The Italian Deception

by Darby Philips

  “She’s been working with the Ndrangheta this whole time. I thought that since she was suspended…”

  “Suspended?” Paul interrupted.

  “Yes, the bureau suspended her right after you.”

  Why wouldn’t she tell me? he wondered. And if she was hiding that, what else was she hiding?

  Tom said, "I didn’t realize it was her at first. I asked her to investigate a list of suspects. In six months, you know what she found?” He looked at Paul pointedly. “Nothing.”

  That’s not possible, Paul thought.

  “I started suspecting her after that,” Forton continued. “She confronted another agent, Luther Freedman, about the Italian missions. Now he and his informant are both dead. She was tying up loose ends.”

  His mind spun. In training, agents are taught that the most successful traitors in history all had one thing in common—no one suspected them. He thought of his oldest friend, the one he’d known since college and trusted above all others.

  Then he thought about Portia, how he’d loved her and trusted her and wanted to make her his wife, and how she’d nearly killed him. Could Shelly be that duplicitous? Could she be the traitor? The one who exposed him and Eric to the Ndrangheta?

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Shelly dashed up the stairs and burst onto the second floor. Students clustered together in front of a door about fifteen yards down. She glimpsed Tiffany hugging a short boy.

  She rushed forward. Tiffany noticed her mother and before Shelly could ask if her daughter was okay, the girl pointed to the room behind her. “Miss. Randolph needs help.”

  “Take everyone and hide in your room. Don’t come out until I say it’s okay,” Shelly said as she rushed through the broken door.

  Portia was trying to shove a large shard of broken glass into Erin’s neck as she crouched over the woman.

  Shelly aimed at Portia’s head and fired. Nothing happened. The gun was empty.

  The shard of glass nicked Erin’s neck.

  Shelly charged forward and kicked Portia, who stumbled off the teacher and came up in a fighting position.

  Shelly searched the room for a weapon. She spied a pair of Jimmy Choo pumps with a spikey heel, grabbed them, put them on her hands like gloves, and attacked.

  They clashed, Portia trying to stab her in a dozen different ways and Shelly deflecting the thrusts. Quickly, Shelly noticed that Portia was lunging out of instinct, not any specific fighting style, and countered.

  She ducked down, hooked the heel of the Jimmy Choos behind Portia’s ankle, and pulled. Portia overbalanced and fell backward into the window. Shelly popped up, wedged the shoe on her right hand against Portia’s knife hand, and slammed the other heel into Portia’s neck.

  Portia struggled, but Shelly drove the heel deeper into Portia’s neck and pressed her weight onto the woman. The remaining panes in the window broke, thrusting glass shards through Portia’s back. She went limp.

  Erin threw up.

  “You okay?” Shelly asked.

  Erin stood, wiped spittle from her mouth, and nodded. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

  “And you saved my daughter’s. I won’t forget it.”

  “Where are the students?”

  “Hiding in Tiffany’s room. I told them not to come out until this was over.”

  “Did you see Paul? Is he okay?”

  Shelly noted anxiousness in the woman’s voice, the kind that only came when you cared for someone a lot. As she focused on Erin, her heart sank. Pretty and brave, she thought. She wanted to hate the woman, but couldn’t. Erin was the kind of woman she wanted Paul to love, though it hurt to know she couldn’t be with him now. “He’s fine. He’s guarding Franco.”

  “Who?”

  “The giant downstairs.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Oh no,” Shelly said. “Giovanni and Antonio. What do you know about them?”

  “Don’t know who they are, but one’s wounded in the boy’s dorm. I don’t know how bad. The other one isn’t injured. At least not when I saw him.”

  Shelly grabbed the shotgun from the floor, tested it, realized it was jammed, and cleared it. “Do you have more shells?”

  Erin dipped her hand in her pocked and handed several over. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you need to stay here and protect the students.”

  “With what? Without the shotgun, all I have are the Jimmy Choos you ruined.”

  “They’ll be safer with you here.”

