Sabrina was having trouble staying asleep. When the clock hit 5:00 a.m., she gave up and went into the kitchen to try to work out some of her restlessness.

There was a Russia-Germany game tomorrow. She confirmed that her camera bag was already packed with everything she'd need for the trip across town. Next to it on the table lay some prospectuses from Crisis on the new homeless relief strategies they were hoping to launch, and a proposed disbursement schedule that her father's financial advisor had sent in response to her inquiry about using some of her "nest egg" to create a charitable trust for the organization.

They had multiple initiatives coming up: extra night shelters for the winter, a food waste reduction campaign, and an accelerated rental assistance program. She lost herself in contemplating whether to allocate a smaller percentage of funds to each, or to direct her entire monthly sum to one. If the latter, which program would be the best use of her money? Should she rotate among them?

The alarm clock next to her bed and the second one behind her kitchen sink shook Sabrina into getting-ready mode. She'd have to ask her father's opinion. Not now, though. It wasn't long past midnight back home.

In New York, she meant.


Linus looked up just as the second hand ticked past midnight into Saturday. Sighing, he set down his pen and shuffled the last stack of papers into shape. He laid them at the end of the neat row he'd made across his desk and placed a note for Mack on top.

There. He'd done all he could do.

He stood and turned to look at the three smaller, brighter Rothkos that had been brought to replace the giant black and gray cube.

That was a mistake.

The rush of blood from standing too quickly mingled with the sudden, utter exhaustion that pervaded his body with the awareness that the company no longer needed him on 24/7 high alert. The paintings' pop of harsh color slapped his retinas and made his ears ring. He fumbled for the edge of his desk and hung on as dizziness threatened to bring him to the floor. A now-familiar constriction started in the upper left quarter of his chest. He thought he might have made a noise, but wasn't sure.

Through the ringing, he dimly heard the door open.

"Everything all right, sir?"

Linus squinted up painfully. "Fairchild?"

"Mr. David had me standing by to collect you. If I may say so, you don't look well at all. Allow me, sir."

As the chauffeur maneuvered him back into his chair, Linus fumbled for his cell phone but couldn't seem to find it. "Fairchild, call Calloway," he managed before passing out.


Sabrina tapped her pen against the Crisis paperwork she'd brought to the office, wondering if she should raise the estimated monthly payment from the trust so it could be split between multiple projects at once. An easy way to increase her contribution while ensuring the well wouldn't run dry was to administer the trust herself, rather than pay a trustee, but she wanted to save that position for Aunt Margaret.

Disbursing charitable funds would have to be more to her aunt's liking than punching drunkards' train tickets in the wee hours of the morning. Sabrina grinned to imagine the look on Margaret's face when she offered her the job.

Where was Dez? They had a meeting scheduled in a few minutes to review their assignment at Old Trafford tomorrow. Afterward, they were supposed to visit the Arndale and get some comments from weekend shoppers planning to attend the match.

A red-faced runner burst past Sabrina's little workstation. "Everyone to the lunchroom!" she cried.

Sabrina slid out of her seat and quickly joined the stream of concerned staff making their way toward the hubbub in their common eating area. The managing daytime editor was standing on a chair, alternately shouting "Everyone here?" and "Quiet!"

"What's the score, mate?" somebody yelled.

"ITV Granada has just received a bomb threat from the city centre. Unless I personally tell you otherwise, I want all sections focused on Corporation Street. This is our top story today."


Thomas lifted Tim Pat Coogan's biography of Michael Collins from the passenger seat, depositing his hat where the book had lain. Linus was being monitored inside the hospital, Maude had been fetched, David and Mack had been notified, and the oncoming sun was just starting to pinken the sky.

The car phone rang. It was David.

"Fairchild, have you heard the news from Manchester?"

His blood froze.

"Can't say I have, sir."

"The IRA just set off a bomb downtown. You might want to check on Sabrina."