Atlantic

Chapter One

          Nadia Formiado stood unnerved in the rising elevator, surrounded by only fake wood and chrome finished railings. A single bead of sweat fell down her face, not because of the task ahead, but at the thought of only that between her and the ground eleven stories below. Should the cable that heaved her to the top break and the break system fail and that pulled down sealed in the tiny box of death, she fall free waiting until crushed. There would be no coffin for her, only the remnants of that sad elevator. It was only the thought that the building harbored no stairway that she nearly did not go through with it. Nearly.
          Finally the eleventh light lit, the pale yellow, and the elevator haltered. She entered a small room with nothing but a door, she unlocked it. The door opened and revealed a spacious penthouse, that was anything but her own. It was open and bright, despite the fact that it was night and no lights were on. The outer walls, covered only in windows, admitted the light of every building, streetlight, headlight, and star, that happened to be in view. Nadia smiled, she hated to work with a flashlight. The main room that was divided for both living and dining was meticulously furnished to it’s owner’s every specification. With sleek red couches that curved abnormally, tables of silver piping and glass and hardwood floors dressed only in carefully chosen area carpets, it was plain to see much care was put into it, as well as lots of money. The owner had left that morning, to L.A. and would not return for three days. To Nadia, it was all the time in the world, actually anything more tan fifteen minutes was. However, she only have until one o’clock.
          She moved into the room setting her bag down and looked ate all that was hers for the
next five hours. It was simple getting into the building. With about fourteen different people living in the building she followed a few for a day or two and then choose who to follow. She choose one college student to a bar, where after a couple of hours of drinking with his friends, he barely noticed her standing next to him as she took his keys off the table, removed his apartment key, and then tossed the rest back onto the table. The whole times she was there she wondered how much of his life his father paid for, it was far to nice an apartment building and she heard him mention his summer house a few times.
          Once you she was in the building, the guard immediately questioned her. It came somewhat unexpectedly to Nadia, as most were unwilling to insult a family member or friend of someone above, leading to a complaint and the likely loss of their job. Just the fact that they were there was comforting enough. However, she was surprised, but prepared. A Polaroid of her and her new friend quickly removed any of his doubt. Bartenders had to pretend to care. Taking a picture for a ‘young couple’ made their job easier.“We’re moving in together.” she told the guard, as if announcing an engagement. He just nodded and smiled politely. It was simple.
          She moved swiftly, stepping lightly so as not to rouse someone below, and began with the walls. On the off chance that it was there, Nadia carefully raised each picture, checking for a safe. It took her just under ten minutes to go throughout the flat. He obviously thought art was a must to exhibit his good taste. There was no safe though. Then she moved into the bedroom, it was the second most likely place. She was sometimes surprised at how unoriginal people could be. She search the walls, carefully feeling for a catch. Then she moved to the low bed. Surrounded by a thick wooden base it was an interesting place to check. She would have been delighted to find it there, but Nadia only found herself disappointed once more. The room, like all of the other was generally empty, an excess of space that no amount of furniture could fill. In the walk-in closet, there as a corner, where shorter floorboards had been but to fill in the short irregular spaces near the wall. Though different sizes they were all within a foot an a half to two feet.
          She went back to the elevator for her bags then quietly settled above the boards. Kneeling for better leverage, she removed a short crowbar from her bag. Even though the effort arm of the tool was reduced, the boards were thin. Carefully, she placed the longer edge into the widest gape between all of the boards. Then, gripping the other end tightly in her hands, she leaned down on it. The board came up easily. She pulled out puffs of coral colored insolation through the space revealing a solid metal plate. Nadia had found it. The other boards required a small handsaw- any other method would be to noise, especially because it was just above the ceiling to the flat below.
