Pacific Poison

by David Liscio

  To gain a better understanding of the terrain, I joined LeBrasseur on a trek to Mount Tapotchau, Saipan’s highest peak. Mount Topotchau had been the scene of brutal and prolonged fighting between Japanese forces and U.S. Marines.

  Locals tended to give the place wide berth, believing the bloodshed had left it haunted.

  The Battle of Saipan lasted three weeks in the summer of 1944, during which 3,144 U.S. servicemen, both Army and Marine Corps, were killed or later died of their wounds. Another 10,952 were wounded but survived. Military historians have estimated Japanese forces suffered over 25,000 dead and countless wounded.

  My days on Saipan included accompanying a task force of special-ops troops to remote villages for break-of-dawn drug raids. I also kept close tabs on local murders involving the yakuza whose assassins had become a heavy presence on the island. The yakuza were suspected of funneling heroin along a supply chain that led from Thailand to the Philippines to Saipan, and onward to Hawaii and San Francisco for distribution in the United States. By 1990, that smuggling route was showing its success, the number of heroin addicts growing exponentially on America’s streets.

  As the investigation broadened and the terrain became more familiar, I joined LeBrasseur and a contingent of detectives from the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands (CNMI) police force on a helicopter flight to the nearby island of Tinian, where in 1945 a lengthy runway was built to accommodate the American B-29 bomber Enola Gay, which would drop its deadly atomic payload on the Japanese city of Hiroshima.

  Our helicopter pilot was nervous because the aircraft had taken ground fire a week earlier, presumably from pot farmers attempting to evade surveillance.

  Wild goats grazed along the flat coral airstrip and a small bronze plaque offered a few historic facts about the Enola Gay’s bombing mission, but mostly Tinian was desolate. The airstrip had become an ideal place for smugglers to land small planes.

  LeBrasseur, a seasoned detective with the Lynn, Massachusetts Police Department, had made inroads in cracking down on drug traffickers in New England. His success, as head of a county anti-drug task force, was documented in a Harvard University criminology study, which led to his being invited to replicate the tactics on Saipan.

  LeBrasseur was instrumental in my ability to obtain access to the task force operations. Assistant Attorney Generals Raymond Buso and Edward Hayden, both prosecutors from the Essex County District Attorney’s Office in Massachusetts, also provided friendship, support and information during my days on Saipan. The result was a series of newspaper stories on Saipan — a package of ten articles and photos the editors submitted for a Pulitzer Prize.

  To all of these men, I offer an unbridled thank you, because without them, it’s unlikely I’d have had such an international adventure or written this novel.

  I’d also like to extend thanks to my good friend Dan McMackin for sharing his knowledge of all things military. He is always ready to help answer my questions about weapons, tactics and protocol.

  As always, I’d be remiss by not recognizing the sacrifices made by my wife, Christine, son Zack and daughter Julie, which allow me opportunity to write books while other men are engaged in far more important undertakings. Together they are my beta-reader team.

  I’m also proud to note my daughter designed the book cover of PACIFIC POISON, just as she did for my serial-killer thriller DEADLY FARE and mafia novel BLOOD SONS.

  If you enjoyed PACIFIC POISON, I hope you’ll consider reading my previous books. Although Hannah Summers is featured predominately in all three, the books can be read as standalones.

  Authors depend on reviews to keep their books in the public eye and attract new readers. If you have the time and the inclination, leaving a review on Amazon or Goodreads would be much appreciated.

  About the Author

  David Liscio is an international, award-winning journalist whose lengthy experience covering crime stories led to the writing of his debut novel, the serial killer thriller DEADLY FARE.

  An investigative reporter, David’s work has appeared in dozens of magazines and newspapers. The recipient of more than 20 journalism honors, his feature stories have earned first-place awards from the Associated Press, United Press International, and many regional news media groups. He has reported extensively on organized crime both in the United States and abroad, in addition to writing about military and environmental subjects.

  David is an avid sailor, outdoorsman, and adjunct college professor. A father of two, he lives with his wife, dog and cat on the Massachusetts coast, where for 25 years he served as a firefighter and founding member of the town’s Ocean Rescue team.

  You can contact him on his website: www.davidliscio.com or via email at bostoncrimewriter@gmail.com.

  For more information:

  www.davidliscio.com

  david@davidliscio.com

  Also by David Liscio

  DEADLY FARE

  a serial killer thriller

  Fans of Vince Flynn and Nelson DeMille won't want to miss this page-turning thriller set in Boston...

  FIVE WOMEN MURDERED. A CITY PARALYZED BY FEAR. ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE HE STRIKES AGAIN.

  When beautiful young women begin to vanish from Boston Logan International Airport, State Police Lt. Hannah Summers is the only one who sees a pattern amidst the cold case files. She knows a killer is on the loose, and she’s determined to make her chauvinistic bosses believe her hunch about a gypsy cab driver — before it’s too late.

  As the body count rises, so does the public’s panic. Under pressure from the district attorney to make the killings stop, Summers soon finds herself rubbing elbows with ex-Special Forces soldier Emmett Decker, a private investigator hired by the wealthy family of a missing local girl. The more their paths cross, the harder it is to deny they may be chasing the same monster — and that the tension between them is more than purely professional.

