On the night of Jan. 21, 1998, Stanley N. Alpert was heading home inGreenwich Village with pleasant thoughts on his mind.
The next day hewould turn 38. By chance, he had struck up a conversation with anattractive woman on the subway, and it looked as if a date were in thecards. As he walked, he
mused, and as he mused, he failed to notice twoarmed men closing in on him from behind. Before he knew it, he was inthe back seat of a new Lexus, about to experience the most terrifying25 hours of his life.