It took her until ten thirty to finally finish sawing through the entire surface area of the floor that covered the safe.
          She took the ruined boards and laid them aside, moving onto her stomach. It was a newer safe, maybe the best model two or three years ago. A simple dial and combination lock, eight numbers, one through one-hundred. She had opened two before, both in the wall though, a large departure from a horizontal safe. Taking a battery powered desk light from her bag, she warily unfolded it and stood it on the intact floor just next to the safe and switched it on. Nadia pulled of her custom leather gloves and began. She slid a highly sensitive stethoscope onto her ears, placing the drum onto the safe, to the right of the dial.
          She began to rotate I clockwise, listening carefully, not daring to breath for fear she would miss the tell-tale sound. It came and she scrawled the number onto the safe. 38 Then she turned it the other way, just as slowly. Another number came, 82. She repeated. 45, 2, and 63 came next. She brushed a lose strand of her hair back, and drew her hands back. Then applying the drum again she started from zero, 38, 82, 45, 2, 63, and...28, no, 26. The last two numbers, 90 and 16, came short after. Nadia sat up, and pulled the stethoscope off, every thing that came in contact with the drum was a thundering echo that was funneled to her ears. Reading the number from the once pure safe door, she turned the dial and at 16 the final bolt was withdraw. Stopping only to pull her gloves back on, she turned the handle and pulled up the door, leaning it against the floor. It was a shallow safe, only about six inches deep. Papers and documents lay in the velvet lined box. A flat, square,jewlery box lay in the corner. She picked it up and held it in her hand, just in front of her face. Inside was lay a silver pocket watch.
          With a sigh she closed it and set it on top of the files and then withdrew them. She took a razor blade from a pocket in her bag and cut a long gash through the velvet lining. She then cut two perpendicular lines, one at the center cut, and on at the bottom. She peeled back the velvet until it was nothing but a black rag. After removing a thin metal tray the full mechanisms of the second layer were visible. Along the entire interior, metal cogs and dials lined it’s walls. She had little toleration for finding the hidden catches. She pressed the exposed catch and the second tray popped up. She pulled it out. At the bottom, laying on a second velvet cloth was a slender box with two golden initials in the center, G.W.
          Nadia sat back and placed it on her lap. She opened it an smiled at it’s glittering contents. She closed it again and tucked it securely in her bag. She placed all of her tools back into her bags and pushed the wooden boards into the open safe before kicking it shut. She took a rag from her bag, before sealing it, and wiped down the face of the safe and anywhere else she may have touched while her gloves were off.
          Nadia Formiado could not leave through the elevator for two reasons, one, she had told the guard she was moving in with the guy downstairs, thus her bags. Now, she still had them, but what then? She was moving out? Also, she had just stolen a quarter of a million in diamonds. The first security camera she was able to avoid while going in, but the second one, placed directly above the door, facing the elevator, was impossible. With some help, she had been able to find that Laura Minowa, did not return until far after her last show which wasn’t until twelve. The aspiring actress had recently been cast as the lead in “My Fair Lady”, and between the subway ride and the fans seeking autographs... it would be another hour... her key was simple to get also, the lock she used made standard keys. Nadia simply just bought the same lock and took the key from it. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, just not in New York.
          Hesitantly, she stepped back into her death trap and pressed the button for the forth floor. It was worse than the ride up and every time the mechanics groaned her hand shot out to the railing. After what seemed like forever, it stopped. She stepped out into the tiny foyer and unlocked Laura’s apartment. It was a great change from the first, more comfortable furniture, none of it as well matched. It resembled something collected over the years. It as painted in soft hues of blue, a few floral pillows tossed onto the white couch. But Nadia did not stop to look. She hurried to the far window, heaved up the sash, and slowly climbed out onto the narrow metal platform.
          The air out side was cooler than that of October, so cool it could have snowed that night. The early morning stars shining dull against the roaring city lights. Nadia notice none of it until she was two blocks away walking casually down the street.


