Suarez still seemed doubtful, and Soh understood why. It was true that Soh was concerned about O’Connell. But he was also concerned about Suarez. He saw the man’s face when the full plan was laid out, and saw his resistance to deliberately sacrificing his men in the cause. Soh knew Suarez was an excellent soldier, but Soh was an excellent leader. And sometimes the most important skill in being an excellent leader was knowing how far men could be pushed. He thought, perhaps, Suarez had reached his limit.

“What is it that you want me to do?”

“There is only one true way to get to O’Connell. Do you understand?”

Suarez considered this for a moment before nodding slowly.

“Good. Then take care of it. That way, O’Connell will cease to be the problem he otherwise might be.”

By ten o’clock, the crowds in front of the courthouse were as thick as Cicero Andolini could remember ever seeing on a Boston sidewalk. It was like the 1970s, when residents of South Boston were confronted with the prospect of school busing. There were signs and chants, almost all demanding justice—an accounting for the lives taken by the butcher Vincente Carpio. There were a few social justice warriors in attendance, protesting the potential imposition of the death penalty under federal law, but they were drowned out by those calling for blood.

The authorities, in their various incarnations, were out in force as well. Uniformed officers tried to hold a security line, keeping the crush of humanity at bay. What success they were having looked like it had more to do with the wariness with which the crowd regarded the federal officers clad in full combat armor with assault weapons. Cicero could also pick the plainclothes cops out of the crowd with ease. It was clear that the security forces had not anticipated the size of the crowds, and Cicero could sense their frustration at having their attention turned from their primary task of protecting the courthouse.

Cicero and Buddy Cavanaugh were down at the courthouse to be Cormack’s eyes and ears. Cormack had intimated that something was likely to happen when Carpio was brought in, but he hadn’t been able to say what, exactly. Cormack was off working his sources for more information, but wanted to know what was happening at the scene as events unfolded. Cicero and Buddy had found a spot leaning up against a bank window across the street from the courthouse’s main entrance, right where Courthouse Way sprouted from Northern Avenue. From there, they could observe everything.

“Christ,” Buddy said. “I didn’t expect this many people.”

“It’s as close to a public hanging as most of these people will ever come. How could they resist?”

“You think people want to see that?”

“You think they don’t?”

“So, what are we supposed to do now?”