by Nele Neuhaus
The past weeks had been exhausting. The terrorist had disappeared, and the FBI couldn’t figure out whether anthrax cultures had ever been stolen from a laboratory. There was a temporary cease-fire in the mutual mudslinging between Nick and Sergio Vitali. After Cesare Vitali’s autopsy clearly confirmed suicide by hanging with a belt as the cause of death, the press turned to other topics. No evidence suggested foul play was involved in the young man’s death.
Despite the superficial easing of the situation, it seemed like new threatening storm clouds were forming on the horizon. That very morning, Nick found a letter with no return address on his desk. This happened frequently, but this letter was neither postmarked nor did it have a postage stamp. Inside was a threat. You will die if you don’t shut up. It was written on a simple white sheet—a normal piece of copy paper. The script was apparently from a laser printer. No one in the office had a clue how the letter had found its way to the mayor’s desk. Nick had crumpled it up and thrown it into the wastepaper basket, shaking his head. But Frank had fished out the letter and put it in his pocket.
“Nick,” he started carefully after they left the Midtown tunnel behind them and arrived in Manhattan, “I know that you don’t want to hear it, but I’m very concerned about that letter.”
“Good grief.” Nick smiled indulgently. “You know how many threatening letters I’ve received in my life. That’s just the way it is when you’re holding political office. You’re always unpopular with some people.”
“No,” Frank objected, “it’s different this time. Especially in light of what has happened over the past weeks. I have the feeling that this is a serious threat. Maybe it’s this terrorist; maybe Vitali is behind it. You’ve pushed him into a corner pretty hard with your public statements.”
“Anonymous letters aren’t really Vitali’s style.”
“Please, Nick. You need extra personal protection—at least until this whole fuss about Vitali has settled down a bit.”
“I don’t want strangers following me into the restroom,” Nick said, warding off the idea. “Nothing will happen.”
“I’d still prefer if at least your wife had—”
“Mary doesn’t need to know about this,” Nick replied. “It would only upset her. Anyway, she’s going to her sister’s in Montauk with Christopher and his fiancée in a few days to prepare for the wedding. I hope that this whole mess blows over by then.”
Nick smiled at Frank reassuringly.
“Your nerves are overstrained, Frank. You haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. Why don’t you take a weekend off for a change?”
“Because I’m worried about you,” Frank answered. “At least promise me that you’ll stop riding the subway through the city by yourself?”
“Only if you don’t force any bodyguards on me in return.”
Nick closed the issue with a smile, but Frank didn’t give up.
“How did this letter get on your desk? That’s what gives me a headache.”
“I don’t want to hear another word about this ridiculous letter.” Nick shook his head. “Anyone from the cleaning crew could have put it there!”
“Let’s hope so,” Frank sighed, shaking his head.
Raymond Howard was on the phone, preparing for the Fourth of July fireworks show in lower Manhattan. He sat in his office with a phone to each ear, and was trying to simultaneously calm down both the head of the festival, who was close to a nervous breakdown, and the raging chairman of the Veterans Association, when he saw Frank standing in the door. He signaled his colleague to wait and ended both conversations.
“For God’s sake, these idiots,” he fumed. “I can’t take this annual jockeying anymore.”
One of the telephones rang, but he ignored it.
“Good you’re here,” he said to Frank. “You could help me set the seating plan for the official gallery. The president’s daughter is coming, and she’s bringing a friend.”
Then he noticed Frank’s worried expression.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know.” Frank pulled the crumpled note out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Howard. “What do you think about this?”
Howard took the sheet and read the line with raised eyebrows. The second telephone started to ring.
“Hmm,” he said and looked up, “sounds quite determined. What does Nick say about it?”
“He won’t take it seriously,” Frank said in a depressed voice, “as usual.”
“And you?”
“I have this strange feeling. I’ve seen a few threatening letters addressed to him over the past years, but they never threatened to kill him.”
Howard shrugged his shoulders.
“At least he promised not to take the subway for the next few weeks.” Frank folded the sheet and put it into his pocket. “Lhota should earn his wages for a change.”
“Well, that seems like a pretty good idea to me.” Raymond Howard nodded and put his hand on the telephone receiver.
“I hope you’re right.” Frank managed a forced smile. He wondered whether he was the only one who thought that this letter was threatening enough to take seriously.
Just as Alex stepped out of the shower, she heard the telephone ring. The answering machine was turned on as usual, but she listened to hear whose voice would speak after the tone. She hadn’t contacted Sergio since his proposal and was happy that he wasn’t calling to ask for her answer.
“Alex!”
It was Mark, and he sounded unusually agitated.
“Please answer if you’re there! It’s urgent!”
Alex quickly wrapped a towel around herself and grabbed the phone.
“Hey, Mark. What’s so important?”
“Can we meet for dinner tonight?” Mark asked. “We’ve figured out a way to—”
“Hold on!” Alex interrupted. She still feared that Sergio had tapped her telephone line.
“I’ll call you back on my cell phone in a second.” Punching Mark’s number into her cell phone, she stepped out on to the terrace. She’d been invited to Gracie Mansion that evening. Just as Kostidis had promised, she’d received a written invitation. She accepted it after some consideration and also because of Madeleine’s insistence.