  One thing is certain: the Boston Butcher must be stopped before any more women climb inside his cab... and wind up paying the ultimate price...

  Now available for purchase in ebook and paperback. Or, read it FREE with your Kindle Unlimited subscription.

  AMAZON

  DEADLY FARE: Excerpt

  June 1985

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Rainy nights at Logan Airport were usually best, the women eager to get inside his cab, not paying much attention to whether it was licensed or why the roof TAXI sign barely glowed.

  For Luddy Pugano, this particular curbside pickup seemed as though it would work out much like two others earlier in the year – one during a January snowstorm and another amid an early-March cold snap that brought sleet and plunged Boston temperatures to below freezing. He had put the young woman’s two suitcases in the trunk. Fake packages wrapped in brown paper filled the back seat so the fare was invited to sit up front, relax and pick a radio station. Once she appeared at ease, he’d slammed her head against the dashboard, then poked her menacingly with the tip of a clamming knife while driving to a deserted industrial lot in Eastie within earshot of the runways. But somehow this one had managed to squiggle out of his beefy arms. His leather belt was still cinched around her neck as she cast aside her thin trenchcoat and clawed her way up the muddy embankment to the highway.

  The woman couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She was a sophisticated sales rep flying into Boston to sell medical devices at three hospitals and heading home the next day – at least that was the plan. Abduction by a weirdo cabbie who clearly was trying to kill her was something that happened to other people. She didn’t dare look back. The mud was slippery but she was determined to get away. This wasn’t how she would allow herself to die, so she climbed, yanking clumps of weedy grass as she put every last bit of energy into reaching the highway. Her gray pinstriped dress was torn at the neckline and she was shoeless, her hair disheveled, her bruised and muddied face a mask of sheer terror as she flagged down passing cars for help. She waved wildly at three d
rivers who kept on going, their tires hissing on the rain-soaked roadway. “What the hell? Why doesn’t anybody stop? Am I some sort of Kitty Genovese? A tragic headline in the making?”

  She thought her heart would burst through her chest as a fourth vehicle – which in the dark resembled a police cruiser with a driver-side spotlight — switched on its directional signals and pulled over onto the road shoulder. Her face showed relief for a fraction of a second until she realized the worst had happened. It was him.

  The woman tried to scream but no sound came out, her vocal cords compressed by the leather belt that flapped from her neck. The rain spattered her face and mixed with the coppery taste of blood on her lips as she stepped back against the metal guardrail. The driver’s door opened and a large, barrel-chested man got out. The woman noticed he wore a dark hooded sweatshirt and knit watch cap. Despite her willingness not to die along the shoulder of a highway, she felt a paralyzing wave of fear wash over her from throat to toes.

  The cabbie rushed toward her and reached for her arms, raised in self-defense. He’d grabbed her just as a BMW sedan pulled alongside the cab. A silver-haired man in business suit and necktie rolled down the passenger-side window and shouted over the sound of a plane taking off, asking if everything was all right. The woman felt the grip on her arms loosen as the cabbie turned and bolted. She watched in disbelief as he clumsily folded himself back into the driver’s seat, spinning the rear tires on the wet pavement as he roared away into the night. She saw the red taillights getting smaller as she leaned her weight against the guardrail and sobbed uncontrollably.

  The woman’s suitcases were mostly filled with medical device samples, branded coffee cups, pens and notepads. Luddy tossed them into a dumpster behind a gas station. During the following week, he scoured the newspapers for any reference to an attempted abduction at Logan Airport, just as he had done after the other two grabs, but there were no stories. An attempted abduction wasn’t exactly news in Boston, not like a murder. The police had previously recorded two similar incidents at the airport as missing person cases. To the news reporters who covered the city’s crime beat, none seemed worth the airtime or page space, so the public remained unaware of the danger. Only State Police Detective Lt. Hannah Summers, after interviewing the woman who had escaped, theorized the three cases might be related. She wrote a report that was read by her commanding officer with great amusement and summarily tossed aside.

  Now available for purchase in ebook and paperback. Or, read it FREE with your Kindle Unlimited subscription.

  AMAZON

  Also by David Liscio

  BLOOD SONS

  a mafia thriller

  Fans of Vince Flynn and Nelson DeMille won't want to miss this page-turning underworld thriller…

  TO A MAFIA BOSS, BLOOD MATTERS MORE THAN ANYTHING… EVEN THE SON HE SPENT FIFTEEN YEARS RAISING AS HIS OWN.

  When a DNA test reveals an accidental hospital baby-switch fifteen years prior, two teenage boys find their lives upside down and their futures uncertain. Against his will, Nicholas Cooper is abruptly transplanted from his idyllic vineyard home to the crime-ridden streets of Providence. His biological father — none other than notorious crime boss Vinnie “Cocktails” Merlino — has big plans to retake control of Cuba’s once-flourishing casino scene… and those plans include his rightful heir standing by his side.

