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  Corsini hesitated, then said, "I'll give you seventy-five percent of the delivery fee."

  "Wise up, Vinnie. This is a nonnegotiable deal we're talking about. You got all the cards stacked on your side going into this deal. Once you got the product in your hands, I'm open game for every man jack you got pay-rolled. Don't try to fool me, because I'm no innocent and I'm not going to fool myself. Once I get my hands on that money, I'm going to have to run hard and run fast to even get the chance to spend any of it."

  "That's still a lot of money."

  "Yeah, and it's going to get to be a lot more if I hear you trying to underbid me again. The price is set, Vinnie. Buy in, or I'll close up shop and destroy the stuff."

  Corsini's voice became gravel hard. "I wouldn't do that if I was you, guy, because right now it's the only thing keeping you alive."

  "Wrong. I'm the only thing keeping me alive right now." Thornton blew out his breath slowly so he wouldn't hyperventilate. The counter woman was watching him curiously. He raked a hand through his sweat-drenched hair and turned away from her.

  "It'll take me a little while to get that kind of money together. Tell me where I can get in touch with you when 1 do."

  "I'll be in touch with you, Vinnie, when I'm ready. You just make sure you're ready, because you're only going to get the one chance to make this train before it pulls out of the station." He hung up before the man could say anything else. He left the Science Centre, his heart hammering, urging him to flee while he still had the chance, praying the bad things locked in his mind wouldn't spill out while he still needed his wits about him. Somehow he was more afraid of those unknown thoughts than he was of Vinnie Corsini. At least he could escape from Vinnie.

  * * *

  Vincent Corsini slipped back into the cool waters of the pool, trying to submerge his rage as he submerged his body. He wasn't about to be hustled by a fucking two-bit cop with a Clint Eastwood delusion. Thornton wasn't even in a league big enough to try to play hardball with Vincent Corsini. Still, it was a pain in the ass that Thornton had wound up with the cocaine instead of Skeeter.

  He swam in short, vicious strokes, the way he'd moved through life since realizing the power he could wield, chopping through the water from one end of the pool and back. He swam underwater the last few yards, burning up oxygen and the anger that wove black spots in front of his eyes. When he surfaced, his lungs were burning. He shook the water from his hair and eyes, gulping in air as he clung to the side of the pool.

  His eyes swept across the soft green tile of the poolside checking the faces under the white umbrellas for people who could be dangerous to him. Satisfied, he stuck his arms up and let himself slide back into the chlorinated water. He felt as though he were in slow free-fall as he went under, totally in control.

  He liked the way the water bouyed him, supported him, lent its strength to his. Liked the way he could cruise through it like a shark. Yeah, like a fuckin' great white, babe. He grinned, and small bubbles of air escaped through his teeth. Twenty-seven years old and on top of the world.

  Almost.

  Well, at least he had a toehold on the empire he was planning on building in his near future. Ripped his future right from the dying carcass of his old man.

  He kicked out, feeling the power surge within him, glorying in it.

  He wouldn't let Thornton get to him. His old man might have to worry about maggots eating into the flesh of the decaying little fiefdom he'd carved out for himself from areas of family business no one else really cared about, but Vincent Corsini wasn't going to worry about no maggots. If he had to, he'd amputate anything that looked infested. Hell, he was young enough to regrow whatever he lost along the way. Young enough, yeah, and mean enough, too.

  And that Thornton maggot was going to learn that the hard way.

  He broke the surface, took a quick deep breath, then went under again, making a slow, lazy circle before stroking for the end of the pool again.

  From the edge of the pool a blonde in a green string bikini smiled at him as she sat slathering suntan lotion on herself.

  He raked his lips back, revealing the pearly white gleam that had been one of his first investments when he started controlling his money. The smile and the dream, they'd come together, and his old man had understood neither one. His father had thought the dazzling smile was meant to attract the girls and had been surprised to find that the teeth were only the first installment of the plan to rebuild sixteen-year-old Vincent Corsini.

  As Vincent had come to think, Salvatore Corsini only occupied a small fishbowl in what could prove to be a big ocean. And he intended to be a big fish in uncharted waters.

  He turned away from the blonde after giving her enough attention to ensure interest at a later time, but not enough to invite her over. He looked at Oscar Gables, a later Vincent Corsini acquisition, and pantomimed drinking and talking on the phone.

  The big man stood up, looking as rumpled as usual in the expensive suit — it didn't matter how much money Corsini spent on fittings at the tailors'. Gables stopped at the bar against the wall and came back with a glass and a portable phone.

  "Thanks, Oz," Corsini said as he accepted the drink and the phone. He drank the martini and bit into the olive, resisting the impulse to look at the blonde and make chewing a suggestive action. He smiled. Thornton might think he was holding good cards now, but he didn't realize you didn't get good cards when you sat down at the table with Vincent Corsini. A guy might have a chance of breaking even with old Sal on a business deal, but he didn't come close to Vincent the shark.

  He poked buttons on the phone, waited for the connection to be made. He didn't know what Thornton hoped to prove by insisting he wasn't an undercover cop. The DEA had planned to stick Thornton into the operation as a hole card, not knowing Corsini had one of his own. Still, Thornton had sounded bad, as if he really meant every word he said and thought he wasn't a cop.

