James Patterson - Judge & Jury

Senil touched a mouse, and the image of Cavello's bearded accomplice jumped onto the screen."Okay, Nick, tell me-what is it you want me to do?"

"I want to change around the image, Chummie. See if it matches someone I know."

He nodded, hunching over the screen and cracking his knuckles. He clicked the mouse again. A grid appeared over the image."Shoot."

"First, I want to lose the beard."

"Easy." Senil typed in a few coordinates, and the image immediately narrowed in to just a square of the suspect's face. Then, using a cursor, he outlined the area of the beard. Gently, he moved his cursor back and forth, as if he was airbrushing.

"What are you onto these days?" he asked while he worked, his fingers guiding the cursor like a surgeon's."Things have to be pretty hot up there for you C-10 boys, what with Cavello and all. What're you thinking, he changed his face on you?"

"Sort of," I said, not picking up on his inquisitiveness."Just a hunch."

"A hunch." He sighed, dropping the conversation."This process is called grafting and displacement," he said, continuing to carve away the facial hair, tracing it around the chin."Essentially, we eliminate a field: skin tone, a scar, in this case, a beard." In a moment the facial area was blank, and Senil retrieved a section of skin from another part of the image and filled in the space."Then we just graft onto it." He smoothed out the facial lines."Cut and paste."

"That's good," I said, leaning over his shoulder."Now what do you say we try and alter the hair. Make it short and close to the skull. A little darker."

"You mean like this?" He pressed an icon, and a file of various hairstyles came up. Then he chose one fitting my description and basically transplanted it over the newly configured face.

"Now set the hairline back a bit. Around the sides."

Chummie started playing around with the cursor again.

"Yes, like that. Now, can we ditch the eyeglasses?"

"Faster than Lasik." He grinned."Cheaper, too." It took about a minute of more grafting and displacement.

The man's dark glasses disappeared.

" Fucking A! " I exclaimed. The image on the screen almost knocked me on the floor.

"Anything else, Nick? If you're not satisfied, give me the word. I'll make him look like anyone you like."

"No, Chummie." I patted his shoulder."I think we're done."

I pulled out the file of Kolya Remlikov that Yuri Plakhov had faxed me. I put Remlikov's face side by side against the altered image of Cavello's accomplice.

"Bingo," Senil Chumra said.

We were staring at the same man.

THIRTEEN YEARS OF working my way up through one of the most bureaucratic law enforcement agencies in the world told me to go straight to the Javits Building and drop what I had right on ADIC Cioffi's desk.

There wasn't much doubt that Kolya Remlikov was the man who had sprung Cavello.

I got as far as hailing a cab on the corner. Then something made me hold back. I wasn't sure exactly what.

Maybe it was the thought of handing Remlikov over to the very people who had let him escape. Or the sudden realization of just how difficult this could prove to be-getting through channels, interrogating him. Which agencies would be involved? Would I be involved? One leak and Remlikov could disappear. And with him, Cavello. Then where would we be?

I'd spent so many years doing the right thing. Suddenly the right thing didn't seem so right anymore.

I waved the taxi on.

I just went back and leaned against the building for a while, holding the photos, trying to decide what the right thing was. When it hit me, I told myself, For a professor of criminal ethics, Nick, you're about to do one very stupid thing.

I looked up a number in my BlackBerry and placed a call. I asked Steve Bushnagel if he had plans for lunch. Steve was a partner in a private law firm now, but he used to advise the FBI. He was an expert on matters of extradition and international law.

"Lunch? Where?" Bushnagel asked.

"Cheap and fast," I said."I'm buying."

"How fast?" the lawyer asked.

"Hop into the elevator. I'll be right outside."

When he stepped out of the lobby of the big glass tower on Sixth Avenue, I was leaning on a parked car, holding out a couple of hot dogs."Ketchup or mustard?"

"Not to be particularly lawyerly about it-but how 'bout both. "

We sat on a ledge on the busy corner, the lunch-hour crowds streaming by."Steve, I've got someone I want to get to who's fled to Israel."

"Get to?"

"I need to get him back."

Bushnagel took a bite."Are we talking fugitive or citizen, here?"

"Citizen, I suspect. He's been there awhile."

"And what you want him for, these are crimes committed in the United States, not Israel, right?"

"We're just talking, right, Steve?"

He waved his dog at me."I assure you, you're not paying me enough for anything more specific."

I grinned."Okay. Then we might be talking some other things in Russia and France as well."

" Hmmph. " Bushnagel grunted."The Israelis are cooperative-to a degree. You remember Jonathan Pollard? We arrested him for espionage in 1985-in the Israelis' eyes, unjustly. They've been trying to get him back unsuccessfully for twenty years. And that electronics guy who fled there? ‘Crazy Eddie' Antar? Look at how long it took to get him back. Of course, it all depends on what we're really talking here."

"Talking?"

"In the post-9/11 world." The lawyer shrugged."Do the Israelis want something from us? Are the other governments involved? Look, Nick, I didn't become a complete dummy when I left the government. I know we're not chasing tax cheats here.

"If the evidence is solid, you could definitely get the guy held for questioning. But what kind of access you'd have, and how long that would take, that's all up for grabs. How time sensitive is this?"

"The highest." I shrugged glumly."Off the charts."

"Always is. Well, factor into this the matters of state, too. Does this have any rhythm for the Israelis? Do they want to make a deal with us? Do they want to make a deal with the Russians or the French before they turn him over? It's delicate, Nick-and I don't think that's a word that sits particularly well with you."

I nodded.

"Look, you'd get him held. You get a lot of people involved. But what happens next is anybody's guess. Then there's always the chance they drag their feet, the guy slips away, and you never hear from him again."

"I can't take that risk," I said, shaking my head.

"I understand." Bushnagel nodded."Problem is, though, it's still the only game in town."

"In the real world, yes." I nodded. I balled up my wrapper.

I knew Steve was wondering why I had come to him. He had left the government long ago. There were plenty of lawyers on staff who could handle this kind of matter."Just for the record, Nick"-he looked closely at me-“is there any other?"

I TRACED THE EDGE of my fingernail along the slope of Andie's back.

"Don't." She stirred, snuggling up to me.

I'd been thinking all night. Since I left Steve Bushnagel. In the real world, I knew, I would have Remlikov arrested. I would lead the interrogation. He would give up Cavello, and I would go get him. That was my job. It was just that the"real world" had gotten a lot more complicated lately.

I ran my fingers along Andie's spine again. This time she turned and faced me, resting on her arm. She saw something was serious."What is it?"

"I may have a line," I said,"on the man who blew up the bus."

Andie sat up, the sleep already gone from her eyes."What are you talking about, Nick?"

"I'll show you."

I reached over and opened a manila envelope I had on the night table. In a long row on the bed I spread several black-and-white glossies: Homeland Security photos of Kolya Remlikov and the ones Yuri Plakhov had sent me.