Ded Reckoning

by William F Lee

  "Joe, we need to get them out of there. A safe house, or better, bring them to Maria. To Capri. And I'll get Bradovich to do all this."

  "Who?"

  "Eugene Bradovich. My buddy in San Diego. I can ... we can trust him. For sure."

  "I'd sooner use an agency asset."

  "That could be a MacBeer asset."

  "Yeah, that's possible. Well, okay. Bradovich it is. You set it up. Just move some of your money to him and tell him to use cash only.

  "Done. It'll keep the DeLucas away from people, the media, and especially our friends. Also, we can close ranks and they'll be close to Dee. Well, I mean her remains. You have the embassy collect and hold the remains until we, I, get it untangled and into some form of calmness." Hunter pauses, half chuckles and adds, "Actually I'll be diverting their attention adding Taormina to Pisa's woes."

  "Okay, sounds good. You get in touch with Maria and get the ball rolling. ASAP."

  "Roger, and I'll confirm."

  "And listen, Kemo Sabe, the shit is hitting the fan so fast here that the city will be completely fertilized before the morning papers are out. Get your job done, and bring back the package."

  "Joe, I already have a photocopy of the package."

  "What? Oh. Great. Send it. But to Ruth, gift wrapped or something."

  "Wilco. My plan is to bring back the original after Tonto's buddy rides. Unfortunately, right now I don't know where 'our' friend is. Only where I hope he'll be coming, and soon. I'm guessing his man will be here soon. I need both here to make it easy. And, Joe, I've got the place juiced, so if push comes to shove, there may not be much left. It could look like Hiroshima."

  "Oh shit." He lifts his butt from the seat letting some gas wander away. "Well, get it done. I've got to get to the President. First with MacBeer and then, somehow without him. Gotta run. And remember, the faster you finish the fight, the less shot you'll get."

  "Geez, Joe. Cut the crap. I haven't touched the trigger yet and we've got more bodies than at Anzio."

  "It's just a rule. And I'm worried about you."

  "Joe, go see the President, and while there by yourself, tell him I said hello. And that I'm okay and have his back."

  "You know him?"

  "Yeah. Extremely well. We're buds of a sort. He owes me, and Ruth in a way."

  "You never ... Ruth? Not one of those ... one of those bimbo set-ups. Damn. I would have never ...none of this is in your file."

  "Joe, just tell him what I said. And tell him when I get back we'll have a pop together. Bye."

  Hunter looks at the phone resting in the cradle. Glances at the TV again and the talking heads. Then sits at the small desk staring out the window overlooking the pool below, and the bay beyond. The pool gleams an aqua green hue and the bay abounds with flickering lights of moored yachts. He sucks in some air, then dials Maria in Capri.

  Pisces heads directly west out of the harbor, before turning northeast. He will pass Trapani, and shortly turn due east and pass Carini and Palermo, hug the coast until he coves up for the night in the Milazzo area. Then in the morning, up anchor and haul ass, round the northeastern tip of Sicily, past Messina, and south through the Stretto di Messina to Taormina.

  On board the Sorridenta with him are Chiarina and Estella. The weather is clear, breeze light, the mood is spirited although dampened in Chiarina's eyes by the horrifying news early this morning from Pisa. Estella is getting herself and Chiarina settled on board by dutifully stowing baggage in their respective compartments. She in her own, her mistress's in with Roberto. The bulk of their luggage is being taken to Roberto's home by Benito, Signora Russo's driver. He will drive straight through and will be waiting. While Estella busies herself, Chiarina lounges on the sun deck with the master of the Sorridenta.

  "Roberto, this is wonderful. Wonderful! Yet wrong somehow. It is hard to enjoy all this knowing about that horrible massacre in Pisa."

  "It is sad. Tragic. But not of our concern. Put it out of your mind."

  "Yes, I should. But why did this ... thisa unspeakable, appalling act happen? What could cause such dreadfulness? Who would do such a thing? And, why?"

  "I don't know, sweetheart. It's beyond my comprehension. The world is incredibly ugly at times. Too ugly. But we can't do anything about that except live our lives the right way. Pleasantly. We can hope for a miracle, but unfortunately not rely on it. In life there are just more ups and downs than a fiddler's elbow. Let's not talk of the downs. Leave us enjoy this trip, ourselves, and what's before us. Follow our hearts. You know, the heart sees better than the eye."

