Burim drove back to his boss Berti Ristani’s place in Weehawken. Burim’s value as a trusted lieutenant to Berti had only increased over the years, and Berti was happy to help his friend. This was family, after all. On Burim’s behalf, Berti had made a call. In the world of organized crime, Albanian style, it always made Berti proud when he realized how far the tentacles of the beast now extended. As usual on a strictly business call, making even one phone call meant an elaborate charade. The Albanians had been burned by the FBI one too many times. Berti used a burner phone to call another one-use cell phone, which eventually led to a call back to a third phone, which Berti would use once, then throw, along with the first phone, into the nearby Hudson River.

Berti told Burim that he learned from his contact at a friendly family in L.A. that another family had numerous aviation interests around the country, particularly in general aviation at municipal airports and at the FAA. If you wanted to get something or someone into or out of the United States quickly, you could try to use a major hub, or go through a smaller link, like Teterboro in New Jersey, or Boulder Airport.

This was another area where civilians like George Wilson were fatally limited. They were incapable of thinking like a criminal. Burim had no doubt this rich creep had taken Pia out of the country. As Pia had done before, she’d stumbled across someone doing something he shouldn’t, and made a nuisance of herself. This guy Berman fancied himself as some kind of playboy, or so Burim quickly learned. Burim could imagine Pia resisting him, and the guy taking her away somewhere. He felt that familiar rage. When that happened, someone was always going to have to pay.

Then Berti had made another call, to someone outside the Albanian family, but with a connection, and with a favor to repay. Burim sat in Berti Ristani’s office for an hour, waiting for another disposable phone to ring. Berti constantly drank water and chewed gum. After a health scare six months before, Ristani had announced he was going to lose weight, and to his crew’s astonishment he had dropped fifty pounds and he was loving life.

“You know, if we was the police, the jails would be full,” said Berti. “We can find out shit fifty times faster than the cops can or the FBI.”

“Because we know all the criminals,” said Burim.

“That’s right! Perhaps I should go straight and run the CIA. Serve my country.” Berti smiled. “Having said that, I hope these assholes aren’t gonna let me down.”

“Berti, if I need to take some time over this . . .”

“Burim, don’t worry ’bout nothing. Anything you need. Hold on. This must be them.”