Swimming with Sharks (80 page)

“I’m going for a little walk,” she said. “I need to be alone for a few minutes.”

Oliver looked after her as she crossed the courtyard, disappearing in the cloister’s darkness. It hurt him to see her so broken, so tormented, but he had long since realized that he wasn’t the one who could give her the comfort that she needed.

On the way to his family’s gravesite, Nick Kostidis didn’t encounter a single soul. The noise of the city was muffled by the thick walls. A few mockingbirds argued loudly in the tall yew trees, and two gray squirrels chased each other in the tops of the old oaks. The sun had melted the snow and left just a few remnants beneath the trees and in the shadow of the wall. It would snow again that evening. The clear, cold air smelled like it. Nick sat on the bench and stared at the gravestones, etched with the names of his entire family: his father, mother, two brothers, and now also Mary and Christopher. The pain of their loss overcame him so unexpectedly and violently that tears sprang to his eyes. He bent his head back and stared up at the sky. It was almost dark in the east. The first stars sparkled coldly and inaccessibly from afar, and the pale crescent moon announced the coming night. This was the night that would bring Sergio Vitali’s demise. An airplane passed silently, high above in the sky. The setting sun illuminated it and made its metallic body sparkle. How wonderfully quiet it was here! The cemetery was an oasis of peace and tranquility. Nick wasn’t frightened by the thought of sitting among all these dead people. The prospect of one day overcoming all doubt and sorrow calmed him.

“They’ll arrest him tonight, Mary,” he said quietly. “Today is the day that I’ve dreamed of for so long. Maybe I should rejoice, but I can’t. This was supposed to be my victory, but the victory is bittersweet.”

Nick shivered in the cutting cold of the December evening.

“Oh, Mary,” he exclaimed, “why didn’t I take more time for all of you? I keep thinking that I didn’t give you a good life. Why did I work so much and leave you alone? In all those years, you never complained.”

A tear rolled down his cheek.

“I always thought that we had so much time left, but suddenly…suddenly we ran out of time. Can you forgive me, Mary? I know these are just empty words, but if I had a chance to do things differently, I would.”

He felt so completely alone; he covered his face with his hands and sobbed. His guilty feelings were worse than the loss, even worse than
his own terrible regrets. He was forced to suffer for everything that he’d missed out on with Mary. And still, Nick couldn’t help it that his grief for his family was mixed with a longing for Alex. It seemed inappropriate to him, almost like a betrayal, to be thinking about another woman at his wife’s grave.

He suddenly noticed a movement in the distance and raised his head. His heart started pounding when he saw Alex, strolling along the path, her head lowered and her hands dug deep in the pockets of her jacket. When she noticed his gaze, she walked over to him.

“I didn’t even know you were here,” she said quietly. “I thought you’d be there for the arrest.”

“No,” Nick said, shaking his head and quickly wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. “That’s none of my business anymore.”

Alex looked at him for a long time.

“Sit down,” he invited her. She hesitated.

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me.” He reached out his hand for her, and she sat next to him on the edge of the bench. In the fading daylight, her face looked almost as beautiful as before. They sat there in silence for a while.

“You should be there tonight,” Alex finally said. “You fought for this for so many years.”

“Did I really fight for this?” Nick shrugged his shoulders. “If I did, then I was wrong. It cost me everything I had.”

Alex turned toward him, and their eyes locked.

“Nick,” she said, almost shyly taking his hand, “I want to thank you—for everything that you’ve done for me.”

The sad, depressed expression in her eyes seemed to mirror the state of his own soul. Here they were now—two human beings treated unpleasantly by fate. After just barely escaping death, both of them would never view life the same way again. Both were devastated—marked forever by their experience, now condemned to be outsiders. For Nick, everything
that was essential to him before now seemed unimportant: his reputation, other people’s opinions, absolute justice. Nothing was perfect or absolute in this world. Nick could live with this. He had no other choice. He’d lived the majority of his life, had celebrated great successes and triumphs over the course of a distinguished career. He was thankful for everything. He had more modest plans for his future, but what about Alex? She was still so young! Could she keep living with what she had experienced? Was she strong enough to forget what had happened?

“Why didn’t I listen to you before?” Alex broke the silence.

“You mean when we met at the Plaza?”

“Yes. You warned me about him, but I didn’t want to listen.”

Nick shrugged his shoulders.

“We have to have painful experiences on our own. Well-meant advice doesn’t replace life experience.”

“I did everything wrong,” Alex said and sighed. “I was arrogant and vain and enamored with success.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Vitali and Levy are criminals, and they’ll get their just punishment. St. John also knew what he was getting himself into—trust me. Sooner or later, Vitali’s entire empire would have collapsed anyway. Not only because of you, but thanks to Nelson van Mieren’s testimony.”

“I’m still so discouraged. I can’t stand the guilt.”

“I also keep blaming myself,” Nick said. “I wonder why my family had to die and I’m allowed to live. There’s no answer.”

Alex gave him a steadfast look.