  Chiarina moves from her seat, snuggles close to Roberto and coos, "Yes, you are so righta. Perhaps a poet besides an artist."

  "May be, but to be fair some of those words are the thoughts of others, not mine. Just heard them somewhere and like the tone. They're good medicine."

  "Ahhh, Roberto. You are my medicine. And in all the righta doses ... and places."

  Pisces stares at her, asks, "And Estella?"

  "For shame. Shame. She is a diversion. For both of us if we choose. If you do not like this from time to time, I will shed this wicked behavior. After all, I needa only you now."

  "And I only you. We will steer her towards Rocco. It will be a match made in ... made in Taormina." He chuckles and hugs Chiarina.

  "So it will be."

  Estella interrupts, "So what will be?" and pleads for help onto the sun deck with a bottle of wine and three glasses. Having her plea answered, adds, "I heard some of that. About good medicine. But, whatever. For now, wine tops the list of all medicines." She smiles, steadies herself on deck, and with Chiarina and Roberto holding the glasses, says, "Allow me," and pours the velvety carpet from the bottle into each crystal glass. "A fine Chianti."

  Roberto raises his glass, says, "I heard this toast from a fine Jewish gentleman I encountered a few years back. It's a Jewish proverb I think. It goes something like this, 'When life is at stake, don't follow the majority.' We won't." He smiles, "Trust me."

  In unison the ladies clink his glass and say, "To hell with the majority. And we do." Both laugh, then Estella adds, "Remember, a man without a woman cannot defend himself against seductions ... whatever that means." She giggles, adds. "That too is a Jewish proverb."

  "It means, life is good." Roberto slides in his lounge chair. Stretching out and holding his glass of Chianti on high. "Yes, life is good. Two exquisite, pleasing women. Mellow wine. Clear weather. What could possibly be better?"

  "Rocco," hesitantly questions Estella as she looks from one to the other. The air becomes still. The water calms. It is apparent the Mediterranean Sea has withdrawn from the conversation.

  Chiarina drops her chin, "You heard?"

  "Yes. I love diversity and what happened the last few evenings. Nevertheless perhaps I will love Rocco."

  Roberto sits up, swings his legs over the side of his chair, struggles to his feet and gives Estella a firm hug. "I'm sure Rocco will topple within seconds at the sight of you. And you for him. But, if not," and he puts his other arm around Chiarina, "we will do what you two wish. Whatever pleases the two of you."

  "You please me, Roberto. As does, Chiarina."

  Chiarina blows a kiss to Estella and chirps, "Okay. We will do as "we" wish. Now let's enjoy this wine, and if it will return, the breeze from the sea, and the view." She kisses both on the lips. A peck, yet with a flick of her tongue for teasing and a taste.

  Pisces tightens his hug on both, then releases them and returns to his chair. Stretches out once again and gazes out to sea. Feels the breeze return from its moment of calm. Smiles. Good. A new life, and perhaps a new way of life.

  "Maria, Hunter. Please listen for ..."

  "Oh, Hunter. Thank God. Have you seen the TV? Heard the news? My God, that's where Dee is." Her voice rising with each thought. "That's the same hotel and where you were supposed to be. Oh, Lord, I ..."

  "Maria, listen to me. If you aren't sitting down, sit down. Now." He pauses. Getting no res
ponse or reaction, adds, "Are you sitting?"

  "Yes. Good God, Hunter, I have this ..."

  "Calm down."

  "I can't until I know ..."

  "Maria, please. I'm sorry, your sister ... your ... Maria, Dee is dead. She is the one in the news ..."

  Hunter's words are drowned out by her scream. Not one. Rather, one after another. Her shrill voice breaks into sobs and a gasping for air. The clatter of the phone hitting a table rattles in his ear. The thumping sounds of fists hitting a hard surface is transmitted so clearly he can more or less feel the vibration at his own desk here in Taormina. More screams, interlaced with profanities and a string of "Oh, God, no's." Then some, "I did this to her, my God." Several times. Moments seem like hours. Time, however vital, always seems like eternity in these instances. And valuable time is passing in Hunter's mind.