  As Nick grows ever more deeply enmeshed in Vinnie’s violent underworld, he unwittingly becomes the focus of a Central Intelligence Agency investigation, led by new recruit Hannah Summers. From the colorful streets of Havana to the snow-capped trails of upstate New York… through blood rites, flying bullets, Belizean jungles, and family betrayals… BLOOD SONS poses the ultimate question of nature versus nurture.

  Does the blood in your veins determine the man you’ll become?

  You can’t choose your family… sometimes, they choose you.

  Now available for purchase in ebook and paperback. Or, read it FREE with your Kindle Unlimited subscription.

  AMAZON

  BLOOD SONS: Excerpt

  June 1988

  Medford, Massachusetts

  Hannah Summers yawned cavernously, adjusted her shoulder holster, crumpled an empty bag of Fritos corn chips and flung it at her partner who was sprawled and dozing on a sleeping bag at the rear of the surveillance van.

  Serpentine blue eyes slowly opened and a hand reached up to touch his cheek where the cellophane wad had struck him. He pretended it had caused pain and interrupted his sleep. “I’ve killed people for less,” he said groggily. “I hope you know that.”

  Hannah raised her hands above her head as though being held at gunpoint. “Please don’t shoot me, Agent Decker.”

  “I’d never do that. Too much paperwork involved.”

  Hannah feigned relief, lacing her fingers together and pressing them to her lips.

  Emmett Decker crawled on his hands and knees toward where Hannah was sitting Indian-style in front of an array of electronic equipment.

  “Anything?”

  “Your turn,” she said, handing him a set of headphones. “The mobile unit reported activity on the street near the house ten minutes ago.”

  Decker swept aside the honey blonde strands that had fallen across Hannah’s face, tucked them behind her ear and gently kissed her lips. “Get some sleep.”

  Hannah tugged off her black tactical boots and socks and wriggled into the sleeping bag. “This reminds me of fishing with my dad in Missouri. We’d thread a bunch of corn kernels on a hook and just wait for hours until some big-ass carp struck the line.”

  A bemused grin crossed Decker’s face as he stroked the black stubble on his chin. “Is there some sort of Midwestern parable that I’m missing?’

  “All I’m saying is, those were good times, even when we didn’t catch any fish,” she said, squeezing his hand as she yawned again. “Just nudge me if you pick up something.”

  “Should a big-assed carp give a tug, you’ll be the first to know. Now get some sleep.”

  Hannah had barely drifted off into a pleasant dream when Decker gently tapped her sleeping bag with his boot. She peered around the dark van interior, illuminated by red night-vision lamps.

  “It’s Vinnie Merlino,” he said, gesturing toward his headset. “I’d know that fat fuck’s voice anywhere. If they stay in the living room, we’ll be all set.”

  Hannah plugged in her headphones, a huge grin forming across her face when she realized they were eavesdropping on a Mafia blood oath ceremony.

  “The candles you see burning are the holiness of what we do,” she heard Vinnie Merlino telling the others in a priestly voice. “Before this, you were nothing. But after tonight, you will be made men. You will be one of us.”

  Noises followed. Shifting feet. Mumbling. “St. Jude makes impossible things possible. As I touch a match to this saint card, watch the flames until there is nothing but ash in my hand. Rub these ashes and make the sign of the cross on your forehead.”

  Static. Muffled sounds.

  “Now it’s time to become brothers in a society that comes before everything else, before your family, your wife, your children. It must always come first and you must always be ready, no matter what you are doing when you are called. And now, we must stand in a circle and join hands.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes at the amplified flick of what sounded like a spring-loaded folding knife. Switchblade? Stiletto?

  “Hear that?”

  Decker pressed a finger to his lips and touched his headset with his index finger, cueing Hannah to keep quiet.

  The priestly voice crackled over the airwaves. “I open my veins for you and for this thing of ours. Blood drips from my thumb. When you have all done the same, we will press our fingers together and we will be one.”

  Decker combed back his dark hair with spread fingers as he studied Hannah, who was beaming like a schoolgirl. He lifted the left ear cushion on his headphones. “What?”

  She shrugged her should
ers and flashed a radiant smile. “Italian version of the Boy Scouts? My bullshit detector is going off. I can’t believe these streetwise guys are actually falling for this mumbo-jumbo.”

  “Just listen.”

  “I’m hoping they say something worth bringing back to Langley. All we have right now is the audio to some very bad theater.”

  “That’s why I love you, Hannah. You’re so positive.”

  She kicked his thigh with her bare foot. “That’s for earlier. Sorry. I’m just hungry. Those Fritos were the last of our rations. You ate both sandwiches, all the cashews, and the chocolate bars.”

  “When this is over, it’s my treat – KFC or the BK.”

  “Please take me somewhere that uses table cloths. That would be a nice change.”

  More indistinguishable sounds followed. As the voices reemerged, one by one, the men recited a short oath and swore allegiance to La Cosa Nostra. During the ceremony, one inductee stuttered as he repeated the oath, which caused somebody in the room to chuckle. Another taking the vow had a distinct lisp. Decker and Hannah concentrated on the voices, making notes of The Stutterer and The Lisper for future reference.