Borgia’s anger had once been directed solely at the son of his arch rival—a man who had assaulted him onstage three decades earlier, costing him his right eye.

With Michael Gabriel dead, Borgia’s anger has been redirected at someone else.

‘… thirty-seven … thirty … eight … thirty … nine … forty!’

Borgia lies back on the cold linoleum floor of his four-by-seven-foot cell. He gazes at the projection of a tropical shoreline on his wall as he catches his breath.

‘Computer … activate CNN.’

The holographic ocean disappears, replaced by cinder block. The news broadcast begins a moment later.

‘… in the wake of Jordan Ann Katras’s death late last week, former U.S. president Ennis Chaney was nominated earlier today as Secretary General of the United Nations Security Council.’

‘Ahhhh!’ Borgia kicks the wall, Chaney’s face distorting on his shoe.

‘In other news, the World Basketball Association has added two new European teams to its Eastern Conference …’

‘Computer, cease broadcast!’

The transmission ends.

Borgia’s pulse races, his blood pressure soaring. He wheezes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. Repeats the exercise until his pulse stops pounding in his ears, then gets on his hands and knees, resuming his workout.

‘One … two … three … four …’

There is one person Borgia despises more than any other human being, one person whose very name causes his blood to boil, his ulcer to bleed …

‘… five … six … seven … eight …’

Parole is coming.

Pierre Borgia counts the days.

Longboat Key, Florida 2:35 p.m.

‘Come on, Manny. Apply the formula, then figure out the answer!’

Immanuel Gabriel stares at his Vision-Station, a high-resolution curved computer monitor, five feet tall and six feet wide, that encompasses his entire forward field of vision. ‘I told you, Mr. Hopper, I can’t do it.’

‘Sure you can,’ the tutor insists. ‘Watch and learn.’ Scott Hopper leans over the teen and types in an equation designed to calculate G forces and the speed of light. ‘There, I plugged in the values, now you do the math.’

‘Who cares about this stuff? I’m not interested in being an astronaut, I’m gonna play pro ball.’

‘Sure you are. Now just apply the damn formula so we can end the lesson.’

‘I’m ending it now.’

‘Sit down, please—’

‘No. I want to shoot hoops before dinner.’

‘Not until you finish the rest of these problems. Your brother finished an hour ago, and he’s doing quantum physics.’

‘Whoop-dee-do.’

‘Sit down!’

‘Drop dead.’

Hopper swallows his retort as Jacob enters the classroom. ‘Jacob, see if you can talk some sense into your brother; he won’t listen to a damn thing I have to say.’

The instructor walks out.

Immanuel kisses his middle finger, then flips it at Scott Hopper’s back.

‘I need to talk with you, Manny. I spoke with our father again.’

‘And I spoke with the Easter Bunny. He says they need you back at the Funny Farm—’