  Corsini thought back over conversations he'd had with Miami the past couple of days, thinking that Thornton's behavior fit in with some other things his mind had been working on.

  A man answered the phone. "Yeah?"

  "It's me. I made contact with Thornton. He says he wants the money, the whole delivery amount, and he'll turn the product over to me. What I want to know is, has Thornton been in contact with you or anybody at the DEA?"

  The man was slow to answer, and Corsini knew the guy was taking his time to answer, trying to figure out the angles. "Not with me."

  "What about the DEA?"

  "No. They'd tell me if he'd made contact with anyone there. He's listed as a rogue agent as of this morning, when all those bikers' bodies turned up in the Everglades."

  "What about his girlfriend? Think Thornton's had a chance to chat with her?"

  "No."

  "Are you sure?"

  "As sure as I can be, goddamn it! You didn't exactly keep me posted about the double-cross you had planned at the Miami end. I've been spending some time making sure my ass is covered on this thing."

  Corsini laughed derisively. "You're going to worry yourself right out of the money, man."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "I mean the money won't do you any good if you have a heart attack now."

  "It's not your ass on the line with this thing, Corsini."

  "The hell it's not. Who do you figure put up the ten mil at the southern end of this operation in the first place? If this thing goes down the tubes, you lose a skinny pension. I lose a fuckin' fortune. Do you understand that?"

  There was silence on the long-distance line.

  "I don't intend to lose that product — you understand me?"

  "Yeah." The voice was sullen.

  "Well, you just keep in mind which side your bread is buttered on. You ride with me, we all go to town in a new Caddy. You try to screw me over or crawfish now, and I send you home in a hearse. Got me?"

  "Yes."

  "You're going to have to repeat that for me. The line's mess
ed up at this end."

  The voice was louder. "Yes, I understand you."

  "Good. And now that we got that out of the way, there's one more thing."

  "What?"

  "I want his girlfriend."

  "What?" The voice was almost startled into a yell.

  "You heard me just fine. I want Thornton's girlfriend."

  "Why?"

  "The son of a bitch is trying to play games with me. I intend to up the ante."

  "I can't do that."

  "Yes, you can. Just remember that if things go to hell in a handbasket, she can testify against you. We're going to have to put them both away. Thornton and the lady cop."

  "It was you who tried to have her killed in Miami."

  "Yeah. Lucky for me the bozos who tried to do the job muffed it. I wasn't planning on having a use for her after Miami."

  "You're asking for too much, Corsini."

  Corsini let the anger loose in his voice. "I don't see how you figure that. Hell, I've asked you for precious goddamn little since I come up with this thing. You've sat on your fat ass and waited for the money to come rolling in. Well, we all got to work some time and, buddy, your time is now. Make you a fuckin' star before this is all over."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Just keep her there. I'm sending a couple of guys over to help you take care of it."

  "We're supposed to be meeting some people at the RCMP to coordinate the search for Thornton."

  "So you'll call and cancel."

  "She'll get suspicious."

  "So tell her not to."

  "It's not that easy."

  "It can be if you make it be."

  "Fuck it, guy. I'm out of choices here. I'm not giving you any, either. Thornton's got my ass up against the wall now. You were supposed to keep that from happening."

  "I tried."

  "Yeah, well you didn't try hard enough, okay? Now you're going to. You keep her there. Sit on her if you have to."

  "I don't understand what Thornton hopes to prove by doing this."

  "If you do what I say, Thornton can't prove anything. You just take care of the girl. I'll handle the thinking." Corsini replaced the receiver and signaled for Gables. "I'm through with the phone, Oz, but I'd like another martini."

  The big man nodded and scooped the phone up in one massive hand.

  Corsini fell backward, sinking into the pool. Water was his environment. No one could touch him there. Invincible. That's how he felt. Despite all the little maggots out there waiting for a piece of him. He surfaced, swimming on his back, noticing the big man in red-striped black sweats for the first time. The man sat on one of the umbrellaed tables, talking on a portable phone, grinning easily as though some babe was talking dirty to him on the other end. Despite the wraparound black sunglasses the man was wearing, Corsini got the impression the guy was staring at him. Trying to find his weak points.

  He stared back.

  The big man didn't acknowledge the attention.

  Corsini let the pool swallow him again, turning his thoughts back to real problems rather than imagined ones. Even if no one else knew what Thornton had on his mind, Corsini figured he did. He smiled as he saw the slender legs of the blonde pass over him, knowing she was letting him know she was more than a little interested. The way Corsini figured it, the DEA's hole card had just gone solo and gone wild.

  But, as always, Vincent Corsini was going to hold the winning hand. The queen of hearts, Thornton. Let's see you cover this one.

  Corsini smiled again and swam in pursuit of the blonde.

  * * *

  Mack Bolan cupped the mobile phone's receiver to his ear and watched Vincent Corsini talking with the young blonde animatedly. The man was smooth — Bolan had to give him that — with an exterior designed to advertise sensuality to women and confidence to men.