  “Not if the terrorists get past you. There are two of them. I know I don’t fight as well as you or have a gun, but I can be a distraction. Give you the element of surprise. And after what I just saw”—she thumbed at Portia’s dead body—“that’s all you’d need.”

  Shelly knew the woman was right. Paul was hurt, and if either brother managed to free Franco, they’d be facing three killers. Her help might give them better odds.

  Shelly noticed a determined look in Erin’s eyes, one she’d seen before in others. “You’ll still follow me, no matter what I say, won’t you?”

  “To help Paul, yes.”

  Shelly sighed and said, “You do what I tell you, when I tell you. Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then follow me—quietly. And sorry about your shoes. They were gorgeous.”

  “I know,” Erin said.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  “Come on, Paul,” Forton said. “You know it all fits. Shelly’s the traitor.”

  He thought through everything he knew about Shelly. There was no way. Shelly would never betray him.

  Forton, on the other hand... He’d been reluctant to get Paul out of Italy. He’d constantly urged the FBI to prosecute him. Why was he here, anyway? He should be in Italy. “How’d you find out I was in danger?” he asked.

  Forton smiled and aimed his gun at him.

  “Shit,” Paul said.

  Forton chuckled. “Well, it was worth a try.” He gestured with his weapon. “Kneel next to Franco. Hands behind your back.”

  Paul grudgingly did as he directed.

  “It’s a good sign you didn’t know about me,” he said. “If Shelly hasn’t told you, then she hasn’t told anyone. I can kill you both and blame everything on her.”

  “The agency won’t buy it, just like I didn’t.”

  “Oh, but you don’t know how many clues I’ve planted. People dead, evidence I’ve left behind, top secret documents I’ve placed with her.”

  “How are you going to explain them?” he said, gesturing at Franco.

  “I don’t have to. Franco tortured the person who drove you out of southern Italy. The attaché knew your first name. And I made sure he killed people in a trail that led here. It’s only a small leap for the agency to believe they learned your location on their own.”

  The longer he kept Forton talking, the more likely it was he could figure out a way to escape. “And the Grimaldis just happen to arrive the same day Shelly is here to pick up her daughter? That’s too coincidental.”

  “You’re overthinking it. You know how many conclusions are created from incomplete information. It’s all about constructing a good narrative. And I’ve left enough breadcrumbs where the FBI will believe the one I want them to.”

  “Still doesn’t explain you.”

  “Me? I’m not even here. Witnesses will say I’m in Italy.”

  Paul realized with a sinking feeling that Forton had planned his betrayal extremely well. “And you planned all this to get the money?”

  “Oh, I’ve been working with the Ndrangheta for years. We started off bribing local politicians in major capitals. Then we encouraged them to run for national office. Now we have elected officials in a dozen countries taking out our competition while we quietly take over their territory.”

  Chuck entered the hallway from the basement. He had a gun aimed at Forton. His face was pale and blood flowed from a wound in his neck which he covered with his free hand. Beneath the sho
tgun hole in the center of his coat was a bullet proof vest. “That money is mine,” he said.

  Seeing Chuck and hearing his words, Paul knew another person he’d considered a friend had betrayed him. Depression washed through him, but he pushed the emotion aside. He had to think of an escape plan. And he thought he could use Chuck’s betrayal to his advantage.

  “I know where the money is. I’ll take you to it if you kill him,” Paul said, nodding toward Forton.

  “You remembered since this afternoon?” Chuck said, smirking.

  Paul realized Chuck had been listening to his session with Jacob. He had to lie perfectly. “Yes, Jacob’s trick worked.”

  Chuck swayed on his feet. From his red stained clothes, he’d lost a lot of blood.

  “He’s lying,” Forton said. “I’ll double your fee if you just walk away.”

  Chuck glanced from Forton to Paul. “Why would I take 200k when I could get 64 million?”

  “When you didn’t respond to my text today, I thought you might have figured it out.”

  Chuck’s reactions were sluggish. Paul had only seconds to turn this situation to his advantage. “He’s lying,” he said. “The money is in Montreal. You can have all of it, just kill him.”