  Hunter shouts again for Maria to pick up the phone. To calm down. Finally a calm ensues in the form of a quietly weeping Maria saying, "Oh, Hunter what are we going to do? What can we do? Does my family know? Oh, Good Lord, what are the children going ..." and the sobs return, gaining in volume. The inhalations are throaty, the gasps for air deeper. Quiet comes. But, like a hurricane passing a landfall, the eye follows offering only temporary relief.

  "MARIA. Maria. Get on the phone. Get a grip. We have to take control of this. Now."

  Still weepy, she responds, having gained some control in the eye of the storm. "Okay. Okay. Tell me how. Was it like they are reporting?"

  "Yes. She was assassinated. We believe Dee was shot by Pisces' body guard. Probably the same man that killed Angelo." The weeping begins again, quickly going to sobs.

  Hunter waits for several moments even though time is prized. His system always runs icy under stress. It always did. Does now. He orders, "Maria, get a grip. However horrible this is, remember, you know all this. You know what Dee did and was up to. Jesus, she was having an affair with her old boss. Again. They had Angelo killed. It has backfired in the worse possible manner. I'll help you. The family. The children. If I can. And I will take care of the man, the men, that did this. But you and I have to take care of business. Now. Are you up to this?" He pauses, again allowing precious moments to pass.

  "Maria, get up for this. We have to act now. Suck it up, Maria. NOW, dammit."

  "Okay, you bastard. I'm ready."

  "Good. Now then ..."

  "I didn't mean that, Hunter." She inhales deeply. "Do you care for me at all, Hunter?"

  "Of course. You're a helluva gutsy lady. Great American. A patriot. I mean ..."

  "That's it?"

  "Well, yes. Pretty much. Well, a friend of course. Listen, this is business. A war in a way. And, you're in it with me, us. So, I guess buddies too."

  "Buddies? Okay. Let's get on with it."

  "Right. Now then, this is what we must do."

  Hunter tells Maria the plan and of Bradovich. All will come to Capri and wait for him, Hunter. When he arrives, all will be finished and they can take Dee home. She acknowledges. He says, "See ya. Bye." Gone.

  Maria hears the click, a buzzing, and the pounding of her heart.

  And no more tears. There are none left tonight.

  Danny Shanahan looks away from the window of the laboring train as it climbs. However hard it is to turn away from the beauty of the Alps, his younger brother's pensiveness is stronger medicine. "Where is your mind, Sean? Tis not here."

  "You're right. Not here. Not in Pisa. It is at home. With Mum and Mary Kate. Where I should be and will be. I hope."

  "That's a good place for it to be. Me as well ... well, not with Mary Kate, but home and with Mum. All of us. We will be there, perhaps not soon enough, but soon as possible."

  "And what of Muldoon? And his idiot son? And the others?"

  "I don't know, but the Shanahan family will go its own way. I will see to that."

  "I was thinking Danny, I can ..."

  "Think of Mum. And Mary Kate. And making me an uncle. And get some sleep, it's a way to go yet."

  "Aye, it tis. And we'll make it. Won't we?"

  "Aye, we will, as long as you don't kiss me."

  A chuckle. Nervous and not.

  John MacBeer paces his office. Then sits at his desk. Then up again, and paces. I need Pisces dead. Now. God dammit! Dee, you fucked this up. He kicks his desk. No, I should have never ...

  He hears the static of his intercom come to life. "Sir, Mister Zachary is on the way in. You and he have a meeting with the President in less than an hour."

  MacBeer reaches to the desk to respond as Joe Zachary enters. He looks up but pushes the button regardless and says, "Thanks. On the way." Stands from his stooped position, nods at Joe Zachary and asks, "Are we ready? Anything new?"

  "No, sir, nothing new except Kerrigan wasn't there. He's alive."

  MacBeer jolts to a halt. "I know ... Kerrigan? Why wasn't he ... wasn't he ... well, where the hell is he?"

  "Don't know. Only know the guy found with Dee was your man. By the way, what the hell was he doing there?"

  "My man. You mean an agency operative? Right?"

  "Well, I guess. Thought he worked only for you. Anyway, that's all that's new. I'm ready. You know, boss, you're not looking so well. Are you okay? Look pale, and perspiring like you have a touch of the flu or something."

  "I'm fine. Fine. Let's go."

  Zachary pats MacBeer on the back and says, "Well, sir. Good. And oh, when we finish I'll need a minute alone with the President."