          As Nadia Formiado was fleeing onto an R train three thousand miles away, a man stood hunched in a cold alley just outside near the docks of London. There was a slow drizzle of icy rain that rolled off of the roofs and spilled into the alley. The collar of his long coat was flipped up, masking his face, revealing only his solemn eyes. He keep one hand tucked inside his coat, the other rested outside of it. A car pulled to a stop in the street, just feet away from the alley.
          He had been waiting there nearly two hours, barely moving. The entire time his eyes stayed focused on the world outside. Few people had passed since the late mass ended a few buildings down. He had left for the Kew Gardons, finally setting himself just near Brentford, just after ten.
          The driver got out, opened an umbrella, and then opened the back door. An older man stepped out, dressed in a gray raincoat, and shut his door. Then, just as subtly as it had came, the can pulled away and drove until it park, several blocks away, but still in view. The older man began to walk slowly across the park, toward the docks. The man in the alleyway then removed his hand from his coat, stood, and began to follow him in the darkness of the night.
          Near the water, steady waves continued to bombard the sea walls even once light had gone. The man holding an umbrella stopped, and then turned, facing his follower. He faced no one.
          "Julian, I presume." A voice spoke from behind him. Julian turned, caught off guard.
          "Callows.” he corrected, irritated at the man’s boldness “You are a difficult man to catch up with."
          "I'm a difficult man, Callows."
          "So you are. I have been instructed to bring you to Mr. Huntings”
          "Now?"
          "Yes. Of course, no weaponry. I'm sure you understand that."
          "Yes, and what about me then?”
          "Under my supervision. However, it is my understanding that have no reason to act against Mr. Huntings, do you?"
          "No.” he said turning his back to Callows and raising his hands above his head.
          Mr. Callows patted him down briskly, removing a pistol from inside the man's coat and tucking it inside his own. Mr. Callows then removed a small two-way radio from his pocket and spoke into it, "Ready to proceed."
          "Copy that." A woman’s voice repeated. The man said nothing. The cars headlight's sprung on in front of them as the vehicle drove toward them crashing through puddles that had gathered alone the side of the streets. For a moment the man thought the car would hit them, and he prepared to avoid it at the last possible moment. Instead, the car stopped just feet to the side of them. The heavily tinted windows prevented him from seeing inside. As he slid into the back seat, he found that it was separated by a divider of more tinted glass. Mr. Callows, who had already seated him self-next to him in the back spoke.
          "Some identities are better left undiscovered."
          "Why Mr. Callows, you disappoint me. I should know that better than anyone." And those were the final words uttered in the car for the rest of the trip. They drove westward until reaching the downtown area, stopping at an office building. There, only the two passengers got out of the car, the driver remained seated. Mr. Callows lead him up to the forth floor of five, where he took his visitor’s coat and instructed him to wait. Then Mr. Callows left.
          In the room there was a table of liquor and glasses, an armchair beside it. On the wall to the right of that, there was a couch and a floor lamp, a large window looking out behind
it, the heavy curtains drawn. It a small room that had a richly pompous look to it. He took a seat and waited. About a half an hour later, just after one, the door opened.
          “Mr. Huntings will see you now.” Mr. Callows said standing in the doorway, then turned and left. He stood, straightened his jacket, and then disappeared through the black doorway.

