Swimming with Sharks (49 page)

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t know,” Alex sighed, “but I can’t go on like this. I know enough about Vitali to be seriously frightened of him. This man is capable of anything.”

Suddenly, she had to fight her rising tears.

“Mark, I’m in deeper than you can imagine. This is no longer about right and wrong, or a betrayal of trust—it’s about my life!” She bit her lip. “If Vitali finds out what I know, I’m as good as dead! He had Gilbert Shanahan killed because he wanted to get out, too.”

“My God,” Mark whispered in terror, “did you tell Oliver?”

“He suspected it the whole time,” Alex replied in resignation. “He insinuated it when we first met at Battery Park. I should have believed him and left LMI.”

Her office, guarded by thick glass panels that muted any noise from the trading floor, was silent.

“I’m resigning,” Alex said. “That’s actually what I wanted to tell you. I want to thank you for all of your hard work, and especially for your loyalty. I could always trust you.”

“It was my pleasure.” A sad smile flitted across Mark’s face. “You’re definitely the best boss I’ve ever had. If you’re looking for an assistant at your new job, let me know.”

Alex attempted a smile, then she wondered whether she should tell Mark about her conversation with Carter Ringwood. He deserved to know the truth because he had worked as hard on the Whithers deal as she had. She pulled herself together and told him what she had done.

Mark didn’t seem shocked. “I hope you know what you’re doing. If this comes out, then you’re done.”

Alex nodded. “I’m not sure if I did the right thing.”

“You’re going to blow up the deal in order to pull one over on Vitali, Levy, and St. John, right?”

Alex nodded again. Then Mark leaned across the desk and grabbed her hand.

“No matter what happens, Alex, I’m on your side. I also think that I’ve spent enough time in this joint. Maybe I’ll quit, too.”

“Don’t make any rash decisions. I’m in deep trouble, but you’re not. You still have a future.”

“There probably won’t be any M&A department left.” He smiled and stood up. “I’ve somehow already gotten used to the idea.”

After he left her office, Alex closed her eyes and sighed. There was nothing left of her ambition, and she suddenly longed for an average life, with a small family, a nice house with a yard, and someone who loved her.

Alex left her apartment through one of the back exits. Her blonde hair was hidden under a baseball cap. She was wearing a worn-out leather jacket, blue jeans, and heavy Doc Martens. She was unrecognizable.

Alex walked past the Dumpsters in the courtyard and entered the neighboring building. She and Oliver had identified all of the possible escape routes when she moved in, and she used them to remain undetected by Sergio’s people. She had already noticed people waiting for her and tailing her from the LMI Building, and she recognized most of them. Perhaps Sergio hadn’t yet found out where she lived.

Alex turned onto the lively Greenwich Street with its row of restaurants. New businesses were opening on an almost daily basis ever since an affluent crowd discovered this part of the city. It was just before nine, and the sidewalks were still filled with people. Indian summer had been unusually warm this year, and the bars set their tables and chairs on the sidewalks.

Alex turned onto Chambers Street. In small side alley, she finally found the inconspicuous restaurant Nick had invited her to. She heard muted Greek folk music as she entered a large room. Its ceiling and walls were decorated with realistic-looking plastic vines, creating a pergola-like effect. Its many cheap replicas of famous statues, pictures of the Acropolis, and photographs of the blue Mediterranean Sea with dazzling white houses hinted at the owner’s homesickness.

Most of the tables were still empty, and the waiter led her to the corner. Alex ordered a glass of white wine. Shortly after nine, two men entered the restaurant—looking around and inspecting it suspiciously. Nick came in shortly thereafter. He smiled at Alex, but stopped to exchange a few words with the chef before walking over to her table.

“Good evening, Alex.”

“Hello, Nick.” She smiled somewhat nervously.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said. “I ordered two saganaki as appetizers and souvlaki after that.”

He winked at her, grinning slightly.

“It’s not exactly Le Cirque, but Konstantinos makes the city’s best souvlaki.”

“Whatever that is, I believe you.”

They looked at each other for a moment without saying a word. Alex noticed that Nick looked exhausted and that his face had become thinner. His hair was longer than usual, and a bluish five o’clock shadow covered his cheeks.

“Do you speak Greek?” she asked, just to make conversation.

“A little bit. My mother never learned to speak English properly. People in Greece would immediately identify me as a foreigner, but Konstantinos likes it when I speak Greek with him.”

“But you’re Catholic, right? I thought people in Greece are usually…”

“Greek Orthodox,” he said, nodding. “My parents weren’t religious. They didn’t care what I did. There was a young priest in our neighborhood who looked after the street kids—Father Kevin, you met him the other day. He gave me books to read and took me to church, where I became an altar boy. I think I liked Catholicism’s simple dogmatism of good and evil as a child, and that’s how I’ve felt ever since.”

Nick folded his hands and rested his chin on them. She looked at him closely for the first time. Alex noticed that his eyes weren’t black but rather a very dark brown. They were beautiful and expressive, filled with warmth and a hint of melancholy.

“I believe that there is a certain period in everyone’s life where their character is set for the rest of their days,” he said pensively. “For me it was the time when I discovered the world of education and faith through the Jesuit priest. Good and evil, black and white—that was my perspective of life for forty years. But now I see that this isn’t quite accurate. There are other colors as well.”

The waiter served them an appetizer of baked feta cheese, with tomatoes and cucumber. They clinked their wine glasses and ate in silence.

“Are things going well for you, Nick?” Alex asked after she had finished. A shadow flitted across his face, and he waited until the waiter had cleared the table.

