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morning,” the man said.
    “Good morning, sir. May I help you?”
    He sighed. “Even 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, “I know the feeling.” He pushed a log book forward. “Would you sign in, please?”
    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 , RENQUIST & FITZGERALD , ATTORNEYS 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 the small cabinet lock, gently turning it from side to side. After a moment, he withdrew it and examined the black markings on it. Holding the key with the pair of pliers, he carefully filed off the black spots. He put the key into the lock again, and repeated the procedure. He was humming quietly to himself as he picked the lock, and he smiled as he suddenly realized what he was humming. “Far Away Places.”
    I’ll take my family on vacation, he thought happily. A real vacation. I’ll bet the kids would love Hawaii .
    The 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
    A t sea, later that evening, Captain Vacarro came to Harry Stanford’s stateroom.
    “Signor Stanford…”
    “Yes?”
    The captain pointed to the electronic map on the wall. “I’m afraid the winds are getting worse. The libeccio is centered in the Strait of Bonifacio. I would suggest that we take shelter in a harbor until—”
    Stanford cut him short. “This is a good ship, and you’re a good captain. I’m sure you can handle it.”
    Captain Vacarro hesitated. “As you say, signor. I will do my best.”
    “I’m sure you will, Captain.”
    Harry Stanford sat in the office of his suite, planning his strategy. He would meet René in Corsica and get everythingstraightened 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. Just forty-eight hours .
    He was awakened at two 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 next few 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 that Harry Stanford had tried to retrieve them, but because of the