Senator wavven had great news, and it would cost the Clericuzio five million dollars. So said Giorgio's courier. That demanded a mountain of paperwork. Cross would have to extract five million from the casino cage and leave a long record to account for its disappearance.

Cross also had a message from Claudia and Vail. They were in the Hotel occupying the same suite. They wanted to see him as soon as possible. It was urgent.

Cross started on the paperwork for the transfer of the five million dollars to Senator Wavven. The cash itself would have too much bulk for a suitcase or large overnight bag. He called the Hotel gift shop; he remembered an antique Chinese trunk for sale that was big enough to hold the money. It was dark green decorated with red dragons and superimposed false green gems, and it had a strong locking mechanism.

There was also a call from Lia Vazzi in the Hunting Lodge. He requested to see Cross personally as soon as possible. He did not have to say it was urgent, any request from him had to be urgent or he would not call, and he was already on his way.

Cross worked an hour on this. Senator Wavven was not due in until the next day, a Saturday, and the five million had to be put in his hands before he left early Monday morning. Finally his concentration began to wander and he had to take a break.

"OK," Cross said. "Why don't the two of you go down and gamble and I'll pick you up in the dice pit an hour from now." He paused. "Then we can go for dinner and you can tell me your troubles."

"We can't gamble," Claudia said. "Ernest went over his credit limit and you won't give me credit anymore except for a lousy ten grand."

Gronevelt had taught him how to make the paper trail that legitimized money skimmed from the Hotel casino. It was long and laborious work that involved transfers of money to different accounts, the payment of different suppliers for liquor and food, special training projects and publicity stunts, and a roster of players who did not exist as debtors to the cage.

He called down to Claudia and Vail's suite. Claudia picked up the phone. She said, "I'm having a terrible time with Ernest. We have to talk to you."

Cross sighed. That meant Ernest Vail owed the casino a hundred grand that was just so much toilet paper. "Give me an hour and then come up to my suite. We'll have dinner here."

Cross tried to continue his paperwork. But again his mind wandered. For five million, Senator Wavven was going to have something important to say. For Lia to make the long drive to Vegas, he had to have serious trouble.

Cross had to make another phone call, to Giorgio to confirm the payment to the senator, not that the courier was suspect but it was one of the built-in routines. This they did with verbal code already established. The name was in arbitrary prearranged numbers, the money designated in arbitrary prearranged alphabetical letters.

There was a ring at the door, Security had brought Claudia and Ernest to the penthouse. Cross gave Claudia an extra warm hug because he didn't want her to think he was mad at her for losing in the casino.

In the living room of his suite, he handed them the room service menu and then ordered for them. Claudia sat stiffly on the sofa, Vail slouched back disinterestedly.

"It's not about gambling," Claudia said. And she told him the whole story about Marrion promising to give Vail gross on all the sequels to his book, and then dying.

"Sure, first thing I'll do is cut off all his credit in this town. That will save money, he's the most incompetent gambler I've ever seen."

Vail didn't look so bad to Cross. He seemed truly relaxed, his eyes half closed, a pleased smile on his lips. This irritated Cross.

Claudia said, "Cross, Vail is in terrible shape. We have to do something for him."

"So?" Cross asked.

"Now Bobby Bantz won't honor that promise," Claudia said. "Since Bobby became head of LoddStone Studios, he's gone crazy with power. He's trying his best to be like Marrion but he just hasn't got the intelligence or the charisma. So Ernest is out in the cold again."

"Just what the hell do you think I can do?" Cross asked.

"You're partners with LoddStone in Messalina, " Claudia said. "You must have some clout with them. I want you to ask Bobby Bantz to keep Marrion's promise."

Claudia frowned. "I never understood that," she said. She paused for a moment. "Ernest is serious, he will kill himself so that his family can get back the rights."

"No," Cross said. "I've explained to you before. I can't take a position unless I know the answer will be yes. And here there's no chance."

It was at times like this that Cross despaired of Claudia. Bantz would never give way, that was part of his job and his character.

Cross was enraged that Vail would dare to speak that way in front of Claudia. Luckily, at that moment room service arrived with their rolling tables and set dinner up in the living room. Cross controlled himself as they sat down to eat, but he couldn't help saying, with a cold smile, "Ernest, you can solve everything if you knock yourself off, as I understand it. Maybe I can help. I'll move your suite up to the tenth floor and you can just step out the window."

