"All rise!" the bailiff commanded. Frank A Kaufman, the federal district chief judge, entered the courtroom. I placed my hands on the desk and forced my quaking legs to stand. Sweat, like a block of ice in a sauna, rained down me. Could the grandfatherly man in the flowing black robe really be the man the Chicago mafia and I had plotted murdering? Did he know how close we came to being successful? The FBI's search for an escaped convict, a former...