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hundreds of people there, yet no witnesses.
    Eicher was mildly surprised by the reappearance of the Moziafs on American soil, as Viktor Sarvydas and most of his henchmen had been on the next plane out of JFK after the arrest of his son, Alexei. Last Eicher had heard, the Moziafs were taking up the sport of car bombing in Moscow, and with the trial only a week away, he expected Sarvydas’ troops to lay low.
    “Not one person could identify them?” Eicher asked.
    Ivan had a hearty laugh at his naiveté. “They interviewed fifty witnesses and they all say ya nectevo ne znago— I don’t know nothing. There are lots of rumors. With Viktor out of country and Alexei going to trial, many think Sarvydas’ deputy lieutenant, Parmalov, is making power play and Moziafs doing dirty work for him. But who knows with these people—they have no loyalty. When I first arrive, Moziafs and Zubov were rivals in war that leave bodies from New York to Moscow, and now both work for Sarvydas. Ask me this afternoon and everything be different.”
    Eicher understood the frustration in Ivan’s voice. When it came to the Russian Mafiya, they were severely outgunned. Eicher removed the top from the cooler and immediately jumped back about a foot.
    “Moziafs like to keep souvenirs,” Ivan stated, matter of fact.
    Eicher stared at the frozen hands that were stored in plastic Zip-lock bags like they were leftover chicken in the refrigerator. He felt sick, but his nausea turned to interest when he saw the tattoo on the left hand in the webbing between the thumb and index finger. It was an interlocking N Z . He instantly knew that it belonged to Audrey Mays, Nick Zellen’s girlfriend.
    Alexei’s powerful lawyers would have a field day with the search, and it wasn’t a smoking gun by any means, but it was another connection the prosecution could make between the murders and the Sarvydas family.
    As Eicher looked at the amputated hands, it sure didn’t feel like something to celebrate. He feared getting to that place where finding the remains of a murdered girl would constitute a good day.
    He thought of Nick, remembering how devastated he was by Audrey’s death. He wanted to be mad at him for the ulcer he was causing him this morning, but could only find compassion. Eicher couldn’t even fathom the emotions that must have been haunting Nick as the trial grew closer. He just hoped the next hands they found wouldn’t belong to him.

Chapter 10
     
    Viktor Sarvydas lounged in the back of his stretch limo, parked outside of the Western Wall Plaza in Jerusalem. He peered out the tinted bulletproof windows and marveled at the sheer numbers, and the ferocity of those who came out to protest his latest protégé, pop sensation Natalie Gold.
    The Wailing Wall was a place where Israelis had come to mourn the past since King Herod built the retaining wall over two thousand years ago. It was considered one of the most holy places in Jerusalem. And that is exactly why he chose the spot to shoot Natalie’s latest video, full of all the gyrations and revealing outfits of a pop princess.
    Sarvydas smiled, proud to have achieved the desired controversy once again. And it’s not like the protestors could stop him—he had friends in the highest places.
    The video was classic Sarvydas. It combined his ruthless business savvy with his passionate love of music. But most of all, it was fueled by his lust for power. He not only had a kingdom that ranged from Brighton Beach to Israel to Moscow, but he was also a kingmaker. A few months ago, Natalie Gold was a homeless girl named Daria Scheffer, who was singing for her supper in Tel Aviv, outside of a Russian bookstore that Sarvydas frequented. Now, only six months later, Natalie had rocketed to worldwide fame, and her first single “Vengeance” was the most downloaded song on iTunes .
    He spotted Natalie pushing past the angry mob, surrounded by machine-gun toting bodyguards. Sarvydas was enjoying the scene before