“What’s up?” she asked when Mark answered.
“Maybe it would be better not to discuss this over the telephone.” Mark spoke hastily. “Could you fly to Boston with me tonight?”
“No, I’m invited to Gracie Mansion this evening,” Alex replied. “Come on, Mark, tell me. What’s going on?”
“Oliver thinks that it’s virtually impossible to get legal access to the registration documents of an offshore company,” Mark said, “but he had an idea yesterday. We know someone from our college days who works at MIT in Boston. This guy is a real computer geek.”
“Slow down.” Alex shook her head in confusion. “What does this guy have to do with offshore companies?”
“Nothing. But he’s a professional hacker. He works as a programmer at MIT, where he tests the security of software. Oliver’s talked to him over the phone and discussed the problem—without mentioning any names, of course. Our friend knows how to infiltrate computers.” Mark lowered his voice to an excited whisper.
Alex began to understand.
“That sounds pretty illegal.”
“It’s also illegal to trade on insider information.”
Alex contemplated this for a moment. It seemed like this could work. And if it failed, then they’d at least have given it a try.
“We could fly to Boston tomorrow morning,” Mark pushed. Alex felt her heart beating in excitement. She needed to know who was behind these rotten deals. On the other hand, she was afraid of what she might uncover. But her curiosity was ultimately stronger than her fear.
“Book an early flight to Boston,” she said after a short pause. “Leave me a message on my cell phone about when I need to be at the airport. Will Oliver come with us?”
“I thi
nk so. If you’re okay with that.”
“For heaven’s sake, yes!” Alex was worried about spending time with Oliver, but she still looked forward to seeing him again.
“I’ll stay in touch. Have fun tonight.”
Alex drove with Trevor and Madeleine to the mayor’s reception. Security guards checked their invitations and then let them pass through the gate. The colonial-style mansion was in a magnificent park at the East River, nestled between tall, old trees. Since Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia chose this house as his residence in 1942, it had become a tradition for every successor to live here. Alex felt her heart pounding when she entered the house. She wasn’t quite sure whether or not she liked Nick Kostidis, and she also didn’t know whether it was a good idea to accept his invitation. In the foyer, Kostidis rushed toward them with open arms and a hearty smile.
“My wife and I are extremely happy that you’re our guest tonight, Alex,” he said with sincere cordiality.
“It’s an honor and pleasure for me,” she replied politely.
Through the wide-open glass doors, they stepped out onto a large terrace that offered a magnificent view of the East River. Alex met Christopher—Nick and Mary Kostidis’s son—and his fiancée Britney Edwards. Then Kostidis introduced other guests such as Canadian ambassador Jacques Toussaint and his wife Véronique; Patrick Grimford, the legendary publisher of the New York Times; Hollywood actor Michael Campione, who lived in Tribeca; fashion czar Kevin Lang; and Francis Dulong, who was a senior partner of the prestigious law firm Dulong & Kirschbaum.
Alex enjoyed lively conversation. It was wonderful to talk with interesting people and forget about her worries for a while. There were champagne cocktails and Japanese hors d’oeuvres offered to the guests by a liveried waiter. After the sticky July day, the mild evening air added to Alex’s good mood.
Mary Kostidis was an unobtrusive and courteous host. Alex liked her right away. They talked for a long time, and Alex sensed the trust and deep connection between her and Nick that can only result from true love, similar to that shared by the Downeys. She shivered, imagining what it would be like to actually marry Sergio Vitali. At the very least, she would stop receiving invitations to Gracie Mansion. During dinner—which was served in one of the splendid salons, with wide-open terrace doors—Alex sat between Kevin Lang and Michael Campione.
Around eleven, the Canadian ambassador and his wife said their good-byes, which lightened the atmosphere, making it less formal and more sociable. All of the people present seemed to know each other fairly well, and the party moved to a different salon with comfortable sofas and armchairs. Alex was talking to Trevor, Madeleine, Michael Campione, Francis Dulong, and his wife when Nick Kostidis joined them.
“The only possible reason for me to consider running for mayor of New York would be this house,” Trevor said jokingly.
“Really?” Nick replied. “Actually, to be honest with you, it was an important reason for me. And hey, you don’t have to mow your own lawn.”
Everyone laughed. Alex found the mayor was downright likable when he was relaxed like this.
“I hope you’re having a good time.”
“I really am. It’s a highly enjoyable evening.” She smiled.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, I’d love another.”
Nick waved a waiter over to fill Alex’s glass with champagne.
“Let’s go outside for a moment to get some fresh air,” Nick suggested, and Alex agreed. They stepped out onto the terrace. It was a mild, warm night. It almost felt like being in the countryside. The city’s lights sparkled on the river’s ink-black water, and there was a scent of lilac and sweet fading flowers in the air.
“Wonderful.” Alex stepped toward the railing of the terrace, taking a deep breath. “It’s hard to believe that we’re in the middle of New York City.”
