Jay Giles (33 page)
The Room 410 waiting area was crowded when I arrived. I did a quick count. Twenty-four people. Some young. Some old. Virtually all couples. Made me feel odd walking in by myself. Fish and Janet, I noticed, were not among those present.
The wooden bench where Raines wanted me to sit was full. I found a spot, leaned against the wall and tried to figure out who belonged to whom. I knew three of the people in the room worked for Raines. D’Onifrio undoubtedly had a few people there. I’d have been surprised if Ellsworth didn’t have a person or two there as well.
The door to the ceremony room opened, and a gray-haired woman in a rose-colored suit stood in the doorway. “Farr/Zelinski wedding.”
A young couple jumped up. “That’s us,” the man said excitedly.
They went through the door. The woman in the rose suit closed the door behind them.
The process was repeated every ten minutes or so. People left to be married. New people arrived. I looked at my watch. One-thirty. I scanned the room again, looked at those who had been there when I arrived. I still couldn’t quite tell who worked for the good guys or the bad guys.
At one-forty, Fish and Janet arrived. He looked ill at ease in a tuxedo that gave him a barrel-chested, bow-legged look. Janet had on a simple white dress that was stunning. She surveyed the room with disdain. I watched to see if there was any recognition when her gaze swept past me. Didn’t see any.
The lady in the rose suit opened the door. “Martin/Taylor wedding.”
A couple got up from the bench. I quickly took one of the vacated seats. Raines would be pleased. I was in position. Joining me in grabbing a seat was a young
Latina
woman and a pimply-faced man in an AC/DC tee shirt.
Two new couples arrived. Still no sign of Rosemary or D’Onifrio. The clock on the wall said one-fifty. I was becoming more anxious. If they were coming, they should have been there by then.
At two-twelve, the woman in the rose suit announced. “Ford/Jesso wedding.” Fish and Janet walked into the other room, and the door shut behind them.
I assumed that once they were married, something would happen. I waited. Tense. Alert. Apprehensive.
At two-twenty, Peters/Halsbock were called, went in.
The
Latina
woman sitting next to me got a magazine out of her bag, opened it. On the left hand page, where I could easily see it, a note had been taped:
I have a gun. Go with me. Or the woman dies.
I looked at her, saw her hand in her handbag holding a gun.
Raines hadn’t told me what to do in a situation like this. I felt my heart rate increase, sweat roll down my hairline. I saw the ceremony room door start to open.
“Get ready,” the
Latina
woman whispered.
“You fucked my sister?” A blond, scantily-dressed woman across the room screamed. “You louse, how could you fuck my sister the day before our wedding?”
She started pummeling the guy next to her with her handbag. Everybody turned to watch.
He covered his head with arms sporting plenty of tattoos. “Baby, she came on to me,” he whined loudly. “What could I do? She was askin’ for it.”
“Let’s go,” the
Latina
woman whispered and stood up. Her hand grabbed my arm, pulled me through the doorway. We pushed past the woman in the rose suit, into the ceremony room. I heard the door close behind us.
The justice of the peace lay on the ground, a pool of blood around his head. The man of the Peters/Halsbock party came up behind the woman in the rose suit, hit her in the back of her head with his gun. She crumpled.
I felt a sharp stick in the arm. Turned to look, caught a glimpse of a hypodermic syringe in the Peters/Halsbock woman’s hand. In seconds, my vision went bad, and the room started spinning. I fought to stay conscious, but the blackness took me.
I woke shivering, lying on a concrete floor. Hands tied behind me. Shirt and bullet-proof vest gone. I blinked open my eyes. Tried to focus. Only darkness, fuzzy shapes.
From behind me, muffled sounds. I wrenched my body around, looked. I saw faint light spots, stared, willing my eyes to adjust to the darkness. A wave of nausea hit me, forced me to close them. I fought to keep from being sick. Took deep breaths.
When I opened my eyes again, my vision was better. Sharper. I made out a seated shape. A figure. The light spots, hair and skin. Rosemary.
The muffled sounds increased. I used my elbow, propped myself into a sitting position. Tried to gather my legs.
From behind me, I heard the sounds of a key in a lock, a knob being turned, door hinges squeaking, a smack as the door hit the wall. Light flooded the room. Brightness forced me to close my eyes.