“On the evening when you returned to the city,” Nick said quietly, “I was so happy. I was so relieved that nothing had happened to you. I was totally overwhelmed by my feelings. But then I felt guilty, because Mary is dead and will never feel happiness again.”

Alex sighed. Her breath drifted like a white cloud in the ice-cold air.

“Do you think that they will convict Sergio?”

“There is no way out for him this time,” Nick said with conviction. “I’m sorry that you have to go through all of this. The trial, the media hype, the slander of the defense trying to discredit you in every possible way.”

“I don’t care.” Alex let go of his hand. “It will give me satisfaction to see him tried. He hurt and humiliated me so deeply that every part of me is screaming for revenge. Something inside of me is broken forever. How could things get any worse?”

She shuddered.

“You’re cold,” Nick observed. “Let’s go inside.”

They stood up and walked slowly back to the monastery buildings. When they reached the church’s side entrance, Alex stopped. It was almost dark now.

“Will I see you again?” she asked. Alex’s eyes seemed unnaturally large in her pale, thin face. Nick thought about Oliver Skerritt. How he sat on the bench earlier today with his arm around her shoulders.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he replied.

“But I want to see you again,” she whispered.

After hesitating briefly, Nick nodded. “I need to go to Father Kevin, but it’ll only be for an hour.”

They entered the church. A slight smell of incense and fir boughs was in the air, reminding them that Christmas was just around the corner. The old Jesuit priest’s steps on the church’s polished marble floor echoed. Behind the high altar, they turned into the church’s side aisle. They entered the cloister through a small gateway connecting the church with the other monastery buildings, and went their separate ways.

Walking to her room in the monastery, Alex thought about Sergio. Today was his big day. She had accompanied him to the ball last year, and she remembered the magnificent party vividly. How arrogant and confident she had been back then! And Sergio…she felt a chill as she
thought about him. At this moment, he was probably about to leave for the St. Regis looking handsome, meticulously dressed, and in the best of moods—with no clue what awaited him tonight. Or did he have a premonition? Had something leaked through somewhere? Maybe he had been warned and was on his way to South America or Europe. Alex felt a chill at the thought that he might escape. As long as he was free man, she wouldn’t be safe anywhere. Not even here behind the thick walls of this monastery.

Sergio Vitali stood in the gallery of the grand ballroom, looking around in satisfaction. The big charity ball had been organized by his VitalAid Foundation on behalf of disabled children. It was in its fifteenth year and was already a complete success. Every year was more magnificent than the last and its invitations more coveted. Sergio smiled. Even though Sharon Capriati had turned out to be a bitch, she was a true master of her trade. She had created the perfect scenery in just forty-eight hours: snow-covered pavilions and small forests, ice sculptures, and millions of Christmas lights and candles had transformed the bland ballroom, foyer, and adjoining rooms into a winter wonderland. The buffet table was loaded with the most exquisite delicacies prepared by the chefs of the hotel’s own posh Lespinasse restaurant, and the most expensive French champagne bubbled from the fountain.

Sergio Vitali couldn’t care less that Vincent Levy didn’t attend the ball this year. Clarence Whitewater was also missing and—unfortunately—also Nelson van Mieren. But that’s the way things were. Some people left, others joined. Sergio understood perfectly well how to select new people he could use. Even if some ambitious, young US attorney tried to shake his throne, it didn’t bother him much. Nick Kostidis had tried to take a
crack at him in the past; now it was someone else. But none of them stood a chance. He had the better connections, and this ball was the ultimate proof of his unshakable power. Storms came and went. Some people were sucked up by them and swept away. But he—Sergio Vitali—withstood them all. He was untouchable.

Four men sat in an inconspicuous dark Chevy across from the St. Regis and observed the guests’ arrival. They didn’t talk much, and their faces were tense. Shortly after ten, the message the men were waiting for was transmitted over the radio.

“All units are at their posts,” the voice squawked from Deputy Spooner’s radio. “The entire building is sealed off.”

“What about Vitali’s people?” the US marshal asked in return.

“They won’t notice. They’re busy with the events at the hotel.”

US Attorney Lloyd Connors exchanged a glance with Gordon Engels.

“Okay. We’re going in,” he said curtly, grabbing a briefcase that was sitting by his feet. His heart was beating in his throat, and he noticed his palms were clammy from the excitement. The time had come. Nothing should go wrong. Deputy Spooner pressed the button on his walkie-talkie.

“To all units,” he said. “We’re coming in through the main entrance. Team C and D will follow, and secure the entrance, the elevators, and the foyer. Keep it low-key, understood?”

He waited for acknowledgment from his men, and then he nodded. The four men got out and crossed Fifth Avenue at Fifty-Fifth Street. Then they entered the Beaux-Arts-style hotel. Another group of four men got out of a vehicle parked further up the street. As was typical of a big society event held in New York, onlookers and press people
were gathered behind barriers. Vitali’s security personnel denied access to any unauthorized person, but Spooner had prepared for that in his minutely detailed operation plan. Each of his men knew the stakes. They were intercepted at the magnificently decorated foyer’s entrance by these men, who’d exchanged their regular suits for tuxedos on this festive occasion.