Deadly Lode (Trace Brandon Book 1) (52 page)

“
So, if it is him,
”
I asked,
“
c
an you arrest him and extradite him back to the US?
”

“
The Cayman police will have to make the arrest. Possibly with FBI or I
nterpol
assistance, if requested,
”
Monroe answered.
“
As to extradition, it
’
s a commonly held
misconception
that we don
’
t have a
treaty with the Caymans.
However, i
n 1976, Gerald Ford signed an extradition treaty
with the Caymans
,
as did the
UK
and
Northern Ireland. So, you bet
,
we can grab his sorry ass.
”

“
What can we do to help?
”
Cyrus asked.
“
I
’
d really like to see this fellow pay for what he did to Malcolm Trueblood.
”

“
Best thing for you to do now
,
is nothing,
”
Monroe replied.
“
Don
’
t say anything to your property manager. Don
’
t send her Flannigan
’
s photo. Just keep it business as normal. We
’
ll get an agent on the island to make a positive ID
,
and
notify the
local authorities
. Then mother justice will bring the hammer down on Mr. Flannigan
’
s Irish ass. And hopefully
,
the scumbags
who
hired him.
”

“
The
Pantelli
s?
”
I asked.

Agent Monroe paused
.
“
As we say in the trade,
‘
T
hey
’
re definitely persons of interest
.
’”

Chapter
5
8

F
lo Fabrini pulled her car into the
visitor’s
parking lot of Pollack Federal Prison and followed the signs to the
visitor’s
area. Once inside, she filled out a form and was given a visitor
’
s badge. Senior Corrections Officer
,
Sam Savoie, a huge
C
ajun
,
who
’
d been on the
Pantelli
pad for years,
spotted Flo and directed her to a table.

“
You
’
ll have ten minutes,
m
a
’
am. Don
’
t pass anything to the prisoner and keep your voice low.
”

A prison guard brought Anthony Delucia in and sat him across the table from Flo. The guard glanced at Savoie and
then
backed off
,
out of earshot.

“
I
’
m Tony Delucia, Miss
. . .
?
”

“
It
’
s Flo
, a
nd I
’
ve got a request from
Pino
.
”

Tony leaned forward a bit
.
“
What can I do for
him
?
”

Flo filled Delucia in on the situation with Bugati.

“
I see,
”
Delucia said, leaning back in his chair.

Flo started to say something more
,
but Delucia put his index finger to his lips and shook his head slightly.

Leaning forward again
,
he spoke in a barely audible voice.
“
I understand the situation. You may tell
Pino
it will be resolved in the required timeline. Please leave now.
”

In his cell that night, Delucia planned the hit. He would do it during the mid
-
day exercise period in the yard. Concealed behind a thin slit in his mattress was a shiv made of
quarter
-
inch
-
thick plastic. Delucia had worked the plastic into a needle
-
pointed blade. In close quarters it
would
be
l
ethal
.

At two the next afternoon
,
Delucia
was in the exercise yard with the shiv
tucked up his right sleeve
. He spotted Bugati talking with a small group of cons. Walking toward his target,
Delucia
let the shiv slide
,
butt first
,
into the palm of his hand. As he closed on Bugati, he looked
across the yard
and pretend
ed
to wave at another con.
The movement caught
Bugati
’
s attention
,
causing him to
shift his eyes in the direction Delucia waved.
A slight diversion, but enough.
To a casual observer, it looked as though
Delucia
accidently bumped into Bugati.

L
ook
ing
directly into Bugati
’
s eyes
,
Delucia
drove the shiv deep into Bugati
’
s solar
plex
u
s.
The air rushed out of
Bugati
’
s lungs at the
force of the
blow
,
allow
ing
the weapon to penetrate even deeper into his body
.

“
This is from
Pino
,
”
Delucia
whispered
,
in Bugati
’
s ear
as he
push
ed
the shiv
deeper into
his
body, stopping only when the handle was
flush with Bugati
’
s
skin
.

Bugati
gasped at the pain and
clawed at the wound
,
trying in vain to
grasp the
bloody
hilt of the shiv.
Blood began to stain the front of Bugati
’
s
faded
prison
-
issue
denim
shirt. Delucia
took a
half
-
step
to
his
left and
blended
into the morass of
convicts milling about the yard.

S
everal
of the
men
standing
around Bugati
could see
the blood oozing from between his fingers
,
as he tried to stanch the bleeding.
T
hey immediately backed away
from
him
.
No one
called out
. No one
moved to help him
.

Bugati
slump
ed
to his knees
,
his hands and clothing now
soaked
in blood.
He
died
before the guards could get to him
.

Special Agent Monroe got
a
call from the
w
arden a couple hours after Bugati
died
. He hung up the phone and cursed under his breath.

“
What is it, Beau?
”
Agent Wilson Allen asked
, looking up from his desk
.

“
They hit Bugati. He
’
s dead.
”

“
Jesus. He was going into protective custody in the morning.
”

“
Somebody found out we were talking to him and must have gotten word to the
Pantelli
s.
”

“
Had to be somebody who works at the prison. No one else
k
new about the meetings.
”

“
Yeah, probably some
damn
guard
on the
take
.
”

“
Great
—n
ow what?
”

“
We go
, and we go fast,
after the only lead we
’
ve got left
,
Mr. Sean Flannigan.
”

Agent Allen nodded
.
“
Y
eah,
b
efore the
Pantelli
s find out he
’
s in the Caymans.
”

“
See if we have a
n agency
plane available
for tomorrow
morning
.
I
’
ll
alert
the local authorities
and set up a joint operation to
arrest
Flannigan
on suspicion of murder
. Once we
get a
positive ID
from the Brits
,
we
’
ll move to extradite hi
s ass
.
”

“
You know the Brits are going to want him pretty bad
, and
they
’
re part of th
e
bilateral extradition treaty, along with Northern Ireland.
”

“
Yeah,
w
ell
,
they can have him. But only after he gives us the
Pantelli
s.
”

Sean Flannigan signed the lease
on Cyrus
’
s
condo
as William O
’
Connell
. He
’
d
paid one month
’
s rent
plus
a
security
deposit in cash. So far everything was copacetic
, b
ut he was in no hurry to fill the
Pantelli
s in on his whereabouts. He knew from Al
’
s tone on the phone
that,
he was in deep shit.

As Sean lounged by the pool the next day
,
a white Cessna Citation touched down at
Owen Roberts International Airport
,
in
George Town. Other than tail numbers, the bird carried no identifying
features. The co
-
pilot opened the main door and Agents Monroe and Allen stepped out into the warm humid island air.