  MacBeer stiffens and stops. "Why? What for? This is most irregular."

  "Well, it's personal. Ruth and the First Lady are old friends. She has a message she wants me to deliver for her. He'll understand, probably better than I." Zachary prods MacBeer along with a gentle push and a couple of pats on the back.

  "Oh, okay. I didn't know that. I mean that Ruth knew the first family."

  "Yeah. Crazy, huh?"

  "Well then, let's take two vehicles. I don't want to wait."

  "Already arranged."

  "Huh! Oh, fine. Yes."

  CHAPTER 27

  "Do not attend a gunfight with a handgun,

  the caliber of which does not

  start with a '.4' "

  A gunfighter's rule

  Marnee's tailing of Rocco DeStefano is thorny from the "git-go", especially through the dimly lit park, and then by taxi through Pisa to the airport. The streets in town are clogged since many are blocked by the police, and they are bursting with sirens and flashing lights of the emergency vehicles. Once at the airport and determining Rocco's destination, Marnee gambles and gets on the aircraft first, sits in the rear, busies herself with an out-of-date magazine as they fly to Reggio Calabria. Next a trip to the docks and a ferry to Messina in Sicily. As a Mossad agent, Marnee knows her history; consequently her time in and getting through Reggio Calabria is fraught with trepidation.

  The city is unique in itself, and is menacing as it relates to Rocco's family name. Reggio Calabria is beautiful although being ruined by a crime war, bordering on revolution, which if one thinks of its history is not necessarily surprising. Sixty-six years ago the city, and a huge percentage of its population, were destroyed by an earthquake at 5:21AM in the morning which incidentally is about the time of day Marnee and Rocco arrived from Pisa today. However, the earth is tranquil at this moment in history, ostensibly not hungry although across the strait Etna belched and regurgitated its innards just a few months ago. However, in 1905 some 25,000 souls perished from the quake here. Most of them as they rushed to the sea for safety and were met by a ten foot tsunami. Three other tsunamis hit finishing Mother Nature's reminder. Also, the same quake killed more than twice as many in the town of Messina, across the strait. Reggio Calabria was rebuilt of course, but again destroyed not by nature, instead by a British air raid in 1943. Raised from rubble once again and certainly more modern it flourished for years, however now it's being ravaged by a political war and crime wave. The 'Ndrangheta, a mafia-type crime organization i
s the cause. The city is home to 'ndrine, such as Condello-Imerti and the DeStefano-Tegano clans, warring against one another. Marnee is aware of the DeStefano name in the latter clan and is keen to leave, although to remain hidden on the ferry ride to Messina will be difficult. However, she does it well, mingling with the tourists, visiting mainlanders and the home-bound Sicilians.

  In Messina, Rocco is met by a young man driving a black, '71 Mercedes-Benz 280 SEL 3.5 sedan. Marnee is hard pressed to lease a rental car and get on the road hoping to catch-up to the southbound black, 4-door 280 within 50 miles. There are dozens upon dozens of possible destinations. She has no time to call Mossad headquarters but has caught glimpses of the TV news in terminals and overhears worried conversations on the ferry. She knows firsthand, of course, of the killings outside the hotel, and now knows something of the carnage inside. She knows of Itzak and Namir's murders. She is enraged, so the problem is not just staying with Rocco hoping it'll lead to Pisces, but to reclaim her calm and business-like attitude and approach. This is more than difficult since it was Pisces that assassinated her uncle, a highly respected member of the Knesset, a few years ago in Jerusalem.

  The mind games are intense for Marnee. Now in a strange location. Destination unknown. No back-up. No plan other than to terminate two men and any that interfere.

  She drives south and catches up to Rocco's Mercedes as they travel through Santa Teresa di Riva. She supposes the young man driving, with Rocco lounging in the rear seat, is making it a leisurely and relaxing trip for the "gentleman" returning home. She passes the sedan so as not to create any suspicion for coming-up on them so rapidly. Marnee keeps tabs in the rear view mirror from less than a half kilometer ahead for several minutes, then slows and allows the Mercedes to pass her. As it does she holds a road map between her head and the side window pretending to check and navigate as she drives. Only the youngster driving gives her a glance. After this she follows, hanging back a quarter of a kilometer or more when possible.