          It was actually the doorway to stairwell, dark except for the little light that pooled in from around the top far above him. He climbed it slowly, never growing out of breath. Upon reaching the top, he found himself in a vast room that must have spanned the surface area of the entire building. In front of him a room three times the size the one he had left stretched out. It was emptier, and had more windows, none of them covered. In the first part of the room there a matching black leather couch, and armchairs, a glass coffee table in the center.
          In the next section of the room there was a long table, lined with a dozen or so chairs. At the head end, that looked out on the streets below through one particularly large window, there lay two folders, one at the head seat, another one at the adjacent seat.
          In the farthest corner of the room, there was a desk. On it, a small lamp with a flexible neck that had been bent to an extreme, a mat, and a single fountain pen. In the huge chair that faced him a voice spoke.
          “Alec Dolen.” his eyes narrowed to the chair. The shadows however prevented him from seeing the speaker, his interest now at it’s apex. He began towards the end other room moving slowly, not over eagerly. “I have been searching for you for some time now.” the voice continued.”
          “So I hear.” He said and although Dolen could not see it, the speaker raised one eyebrow in slight surprise.
          “It is my understanding you are not working now, are you?” the voice said, it’s tone mistakenly revealing a moment of vulnerability. Dolen laughed, letting it carry through the room until it faded away.
          “Do you think I ever stop?” He was now passing the long table.
          “There’s always a chance. But than again you wouldn’t, would you Mr. Dolen. No, no you wouldn’t.”
          “Do you have something to tell me, Mr. Huntings?” Dolan had stopped in front of the desk. He was close to the seated man. He could have leaned and grasped the man by his neck. Instead he switched on the desk lamp before he could be stopped. Huntings frowned. He must have been in his early forties, his hair dusted with gray, his short beard the same.
          “You are overly cocky, Mr. Dolen”
          “Because I can be.” he shot back, Dolan placing both of his hands on the desk and leaning closer to the man almost cowering, but scowling now. “If I remember correctly you look very familiar.” Dolen’s face warm face sneered uncharacteristically. “I saw you near Oxford, seven years ago. Yes. It was after Donald Capern was killed in the car bomb.” At the moment he mentioned Oxford, Huntings stood and stared right into Alec Dolen’s gray eyes, solid and unflinching before bitterly spitting back,
          “And If I remember correctly you are of great interest to the people at MI-5.”
          “They don’t want to find me. They look because they have to.” Dolen responded turning to follow Huntings’ s motion as he moved to the table. “Of course, I already knew you were aware of that. It’s what I do.”
          “Exactly. Mr. Dolen I am ready to call upon those skills.”
          “Why?”
          “Because you are the only one who can. There is you, and there is me. I choose you.”
          “What is it?”
          “So it is done?”
          “Until I die, I’ll finish this job.” he spoke honestly gazing at Huntings’ hand as it flipped open the folder.
          “This man.” he said, removing a photo and pushing it towards Dolen.
          “Dead?”
          “Very. ”
          “I can do that.” Dolen said shrugging.