“Do you sometimes miss your homeland?” Nick Kostidis asked as he stood behind her. She turned around. He had one hand in his pocket and held his glass with the other, observing her with friendly interest.
“Sometimes I miss certain places where I spent my childhood.” She smiled. “Have you ever been to Germany?”
“Unfortunately not,” Nick replied with regret. “Actually, I’ve never even been to Europe.”
“I spent almost all of my holidays with relatives in France or Ticino,” Alex told him. “My family is large. We have uncles, aunts, and cousins everywhere. I especially liked to go to the mountains in the winter. They’re…one of a kind. Just before the first snow falls, the air is as clear as glass. And when you get up in the morning, the entire countryside is white. And the icy winds really push the snow around on the ground. You don’t really feel the seasons in the city.”
She looked pensively into the park’s darkness.
“I miss the smell of fall—the scent of the moist earth and decaying leaves and the fire. Sometimes in Germany the sky is high and wide, and then it’s all foggy again. In the spring, I clearly remember the feeling I had the first time I could go horseback riding outside and gallop across the meadows after a dark winter. I was so happy.”
Caught in her memories, she paused for a moment without noticing the enraptured way Nick Kostidis looked at her.
“In nature,” Alex continued, “I feel small and unimportant. It puts everything in the right perspective.”
The smile vanished from Nick’s face.
“We take ourselves so seriously,” Alex went on, “our lives, our problems, and everyday worries. Only in the face of nature do we realize how insignificant we really are.”
“Is that what we are? Insignificant?”
Alex looked at him. His question was sincere.
“In comparison to nature—yes. Just think about how many millions of years it took for our earth to form. What’s a human life in comparison to that? And who really cares what you do or what you strive for when you’re gone all of a sudden?”
“Those are frightening thoughts.”
“I don’t know. I think that the steady course of nature is very comforting.”
“You’re a real philosopher,” Nick said. Alex tried to detect if she heard a hint of mockery in his voice, but he was sincere.
“No.” She laughed self-consciously. “I just got a bit carried away.”
She was surprised at how openly she could talk to Nick Kostidis.
“In any case, you’ve sparked my interest about Europe,” Nick said. They looked at each other in silence, and then Alex turned away. She didn’t want this conversation to get too personal.
“I couldn’t believe that I was seated next to Michael Campione, of all people. I had a huge crush on him when I was younger,” she said, smiling.
“Really?” Nick also seemed happy to talk about a harmless subject again. “Mike’s an old friend of mine. We grew up in the same neighborhood and had similarly ambitious dreams.”
“Did you realize your dreams?” Alex asked.
“I’ve reached many of my goals,” Nick said, looking at her seriously, “but it’s a strange thing…”
“You don’t dream about the dark side,” she said, and he nodded.
They stood together in silence.
“Which one of Mike’s films is your favorite?”
Alex looked at him for a moment, and then she laughed in embarrassment.
“If I tell you, then you’ll probably think, Of course, what else.”
“Why?”
The intensity of his dark eyes made her nervous, but she had to admit deep inside that she had misjudged Nick Kostidis. He seemed so likable and authentic now.
“It’s Murder, Inc.”
Voices and laughter could be heard from the house.
“Why should I think that?” Nick asked quietly.
“Well, that could explain my fascination with a man like Vitali, don’t you think?”
Nick shook his head slightly.
“I don’t think that you’re fascinated by him anymore.”
&nb
sp; Alex stopped breathing. How could he know that?
“You got angry when I asked you about him on Christmas Day,” Nick said. “But I think you were insecure, and you got mad at me because I saw that.”
Alex laughed insecurely now.
“Did you study psychology?”
“Something like that.” He smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “I was a US attorney, and I think that I’ve developed a fairly good understanding of human behavior. I—”
Mary Kostidis stepped onto the terrace escorted by a young man. Alex recognized him as the one she’d seen with Nick that evening at the Plaza. But she also knew that she’d seen him somewhere else, and that she had a bad feeling about him.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Mary said. “Nick, Ray wants to talk to you for a second.”
“Yes, of course.” He turned toward Alex. “Would you excuse me please, Alex?”
She nodded, looking after him with a mixture of fascination and uncertainty as he disappeared into the house.
“Come in, Alex,” Mary said in a friendly tone, “we still have a little dessert.”
“What’s so important?” Nick asked his assistant after he’d closed the door to his office.
“Another letter was dropped off for you,” Raymond Howard replied, handing him the envelope with just his name written on it.
Nick ripped the envelope open. You didn’t shut up. You will die.
“Bullshit!” He crumpled the paper indignantly. “Where did you get this?”
“It was dropped off with one of the security guards,” Howard said. Nick shrugged his shoulders and sat down at his desk. He ran all ten fingers through his thick, dark hair and stared out the window into the nighttime blackness of the park.
“By the way, the US Attorney’s Office has ordered a judicial investigation in the case of Cesare Vitali.”
“Why would they do that?” Nick looked at his assistant in consternation. “I thought the autopsy confirmed that it was suicide.”
“Vitali claims that his son was killed.”
“That’s utter nonsense! The kid was all coked up and lost his marbles!”