  "…guy's a sociopath, Omega," Johnny Tallin was saying. "I don't know of anyone he's ever killed or had killed, but there have been whispers. Things that make the old bosses nervous about this guy. A lot of them, the ones with any sense, are afraid of what Vinnie Corsini might do if he starts building a power base in Toronto. There's been talk of whacking the guy if he steps out of line, because some of the old men are thinking a piece of the New York action might be looking real good to Vinnie about now."

  "They also think Corsini could get his hands on New York?"

  "Yeah, they do. I've been watching this guy move up. He doesn't take any halfway measures and he's good at organizing things. Hell, Mr. Madrano is getting his kicks watching Vinnie make the Toronto people shake in their boots."

  Madrano was Patrizio Madrano, a "retired" Mafia don who lived in upstate New York. Johnny Tallin was Madrano's chief of security. Bolan had met both of them a few months earlier while tracking down information. He had developed a grudging admiration for Tallin, who had proved intelligent, able and willing. They knew Bolan as Omega, a Black Ace of La Commissione, a freewheeler of death in the Mafia houses, who had the power to kill a capo in front of his own soldiers and walk away unscathed.

  "I, uh, don't suppose it would do me any good to ask what this is all about," Tallin said.

  Bolan smiled, partly because Corsini was watching him again and partly because he knew Tallin knew better than to ask. "You're right, Johnny, it wouldn't."

  "That's what I thought. So I won't ask."

  "What's Vinnie working on now, Johnny?"

  "What makes you so sure I know?"

  "You told me yourself Madrano had been keeping an eye on Corsini and, as bodycock for the old man, you'd be the one keeping the focus sharp. You move through Madrano's world, Johnny. You're his legs. I know that."

  "I'm not used to dealing information down a one-way street, Omega."

  "I know."

  Tallin sighed on the other end of the line. "Vinnie's working on a high-dollar dope deal."

  "Out of Miami," Bolan said.

  "You know about that?"

  "I know about it, but I don't know why."

  "I got a line on it, but nothing definite. Word on the street is skinny right now. Like I said, Vinnie runs a tight-lipped and organized operation. I've been told he made a purchase of ten mil worth of product from the Colombians by way of a new pipeline operating out of Miami Beach. From what I hear, the guy behind the pipeline is very organized, too."

  "Was," Bolan said.

  "Was?"

  "Was."

  "Your information is more current than mine, then, because the last I heard, this guy down south was still in business."

  "Maybe it's better in some places, Johnny, but I'm flying blind where Corsini's concerned. What did he need the coke for?"

  "He was working a trade with some Swiss arms people. The rumor I turned up was that with the pressure coming down from high-level cooperation between Washington and Bern, trafficking in some areas was getting tight and new sources had to be found."

  "So Vinnie wanted to set himself up as a new supplier?"

  "Maybe for a while. Vinnie's got a long-range game plan, too — it's just that nobody knows for sure what it is. I figure the guy's got his eyes on some choice spots in Toronto and New York. Areas where it wouldn't take much spilled blood to convince the old guys running those areas it might be easier and safer to move on."

  "Do you think he's capable of that kind of move?"

  "Yeah. To be honest, yeah. I'm around these old guys up here a lot, Omega. I don't know what it's like down in your home area, but I get the feeling the days of the big bosses are gone. Legit, hell, even semilegit businesses are paying off in big ways these days. Drugs are still a get-rich-quick payoff for young guys looking to make the grade overnight. But the people who've been around for a while, they know how much computers can know about people and about business and are interested in getting as much computer power as they can. Of course, Mr. Madrano doesn't understand that kind of thinking, but I've been talking to people. You can control a lot of things if you control the right businesses."
r />   "Like the trucking industry back in Hoffa's day."

  "I've heard about that," Tallin said with a chuckle, "but that's not what I'm talking about."

  "You're talking about owning the businesses outright."

  "Or owning enough of the blue-chip stock to let the money roll in year after year. A network control of areas like drugs and prostitution is getting to be dead as dinosaurs. At least as far as family business sees it. You got the Crips and the Bloods handling a lot of the crack action, and a don would have to be crazy to take action to the streets to try to control somebody like that."

  "But Vinnie might try."

  "For a little while. Long enough to get what he needs out of the situation. Then he's going to move on."

  "What does he want from the Swiss people?"

  "They're arms dealers. Black-market types. Switzerland hasn't been involved in any of the world wars, but they've been selling the hell out of arms the past few years."

  Bolan turned the information over in his head, remembering past stories he'd been apprised of through his own Intel as well as what Brognola supplied to him. The black market in Swiss arms had been growing and had caused unrest in that country. As well as death.

  "What with the recent American ban against owning any new AR-15s and AK-47s, Vinnie had to go to someone else to stockpile whatever firepower he feels he needs for his coup."

  Bolan shifted in the chair under the umbrella. Corsini and the blond swimmer were laughing together over martinis brought by the bodyguard to the edge of the pool. He wasn't used to sitting this long in open territory. He was overdressed in the black sweat suit, but it was preferable to revealing the crisscross of scars across his body.