At this, Vail took an interest. He said, "Claudia, you dumbbell, don't you understand about your brother? If he asks somebody for something and they say no, then he has to kill them." He gave Cross a big grin.

Now Claudia was angry. "This is not a joke," she said. "Ernest is one of my best friends. And you're my brother who always claims to love me and will do anything for me." She was in tears.

Cross got up and went over to hug her. "Claudia, there's nothing I can do. I'm not a magician."

Cross began laughing. He gave Claudia a reassuring pat on the head and went back to his chair. "Do you think this is a fuckin' movie?" he said to Ernest. "You think killing somebody is sort of a joke?"

Ernest Vail was enjoying his dinner. No man looked less likely to kill himself. "You're too modest, Cross," he said. "Look, I haven't got the nerve to jump out of a window. I have too much imagination, I'd die a thousand deaths on the way down thinking how I would look splattered all over the place. And I might even land on some innocent person. I'm too chicken to cut my wrists, I can't stand the sight of blood and I'm scared to death of guns and knives and traffic. I don't want to end up a vegetable with nothing accomplished. I don't want that fuckin' Bantz and Deere laughing at me and keeping all my money. There is one thing you can do: Hire somebody to kill me. Don't tell me when. Just get it done."

Cross left the table and went to his office desk. He unlocked the drawer and took out a purse of black chips. He threw the purse at Ernest and said, "Here's ten grand. Take your last shot at the tables, maybe you'll get lucky. Just stop insulting me in front of my sister."

Claudia laughed. "So he always says, and I agree," she said. "And he's such a terrible coward." But she reached out to touch Vail affectionately.

Claudia seemed abstracted. She was adding up everything in her head but refused to come to a sum total. She looked at the serene handsome face of her brother. He could not be what Vail was saying he was. She kissed Cross on the cheek, and said, "I'm sorry, but I'm worried about Ernest."

"He'll be all right," Cross said. "He likes to gamble too much to die. And he is a genius, isn't he?"

"Why the hell do you stick with him?" Cross said. "Why are you sharing a suite with him?"

Vail was cheerful now. "Come on Claudia," he said. "Your brother is not going to help." He put the purse of black chips into his pocket. He seemed anxious to get started gambling.

"Because I'm his best and last friend," Claudia said angrily. "And I love his books."

After the two left, Cross spent the rest of the night completing the plan to transfer the five million to Senator Wavven. When he finished, he called the casino manager, a high-ranking member of the Clericuzio Family, and told him to bring the money to his penthouse suite.

After the men left, Cross took the huge quilt from his bed and wrapped it around the trunk. Then he ordered room service to bring two breakfasts. Within a few minutes, Security called to tell him Lia Vazzi was waiting to see him. He gave the OK to bring him up.

The money was brought up in two huge sacks by the manager and two security guards who were also of the Clericuzio. They helped Cross stack the money into the Chinese trunk. The casino manager gave Cross a little grin and said, "Nice trunk."

"Bad," Lia said. "That detective who stopped me in the lobby of the Beverly Hills Hotel when I was with Skannet. Jim Losey. He showed up at the Hunting Lodge and asked me questions about my relationship with Skannet. I brushed him off. The bad part is how he knew who I was and where I was. I'm not in any police file, I've never been in trouble. So that means there's an informer."

Cross embraced Lia. He was always delighted to see him.

"Good news or bad news?" Cross asked him after room service delivered breakfast.

"I'll report it to the Don himself," Cross said. "How about you? Do you want to take a vacation down in Brazil until we find out what it's all about?"

That startled Cross. A turncoat was rare in the Clericuzio Family and was always mercilessly rooted out.

Lia had eaten very little. He helped himself to the brandy and Havana cigars Cross put out.

"I'm not nervous, not yet," Lia said. "I'd just like your permission to protect myself against this man."

Cross was alarmed. "Lia, you can't do that," he said. "It's very dangerous to kill a police officer in this country. This is not Sicily. So I have to tell you something you shouldn't know. Jim Losey is on the Clericuzio pad. Big money. I think he's just nosing around to claim a bonus for laying off you."

