“All right!” Milos shouted. “It’s coming! Get ready!”

All around him semiautomatic pistols and fully automatic assault weapons were slipping from holsters and pockets and held under jackets or behind backs as safeties were clicked off, rounds were chambered, and bolts were ratcheted back. He saw rifles and shotgun barrels rising into view among the bushes.

The choppy rhythm grew louder, clearer.

“Easy,” Milos said, pulling his own .357 Magnum from its shoulder holster. “Easy…”

And then, just as it became visible, something strange happened. A bright beam of white light lanced downward from the copter. As it began to play back and forth across the sand, Milos was struck with a terrifying sense that things were about to go horribly wrong.

His shout of “No!” was lost in the deafening fusillade that erupted around him.

Milos saw the sparks of the bullets striking the helicopter’s fuselage, watched it lurch, veer to the left and drop, then regain altitude and wobble away, trailing black smoke as it fled.

The guns had ceased fire almost as quickly as they had begun. No triumphant cheers rose from the stunned men.

They all could read English.

And then he heard the wail of sirens—many of them. He turned and saw chaotic red flashes lighting the night from the direction of the front gate.

Cops. Sounded like an army of them.

But how? How could they be here so soon? And in such numbers?

Milos Dragovic stood numb and frozen by his pool and asked himself over and over, Who is doing this to me?

TUESDAY

1

When Jack checked his voice mail in the morning he found three messages from Sal Vituolo, the gist of which could be summed up as, “Hey, Jack, call me. I gotta talk to ya, just gotta talk to ya.”

So Jack called him from a pay phone.

“Jack! How’d you do it, man?” Jack couldn’t see Sal but he sounded like he was dancing. “How’d you freakin’ do it?”

“I gather it went off well?”

Jack had heard a few sketchy details on one of the all-news stations last night before turning in.

“Are you kiddin’ me? He absolutely screwed himself, shootin’ at a Coast Guard copter like that. But how’d you get it there?”

“Like I told you,” Jack said. “I made a call.”

“Yeah, but what’d you say?”

Jack had told the Coast Guard that a big shipment of this new drug that was making people go crazy was coming ashore at Dragovic’s place in the Hamptons. He told them that was why Dragovic bought the place—so he could smuggle stuff ashore. The shipment was due shortly after dark—like between nine-thirty and ten.

But Jack didn’t feel like going into all of that with Sal.

“I’ve got connections.”

“You must, baby. I can’t believe the heat that came down on that place.”

According to reports on the news, state and Suffolk County heat had been duking it out with the feds over who had jurisdiction. Since they couldn’t decide in time, they’d all shown up.