Chapter 2

          She awoke just after 4:00. The early rush hour traffic just begin to be noticeable, Nadia peered out her window to the sidewalk below. Three stories up in her Brooklyn flat, the young woman yawned. She folded her arms across her chest and moved over to her thermostat, and turned the dial up several degrees. It had grown cold through the night and the bare floor reflected it. The awkward metal radiators began to click and stir as they prepared to warm. The night before, after she arrived back at 2:00.
          Nadia shuffled into the kitchen where she poured a glass of tomato juice, drank it, and left the glass on the counter. She went back into her bedroom where she pulled a black shirt and pair of pants form her drawer. She piled her blankets back onto her bed, then showered, before dressing again. Her head still wrapped in a towel Nadia refilled her glass and carried it with her into her bedroom.
          The room was large and square, two windows from near the floor stretched to just below the high ceiling. Between them a low queen sized bed with white comforters and gray pillows extended out across the hardwood floor. On the wall to the right of the bed was a wardrobe, to the left a door to a small bathroom. There was nothing on the white walls.
          For the next forty or so minutes Nadia dressed and prepared to leave. She left the apartment at five twenty and headed for the train.
          It was a cement cave, suited and heeled people from every district passed beside her. A train into the station. It was a R. For a moment the platform was flooded with people pushing in every direction. The passengers leaving their car were emptied onto the crowded space, the narrow doors not yet allowing people to enter. Nadia was shoved twice, she swayed to keep her place, waiting. Then it filtered out. People filled the cars again, most of them standing, and people scattered up the stairs, out of view. Then the train pulled away, carrying it’s passengers out of Nadia’s sight as the windows of each car flickered past her, a brief glimpse at complete strangers vulnerable in their oblivion.
          Nadia did not watch them. These things happened hundreds of times a day and now she ignored them. Her mind was ahead of her body, already floating though the night. Where to go, when to be there, how to get there, and what to do. She answered all of these in her head. She was doing nothing, but her mind worked, thinking and wandering. She waited.
          Her train did come. It was a longer wait than any other time of day. Rush hour did that- slow things down. Conductors always had to stick their heads out of their basement sized windows to make sure the doors were clear. It was supposed to confirm that something or someone would be between the doors when they smashed shut. But it still happened, only at rush hour there was always one thing or another keeping the doors opened.
          Nadia slipped on near the end of the car and lightly wrapped her hand around one of the steel poles that lined the car. The doors shut and the train slowly began to pick up speed as it plunged into the darkness of the tunnel. The car rocked back and forth then slowed as it came to another stop. Next to her a man stood and stepped off at the stop. She did not sit, not at this hour, it was too difficult to get off. Between standing up, moving between people and getting to the door she preferred just to stand, particularly near a door.
          She got off three stops later. Nadia worked her way up to the surface, the fresh air hitting her face like cool water. It was dark now, earlier than ever, and the chill air had settled. She pulled the cuffed of her leather coat around her wrists and headed west. The side walks were busy, especially near the theaters, and she keep her hands in her pockets as she walked. At the corner of ninth and forty-eighth, a man penciled silhouettes of the night buildings into the tattered sketching book in his lap. Around him chalk and water colored images of the city and celebrities were scattered, each wrapped in clear plastic. Nadia passed by at the sight of a red street light.
          Her dark hair was casually pulled away from her face, tied once in the back. It brushed only lightly on her back as she walked. Her strides were brisk and long, for she was tall. A group of women on Nadia’s right passed her. She heard them argue about were to find an R station.
          Nadia stopped and pulled open the heavy glass door. The white letters floating on the door spelled “Houlahans”. By the time it shut she was through another and half way up the stairs that winded to above.
          Two stories up, the restaurant window spanned around the corner of it’s building. Oak finished wood shined in the soft lighting alone with deep reds and greens. Nadia stood and absorbed the environment. “The Metro” by Berlin rolled through the air like waves, radiating from a jute-box in the corner. Her eyes searched the room. It was nearly full, and every one in the room talked amongst their parties of two, three, four or so on, all competing with the catchy tune that drifted from the corner.
          Across the room from her, a woman sat alone. She was seating at a table near the corner of the building, just near the intersection that roared below outside. She read the menu silently, never looking up.
          Nadia walked up to her, and sat down. The chairs where high and the woman looked up before Nadia could climb onto it. The woman smiled.
          “Nadia. Getting late.”
          “Only on Saturday’s.” she replied. “Have you ordered?”
          “I was waiting for you.” The woman said, flipping a strand of her strawberry hair away from her face.
          “Rush hour’s a bitch.” Nadia said, leaning back into the chair, vulnerable in a moment of metal exhaustion.
          “I figured as much. No matter.” She said, then out of the blue. “How hungry are you? Are you going to begin with starters, or are you           just going with a meal?”
“Probably just a meal,” then as the red haired woman had done, Nadia too rolled into another thought. Irritated. “Is everything alright, Sarah?”
          “Excuse me?” she looked up. It was clear in Nadia’s eyes that she was serious. “Yes.” She nodded and looked back at her menu.
          “Really?”
          “Is every thing ever alright.”
          “Unless you think it’s wrong.”
          “Well there’s you answer.” Sarah leaned against her arm on the side Nadia sat, and immersed herself into the menu for the third time.
          “Wait, wait, wait.” Nadia said drawing the woman’s hand down, trying force eye contact. “K.V.’s still in on the deal. Right? That was what you said.”
          “You know, Nadia, this is one of those days we need to really practice our flexibility for the more serious of situations, you know?”
          “No, no, no.” Nadia, said, shaking her head. “I don’t do this and you know it. You don’t fuck with the deal. If you don’t know which way is up on your little part to the goddamn game that is your fault and you don’t make a deal, not with me at least. Now tell me K.V.’s still in.”
          “I’m sure he would be-”
          “If-”
          “-if we knew where he was.”
          “How do you lose K.V.? Fuck.” she pause, choosing her words. “Tell me how long I’ve known you.”
          “What?” Sarah asked, throw off by the sudden change..
          “How long would you say that we’ve been trading.” Sarah paused, a single finger frozen on a laminated dish of chicken.
          “Three, maybe four years. Why?”
          “I don’t know really. Most traders usually screw one or another over in the first two years. I just don’t know why you and K.V. waited so long.”
          “What?”
         “I’m sorry I left the flat on such a crappy day for a crappy night.” Nadia stood and began to turn.
         “We waited because we liked you, Nadia. You knew that, you still do. You should never have ended up trading. People have been worse in than you have and they get out sometimes. You can’t walk the line forever.”
         “Save it, Sarah. Give K.V. my regards. He knows he screwed me and I hope he doesn’t forget it any time soon.” And she left. She left Houlahans, she left the partnership, and she left Sarah Paterson alone at her table, silenced in the remaining shame.


