Outside everyone piled into the van amid lots of excited laughter. With the promise of violence, the skinheads were working themselves up to a fever pitch. Curt took the wheel and had Yuri ride shotgun because the Russian could most expediently identify the target. In the back there were some arguments about who was going to sit where among all the plumbing tools and lengths of pipe. Steve ended up having to decide.

Curt made it a point to take Worth Street west in order to pass the Jacob Javits Federal Building. He wanted to show Mike where he was to enter the building in the morning. After doing so, Curt turned north on the Bowery with the plan of getting over to First Avenue via Houston Street.

“I don’t want to take a lot of time,” Yuri said nervously. “I just want to point out Jack Stapleton, get out, and let you guys do what you have to do.”

Curt took his eyes off the traffic for a moment to cast a questioning glance at Yuri. “We’ll have to see how things work out,” he said. “We’re kinda playing this operation by ear.”

“What does that mean?” Yuri asked. He was holding on with both hands. Curt was driving aggressively in the traffic, especially now that they’d turned north on First Avenue.

“It means we’ll be making things up as we go along,” Curt said. “But why the rush? I thought you’d want to be along for the whole mission.”

“I have a lot of work to do to be ready for tomorrow,” Yuri explained.

“Oh, right,” Curt said.

In the back of the van, new arguments erupted about who was going to hold which weapon. Curt glanced in the rearview mirror and was horrified to see his troops struggling over the Kalashnikovs. “Get that ordnance out of sight,” he yelled. “Jesus Christ! We’ll have the cops pulling us over.”

Amid grumbles, the weapons were placed on the floor.

Curt caught Yuri casting anxious glances back at the troops. “They’re a little excited,” he explained. “They love this type of operation.”

“They seem more than a little excited,” Yuri responded.

“What was that address again?” Curt called back to Steve.

Steve pulled Jack’s card out of his pocket. “Five-twenty

First Avenue,” Steve said. “I imagine it’s up in the hospital neighborhood.”

Curt began to slow down as they passed Bellevue Hospital on the right.

“There it is,” Steve said while pointing to a glazed, blue brick building.

Curt pulled to the left side of the road just beyond Thirtieth Street, stopped, and put on his emergency blinkers. They were on the opposite side of the street and catty-corner from the morgue’s First Avenue entrance. People were coming out of the building in clumps and either walking away or hailing taxis.