighed and stepped a little ways away, sliding his hands into his pockets. "You do have a way of putting things into perspective, don't you..."

"It's the least I can do." He watched Sequana pace and then said, "Other than the wire, why I am here? Change in plan?"

"Well, I'm afraid the search of the Kantana didn't turn up any documents, as we thought it would."

Quincy frowned. "Michael wouldn't leave that as a clue, Sequana, unless there was something there."

"Oh there was something there, all right, it just wasn't a document." Quincy stared at him and he said, "Your brother left us a decomposed body."

"What?"

"We found a skeleton embedded in the hull."

"A body..." Quincy looked into Sequana's eyes. "What if it contains evidence of a homicide?"

"Oh, ya think?"

"I mean what if the body points directly to the murderer, and what if that's Vandano?"

"You're saying your brother left us a skeleton that can convict Vandano? That's ridiculous, doctor. It's just a bunch of bones. And we don't know who the bones belong to, and the victim sure as hell can't tell us how he was killed or by whom."

"That's where you're wrong, Sequana. Michael addressed that envelope to me because he knew I might be able to put the pieces together. I need to do a post-mortem."

"An autopsy? On what? A bunch of old bones?"

"Yeah."

"No way, Quincy. You're heading into a meeting with Vandano, and you're gonna try and convince him that you have evidence against him."

"Only now we've got nothing to back up the threat; what am I supposed to bluff him with, air? Give me a chance to let the victim tell me who killed him."

"I'm sorry, doctor, but it's taken us too long to set this up. We've got Vandano right where we want him - off his own turf - all you have to do is to provoke him into making a mistake. We'll take care of everything else."

"Yeah, including my dead body."

"Dr. Quincy...you can't get cold feet now."

"I'm not," Quincy growled, "I'd just prefer letting a guy who's already dead point the finger..."

"Relax. Our men are getting into place now at your building. No one's gonna know anything, and we can move in before Vandano can hurt you..."

The motel phone rang and one of Sequana's men answered it. "It's for you, sir," he said, handing the phone to Sequana.

"Sequana here...what? How can that be? Oh Jesus...when Vandano finds out...hell." He paused for a moment thinking, then said, "No, we just have to go along and try and make it happen. Yeah, I'm sure. Set it up."

Sequana handed the receiver back to his man and he faced Quincy.

"Why is it I have the feeling there's a further complication?"

"The office building had a break-in last night."

"What?"

"Yeah, nightwatchman was knocked out on the fifth floor, so chances are it was one of Vandano's men playing around in your office." Quincy's eyes flashed another possibility and Sequana frowned. "Doctor? Do you know something about this?"

"No, no I don't. You know damned well I was at Michael's house all night... Was the guard hurt badly?"

"No, but he clipped the burglar pretty good with a flashlight. Local cops got blood samples from the scene."

Quincy tried to keep the alarm from his voice. "Blood samples?"

"Yeah, whomever it was lost quite a bit, although he did manage to get away."

"I see..."

"Look, Quincy, you've got to hang tough. When Vandano hears about this, he might flip out. It'll be up to you to keep the meeting on."

"Wonderful..."

"You'd better get going."

"Yeah." Quincy buttoned up his shirt and put his jacket back on. "You haven't forgotten our deal, right?"

Sensing the medical examiner's fear, Sequana pat him gently on the shoulder. "No, I haven't, but I'm telling you, we've got men everywhere, Quincy, the likelihood of Vandano actually killing you before we stop him isn't very large."

"I'm sure they told that to General Custer too..."

Sequana watched Quincy walk out the door, softly closing it behind him.

"He's not a bad guy, Rick," Louie said, "I feel kinda rotten settin' him up this way."

"Look, if we can save the guy and still get Vandano on a solid charge, we'll do it; but the bottom line is that we've gotta get this guy, and we've gotta put him away for good. One coroner isn't worth the lives of all the innocents Anthony Vandano and his associates will kill in the coming years if we don't get him now."

Louie shrugged. "I guess, if you believe in letting numbers dictate this kinda thing."

"Numbers are the only things that matter to the boys on top, Louie. Don't ever forget that."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Come on, we've gotta get a move on."


Quincy drove his car toward the office building downtown, and he could feel the fear shaking his insides. It was fear of what he was walking into, and also fear over what might have happened to Monahan. And even though he knew that his brother had been working for the side of right, Quincy seethed with anger that Michael had managed to dump the entire thing on his twin's lap. It was as if they were seven years old again, and Michael, always the slightly larger, stronger, smarter and dominant of the two, was still browbeating his younger brother into doing something he didn't want to do. Quincy shook his head: Michael was only older by a couple of minutes, but he always pulled the "I'm older than you and you'll do what I say" card.

Michael was dead, but even beyond the grave, he was still using it.

His hands shaking slightly, Quincy slid the key card into the garage parking lot monthly slot and looked for an empty spot. He found one on the second floor, and pulled into it, wishing like hell that Monahan was going to pop out from behind a car with some kind of idea to get him out of this mess. But there was going to be no rescue. All he could do was hope and pray that Sequana was a man of his word; then at least his friends would be spared the truth of his demise, and freed of any involvement. It wasn't much, but it was all Quincy had to hold onto for comfort.