The taxi rolled out through a tiny opening in the ancient massive wall and onto a broad boulevard that hooked back left toward a curved chain of modern high-rise luxury apartment buildings that reminded Merrill not so much of Miami as Lake Shore Drive deftly sliced away from the city of Chicago and lowered on a slender reef hardly wider than the street itself. Merrill extracted Ruiz’s keys from the pocket of the topcoat and picked one that looked like it would open the front door of an apartment house. Even if he did look like an Iraqi jewelry salesman, he had to act as if he belonged here.

He waited on the sidewalk until the taxi pulled away. The sea air was wet and salty and Merrill filled his lungs with it. The building was a dozen stories high, starkly modern pale brick and jutting terraces. He still had to locate Ruiz’s apartment. Ruiz y Something-or-other. Merrill was at the directory when an old man carrying a fat little dog emerged from the building. The door swung closed very slowly behind him. Ruiz was in 1104. Merrill lunged for the door as the latch began to click. He didn’t look behind him.

Before the elevator door closed he could see back to the street. The dog was squatting in the gutter and the old man was looking the other way, his head wreathed in smoke as he applied a match to a short, fat cigar.

Merrill had his hand on a nine millimeter in the shoulder bag as the elevator car started up. He moved to the side of the car, holding the gun tighter. He watched the numbers blink higher.

On the anesthetically quiet hall the third key fit the lock if 1104. The apartment was dark. Merrill was thinking that it was probably a good idea to wait a moment to listen before moving into the apartment. It wasn’t that different from boarding an abandoned yacht, especially when you knew the crew was already dead.

Silence. Merrill heard the elevator start down again. With his hand he swept the wall for a light switch. He wasn’t going to find what he was looking for in the dark. His hand came upon a short row of rectangular switches. The first triggered a bank of fluorescent lights in a room to Merrill’s left — a kitchen, sheathed in brushed stainless steel. The reflected light revealed a plush living room in muted pastels.