         She fumbled the door open and let it fall closed behind her. She fell across the couch and sunk into the depth of the cushions. Nadia ripped the small leather pouch that was tucked in a zipper in the side of the sleeve. She let it fall to the floor in anger. She never held onto hot goods for more than three days, now….now she did not know what to do with the diamonds. The trade was bust, the lift was for nothing, and now she had quarter million in stolen rock laying on her living room floor. Fuck them. Fuck Sarah
         She slammed her neck on the line again and again and after all of it the guillotine had finally fallen. Nadia supposed that was what it felt like, to be abandoned because that’s what she was right at that moment and not all of the diamonds in the world could help her.



         He was sitting a taxi, the only things in his pockets, two envelopes, a lighter, and a gun. It would be twenty-eight hours before he began. Huntings told him to pick up the essentials, anything else Dolan would need could be found where he was going. That was all he knew and it was all he needed to- for the moment. They were now twenty minutes out of London. He leaned forward and told the driver to stop in front of a café. Dolan removed forty pounds from one of the envelopes, passed it to the driver, and left with out a word.
         He entered the small café at quarter past ten, ordered a cup of coffee and sat in the far corner, away from the counter, the window, and other tables. For the first ten minutes he flipped through the local paper he picked up from the counter, then, then a girl brought his coffee over. Dolan nodded and sipped it, folding the paper back up. Then, with one last look around him, he removed the second envelope from his breast pocket.
         Dolan paused, hesitant for a moment. All motion in the café seemed to cease amplifying the little movement outside also. The only sound was a soft song drifting through the café, the steady ripple of coffee brewing. Nothing else. He ignored it and pulled the paper from the envelope. It was typed. No personal crest, no address, and no signature.
         It simply said:

13 Elsberry Road, 3 30 AM
LNA gate 15, 5 30 AM

         He read it twice, then one last time, before replacing it into the envelope. He went back to the local paper, sipping his coffee until he became bored. He took his coffee, taking his envelope in the other and went to the counter, and paid for his coffee and a metal thermos. Outside he walked to a playground, stars only visable in the center of the sky as if they crowded away from the light. It was still empty outside, no one awake so early. He sat at the bottom of a discolored slid and opened his new purchase, He folded his second envelope three times before sliding it into the thermos. Then, Dolan took his receipt, lit it on fire, and dropped it into the thermos, setting it down in the gravel, letting it burn in front of him. For a moment the air smelled of sulfur and smoke, and then it faded into the wind.
         When the flames had burned out, and al that was left was black ashes, he kicked it over and stirred the ashes into the gravel. It was seven sixteen when Alec Dolan left the park that morning.
         He had to finish some things before three thirty.

         Dolan found Lucas Black in the basement of his home four and a half hours later. Black was developing pictures. He didn’t look up from the work submerged in a glossy solution. Dolan waited for his eyes to adjust to the red light before his spoke. He liked to see people’s faces.
         “Lucas.” Black looked up.
         “What do you want? I have to have these pictures dry and shipped by four o’clock. You know what kind of rush that is?”
         “If you call that a rush.”
         “The entire world isn’t exactly in your business, Alec.”
         “I’ve come to call on that favor.”
         “What favor? We’re square. Last one I owed you was that time from Liverpool. You saw me about that one, what was it, six months ago.”
         “Think farther back. Think Freeman pictures.”
         “Aw, no. You’ve got to be kidding me. I fractured three bones, on top of a clean break that week. All in my leg. I couldn’t have done it, and if it wasn’t done he would have killed me. Probably would have sent you.”
         “You owed me money and dead men can’t pay.”
         “I am still taking painkillers-”
         “Lucas, I need to be in a cab headed out of here five minutes from now with fifteen thousand dollars. One thousand of it in one hundred dollar bills, so you’d better start unlocking that safe of yours now. “
         “I don’t have that kind of money now, it’d take about twenty minutes to get to the bank.”
         “How much money are you getting for those pictures?”
         “You are killing me, you know that? You are really killing me.”
         “That’s what I do.”
         “So I hear.”
         Black knelt down and kicked a box away from his feet. He guided his hands over the old carpet. He found something and then shifted his position away a few feet and pulled back a long square of the carpet. Underneath it was a trapdoor. He pulled it up and headed into the darkness for a moment. Dolan’s hand fell to his gun.
         Black emerged again with a stack of bills. He handed it to Dolan and shut up the floor. Dolan counted it, fourteen hundred in thousands and another grand in hundreds.

