Ultimate Betrayal (14 page)

Collins passed the piece of paper to O’Neil. “Here’s all the information I was able to pull up. Names, dates of death, addresses, phone numbers.” Collins paused to pull his chair even closer to the table and lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “You’re on your own from now on,” he said. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m not ashamed to admit I’m scared. Including Robert Campbell, we’ve got ten men murdered out of fifteen who served together ten years ago. Nine of them killed in the last thirty days. There are only two alive—Hood and Bishop—out of the fifteen, as far as I know. Hood could be dead. Bishop might be on a target list, too.”

Collins abruptly stood up. He pushed his chair under the table and leaned over the chair back. “Don’t tell anyone where you got this information. Remember it’s classified.” He pointed a finger at O’Neil and added, “Don’t call me anymore.”

O’Neil didn’t have time to thank Collins before the Marine walked out of the bar.

Detective Jennifer Ramsey had pulled together all the information available on David Hood. She wanted desperately to sit down and talk with the man, but he’d dropped off the face of the earth. No one at his company headquarters seemed to know where he was—or wasn’t talking, and every time she called his father’s number in Philadelphia, the answering machine told her to leave a message. She’d left three, so far. She needed to go to Philadelphia and try to find Hood.

Chief of Detectives Croken typed at his computer keyboard when Ramsey knocked on his door jamb.

“Chief, you got a second?”

Croken held up a finger signaling her to wait. When he finished typing, he looked up and pointed at a chair in front of his desk.

“I haven’t had any success finding David Hood in Bethesda. There’s a good chance he’s with his father in Philadelphia.”

“So, you want to go there?”

“Right.”

“I’ll authorize one week of travel expenses. Take your unmarked. And I’ll call the Philadelphia P.D. to let them know you’ll be in their jurisdiction and that you’ll be armed.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

“Try not to shoot anyone while you’re there.”

In his “Read” file, Bishop found a one-page report from an assistant. The Subject line read: “Apr 20, 0710 hours. Computer Inquiry, Special Logistical Support Detachment.” Sweat formed on his brow and his face got hot. He really hadn’t expected any inquiry into the SLSD. While he scanned the report, his concern rose. A Gunnery Sergeant Samuel Collins from the Marine Personnel Office had initiated an inquiry. Collins now had the names of every man in the old unit. Bishop knew that thirteen of the fourteen men who’d served under him in the SLSD were dead. He was confident his hired assassins would soon take care of Hood. But dead men might tell tales, especially if Collins kept snooping.

Bishop buzzed for his assistant and told him to bring any other copies of the report into his office. When the man entered with the one copy he had made and handed it over, Bishop instructed him to purge his computer of any record of the report. Bishop then ran the original and copy through a paper shredder.

Bishop sat in his office and stared at the ceiling. As far as he knew, David Hood was still alive. And now he had another problem: Gunnery Sergeant Samuel Collins. He took out his cellphone and dialed a number.

“Yeah?”

“Paladin?”

“Who is this?”

“Talon,” Bishop said, using the code name Paladin knew.

“What can I do for you?”

“I want to place another order.”

“How big an order?”

“One.”

“Name, please.”

“Gunnery Sergeant Samuel Collins. I’ll wire work and home addresses to you shortly.”

“What’s the timing?”

“A-S-A-P.”

“Wire the fee.”

APRIL 21

CHAPTER 21

Jennifer Ramsey had tossed and turned most of the night in the queen-sized bed in her Philadelphia hotel room. She’d counted every flower in the wallpaper accent trim at the top of the walls three times. She’d tried to watch a late movie, but couldn’t concentrate. She could normally drop off as soon as her head hit the pillow, even in a strange bed. But her mind had been in a whirl since she plugged in her laptop the night before and, on a lark, inputted the name
David Hood
in Google. An article about the bombing in Bethesda popped up. She knew more than anyone else about that—except for the bomber himself—and was about to erase the article, when something caught her eye. The article mentioned Carmela Hood’s maiden name: Bartolucci. Carmela Bartolucci-Hood was the daughter of a former Mafia chieftain. Could there be a mob connection to the deaths of Hood’s wife and children?