Sound of steps. Hands grabbed my arms, roughly hauled me to my feet. The rapid movement made me sick.
“He puked on my shoes,” a man said angrily.
A fist slammed into my ear. I fell hard to the concrete. Was hauled to my feet again. My hands untied. Two men, one on either side, escorted me out the door into a larger room. I had to squint. The lights in this larger area were brighter.
The space looked like an abandoned manufacturing plant. Concrete floors. Metal support posts. Ribbed sheet metal ceiling. Hanging tungsten lighting. The floor was littered with greasy shop rags, metal scraps, torn safety posters.
The two men pushed me forward toward a group of men standing in the center of the vast shop floor. To my right, I saw a yellow backhoe. The bucket rested next to a stack of concrete chunks and dirt.
As the group watched us approach, they shifted, forming two halves of a thirty-foot circle. I was taken to the center, spotlighted by a tungsten lamp directly overhead.
D’Onifrio, dressed in a tux, stood fifteen feet away to my right. Wilder next to him, in one of his gaudy three-piece suits. Minions arced out on either side of them.
An equal distance to my left, I recognized Enrico, Little Ernie, and Eduardo. Ten to fifteen more men to the sides of them. Chairs were brought for Enrico and the nephews.
As Enrico settled wearily into his seat, I could see the blue cover of the awards show booklet in his hand. He waved it in the air. “
Dee
, you may begin,” he said in surprisingly good English.
D’Onifrio nodded, his face cold, expressionless, his voice strong. “Enrico, members of the council, we are at war. Our enemies will use any and every means to try and defeat us. In the past, they have tried to infiltrate our organization, shut us down, send us to jail. Always, we have caught these agents, killed them before they could do any damage. These deaths do not stop our enemy’s efforts. In fact, it only makes them try harder. They send more agents, try more ingenious schemes. They know we are growing more powerful, and they are afraid.”
Across the circle, Enrico nodded his agreement.
“Fearful men do stupid things.” D’Onifrio pointed at the booklet resting on Enrico’s lap. “They think they drive a wedge between us with their lies. They think we will fight amongst ourselves. They are wrong. We will not fall for their tricks. We are not fearful, we will not do anything stupid. We are strong. Strong men do smart things. For two years, I have had a man planted in our enemy’s camp. That was smart. Everything they have planned—including this—we have known. Their leader, Raines, is this man’s boss. Tonight, Enrico, to honor you, I have had this man Raines eliminated.”
From behind D’Onifrio, two men carried Raines’ dead body to the center of the circle, dumped it on the concrete next to me, returned to their group. Raines’ face had been horribly beaten. A long red gash ran across his throat. His clothes were soaked with blood.
“This was all his plan, Enrico. A plan to make you think I was no longer loyal. It is no coincidence this is happening now; they knew you were deciding on leadership. They sought to discredit me.”
Again, Enrico nodded as if in agreement.
“They have wronged me and they will pay with their lives. Enrico, I know that no guns are allowed in meetings, but if you will send for a gun, I will execute this traitor here and now.”
Enrico turned his head, said something. A man went scurrying off, returned short minutes later with a revolver, handed it to Enrico. Enrico held it out in a trembling hand for D’Onifrio.
He strode across the circle to get it. “Down on your knees,” he said to me as he passed.
I stood motionless, paralyzed by fear.
D’Onifrio took the gun from the old man’s outstretched hand. Checked to see if it was loaded, turned. He walked toward me, grinning. I closed my eyes.
Three shots rang out. I braced for the impact. The sound reverberated off the metal ceiling. People started yelling. I hadn’t felt anything. I opened my eyes. Saw D’Onifrio’s back. Bullet holes in the heads of Enrico, Little Ernie, Eduardo. D’Onifrio’s and Enrico’s people were only concerned with fighting each other. No one paid any attention to me.
I got down on the floor, slowly crawled away from the fighting. The route took me past the backhoe, the hole that had been dug in the concrete floor. At the bottom were three bodies. I recognized the woman who had met me at Mote Marine Lab. Realized they’d intended to dump all of us in this mass grave.
Using the backhoe as cover, I ran for the doorway where I thought they were holding Rosemary. Wrong door. I tried the next one to the right. It opened. In the darkness, I could make out Rosemary’s shape.