"I'll take care of it," Cross said. "Don't worry about Losey."

"I will," Cross said. "But no preemptive strikes on your part, OK?"

"Good," Vazzi said. "But it remains a fact. There must be an informer."

Lia puffed on his cigar. "He's a dangerous man. Be careful."

"A little gift to a very important man," Cross said. "Do you want to spend the night in the Hotel?"

"Of course," Lia said. He seemed to relax. Then he said casually, "What's under that quilt?"

"I'll talk to the Don," Cross said.

"No," Lia said. "I'll go back to the Lodge and you can tell me what you learn at your leisure. But my advice would be to get rid of Losey right now."

Senator Warren Wavven and his entourage of three male aides were checked into their Xanadu Villa at three in the afternoon. As usual, he had traveled in an unmarked limo and without any sort of escort. At five, he summoned Cross to his Villa.

Cross always loved the sight of them, the sense of power. Small palaces of Versailles, each with a diamond-shaped emerald swimming pool, and in the center a square holding the pearl-shaped private casino for the Villa occupants.

Cross had two of the security guards put the quilt-wrapped trunk in the back of a motorized golf cart. One of the guards drove and Cross sat in the passenger seat keeping an eye on the trunk, which rested in the cargo space that usually held golf clubs and ice water. It was only a five-minute run through the grounds of the Xanadu to the separately secured compound that held the seven Villas.

Cross carried the trunk into the Villa himself. One of the senator's aides led him into the dining room where the senator was enjoying a sumptuous array of cold food and iced jugs of lemonade. He no longer drank alcohol.

Senator Wavven was as handsome and affable as ever. He had risen high in the political councils of the nation, was the head of several important committees, and was a dark horse in the next presidential race. He sprang up to greet Cross.

Cross whipped the quilt off the trunk and put it on the floor.

"A little gift from the Hotel, Senator," he said. "Have a pleasant stay."

The senator clasped Cross's hand with both of his. His hands were smooth. "What a delightful present," he said. "Thank you, Cross. Now, could I have a few confidential words with you?"

"Of course," Cross said and gave him the key to the trunk. Wavven slipped it into his trouser pocket. Then he turned to his aides and said, "Please put the trunk in my bedroom and one of you stay with it. Now, let me have a few moments alone with my friend Cross."

They left and the senator began to pace the room. He frowned, "I have good news naturally, but I also have bad news."

Cross nodded and said amiably, "That's usually the case." He thought that for the five mil the good news had to be a hell of a lot better than the bad.

Wavven chuckled. "Isn't that the truth? The good news first. And very good news it is. I've devoted my attention in the last few years to passing legislation that would make gambling legal all over the United States. Even the provision to make sports gambling legal. I think I finally have the votes in the Senate and the House. The money in the trunk will swing some key votes. It is five, isn't it?"

The senator shook his head sadly. "Your friends won't like this," he said. "Especially Giorgio, who is so impatient. But he's a fabulous fellow, truly fabulous."

"It's five," Cross said. "And money well spent. Now, what's the bad news?"

"My favorite cousin," Cross said dryly. Of all the Clericuzio he liked Giorgio least, and it was obvious the senator felt the same way.

Then Wavven delivered the bombshell. "The president has told me he will veto the bill."

"And we don't have enough votes to overcome a veto," Wavven said.

Just to give himself time to recover his composure, Cross said, "So the five mil is for the president?"

"So we're nowhere unless the president drops dead," Cross said.

Cross had been feeling jubilant over the final success of Don Clericuzio's master plan. To build a legitimate empire based on legal gambling. Now, he was confused. What the hell was Wavven babbling about?

The senator was horrified. "Oh, no, no," he said. "We're not even in the same party. And besides, the president will be a very rich man when he retires into private life. Every board of directors of every big company will want him. He has no need for petty cash." Wavven gave Cross a satisfied smile. "Things work differently when you are the president of the United States."

"Exactly," Wavven said. "He is a very popular president, I must say, though we are in opposing parties. He will surely be reelected. We must be patient."

"That's not exactly true," the senator said, and here he faltered a bit. "I must be honest with you. In five years the composition of the Congress may change, I may not have the votes I have now." He paused again. "There are many factors."