At 5 a.m., Jennifer abandoned hope of sleeping and got out of bed. After a thirty minute jog on downtown streets, she showered, dressed, and ordered breakfast from room service. She’d wait until a reasonable hour and drive to the Hood residence in South Philadelphia.

Rodney Strong and Zeke McCoy arrived in Philadelphia on a Delta flight from Atlanta at 7 a.m. They’d worked together on several occasions and had a long and successful history as hired killers. Their client, code-named Talon, had used them twice before to remove business opponents.

Strong and McCoy were native Georgians who grew up around guns and took their weapons skills into the U.S. Army and became Army Rangers, where they honed and complemented their skills with a variety of other talents: survival and hand-to-hand combat training; explosives fabrication; sniper training. They were the products of a very efficient military training program funded by the taxpayers. Now they employed their skills exclusively against some of those same taxpayers. Neither of the men had ever gone to war on behalf of their nation and had never killed an enemy of their country. But they’d killed several dozen citizens who’d in some way alienated the wrong people.

The Georgians made enough money to dress well, eat at the best restaurants, and fly first-class, but they still talked like the under-educated hicks they were. However, they usually didn’t say much. They appeared to be two well-dressed businessmen on their way to a meeting. They were businessmen of a sort . . . they performed a service for a fee.

Their target in Philly was a business executive named David Hood. They had the target’s photograph and address. They didn’t know if the man was married or single, was a father, went to church on Sunday, coached little league, or supported the United Way. They couldn’t have cared less. They planned to take care of business this morning, in time to catch the early afternoon return flight to Atlanta.

It took them an hour to pick up a Ford Explorer from Hertz, to drive to a black market weapons dealer they knew, then to drive to Rosemont Street, and to reconnoiter the target’s father’s residence—where they’d been told Hood might be holed up. They circled the block and found a restaurant parking lot where Strong, in the rear seat of the Explorer, changed from his suit to a USPS mail carrier’s uniform—a disguise he’d used before. McCoy then drove back to the Hood’s block on Rosemont. Halfway down the block, he noticed a black Lincoln Towncar double-parked in front of the Hood residence. The Lincoln’s trunk lid and two rear doors were open. McCoy pulled into a parking place on the street, eight car lengths from the Lincoln. He stayed in the car while Strong got out and approached the house.

From his vantage point in a rocker by a second story window in the Galante house across from the Hood residence, another one of Gino’s geriatric “watchers” saw the Explorer slow down as it passed in front of him. He didn’t do anything about it until, a few minutes later, the Explorer returned and parked up the street. He immediately put down his coffee cup and a chocolate biscotti and phoned Gino’s command center. He told Gino a car drove past the house, then came back, and had now parked. One guy stayed with the car while a second man, dressed like a mailman, was on foot.

Gino hung up and called Frankie Siracusa on his cellphone. “Frankie, my lookout tells me a brown Ford Explorer just parked on Rosemont. One guy behind the wheel and a second guy dressed like a mailman. How about you send a guy by there to check things out.”

“Boss,” Frankie replied, “Paulie and I are still on Rosemont. At the Hood’s. We got stuck on Broad Street because of an accident. We just got to their house ten minutes ago. Remember you told me to bring them here so they could pick up some clothes. David and Peter are just now leaving the house. Hey, I see the mailman.”

Rodney Strong was confident. People always opened their doors for a mailman, especially if they thought he might be delivering a special package. But instead of “special packages,” Strong carried a MAC-10 in his mailbag. His eyes moved from the Hood residence to the Lincoln. Two men sat in the front seat. Then movement to his left drew his eyes back to the front porch of the residence. He immediately recognized his target, swung the mailbag from his side to his chest, and reached for the weapon.

“Goddammit, Frankie, get the hell out of there,” Gino shouted. “That ain’t no mailman! They don’t deliver this early.”

David followed Peter down from the porch, tossed their bags into the open car trunk, and slammed the trunk lid shut. Peter walked around to the open rear right side door and got in. David turned to the other side of the car, when he heard footsteps behind him. He looked over his shoulder just when Frankie screamed, “David, get in the car, quick!” Fifty feet away, David saw a man pull a weapon from a leather bag. The man went from a fast walk to a run.

