Pat Crais, Aaron Priest, Neil Nyren, Ivan Held, and Tim Hely Hutchinson. Jon Wood, Susan Lamb, and Malcolm Edwards. Eileen Hutton. Mark and Diane, for taking the Egg. Gregg and Delinah. Jeffrey Lane—because he’s cool. Frank, Toni. Bill Tanner, Brad Johnson, Lynne Limp. Damon and Kate, as always. The Plum Brothers: Alan “Night Train” Brennert, William F. “Slow Hand” Wu, Michael “Bardwulf” Toman, and Michael “Fastball” Cassutt. Otto. Shelby Rotolo. Eileen Bickham—because I care. Chip, Gene, Roger, and Joe—now I know. Stan Robinson. Gregory Frost. Tim Campbell. Lois, Vic, Coop, Biljon, Mike A, and Mike B. Jerry. April. Don Westlake. Betsy Little, Steve Volpe.

All of them helped.

The organized criminal gangs from the fifteen republics of the former Soviet Union are governed by what they call the “Vorovskoy Zakon”—the thieves’ code—which is comprised of eighteen written rules. The first rule is this:

A thief must forsake his mother, father, brothers, and sisters. He must not have a family—no wife, no children. We are his family.

If any of the eighteen rules are broken, the punishment is death.

Epigraph

Gotta do that right thing
Please
Please
Please
Someone be that hard thing
For me

—DECONSTRUCTED CHILD

FRANK MEYER CLOSED HIS COMPUTER as the early winter darkness fell over his home in Westwood, California, not far from the UCLA campus. Westwood was an affluent area on the Westside of Los Angeles, resting between Beverly Hills and Brentwood in a twine of gracious residential streets and comfortable, well-to-do homes. Frank Meyer—more surprised about it than anyone else, considering his background—lived in such a home.

Work finished, Frank settled back in his home office, listening to his sons crash through the far side of the house like baby rhinos. They made him happy, and so did the rich scent of braising beef that promised stew or boeuf bourguignon, which he never pronounced correctly but loved to eat. Voices came from the family room, too far away to make out the program, but almost certainly the sound of a game show on television. Cindy hated the nightly news.

Frank smiled because Cindy didn’t much care for game shows, either, but she liked the background sound of the TV when she cooked. Cindy had her ways, that was for sure, and her ways had changed his life. Here he was with a lovely home, a growing business, and a wonderful family—all of it owed to his wife.

Frank teared up, thinking how much he owed that woman. Frank was like that, sentimental and emotional, and had always been that way. As Cindy liked to say, Frank Meyer was just a big softy, which is why she fell in love with him.