“No,” he replied and sighed. “I’m not doing very well. I immerse myself in my work during the day, and sometimes I even manage not to think about Mary and Chris. But when I come home at night, it feels like I’m standing before an abyss. Mary had always been there—for thirty years.”

His gaze was empty and hollow-eyed. Alex suspected that something was gnawing at him somewhere deep inside; a wild cry waiting to erupt, just as it had at the cemetery.

“I often think about asking her opinion about this and that, and then I realize that she’s not there anymore. It’s terrible.”

Alex looked at him sympathetically. She really wanted to grab his hand and say something consoling, but she couldn’t—not here in public, with his bodyguards watching from the neighboring table.

“People treat me like a monster.” He shook his head in helpless desperation. “Most of the people who I thought were my friends have distanced themselves from me. No one dares to speak to me about Mary, and that’s why they don’t invite me out anymore. Maybe they’re afraid I might burst into tears at the table and embarrass them.”

“They’re not real friends then,” Alex replied. “I wouldn’t be embarrassed if you cried here and now.”

Nick looked at her, and for a moment she thought that he would actually break down.

“I know,” he said, his voice gruff, “and believe it or not, that’s a great comfort to me. It’s strange that even though we hardly know each other, I don’t feel the need to pretend when I’m with you.”

He took a sip of wine. They remained silent for a moment, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.

“Are you really considering resigning?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “Everything I do seems pointless now. But whenever I’m about to give up, I feel I have a great and important duty to perform on behalf of my constituents. I gave them my word, and they trust me. How can I just give up on everything?”

He smiled slightly.

“I have the bank statements for you,” Alex said abruptly. “I thought that was why you wanted to meet with me.”

The smile vanished from Nick’s face.

“You’re still suspicious,” he said, “and I can’t blame you for it. I admit that I actually tried to get information about Vitali from you last Christmas at the Downeys’. But then…”

Alex’s heart started pounding again when she felt his gaze. It was as penetrating as it had been at the Lands End House.

“Then I learned that you’re friends with the Downeys, and I thought that this woman couldn’t possibly be on Vitali’s side if she also spends her weekends with Trevor and Maddy.”

She turned and pulled the rolled-up printouts from her jacket. She had taken them from the bank safe-deposit box that afternoon. Nick stared blankly at the sheets, but then he put on his reading glasses, spread out the papers, and started to read with an expressionless face.

“Unbelievable,” he murmured after a while. “McIntyre…and here, Alan Milkwood from the Department of Buildings and Jerome Harding—those corrupt bastards.”

“Did anyone ever try to bribe you?”

“More than once,” Nick said, looking up, “over and over again. Not only with money. They also offered trades: a kindergarten in return for a building permit, a donation to the NYPD widows and orphans fund in return for dropping criminal charges. That’s how things go in New York City.”

He sighed.

“I’ve always resisted. It’s difficult; at times the temptation is strong. The city has no money to build new schools, and who really cares whether
a skyscraper turns out to be three stories taller if hundreds of kids in Harlem or the Bronx enjoy a state-of-the-art kindergarten in return? I’ve stood in my own way many times.”

“Can you use these bank statements for something?” Alex wanted to know.

“If they’re real, then definitely.” Nick smiled grimly and looked at the next page. “I would have been ecstatic if I had gotten my hands on something like this during my days as a US attorney. This is more than just the tip of the iceberg—this is the whole conspiracy.”

“Why don’t you pass it on to the US Attorney’s Office?”

“Alex!” He put the papers down and looked at her seriously. “This is pure dynamite! This is more than just a few headlines in the newspaper. These names and numbers will shake this city’s power structure to the core, and none of these people will simply put up with being accused of corruption. There will be extensive legal proceedings, libel actions, allegations, possibly even deaths. I’ve seen it happen before: in the seventies and eighties with the Mafia, and with Wall Street after that.”

He stared at the stack of papers, shuffled them nervously, and then looked up again.

“Believe me. I know how this goes, how much work is involved, how often the accused manage to squirm their way out with the help of their clever lawyers.”

“But a US attorney, a judge, or even a governor is finished when the public finds out he’s corrupt, right?”

“Yes, that’s true,” Nick admitted, “but do you know what power-hungry people are capable of when they realize they’ve been cornered?”

The waiter served the entrées, and Nick fell silent. They waited until the food was laid out.

“I’m not interested in all those people.” Alex lowered her voice. “This is about Vitali.”

“Because of personal vengeance or hurt vanity?”

“No! This man kills people who stand in his way. I know it! With my own ears, I heard someone tell him that David Zuckerman had been silenced.”

Nick looked at her pensively; then he put his cutlery down.

“Okay,” he said in a sober voice, “let me explain to you how this would work. I hand this material over to the US Attorney’s Office or the FBI. They investigate and possibly conclude that there’s something to it. Vitali is arrested, but thanks to his connections, he’s most likely released on bail. If charges are actually brought against him, then you’d be the main witness for the prosecution.”

Alex swallowed nervously.

“This would not be the first time we thought we had enough evidence to take down Vitali. But our witnesses always failed us. Some of them lost their memory overnight, and others disappeared without a trace. Sometimes they were found again in a landfill or floating in the river. Vitali is merciless. Would you want to live with a new identity somewhere in the Midwest for the rest of your life, constantly in fear that one day they’ll find you?”

He shook his head.

“In the past, I would have done anything to get to Vitali. Today, I doubt whether something could be right if it costs a person’s life.”

Alex licked her dry lips.

“What would you do in my position, Nick?” she whispered. “I can’t go on like this. I’m scared of him, but I still want him to be brought to justice.”

Nick stared at her.

“You’re very brave. And intelligent. I admire that about you.”