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I want a number from him. A ten-digit number. In fact, get me that number and I don’t care if you tell me where Pablo is hiding. Your choice.”
    Eugene was silent for a minute. “It’s a number to access a bank account,” he said. “Pablo has money in a foreign bank, and you want it.”
    Javier leaned forward again. His eyes were burning embers. “The money in that account is rightfully ours. Pablo and my father had an agreement. They jointly ran a number of cocaine pipelines through Central America into the United States. Most of the drugs were moving through the Caribbean to either Bimini or Norman’s Cay in the Bahamas, but the DEA was watching, and it was dangerous to move large shipments along those routes. So we improvised. We began ferrying the drugs through northern Colombia into Panama, and from there the cocaine went north to California. The DEA never knew of the secondary route. We banked hundreds of millions of dollars with no one the wiser.”
    â€œAnd that money is in some bank, waiting for you to withdraw it. Except you don’t have the number to access the account.”
    Javier nodded. “Pablo is the only one who knows the number. When he disappeared from La Catedral prison in July of ’92, with the number, he was a fugitive from that day on.”
    â€œSurely you talked with him at some point.”
    â€œMany times between then and December of ’93. But he wasn’t stupid. Pablo knew that if he was the only one with the number to access the bank account, my father and I would do everything in our power to keep him alive. Otherwise, he was expendable. In the last few months, someone has begun making withdrawals. A few million in January, a few million earlier this month, nothing major. Except that Pablo is only person who can withdraw the money. It’s not difficult to add two plus two, Eugenio.”
    Eugene swallowed hard. “I’ll do what you want. Just release my wife and daughter.”
    Javier gave Eugene one of his patented cruel smiles. “Yes, Eugenio, you’ll do exactly what we want. Or your family will be returned to you in pieces.”
    â€œYou hurt them, and I’ll…”
    Javier appeared amused. “You’ll what? Kill me? I don’t think so. And by the way, we’re on a timetable here. You’ve got two weeks. Not a day longer.”
    â€œThat’s insane,” Eugene protested. “Two weeks? Why two weeks?”
    â€œWhy two weeks, Eugenio? Because I said so. Because I have your wife and daughter and if I wanted to, I could kill them tomorrow. It’s that simple. Without some sort of deadline, you might take your time trying to find him. And that’s unacceptable. We’re playing by my rules now, Eugenio, and my decision is that you have two weeks, starting tomorrow morning. From the twelfth to the twenty-sixth. Not a moment longer.”
    Javier rose from the table. A small piece of paper floated from his hand to the table. On it was a handwritten phone number, no name. “When you have Pablo or the number, call me.” He started toward the door, then paused. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He slid his hand inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a small plastic container, like the ones that contain playing cards, in convenience stores. He set it on the table. “Ciao, Eugenio. Don’t let us down.”
    Eugene stared down at the clear plastic case, his mind processing what his eyes were seeing. It took a few moments for the image to register. He drew in a sharp breath and picked up the container, then dropped it back on the table and spun around, ready to leap from his chair and go for Javier Rastano’s neck. He stopped. He was staring into a gun barrel, only inches from his face, a finger tight on the trigger. Rastano had already left the house, and now his man slowly backed to the door, the gun unwavering.
    â€œYou walk outside that door, you