Brill had parked his car outside the parking structure and picked up the walkie-talkie, pressing the call button.

"Team 2 to Team 1."

"Team 1. Go."

"Falcon's at the office, I'm parked outside, across the street."

"Our Sicilian friend on the inside says the target's moving the meet here, so we've got the jump on Uncle Sam and have a chance to help Falcon out. Get back here and fast. We've got work to do."

"Acknowledged. Team 2 out."

Brill set the walkie down and turned the ignition key, heading quickly for the Sands.


Quincy hung up the phone and swallowed hard: Vandano had changed the meeting to his penthouse at the Sands. While he knew the feds had a tap on the phone and knew of the change, he felt sick to his stomach all the same. He pulled the bottle of pills from his pocket and chugged another one, swallowing it down dry, popping the bottle back into his jacket. The doctor could feel his heart beginning to pound hard against his chest and knew he needed to calm down. He looked down at his hands and couldn't keep them from shaking: how he wished Monahan, Brill or Sam was with him, hell, he'd even settle for Asten: that thought brought a twisted smile to his lips for "settling" wasn't entirely true. Underneath the gruff game they engaged in, he liked his superior, but he'd sooner eat a box of tacks than admit it out loud.

He loosened his tie and tried to settle down by slowly reviewing in his mind the procedure Sequana had told him to follow in dealing with Vandano. If only he could speak with the agent now, and get a revised version that allowed for some kind of exit at the Sands. But like all hotel rooms, even the penthouse would have only one door, one exit. Quincy could feel the tape of the wire beginning to lift away from his skin due to perspiration. He felt hot, and his stomach was burning worse than it ever had since his ulcer had been diagnosed. He figured he was probably bleeding internally, but then, given where he was headed, it wasn't going to matter in the long run; it was just going to be uncomfortable.


Louie handed Sequana a printed report, and the agent quickly scanned the page. "You're sure about this?"

"Yes sir. The camera surveillance tape was pretty rough, and we only got a shot of the assailant from behind, but we ran the DNA sample through the LAPD files like you suggested, and it's a match for Monahan. You were right about him."

"I knew he was here somewhere, I could feel him. Asten and Fujiyama still in LA?"

"Yes sir. Tails are on 'em pretty tight too."

"Good. It's bad enough we've got three loose canons in Vegas, we don't need two more."

"Three?"

"Monahan had Brill and Tovo with him when our boys lost them, so we have to assume the three of them are here, working together."

"What in the hell is Monahan up to?"

"I don't know. Was the office swept this morning?"

"Yeah. Two of our men filtered in as Las Vegas police and looked the place over, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing missing."

"No notes on or in the desk?"

"Nope. Just legal briefs and a prescription bottle, that's it."

"What?"

"Briefs and a bottle..."

"What was the prescription for?"

"I don't know off hand. I can check with our men."

"Do it. I wanna know what it's for and who prescribed it."

"Right away, sir."

Sequana sighed; the air in the van was getting thick, but he couldn't risk being seen outside, just in case Vandano had the office building under surveillance. He looked at his watch: by now all of his men were out of the building, and on their way to the Sands to set up there. But the Sands was going to be a hell of a lot tougher venue to play to their advantage...


Brill didn't like Monahan's color, but he kept it to himself as he changed the bandage. Monahan winced.

"Sorry, lieutenant."

"It's all right, Brill."

"That still looks pretty bad," Danny commented.

"Yeah, well, it's the way it is," Monahan said. "We've got work to do, and Quincy's survival depends upon us gettin' it right." His light blue eyes pierced Danny's dark gaze. "Your cousin Anselmo, how much can we depend on him?"

Danny shook his head slightly. "For information, it's fine, but now...well, now we're talking about something much deeper. I don't think we should involve him at this level."

"Do you think he'll at least let us borrow his car?"

"Probably...but we have a car, why do we need his?"

"Because once this thing goes down, we're gonna have to split up. I'll want you and Brill in Anselmo's car, and Quincy and I will be in the rental car. It'll be harder for them to track two cars, especially if they don't know who's on first..."

"What," Danny complained, "is this baseball now?"

Monahan rolled his eyes. "No, I just mean they're not gonna know which of us went into which car, so they'll have to follow both. And with me and Brill doing the driving, it ain't gonna be easy for 'em."

Somehow Danny didn't think he liked the sound of it, but he kept his mouth shut.

"I saw a brief in Quincy's desk," Monahan said, "it was about Vandano's alleged tax evasion."

"So?" Danny uttered before he realized he'd opened his mouth again.

Monahan glared at him. "So I scanned the basics, and I think I've got our way in..."

"In?" Danny questioned with alarm, "Who said we wanted 'in'? Into what?" Monahan and Brill both glared at Tovo, and the man smiled nervously. "Oh, you mean into their mobster club. Fine, fine, we all want in. I'll have jackets made..."

Monahan squeezed Danny's arm gently. "I know this isn't what you do, Danny, and I know it's makin' you a little nervous; and I know you're worried about Quincy...but if you don't settle down, I swear to God I'm gonna hold you by your ankles over the balcony of this building until you get it out of your system. We can't afford to be nervous or worried: Quincy's life is gonna depend upon our collective ability to stay calm. For that matter, all of our lives are gonna depend on it. You got it?"

"Yeah," Danny said softly, "yeah, I got it."

Monahan pat the arm under his hand. "Good man..."