"So we have to wait five years and then hope to get a president who won't veto?"

He felt a flash of anger. This bastard was giving him a message for the Clericuzio: The senator had done his part, now they had to kill the president of the United States to get the bill passed. And he was so slick and so sly, he had not implicated himself in any concrete way. Cross was sure the Don would not go for it, and if he did, Cross would refuse to be part of the Family ever after.

Cross was completely bewildered now. What the hell was Wavven really saying? Then the senator tipped his hand. "Of course if something happens to the president, the vice president will sign the bill. So, as malicious as it sounds, you have to hope that the president has a heart attack or his plane crashes, or he has an incapacitating stroke. It could happen. All of us are mortal." The senator was beaming at him and then suddenly it all became clear to Cross.

Cross could scarcely believe what the senator was saying. Senator Wavven was the personification of the virtuous All-American politician, though admittedly with a weakness for women and innocent golf. His face was honorably handsome and his voice patrician. He presented himself as one of the most likable men on earth. Yet he was implying that the Clericuzio Family assassinate his own president. This is a piece of work, Cross thought.

The senator was now picking at the food on the table. "I'm only staying for one night," he said. "I hope you have some girls in your show who would like to have dinner with an old geezer like me."

Wavven was going on with an affable smile. "It looks pretty hopeless but you never know. Fate may take a hand and the vice president is a very close friend of mine, even though we're from different parties. I know for a fact, he will approve my bill. We just have to wait and see."

Back in his penthouse suite Cross called Giorgio and told him he would be in Quogue the next day. Giorgio told him the Family driver would pick him up at the airport. He didn't ask any questions. The Clericuzio never talked business on the phone.

Cross gave a detailed report: how he had delivered the five million to Senator Wavven and then, word for word, his conversation with him.

When Cross arrived at the Quogue mansion, he was surprised to find a full attendance. Assembled in the windowless den were not only the Don, but also Pippi, and the Don's three sons, Giorgio, Vincent, and Petie, and even Dante, wearing a sky-blue Renaissance hat.

There was no food in the den, dinner was to come later. As usual the Don made everyone look at the photos of Silvio and the christening of Cross and Dante on the mantelpiece. "What a happy day," the Don always said. They all settled in on chairs and sofas, Giorgio handed out drinks, and the Don lit up his twisted black Italian cheroot.

There was a long silence. None of them needed Cross's interpretation. Vincent and Petie looked the most concerned. Now that Vincent had his chain of restaurants, he was less inclined to take risks. Petie, though he was head of the soldiers in the Bronx Enclave, had his enormous construction business as his primary concern. They did not relish such a terrible mission at this stage of their lives.

The Don said to Cross, "Are you sure that was the message the senator was sending us? That we should actually assassinate the leader of our country, one of his colleagues in government?"

Giorgio said dryly, "They're not in the same political party, the senator says."

"That fucking senator is crazy," Vincent said.

Dante spoke up. He was excited by the idea, by the glory, by the profit. "We can get the whole gambling business, legal. That would be worth it. That's the biggest prize."

Cross answered the Don. "The senator would never incriminate himself. He just presented the facts. I think he assumes we will act on it."

The Don turned to Pippi. "And what do you think, Martello of mine?" he asked affectionately.

Dante said in a taunting voice, "Cousin Pippi, if you can't do it, I can."

Pippi looked at him contemptuously. "You're a butcher, not a planner. You couldn't plan something like this in a million years. This is too big a risk. This is too much heat. And the execution is too difficult. You cannot get away free."

Pippi was obviously angry. "It can't be done and it shouldn't be done."

The Don was respectful to his grandson. "I'm sure you could," he said. "And the rewards would be very great. But Pippi is right. The aftermath would be too risky for our Family. One can always make mistakes, but never make a fatal mistake. Even if we were successful and achieved our aim, the deed would hang over us forever. It is too great a crime. Also, this is not a situation that endangers our existence, it is simply one that achieves a purpose. A purpose that can be achieved with patience. Meanwhile, we sit in a pretty position. Giorgio, you have your seat on Wall Street, Vincent, you have your restaurants, Petie, you have your construction business. Cross, you have your hotel and Pippi, you can retire and spend your last years in peace. And Dante, my grandson, you must have patience, some day you will have your gambling empire, that shall be your legacy. And when you do, it will be without the shadow of a terrible deed hanging over your head. So -- let the senator swim to the bottom of the ocean."