  Chuck swung his gun toward Forton.

  Forton spun and shot Chuck in the head.

  Paul and Franco leapt off the floor and charged Forton. Forton bounded backward and swiveled his weapon toward them.

  “Back down,” Forton said.

  Paul and Franco froze in mid stride. Forton was now too far away for them to attack. Both men glanced at each other and then knelt back on the floor.

  Paul’s plan had failed and Forton still had him trapped. Again, he needed time to formulate a plan to survive. “If you’ve been working with the Ndrangheta for years, you must have money, why risk exposure for the diamonds?”

  “Because everything I have is tied to the Ndrangheta. I need to stand equal to them. The 64 million will buy enough influence in Washington to get a directorship in Homeland Security. When I have that, I can negotiate a better deal with the Ndrangheta. Putin and the Russian mafia have made hundreds of billions of dollars using state resources to further criminal enterprises. I think I can do better.”

  Forton’s belief that Paul knew the location of $64 million in diamonds was the only thing keeping him alive. He glanced at Franco and saw his eyes light up. He wanted the money too.

  Paul thought he could use that to his advantage. “If I tell you where it is, you really think Franco and Antonio will let you get it? Especially after what you did to his brother?”

  “If you tell me where it is, then I’ll kill him, his brother, and Portia. They’ll never trouble you again.”

  Now Paul had set the idea in Franco’s head that they were both enemies of Forton.

  “But you’ll kill me too. You can’t let me live now that I know about you. It ruins your alibi.”

  “You’re right, but I’ll let all the children live. They can’t identify me.”

  “What about Shelly? She’ll still be framed as the traitor.”

  “I’ve maneuvered it so I can shift all the evidence to Luther Freedman, who’s already dead, as long as Shelly keeps quiet. If not, I think she’d be willing to die to save her daughter.”

  He really had thought of everything.

  “How long have you been planning this?”

  Forton smirked. “Since you and Eric went undercover in Italy. I’ve plotted every contingency.”

  Except one: they didn’t know where the money was. Paul glanced at Franco again. The giant’s eyes bounced between him and Forton and Paul thought he was determining the best way, or the most likely person, to get him out of this alive.

  Paul wanted to give Forton a fake location, like he’d done with the Grimaldi’s eight months before. But he didn’t trust that Forton would keep his word. He could easily ally with Franco and kill everyone. Knowing Franco, despite Forton killing his brother, he’d accept that deal.

  “Kill Franco and take me with you. When we’re safely away, I’ll tell you where the money is.”

  “No, you need to tell me now. And time’s running out. If Shelly or anyone else comes down here and sees me, I’ll have to kill them.”

  Silence hung between them. In the quiet, Paul heard movement in the stairwell. He wanted to speak, to cover the sound, but Forton glanced at him and smiled.

  “Tell me quickly, Paul, or I’ll have to kill whoever it is coming down those stairs.” He crouched down then gestured with the gun and said, “Turn around. Face the stairwell.”

  Franco and Paul did as instructed. Whether Portia or Shelly came through that door, they couldn’t shoot Forton because the two of them formed a wall in front of him.

  Paul tried to think of a way out of this. His shoulder had recovered a little, but he didn’t trust it to work properly.

  Steps marched toward them. The door opened. Erin Randolph stepped out.

  No.

  Forton, surprised, stood up and asked, “Where’s Shelly?”

  Paul glanced at Franco. Their eyes met. Paul subtly indicated that they should attack Forton. He couldn’t trust Franco, the man was probably determining a way to kill all of them, but he couldn’t subdue Forton alone. After they’d done that, though, they’d have to fight each other for control of the gun. Whoever recovered it would determine who lived and who died.

  “Are you all right?” Erin asked him, ignoring Tom.

  Paul didn’t have time to respond. He was focusing on Franco, trying to get some sign of understanding from him, but his face remained impassive.

  Forton snarled, “Where’s Shelly?”

  Erin spoke louder than normal. “She’s dead. She and Portia killed each other.”

