Lunch was a white fish that Kevin didn’t recognize. When he inquired about it, Esmeralda gave him only the name in Fang, which meant nothing to Kevin. He surprised himself by eating more than he’d expected. The conversation with Raymond had had a positive effect on his appetite. The idea of having his own lab still held inordinate appeal.

After eating, Kevin changed his damp shirt for a clean, freshly ironed one. He was eager to get back to work. As he was about to descend the stairs, Esmeralda inquired when he wanted dinner. He told her seven, the usual time.

While Kevin had been lunching a leaden group of gray lavender clouds had rolled in from the ocean. By the time he emerged from his front door, it was pouring, and the street in front of his house was a cascade as the runoff raced down to the waterfront. Looking south over the Estuario del Muni, Kevin could see a line of bright sunshine as well as the arch of a complete rainbow. The weather in Gabon was still clear. Kevin was not surprised. There had been times when it had rained on one side of the street and not the other.

Guessing the rain would continue for at least the next hour, Kevin skirted his house beneath the protection of the arcade and climbed into his black Toyota utility vehicle. Although it was a ridiculously short drive back to the hospital, Kevin felt it was better to ride than be wet for the rest of the afternoon.

CHAPTER 3

March 4, 1997

8:45 A.M. New York City

“Well, what do you want to do?” Franco Ponti asked while looking at his boss, Vinnie Dominick, in the rearview mirror. They were in Vinnie’s Lincoln Towncar. Vinnie was in the backseat, leaning forward with his right hand holding onto the overhead strap. He was looking out at 126 East Sixty-fourth Street. It was a brownstone built in a French rococo style with high-arched, multipaned windows. The first-floor windows were heavily barred for protection.

“Looks like pretty posh digs,” Vinnie said. “The good doctor is doing okay for himself.”

“Should I park?” Franco asked. The car was in the middle of the street, and the taxi behind them was honking insistently.

“Park!” Vinnie said.

Franco drove ahead until he came to a fire hydrant. He pulled to the curb. The taxi went past, the driver frantically giving them the finger. Angelo Facciolo shook his head and made a disparaging comment about expatriate Russian taxi drivers. Angelo was sitting in the front passenger seat.

Vinnie climbed out of the car. Franco and Angelo quickly followed suit. All three men were impeccably dressed in long, Salvatore Ferragamo overcoats in varying shades of gray.

“You think the car will be okay?” Franco asked.

“I anticipate this will be a short meeting,” Vinnie said. “But put the Police Benevolent Association Commendation on the dash. Might as well save fifty bucks.”

Vinnie walked back to number 126. Franco and Angelo trailed in their perpetually vigilant style. Vinnie looked at the door intercom. “It’s a duplex,” Vinnie said. “I guess the doctor isn’t doing quite as well as I thought.” Vinnie pressed the button for Dr. Raymond Lyons and waited.