Chapter 3

         Nadia woke the next day from her couch, the bag of diamonds where she threw them the night before. She scoped them up and took them into the kitchen. She emptied an ice tray into the sink and ran hot water until the ice melted. Nadia filled the tray up with water again and dropped the diamonds in. By the time the water froze they would be invisible. She took permanent marker and put a tiny X on the bottom, just to be safe, then returned the tray next to the other one in the freezer.
         She changed in to running clothes and jogged five miles to her gym. She worked there for an hour on weights, push ups, pull ups, crunches, and swimming. After words she ran back.
         At eleven o’clock she arrived at the Starbucks on Broadway and forty-ninth. Nadia checked into the back room, mostly used for storage, and tucked her purse into a locker. She took the pine green apron out and tied it before heading out front to relieve any one person from the morning shift. Her thoughts about holding a part-time job serving coffee at the nearest chain were that despite the high rewards of stealing what she made an agreement for, it was inconsistent. At this moment particularly she was relieved to have some constant income because she had no buyer in sight for her latest obtainment. If Nadia could be thankful for something it was that she didn’t have first shift.
         Being a Monday, it would be the worst. Every secretary, accountant, and intern in the greater Manhattan area bought coffee every morning, almost all of them at Starbucks. But over the weekend as most people followed a different schedule that didn’t involve waking up at six, the rush to get a morning latte or expresso always was a little more urgent on Monday’s. As if all weekend while they hadn’t been ordering an eight o’clock shot of coffee, somehow the rest of the world had and the capichino machine was going to sputter dry any minute. And the poor souls who dealt with the resulting mobs were those scheduled first shift Monday at Starbucks.
         Clare came fifteen minutes late, taking place for Michael who left as soon as she was visible on the other side of the windows. He dropped his apron in the doorway of the employee’s room, took his headset and left. Nadia thought she heard a quick poka but wasn’t sure. Clare had frosty blonde hair just long enough to tuck behind her ears. She was twenty years old and was working there when Nadia applied. Clare stopped in the doorway way when her eyes caught the clock. She checked her wristwatch and meticulously spun a tiny knob until she was satisfied. Nadia was punching an order of five into the register as Clare joined her. When the line was gone Clare turned to Nadia.
         “How’s your weekend?”
         “Long. Yours?”
         “Fine, Jersey was kind of snowy though.”
         “Was it?” Nadia turned to take an order. The man took his coffee and was seated.
         “Yeah, about four feet of snow. What about the here?”
         “The usual.” Nadia spoke whipping down the counter behind them. “Slushy, really. I think it snowed a bit Friday night.” Clare nodded and stacked small, medium, and Grande sized cups.
         “How did you do on your American lit test?”
         “Okay, I think. I almost over slept though, my alarm didn’t go off.” Then as the line built up again Clare opened the second register again. It was twenty minutes until there was a break again. “Anyway, Michael Graham, who’s in my Lit and Bio class was talking about how he had about thirty police cars around his apartment building this morning. Did you hear anything about that?”
         “Oh?” Nadia said, confused.
         “He lives like forty minutes from most of the classes but he’s got some silver
jeep.”
‘Oh,’ Nadia thought ‘That Michael Graham’ and then she remember how his
friends called him Mike, one even call him Mike ‘n’ Ike after a while, and he had a little
jeep key on his key chain. That Michael Graham.
         “No, I didn’t hear about that. What happened?” she asked, and in her voice was genuine surprise as far as any one else could tell. -


         That night Nadia clocked out at seven after five, and got in just before six thirty. She ordered Chinese food and then showered while she waited for it to come. The apartment was freezing again and she turned the thermostat up to seventy eight. The food came and she paid for it then ate half of a
box, leaving the rest in the fridge.
         It was quarter to eight when she noticed the message on her answering machine. She hit the play button. It was Sarah.
         “Hi, um, This will probably be the last you will hear from me, I just wanted to let you know we searched some of out more dated resources and I have a time for a contact interested in the merchandise. He will be at the seventh peer house at eleven forty five and will wait fifteen minutes if you are interested. He is reliable, but I wouldn’t bring it with you. You know how it is.”
         Nadia stood there for a moment then listened to the message once more. It was just after eight. She had plenty of time to think, and she did. And after two hours she came to the conclusion that she had no choice but to get rid of the diamonds. When else would she get the chance to, let alone how? Nadia called a taxi and then dressed again in long slacks and a long sleeved shirt. She stopped for a moment, went to her bureau and took a small pistol from the bottom draw. It was loaded. Nadia checked the red safety and tucked it into a holster on her belt. She pulled on her jacket, it was long and covered the pistol. She took forty dollars and left.
         The taxi took her to the edge of the harbor, leaving her near the first peer house. She paid him and stood there while he drove away. She looked around the abandon warehouses and listened, but all that could be heard was the distant pounding of cars on the throughway. She began to walk slowly down the narrow roads between the buildings. There were nine in all, in scattered along the sound, where several massive docks harbored ships during the day, unloading what ever the city decided to import right into Manhattan.
         The air was frigid and stinging near the water, the wind blowing straight across the ocean and between the gray warehouses. A distant moon hung in the night sky spilling navy shadows onto the ground. Nadia checked the pistol at her waist. Even though it was small it felt heavy in her hand. Even though it had never been fired outside of a range near New Jersey, she still carried it in case things got bad.
         Nadia took a small flashlight from her coat and checked the red numbers on the side of the warehouses. 5. She found the seventh easily enough and checked the main door, but it was locked. She walked around it and found a second door, also locked. She took to small picks from the inside of her coat and slid them into the lock. It was cold and her bare hands stung from the wind, but their movements weren’t any less precise.
The lock was a Harrison grade B and she had broken them before, it took her just short of a minute. She stepped inside quickly and shut the door. Behind Nadia, her hands turned the lock back into place.
         Inside the peer house was filled with large wooden crates some stacked nearly to the ceiling. The columns formed erratic rows that laid a labrith in front of her. Nadia walked deeper into the peer house, her feet stepping slowly and carefully on the dusty floor. It was incredibly dark at first and then her eyes adjusted and everything became visible in a spectrum of grays. She was tempted to used her flashlight, but would rather have the same advantage of darkness as whoever could have already arrived. There was a doorway to her imediate right. She could hardly see and was tempted to pull out her gun, but hesitated. And by the time Nadia turned around the corner she had forgotten this instinct completely. Things had just gotten bad.


