James Patterson - Judge & Jury

"I understand that, Mike. That's why I want back in."

Cioffi sat back. I was just waiting for the nod. He let out a long, deliberating breath."I can't."

"You what?" If the ADIC had pulled out a gun right there and popped a couple of hollow-point rounds into my chest, I don't think I would have looked at him with more surprise." Mike? "

"You're one of the best I have, Nick. But you're too close to this case. Way too close. Too emotional. This isn't a witch hunt, Nick, it's an FBI investigation. The answer's no."

I sat there, jaw hanging, the words digging their way into my brain, one by one.

"I'll give you another assignment if you want back in. Wall Street. Antiterrorism. Name it, Nick. But not this. "

Not this. I stood there absorbing the blows. I'd tracked this bastard for years. I'd lost two men bringing him in. I didn't want another assignment. All I could do was stare back blankly."Please, Mike …"

"No." The ADIC shook his head again."I'm sorry, Nick, you're out. And I won't change my mind."

RICHARD NORDESHENKO HAD flown back out of Washington, DC. Right under the almighty U.S. government's nose. Through London, then on to Tel Aviv. Then he drove along the coast back to Haifa.

The acacias were blooming as he piloted his custom Audi S6 up the heights of Mount Carmel to his home high above the Mediterranean. He had burned his extra passports before he left the States; he would never need them again.

"Father!" Pavel gleefully shouted as Nordeshenko stepped through the door. He was two days early. His wife, Mira, ran out of the kitchen." Richard! Is that you?"

"It's me," Nordeshenko answered. He hugged both of them tightly, each in an arm. Three days before he didn't know if he would ever see them again."It's good to be home."

And it was. Through the glass doors, the deep turquoise of the Mediterranean was like a welcome, mood-lifting tonic to him. And the tender embrace of his family. He would never deceive them again. He had all the money he needed; his career was over. This was a young man's game, after all.

"Father, come see." Pavel pulled him by the hand."I've found a defense against Kasparov's Spanish opening. I've solved it!"

"What an Einstein we've raised," he joked to Mira.

"No, what a Kasparov, " said Pavel.

The boy tugged him into his room. Nordeshenko was exhausted. And not just from the flight. He had dropped Cavello off at a safe house they had arranged near Baltimore. The bastard was to be crated up and put on a freighter. And to where? Nordeshenko found some amusement in his destination. Even Interpol would not go there.

He was happy to part ways. The malicious animal killed for sport, not for business or necessity. It was his nature. Back in Russia they would spit and call him a devil. Well, he had done his job. He hoped he would never see that piece of garbage again in his life.

"Look, Father." Pavel dragged him over to the chess set. The boy held up a queenside bishop."You see?"

Nordeshenko nodded, but in truth, he didn't. He was so incredibly weary. The board was a jumble to him. Chess was a young man's game, too. But he smiled, tousling the young child's hair."Look in the bag. I've got something for you," he said.

The boy hurriedly undid the wrapping. His eyes grew wide.

World Championship Poker. Pavel's face erupted in joy."Come," he said, pushing the chessboard aside."Let's play."

"My little Einstein wants to play poker? Okay. We'll go best out of three. Then I get to sleep for about a week!" Nordeshenko pulled up a seat, recalling his great bluff back in New York, which seemed a lifetime ago."And I've got quite a poker story for you, Pavel."

His feet felt like twice their normal size."Just let me take off these shoes."

FOR A WEEK straight I never left my apartment. I kept replaying the tape from Cavello's escape. The scene in the elevator. I even timed it-exactly forty-seven seconds. I'd watch it over and over. Then I'd rewind it and play it again. And again. And again.

The phone would ring. My doctor checking up on me. My department head from school. The Bureau-there was still an inquiry going on. And Andie-she called my cell phone a couple of times.

Finally, I stopped picking up, even my cell. All I did was watch the tape. Each time it was the same. Cavello lunges out, hits the button. The two marshals try to rein him in. The doors open. In steps the guy with the beard, surprising them. No time to react. He takes out the marshals, flips Cavello the disguise. In a moment they're gone.

I focused on the guy with the beard. Zoomed in on his face. I tried to memorize every line, every feature. I kept running through the Homeland Security photo books I'd been given. I didn't know what I was looking for. But something. There had to be something.

Cavello was gone. Probably already out of the country by now. You could get aboard a freighter out of Newark or Baltimore; you could hop a private jet to some landing strip in Mexico, without filing a flight plan. Passports could be doctored.

I kept reminding myself I'd been an FBI officer for thirteen years. It had been my world, my life. The vows I took, to uphold the law-these were sacred vows.

But something Andie said had got me thinking.

You can't make the world come out right just because you want it that way, she had whispered to me through the door.

Outside, darkness had fallen again. I took another swig of beer. I rewound the tape.

I remembered what I'd said back to her, through the door.

I can try.

THE BUZZER RANG, startling me. I thought about just letting it go. Don't even move. Whoever it is, they'll go away.They always do. I took another sip of beer and let it go down slow.

The ringing continued. Insistent. Irritating. Then maddening.

"Nick. Come to the door. Don't be a poop." It was Andie.

Maybe I was ashamed to see her because I'd made promises that now seemed empty. Maybe I was afraid to cause her more pain, or drag her in, now that I'd made up my mind what I wanted to do.

The buzzing continued."Nick, please. You're being a jerk."

Maybe because I knew if I opened that door, I wouldn't be able to close her out again. And maybe that scared me a little. Maybe it scared me a lot.

But she was sitting on that damn buzzer.

I paused the tape. Then I walked into the hallway. I stood for a moment in front of the door, still not sure what I was going to do. She buzzed again.

"Hey!" I called out, finally opening the latch."I'm coming."

She was dressed in a green cowl-necked sweater over jeans."You look awful," she said, staring at me.

"Thanks." I let her in."How…" I started, but she cut me off.

"You look like you've been wearing the same clothes for a week, and a shave sure wouldn't hurt."

"How did you find me?"

She stepped into the apartment, her eyes surveying the place."You think there's another Nicholas Pellisante who was shot and taken to Bellevue Hospital? You didn't return my calls."

"You'd make a good cop," I said, shuffling into the living room.

"You make a lousy friend."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Apology not accepted. This could be a nice apartment."

Andie took off her coat and scarf and draped them over a chair. I sat down against the padded arm of the couch.

"I went to the Bureau after I left the other day. I tried to put myself back on the case."

"Okay…"

"They told me I was out. Off the case. No way in hell I'd ever get back on."

Andie looked shocked."Why?"

"Too emotional, they said. Too close. They'll hook me up with any case I want. Just not this one."