I undid the gag in her mouth, worked on the ropes that bound her hands and feet.
“Oh, Matt,” she croaked hoarsely, “I heard shots, thought they’d killed you.”
“He had more important people than me to kill. Can you walk?”
She stood. Tried to take a few steps. Was unsure on her feet.
I put my arm around her waist. Half walked her, half carried her to a door I hoped led away from the shop floor. Locked. The top part of the door looked like painted glass. I grabbed the chair to which Rosemary’d been tied. Used it to shatter the glass. Reached through the shards, unlocked the door, walked her as quickly as I could down a hallway. We navigated that hallway, two more before we found a door that let us out of the building.
“Where are we?” Rosemary asked, looking around.
All I could see in the night’s darkness was an expanse of parking lot, other industrial buildings nearby. There was a loud, roaring sound in the air. A commercial jetliner, gear down, flew very low overhead. “We have to be on the far side of the airport.”
On the left side of the building were a series of big, green dumpsters. I ran over, took a look. One was garbage. One was metal scraps. But the last was paper. I boosted Rosemary into the one filled with paper. “Hide under the paper. You’ll be safe there until help comes.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked before I closed the lid.
“Find a phone. Call the police.” I sprinted down the side of the building to the corner, stopped, peered around. Eight cars, three of them limos, were parked by a front office area. I didn’t see any guards, but that didn’t mean there weren’t drivers waiting in the cars.
I bent down, ran over, hoped the commotion inside would last long enough for me to make the call. I reached the cars. Looked for heads. Didn’t see any. I tried the first car. Open. No phone. Second car. Locked. First limo. Open. Phone turned off. Second limo. Open. Phone turned off. Third car. Open. Cell phone lying on the passenger seat. I snatched it up and ran to the building across the street, concealing myself behind shrubbery. I turned the phone on. Pressed 911.
“I need the police. Specifically, Lieutenant Ellsworth. This is an emergency,” I told the operator.
“I’ll patch you through to the police.”
Across the street people were starting to come out of the building. D’Onifrio was easy to spot in his tux. He got in one of the limos and was driven away. A few others got in cars, drove away. Most franticly searched the outside of the building. I knew who they were looking for.
“Lieutenant Ellsworth’s office, Officer Suarez speaking. How can I help you?”
“This is Matt Seattle. Ellsworth was looking for Rosemary Shears. I’ve found her. We’re at an abandoned industrial building across from Harris Industrial Plumbing on the far side of the airport. Tell Ellsworth that D’Onifrio has twenty people. You’ve got to hurry; they’re starting to leave.”
“We’re on our way.”
I clicked off. Watched. The searchers had spread out. There may have been fifteen, sixteen of them. They moved erratically, running from place to place. Several ran past the dumpster where Rosemary was hidden. None stopped to check. Two came in my direction, circled the building. Another one stopped, not more than five feet from me. I could see the gun in his hand, hear his breath coming in big gasps.
A horn blared. Three short blasts. One by one, the searchers returned, got in the two remaining cars, drove off.
I stayed in the bushes, waited for the police. A good twenty minutes later, they arrived. Three cars and two vans pulled up and began unloading men in full riot gear.
I left my hiding spot, joined them. Ellsworth saw me, came over immediately. I gave him a quick overview of what had happened. He listened intently, sent two policemen to get Rosemary. Gathered the rest, told them how he wanted them deployed, sent them out.
Ellsworth got a bulletproof jacket from the van, handed it to me. “Show me the door you came out.”
I put on my vest, led Ellsworth and three officers to the door. An officer opened it carefully; another ducked inside, pronounced it clear. We moved down the hallways to the door that led to the plant floor. Again, they went through the doorway carefully. Didn’t matter. The big room was empty.
The lights were still on. The backhoe was still there. D’Onifrio’s people were gone.
Ellsworth and I walked over to the hole. It was empty, too. The bodies had been removed. “I saw the body of a female D.E.A. agent down there,” I told him.
His face was grim. “No bodies, but plenty of blood. See all those dark spots.”
“More blood over here, Lieutenant,” someone called out.
We walked over. “This is where D’Onifrio shot Enrico and the nephews.” I pointed to where they’d had me standing. “Raines’ body was right over there.”
