Kevin’s heart skipped a beat. Despite the rain and the mist, he could see what he’d feared he’d see. Just like a week ago there was the unmistakable wisp of smoke lazily undulating toward the leaden sky.

Kevin slumped into his desk chair and cradled his head in his hands. He asked himself what he’d done. Having minored in the Classics as an undergraduate, he knew about Greek myths. Now he questioned if he’d made a Promethean mistake. Smoke meant fire, and he had to wonder if it was the proverbial fire inadvertently stolen from the gods.

6:45 P.M.

Boston, Massachusetts

While a cold March wind rattled the storm windows, Taylor Devonshire Cabot reveled in the security and warmth of his walnut-paneled study in his sprawling Manchester-by-the-Sea home north of Boston, Massachusetts. Harriette Livingston Cabot, Taylor’s wife, was in the kitchen supervising the final stages of dinner scheduled to be served at seven-thirty sharp.

On the arm of Taylor’s chair balanced a cut-crystal glass of neat, single-malt whiskey. A fire crackled in the fireplace as Wagner played on the stereo, the volume turned low. In addition there were three built-in televisions tuned respectively to a local news station, CNN, and ESPN.

Taylor was the picture of contentment. He’d spent a busy but productive day at the world headquarters of GenSys, a relatively new biotechnology firm he’d started eight years previously. The company had constructed a new building along the Charles River in Boston to take advantage of the proximity of both Harvard and MIT for recruitment purposes.

The evening commute had been easier than usual, and Taylor hadn’t had time to finish his scheduled reading. Knowing his employer’s habits, Rodney, his driver, had apologized for getting Taylor home so quickly.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with a significant delay tomorrow night to make up,” Taylor had quipped.

“I’ll do my best,” Rodney had responded.

So Taylor wasn’t listening to the stereo or watching the TVs. Instead he was carefully reading the financial report scheduled to be released at the GenSys stockholders’ meeting scheduled the following week. But that didn’t mean he was unaware of what was going on around him. He was very much aware of the sound of the wind, the sputtering of the fire, the music, and alert to the various reporters’ banters on the TVs. So when the name Carlo Franconi was mentioned, Taylor’s head snapped up.

The first thing Taylor did was lift the remote and turn up the sound of the central television. It was the local news on the CBS affiliate. The anchors were Jack Williams and Liz Walker. Jack Williams had mentioned the name Carlo Franconi, and was going on to say that the station had obtained a videotape of the killing of this known Mafia figure who had some association with Boston crime families.

“This tape is quite graphic,” Jack warned. “Parental discretion is recommended. You might remember that a few days ago we reported that the ailing Franconi had disappeared after his indictment, and many had feared he’d jumped bail. But then he’d just reappeared yesterday with the news that he’d struck a deal with the New York City DA’s office to plea-bargain and enter the witness-protection program. However, this evening while emerging from a favorite restaurant, the indicted racketeer was fatally shot.”