team had lost that afternoon because of young Billy. The supermarket had closed, and John Cotton was in the parking lot, walking toward his car, when a stranger approached him, carrying a package. ' me, Mr. Cotton."?" wonder if I could talk to you for a moment?' `1The store is closed.", it's not that. I wanted to talk to you about my son. Billy is very upset that you took him out of the game and told him he couldn't play again." is your son? I'm sorry he was even in the game. He'll never be a ballplayer.'_ Billy's father said earnestly,, "You're not being fair, Mr. Cotton. I know Billy. He's really a fine ballplayer. You'll see. When he plays next Saturday - t ' isn't going to play next Saturday. He's out." ... % ' buts. That's it. Now, if there's nothing else ... ', there is.'Billy's father had unwrapped the package in his hand, revealing a baseball bat. He said pleadingly, "This is the bat that Billy used. You can see that it's chipped, so it isn't fair to punish him because -", mister, I don't give a damn about the bat. Your son is out!' Billy's father sighed unhappily.
"You're sure you won't change your -mind?' 34 ' chance.' As Cotton reached for the door handle of his car, Billy's father swung the bat against the rear window, gmashing it. Cotton stared at him in shock.
"What ... what the bell are you doine.' e ' up,' Papa explained.
He raised the bat swung it again, smashing it against Cotton's pjohn Cotton screamed and fell to the ground, writh- in pain. ''re crazy!" he yelled. '!' s father knelt beside him and said softly, ' more sound, and I'll break your other kneecap.' -Cotton stared up at him in agony, terrified. ' my son isn't in the game next Saturday, I'll kill you and I'll kill your son. Do I make myself cleart Cotton looked into the man's eyes and nodded, , to keep from screaming with -pain.
"Good. Oh, and I wouldn't want this to get out. [email protected] got friends.' He looked at his watch. He had just enough time to catch the next flight to Boston. His hand @6egan to itch again. At seven o'clock Sunday morning, dressed in a vested sint and carrying an expensive leather briefcase, he walked past Vendome, through Copley Square, and on to Stuart Street. A half block past the Park Plaza Castle, he entered the Boston Trust Building and approached the guard. With dozens of tenants in the 35 huge building, them would be no way the guard at the rcception desk could identify him. Good morning,' the man said. ' morning, sir. May I help yout He sighed. ' God can't help me. They think I have nothing to do but spend my Sundays doing the work that someone else should have done.' The guard said, sympathetically, ' know the feeling.' He pushed a log book forward. ' you sign in, pleaset He signed in and walked over to the bank of elevators. The office he was looking for was on the fifth floor. He took the elevator to the sixth floor, walked down a flight, and moved down the corridor. The legend on the door read, RENQuist, RENQuis-r & Fffz- GMALD, ATMRNEYS AT LAw. He looked around to make certain the corridor was deserted, then opened his briefcase and took out a small pick and a tension tool. It took him five seconds to open the locked door. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
The reception room was furnished in old-fashioned, conservative taste, as befitted one of Boston's top law firms. The man stood there a moment, orienting himself, then moved toward the back, to a filing room where records were kept. Inside the room was a bank of steel cabinets with alphabetical labels on the front. He tried the cabinet marked R-S. It was locked. From his briefcase, he removed a blank key, a file, and a pair of pliers. He pushed the blank key inside 36 sma cabinet lock, gently turning it from side to side. After a moment, he withdrew it and examined @':jbe black markings on it. Holding the key with the pliers, he carefully filed off the black spots. put the key into the lock again, and repeated the ure. He was humming quietly to himself as he the lock, and he smiled as he suddenly realized he was humming: ' Away.
Places'. I'll take ",;fty family on vacation, he thought happily. A real I'll bet the kidy w6uld love Hawaii. ' cabinet drawer came open, and he pulled it toward him. It took only a moment to find the folder he wanted. He removed a small, Pentax camera from @;,his briefcase and went to work. Ten minutes later he was finished. He took several pieces of Kleenex from the briefcase, walked over to the water cooler, and wet them. He returned to the filing room and wiped up the steel shavings on the floor. He locked the file cabinet, made his way out to the corridor, locked. the front door to the offices, and left the building.
Chapter Five
At sea, later that evening, Captain Vacarro came to Harry Stanford's stateroom. ' Stanford .. '?' The captain pointed to the electronic map on the wall. ''m afraid the winds are getting worse. The libecdo is centered in the Strait of Bonifacio. I would suggest that we take shelter in a harbor until -' Stanford cut him short. ' is a good ship, and you're a good captain. I'm sure you can handle it." Captain Vacarro hesitated. ' you say, signor. I will do my best."'m sure you will, captain.' Harry Stanford sat in the office of his suite, planning his strategy. He would meet Ren6 in Corsica and get everything straightened out. After that, the helicopter would fly him to Naples, and from there he would charter a plane to take him to Boston.
Everything is going to be fine, he decided. All I need is forty-eight hours. Justfoqy-eight hours. 38 lie was awakened at 2 A.m. by the wild pitching of the yacht and a howling gale outside. Stanford had been in storms before, but this was one of the worst. Captain Vacarro had been right. Harry Stanford got out of bed, holding on to the nightstand to steady himself, and made his way to the wall map. The ship was in the Strait of Bonifacio. We should be in Ajaccio in the nexifiew hours, he thought. Once we're there, we'll be safe. The events that occurred later that night were a matter of speculation. The papers strewn around the veranda suggested that the strong wind had blown some of the others away, and ' Harry Stanford had tried to retrieve them, but because of the pitching yacht he had lost his balance and fallen overboard. Dmitri Kaminsky saw him fall into the water and immediately grabbed the intercom. ' overboard!"