“Follow the trails; let’s find out where they went with all these bodies,” Ellsworth ordered.
“There’s a lot of blood on the loading dock, trails leading in,” one of the officers said.
“Show me,” Ellsworth told him.
We followed the officer to an open loading dock door on the backside of the building. Pools of blood littered the dock floor.
“Jesus,” Ellsworth exclaimed. He reached for his walkie-talkie. “Ryker, you’re in charge. Red team stays, seals up the area. Blue team heads back. Get the crime scene investigation people in here. Tell them this is top priority, bring as many people as they can.” He turned to me as he started to go. “You come with me.”
I didn’t move. “Aren’t you going to have D’Onifrio arrested?”
Ellsworth stopped, smiled. “You mean the man who earlier this evening was recognized by the President of the United States, the Governor of Florida, and numerous other dignitaries as one of the nation’s leading humanitarians?”
“He did this. He killed people.”
Ellsworth’s smile disappeared. “I’m sure he did. But it’s your word against his. By now, he has twenty witnesses who’ll say he was with them all evening. This whole thing was carefully constructed. We’re going to have to move cautiously.”
Ellsworth took me back to police headquarters in his squad car. On the way, I asked about Rosemary.
“We called in the medics for her. Report I got was that she was dehydrated, otherwise okay. They started fluids, took her to Memorial for further evaluation. We notified her husband, had a cruiser take him to Memorial to be with her.” He looked over at me. “Don’t worry; we’ll keep them both in protective custody until this gets sorted out.”
Knowing Rosemary was okay made me feel better. “Thanks.”
I was glad I asked when I did. Once we reached the station, I was taken to an interrogation room. Ellsworth had an officer bring me a shirt, something to eat and drink. Then, we went at it. He wanted every detail. I gave it to them. I talked as fast as they could type. When I was finished, they had me go over it again. When they thought they had it all, Ellsworth left.
He returned an hour later wanting additional detail on three areas:
Joe Jesso.
Raines.
The awards presentation.
I gave them what I could, but I was beginning to spit thin. They must have sensed that, too. We took a break, went down to the cafeteria, got coffee. Just walking, being out of that room, felt good. The hot coffee tasted wonderful. The respite didn’t last long. He walked me back to the room, closeted me there for the next two hours.
Ellsworth looked as tired as I felt. “Couple more questions and we’ll call it a night, okay?”
I nodded.
“When did Raines first know about the award presentation?”
I could picture us on board The Rarely Used, Raines drinking his Mountain Dew as Tory and I talked him through the idea. “Friday a week ago, why?”
“We’re trying to piece together a timeline of what D’Onifrio knew when.”
“Raines thought someone on your staff was leaking things to D’Onifrio.”
Ellsworth scowled. “The leak was at Raines’ end. Possibly a woman named Angelica Duartte. She’s missing.” He fixed me in his gaze. “Have you ever heard that name before?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Sometimes, she was called Angel.”
I kept shaking. “Not a name I know.”
“When he took you to City Hall, were there female agents with him?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t tell you if one of them was this woman.”
Ellsworth seemed disappointed. “Well, that’s enough for now. We’re—”
“Wait a minute. How did they get me out of City Hall? I thought all the doors were being watched, people were stationed around the outside of the building?”
“They were,” he said brusquely. “We had people around the building, so did Raines.”
“So what happened?”
“City Hall is undergoing electrical work. Electricians have been all over that building for the last month. We found a couple of them locked in a storeroom, unconscious. We’re theorizing that D’Onifrio’s men—posing as electricians—wheeled you out in a cardboard box, took you away in one of the trucks. Probably had you out of the building before anyone put together what was happening.” He looked directly at me. Our gazes met. “This was carried out like a military operation. Everything executed perfectly.”
I pictured the justice of the peace on the floor, the pool of blood by his head, the lady in the rose suit being hit in the head with the gun. “The people in the ceremony room? Are they okay?”
“The J.P.—can’t think of his name right now—is in critical condition. The woman, the clerk, is fine.” He paused. “We’re going to have you stay here where we can watch over you. Your friend, Ms. Wright, is waiting to talk to you.” He nodded at the officer who’d worked on my statement. “Hennings will take you to her and when you’re finished, show you to your room.”
