Prologue

Friday, June 20, 2003, 6:36 a.m., Center City Philadelphia

Mel Hawthornes feet hit the concrete wall first. He lowered himself to the city structures top row of windows and removed his squeegee from his harness. The winds pushed the envelope at about twenty miles per hour, blowing him off course several times. Undeterred, Mel repositioned himself and continued on his path.

He completed four or five floors and approached his next target. Then he saw her: a woman seated in a chair with her back to the window, a man standing directly in front of her. The man knelt on the floor beside the woman, grabbed her hair and jerked her head back, hard. Mels stomach hurled toward street level when he saw the blade appear, reflecting the sunlight that poured into the room from behind him. He knew instantly that he was probably too late

Chapter One
Friday, May 30, 2003, 7:00 a.m., Center City Philadelphia

Dean Polaris leaned across his mentors desk and quickly surrendered the ill-fated report, feeling the furrow in his brow deepen as he began rubbing his temples. His coveted golden egg had just turned into a hot potato: the miracle cancer cure hed be unveiling to the world in less than two hours was somewhere south of truly miraculous.

Through squinted eyes he looked up at his mentor, whoas he overlooked the City of Brotherly Love from his 54th floor windowwas apparently pondering the impact of Deans newfound knowledge.

Dean shifted his weight in the chair. Jack Rochelles silence signified that he was manufacturing one of his famous analogies, an analogy from which Dean would be forced to draw his own conclusions on how to proceed with the informationan analogy that would undoubtedly serve to avert any chance of self-incrimination for Jack.

Jack released a long, guttural breath, something between a sigh and throat clear. I have a one-of-a-kind 1955 Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith that I keep under lock and key at the Manor. Her body is in pristine condition; she rarely sees the light of day. Shes worth a fortune, he said as Dean watched him study the city. I routinely receive absurd offers from antique car dealers, particularly after she was featured in Collectible Auto, although shes not for sale.

His mentor turned and faced him.

Shes a beauty. Now what if the engine were held together with spit and glue? Would I have told Collectible? No, Dean. I wouldnt have, becausebased on how I wouldve delicately managed the flow of informationin the long run, it wouldnt have mattered. As far as Collectibles editors and photographers are concerned, shes a classic work of art. To them, and to their audience, its whats on the surface that counts. The photographer was there to take still shots, not a test drive. The writer couldve made up the details if he had to, if I convinced him to. Its what their audience wanted to see and believe that was important.

Dean watched his mentor hobble back to his chair and slide into it. He clearly understood Jacks message, as ambiguous as it was intended to be.

Turning a blind eye was not typically a problem for Dean. But this situation was far different, and far more serious than others hed confronted during his climb to success. The Toquil Report was obviously not meant for Deans eyes, nor anyone elses other than Jacks for that matter. He had shown up a few minutes early for their meeting. Jack was in his private bathroom, and Dean was caught reading the report when he emerged.

You know, Dean, right about the time your mother started diapering your ass, I was probably somewhere just like this watching the Watergate scandal unfold, the fools. Its all a matter of keeping the circle of knowledge small and having leverage. Thenand only thenare you able to effectively control the flow of information. Lose that, and youve lost everything, Jack said as he slipped the report into his drawer and locked it. Now, any questions?