A hand grabbed his arm, pulled him along the side of the vehicle, and pushed him into the rear seat of the Lincoln. David heard automatic gunfire erupt and the thump of bullets against the Lincoln’s reinforced steel shell. Then the answering sounds of a fired pistol. David righted himself on the seat and looked out the still-open door. Frankie was returning fire. Then Frankie groaned and fell to the pavement.

Detective Ramsey saw the double-parked black Lincoln forty yards ahead on the one-way street, just as she heard the unmistakable sounds of gunfire. She slammed the brakes of her Crown Victoria and screeched to a stop. As she snatched her .38 Special from her purse on the seat next to her, she opened the driver side door and jumped from the car.

David leaped out of the Lincoln and crouched next to Frankie. The sound of the automatic weapon had been replaced by the
pop-pop-pop
of a pistol. He couldn’t see who fired it, but he saw a mailman sprint back up the street. David grabbed the pistol from Frankie’s hand and fired at the man. He tossed the weapon through the open car door to Peter and dragged Frankie into the back seat.

Paulie Rizzo, Gino’s driver and second bodyguard, floored the accelerator and the powerful engine leaped forward. The open door David had jumped through slammed shut. David looked back through the rear window and saw the mailman get into a brown Ford Explorer. Then he saw the oddest thing in the middle of all the hell that was busting loose—a woman ran in a combat crouch along the sidewalk, just ten yards from the Explorer. She used parked cars for cover. The pistol in her hand appeared to buck several times.

“What the hell did I just walk into?” Strong yelled. “I thought this hit was supposed to be easy. And who the hell was that broad?”

“Did you get Hood?” McCoy said.

“Hell, I don’t know. I did more ducking than shooting. I think I hit one guy.”

Ramsey’s heart raced, her pulse pounded in her throat as she ran back to her car. She thought she’d recognized Hood, but wasn’t certain. She’d driven right into the middle of a gun battle that had all the telltale signs of a professional hit. She threw the Crown Vic’s shifter into DRIVE and raced after the Explorer, but had to brake when a garbage truck pulled out of an alley and blocked her.

While the Lincoln’s engine roared and catapulted the vehicle down the narrow street, Paulie remembered the call from Gino. He picked up the phone from the front seat and tossed it back to Peter. “See if Gino’s still on the line.”

“Gino, you there?” Peter said.

“Where do you think I am?”

“Some guy shot at us! Frankie got hit in the arm. Everyone else’s okay. But we got a tail. A brown Ford Explorer.”

“Which way are you headed?” Gino demanded.

“East on Rosemont.”

“All right,” Gino said, “here’s what you do. Head south to Roosevelt Park. I’ll call Bobby Galupo to send some guys there. You got it?”

“I got it,” Peter replied. “We should be there in fifteen minutes.” Peter then relayed Gino’s instructions to Paulie.

Paulie was able to put a little distance between them and the Explorer, but not enough to lose it. While David bandaged Frankie’s arm with strips of cloth he tore from his shirt, Peter leaned over the front seat and took the two pistols and the Uzi from the car’s weapons box.

Paulie zigzagged through South Philadelphia streets. He tried to avoid sideswiping parked cars—with limited success—as he careened around the corners of the narrow streets. When he finally entered Roosevelt Park, he punched the car’s accelerator to the floor and slalomed around the serpentine lanes inside the park.

Peter suddenly yelled, “Look out!”

A city crew trimming tree branches that overhung the road had parked their bucket boom truck in the middle of the road. Three men stood around the truck; one man was in a bucket at the end of a thirty-foot boom. There was no room to pass the truck, and the curbs on either side were too high for the Lincoln to drive over. Paulie hit the brakes. The car swerved sideways and came to a stop with the driver’s side facing the oncoming Explorer.

Zeke McCoy saw the other car slide to a stop, its tires smoking, and stopped the Ford Explorer about seventy feet away. He and Strong got out and walked toward the Lincoln. Still forty feet away, they raised their weapons. The four tree trimming guys gawked at them, and then the three on the ground raced away, leaving their co-worker stranded in the bucket. McCoy and Strong fired their weapons. The MAC-10s chattered; bullets thudded and clanged against the Lincoln’s skin. They didn’t notice their rounds hadn’t penetrated the Lincoln’s body or windows until they’d emptied their magazines.