  Shock gripped him. He had to force that emotion away, however, to save Erin. He stared at Franco and silently counted down, “Three, two...”

  “Drop it!” Shelly said from behind them all. Paul glanced over his shoulder. Forton had frozen in place. Shelly stood three yards behind him with a shotgun aimed at his head. She couldn’t miss and Forton couldn’t turn around in time to shoot her. Paul guessed what she’d done. She’d sent Erin down as a decoy while she crossed the hall to the other stairwell and snuck up behind them. That’s why Erin had been speaking so loudly. He glanced down at Shelly’s feet. She was only wearing socks, which confirmed his theory.

  “You can’t kill me. I’ve framed you as the traitor. So put down the gun, Shelly,” Forton said, “or Paul dies.”

  Paul noticed indecision on Shelly’s face. If she killed Forton, she’d be put on trial for treason.

  Shelly shot him anyway. “I’ll take my chances.”

  Blood and gore drenched him and Franco. Forton dropped like a stone in water.

  Franco lunged for Forton’s pistol.

  Shelly pumped the shotgun, and aimed it at Franco as the giant brought up the recovered weapon.

  The side door burst open.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  “Think about your next steps carefully, Agent Evans,” Jacob Li said as he stepped through the door. “May I call you Shelly? I’ve heard so much about you, I feel like we know each other already.”

  He wore a heavy winter coat with dark pants and a black skullcap. He held a silenced pistol in his right hand. With his left hand, he retrieved another pistol from his waistband.

  Paul was dumbstruck. The man he’d told everything to, whom he’d come to trust like a friend, had been hired by Forton to spy on him.

  “But how?” Shelly asked. “The lead FBI psychologist recommended you.”

  “Oh, I am a psychologist,” he said. “I enjoy the work. The business allows me to launder money from my ‘other’ jobs. As far as the counselor recommending me, that was Agent Forton’s doing.”

  “Then you killed Abelie and Luther Freedman?” Shelly asked.

  Franco laughed.

  “No, but I’m guessing he did,” Jacob said, gesturing to Franco.
“I only came after you at your storage unit. And I must say how impressed I am. You’re the only target that’s ever gotten away from me.”

  Paul looked at Shelly, wondering why she hadn’t told him about her attack. She shook her head at him as if to say, Now is not the time.

  He surveyed the scene. Franco still had his gun aimed at Shelly, who also had her weapon trained on him. Jacob, from his vantage point, could kill any or all of them before they could react.

  “And you’re just going to kill us now?” Shelly said.

  “Oh no,” he said, nodding at Forton’s dead body. “My contract died with him. I need to get paid, and the bidding will start at five million dollars. Now, drop the shotgun, Shelly. And Franco, drop the gun. They paused for a moment, then did as directed.

  “Now, all of you get on your knees and form a line in front of me and put your hands behind your back. You too, Erin.”

  They kneeled in a row. Shelly, Paul, Franco, and Erin at the end.

  They all stared at Jacob.

  “How do I know you’ll let me go after I pay you?” Franco said.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Franco nodded as if he understood. “Five million, then. Get me to a working phone and I’ll transfer the money.”

  Jacob turned to him. “Paul, do you have a counteroffer?”

  He didn’t. Jacob knew he didn’t. He crouched several feet in front of them and looked him in the eye. “Paul, it’s important to me to let you know that everything we talked about was real.”

  His mind kept going back to Portia’s betrayal. This one wasn’t as terrible, but it was close. He had considered Jacob a friend, someone he could confide in, and now he aimed a gun at him, just like she had.

  Jacob shook his head, as if reading his mind and disagreeing with him. “I was hired by Forton to help you remember where the diamonds were, but very early on I realized I wanted to help you. And sometime during our sessions, I came to consider you a friend.”

  Paul laughed. He couldn’t help it. The absurdity of a man holding a gun to his head and claiming friendship.

  “I know,” Jacob said, gesturing with his weapon. “But let me prove it. Do you remember our last session?”