Jason Pinter - The Stolen

Heights riots of 1991, Powers decided he was tired of seeing his neighborhood torn apart by violence, and was tired of seeing good men and women live in housing that was akin to inhumane treatment. Within five years, Powers had taken his own earnings, and with the help of lenders, bought out a company known as TBC-Thomas Blakeman Construction-renaming it Powers Construction.

One of his first rebuilding projects was tearing down a number of projects in which drugs and violence were rampant. These buildings were replaced with low-income housing. According to Powers, it was the end of the dark days, and the beginning of a new Brooklyn.

Within a few years, Powers had become known not only as one of the wealthiest and most influential private contractors on the East Coast, but one of its biggest phi-298

Jason Pinter lanthropists. He donated time, money and manpower to numerous towns, and was credited with helping to lower crime rates across the board.

Of course, official biographies often swept more than their fair share under the carpet. Not to mention that

Powers's relative inexperience made his volcanic rise even more shocking. I had to think that simply due to the sheer size of Powers Construction, it would be strange if they didn't have some sort of bid-rigging system going on.

Once I'd done some digging around regarding the company profile, I decided it was time to meet the man face-to-face. Reggie Powers. See what, if anything, he knew. And whether he was aware that one of his employees, Raymond Benjamin, was a murderer.

I called the main switchboard at Powers Construction, and a pleasant secretary picked up the phone. She sounded as if she'd been there a long time, even had a cadence nailed down.

"Po- wers Con- struct-ion, how may I direct your call?"

"Well, first I was wondering if you could give me the extension for one of your employees. The name is

Raymond Benjamin. And after that I'd like to be transferred to Reggie Powers's office."

"One moment, sir," the woman said. I heard typing on the other end. Then I heard her mutter, Hmm, that's odd.

"Ma'am? Are you still there?"

"Yes, sir, sorry about that. According to our database, we do employ a Raymond Benjamin, but he doesn't have an office or an extension."

"Is there any contact information for him?"

"I'm sorry, sir, not that I have access to. You'd have to speak to our human resources department."

"That's all right. Can you transfer me to Mr. Powers's office?"

"Sure thing, just a moment."

She put me on hold. A minute later, a young man's voice came over the line.

"Mr. Powers's office."

"Hi, my name is Henry Parker and I'm a reporter from the New York Gazette. I'd like to come in and speak with

Mr. Powers today. It's a pretty urgent matter."

"Mr. Powers has a very busy schedule today. He's not in the office right now, but if I can pass a message to him,

I'll see if he has some free time."

"Absolutely," I said. "Tell him I want to speak to him about Raymond Benjamin and Dmitri Petrovsky."

"Can you spell those for me, sir?"

"Just remember the names."

"Um…okay. I'll call Mr. Powers right now. Is there a number where I can reach you?"

I gave the secretary my cell phone number. He said he'd get back to me ASAP. I hung up the phone and began to play the waiting game again.

I tried to think how Reggie Powers might be connected to all of this. Powers Construction employed Raymond

Benjamin, though the fact that he was a ghost at the office pretty much confirmed that he was there to do dirty work, collect a W-2, and that was all. But why would Reggie

Powers want anything to do with Dmitri Petrovsky? He seemed like the least likely person on earth to want to have anything to do with a kidnapping, especially given his background. The more the pieces came together, the more trouble I had making them all fit.

Ten minutes later, my cell phone rang. I picked it up.

"Mr. Parker." I recognized the voice as Powers's secre-300

Jason Pinter tary. "Mr. Powers is at a job site all day today, but he said if you can meet him there at six o'clock, he'd be happy to speak with you."

"Where's the site?" I asked.

"He's overseeing the construction of a mall in Hobbs

County, New York, today."

Hobbs County. Why was I not surprised. I checked my watch. It was three-thirty. I had plenty of time to drive up to Hobbs County.

"Give me the address," I said. I jotted down the information, thanked the secretary and hung up. I chewed on the tip of my pen. I had no idea what Reggie Powers would know. I sure as hell had a few questions he needed good answers to.

I put my tape recorder and notebook into a small backpack, stopped in to Wallace's office to tell him where

I was going. He told me to check in once I was done with

Powers. I got the sense Wallace understood how big this story was getting. And that scared me.

I took the subway Uptown to my apartment, got in the rental car and began the drive up to Hobbs County.

"Tomorrow," Paulina said. She was sitting at her desk, leaning back in her desk chair, the one the assistants commonly referred to as the "bitch throne." She'd caught

James Keach referring to it as such one day, but rather than admonish the boy, she merely laughed and told him not to be shy about it. From that day on, James commonly referred to the chair with that moniker, using the slight whisper of a child who can't believe his parents permit him to curse in the house.

The copy was set. The pictures had been laid out. She'd pored over every inch of the article with greater focus than any story she could remember. She couldn't say for sure whether this piece would be her crowning moment as a journalist-in fact, she wasn't sure she'd want it to be-but in many ways it meant the most to her. It represented a clear turning point in her career, and would mark perhaps the first official shot of the war. To this day it had been the newsprint version of Russia versus the U.S. No casualties, lots of trash talk and hidden agendas everywhere they turned.

Paulina's article would change all of that. So while nobody quite knew just who fired that first shot at Lexington and Concord, in the future they could pin this one to her blouse. The Parker stories had been small potatoes.

Going after a baby fish as though people would care. To this point, Henry hadn't been in the game long enough for people to truly care. Like Stephen Glass and Jayson Blair, the sting would have been worse if they had the tenure of, well… Paulina laughed.

A bottle of Dom was waiting in her fridge. Myron's phone number was on her cell phone. At first she debated calling him again-the last thing she needed tonight was another pity party-but ending the night with a good drink and a great lay would be the perfect capper. The end of the beginning, the beginning of the end.

And even though she hadn't seen him in many months,

Paulina rather wished she'd be able to see the look on

Henry Parker's face in the morning.

The sun bathed Hobbs County in a beautiful melange of reds and golds. This could be such a breathtaking town, I hated to think so much evil had taken place here. When I parked the car in the lot by the construction site, I took a moment to take it in, to breathe it in. You didn't get many views like this in the city, one of the trade-ins you had to make to live there. I didn't mind so much. Spending my whole childhood growing up way out West, I'd seen enough sunsets to quench a lifelong thirst. Living amid the steel and bustle of New York didn't quite feel like home yet, but it was getting there.

I turned off the car and parked outside the site.

The mall was coming up well. Steel beams were exposed everywhere. Tools and wheelbarrows and mixers were scattered about. I had no idea where I was supposed to meet