Dante said arrogantly, "Grandfather, give me the job. I'll get it done."

Vincent and Petie laughed. The Don shook his head disapprovingly. "Another thing," Don Clericuzio said. "I think we for now should continue all our ties with the senator. I don't begrudge him the extra five million, but I take it as an insult that he thinks we would kill the president of our country to further a business venture. Also, what other fish does he have to fry? How does this act benefit him? He seeks to manipulate us. Cross, when he comes to your hotel, build up his markers. Make sure he has a good time. He is too dangerous a man to have as an enemy."

Only Dante seemed to disagree. He said to Pippi, "You've got a lot of balls, calling me a butcher. What are you, a fucking Florence Nightingale?"

Everyone in the room relaxed, the tension broken; except for Dante, all were happy with the decision. And all agreed with the Don's curse that the senator should drown. That he had dared to put them in this dangerous dilemma.

Everything was settled. Cross was hesitant about bringing up another sensitive problem. But he told the story of Lia Vazzi and Jim Losey. "There could be an informer inside the Family," Cross said.

Dante said coolly, "That was your operation, that's your problem."

The Don shook his head decisively. "An informer cannot be," he said. "The detective found something by accident and he wants a bonus to stop. Giorgio, take care of it."

Giorgio said sourly, "Another fifty grand. Cross, that's your deal. You'll have to pay it out of your hotel."

Vincent's granite features softened. "I'm opening three more," he said. "One in Philly, one in Denver, and another in New York City. High class. Pop, would you believe I charge sixteen dollars for a plate of spaghetti? When I make it at home, I figure out the cost is half a buck a plate. No matter how hard I try, I can't make it more than that. I even put in the cost of the garlic. And meatballs, I'm the only high-class Italian restaurant that serves meatballs, I don't know why, but I get eight dollars for them. And not big ones. They cost me twenty cents."

The Don relit his cigar. "Now that we are all here together, are there any other problems? Vincent, how is your restaurant business?"

He would have gone on but the Don cut him off. He turned to Giorgio and said, "Giorgio, how goes your Wall Street?"

Giorgio said cautiously, "It goes up and down. But the commissions we get for trading are as good as the shylocks get on the streets if we churn it enough. And with no risk of deadbeats or jail. We should forget about all our other business, except maybe gambling."

The Don was enjoying these recitals, success in the legitimate world was dear to him. He said, "And Petie, your construction business? I hear you had a little trouble the other day…"

Petie shrugged. "I got more business than I can handle. Everybody's building something and we have a lock on the highway contracts. All my soldiers are on the payroll and make a good living. But a week ago, this eggplant shows up on my biggest construction job. He's got a hundred black guys behind him with all kinds of civil rights banners. So I take him into my office and all of a sudden he's charming. I just have to put ten percent blacks on the job and pay him twenty grand under the table."

That tickled Dante. "We're getting strong-armed?" he said with a giggle. "The Clericuzio?"

Petie said, "I tried to think like Pop. Why shouldn't they make a living? So I gave the eggplant his twenty grand and told him I'd put five percent on the job."

"I would have killed the black son of a bitch," Dante said. "Now, he'll come back for more."

"And we will give him more," the Don said. "Just so long as they are reasonable." He turned to Pippi and said, "And what troubles do you have?"

Dante didn't wait to be questioned. "I'm in the same boat," he said to the Don. "And I'm too young to retire."

"You did well," the Don told Petie. "You kept a small problem from becoming a big problem. And who are the Clericuzio not to pay their share in the advancement of the other people and civilization itself?"

"None," Pippi said. "Except that now the Family is nearly nonoperational and I'm out of a job."

"That is your good fortune," the Don said. "You've worked hard enough. You've escaped many perils, so now enjoy the flower of your manhood."

"Play golf like the Brugliones, " Don Clericuzio said dryly. "And don't worry, life always provides work and problems. Meanwhile, be patient. I fear your time will come. And mine."