         When he met Huntings at 13, Elsberry Road, at three thirty in the morning he arrived by taxi. He was let out in front of a small ranch house about a mile down the road. He walked the rest of the way. There were two cars waiting for him, both black, both with heavily tinted windows. A man stood near each car, his long trench coat billowing through the darkness. The headlights struck Dolan hard, the high beams striking his pupils like sledgehammers. A man got out of the first car. Callows again.
         He waved his arm into the back seat. Dolan eyes shifted to Callows for a moment and then he slid into the smooth leather seat. Huntings was sitting on the left, turned to the window.
         "I assume you read the memorandum in its entirety?"
         "Yes."
         "As for the rest of your information." Huntings passed him a manila envelope. It was heavy. "The man whom I want killed is named Nathan *****, although, you may find he has gone by other names. Two months ago my associate, traveled to Berlin to exchange an extremely valuable piece with a Ukrainian based associate. He never showed. Five hours later his hotel room was broken into. My associate was stabbed six times and robbed. He was found dead eleven the next morning." Dolan watched his eyes intently but they were stolid and unchanging. "I received a call from an appraiser in New York. He informed me that he received a visit from a lawyer in possession of a piece with an uncanny resemblance to mine."
         "Coincidence?"
         "It was a four-hundred and seventy five caret diamond, cut perfect symmetrically, and seemingly flawless. You, Mr. Dolan, have no idea how rare that it is, let alone priceless."
         "So why was it appraised?"
         "It was more of a verification of authenticity than anything. The lawyer's name is James Gallagher. He is Nathan’s top confidant and has been handling his affairs for the past twelve years. Five years ago, Nathan built a villa in Italy off of the Mediterranean coast. Unfortunatly for you, it is amoungst a five acere estate and I assure up, they are heavily secured. In Mr. Gallagher's safe you will find not only the Diamond, which I must reacquire, but also full floor plans to the villa. The floor plans are for your exclusive use for what ever you choose to utilize them for. I assume they will play a valuable roll in accomplishing your task. You must go to New York and get these things before you begin the final phase in Italy."
         "Is that all."
         "Is there anything else you need to know?"
         "All I need is a name, Mr. Huntings."
         "Alright then. The car behind us will take you to the airport."
         "There is still the matter of my money."
         "Of course. You will receive thirty thousand prior any work on your part in the car thirty minutes from now. There is an address in your envelope and when you obtain the diamond, there you will exchange it for the second installment of your payment. The third you will pick up twenty-four hours after you notify me that he is dead. You will call the number in the envelope and a meeting will be arranged. We will want verification of course. He wears a topez ring on his right hand."
         "I understand."
         "Yes. Then I will see you after all is done. Good morning, Mr. Dolan.” Huntings said, tilting his head as he said good morning. Dolan popped the door open and took a back seat in the car behind Huntings.” It waited until Huntings taillights had vanished from view for at least five minutes, then it left for the airport.
         Dolan lifted head to see where they were going but the roads blurred together once you were so far away form the city.
         “What road are we on?” he asked the driver.
         “Miller.” Dolan thought for a moment before he spoke again.
         “What route are you taking?”
         “Straight down here for ‘bout twenty miles until the thruway then the thruway until exit fourteen. Then up Jamesplace.” Dolan agreed then had the partition shut. He slept for an hour, because it began at the airport.






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