Turns out they’d been following us on and off since we decided to go after the Dutch Schultz treasure when we were still downstate in Phoenicia. Rather, they had been following the Sergey Boys. The trail only went cold when we ended up at The Harmony Hotel. Now we’re back to standing atop the Cohoes Falls overlook, those numerous skull and cross-bone images staring us down.
“You gonna arrest us?” I say, once more standing between Rob’s Jeep and the chain link fence. “Can’t say we’ve done anything wrong.”
“There’s a dead body down there,” the FBI Agent who introduced himself as Jason Michel as he was escorting us out of the cave at gunpoint. The thirty-something agent is maybe an inch taller than me, and thin, his hair dark and thinning, face scruffy, lips thin, eyes blue. “I’m aware that
