Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  In the distance, Nick heard the thump of a helicopter’s rotor. He reached into the cab, unlocked the handcuffs from Kharrazi’s wrists and returned them to his belt clip. He stared at Kharrazi; a crumpled heap of flesh and bones and nothing else. Nothing that could ever threaten him or his family again. He could almost see the malevolence dissipate from Kharrazi’s corpse.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Nick said. “Forever.”

  Chapter 41

  The line of parked limos stretched over the horizon down Pinewood Lane adjacent to the cemetery. In a black-clad semicircle, three hundred friends and family members stood around the casket that held Don Silkari. The casket was draped with an American flag. A priest in a dark silk robe recited nuances of distinction fit for a war hero. A distinction Silk had earned. Behind the priest were enough flowers to fill an Olympic swimming pool.

  Nick stood front and center, Julie clutching his left hand, his cousin Tommy to his right. Tommy still wore a large, flesh-tone bandage across his cheek, while just a trace of gauze wrap could be detected under Julie’s black hat. The remainder of the front row consisted of stern-looking men with practiced steely glares. Occasionally one of them would glance over at Sal Demenci, who stood to the right of Tommy Bracco. Sal was holding it together, but as the ceremony progressed, so did his temper. He kept looking at the priest as if he were speaking a foreign language. He’d shake his head and stare out over the casket, seeming to be searching for an answer.

  As the casket was lowered into the ground, the men formed a line and one by one they dropped playing cards, dice, and other paraphernalia into the grave. The most common item dropped was a single bullet that was palmed just before it left the donor’s hand to remain with Silk for eternity. Apparently, Silk’s sleight of hand act was more popular than he suspected.

  Matt and Jennifer Steele dropped flowers into the opening, while Julie passed by the coffin and broke down. She caught up with Silk’s mother and the two of them shared a convulsive hug.

  When it was his turn, Nick looked down at the box and tried to come to terms with his judgment. He felt the need to pray and purge his soul, full of remorse. It seemed like just last week they were teenagers and Silk was showing Nick and Tommy how to sneak into Pimlico Race Track from the backside stables. The three of them risking capture so they could save two bucks for the daily double. He whispered, “Forgive me, Silk.”

  Nick reached into his back pocket and slid out a folded copy of that day’s Racing Form. He held it over the grave and was about to drop it when he felt an arm drape around his shoulder and a second Racing Form appeared next to his. He looked up to see Tommy duplicating Nick’s ritual. Tommy winked at him. They both looked down and let go of the Forms at the same time.

  Tommy probably sensed Nick’s composure about to get away from him, so he patted his cousin’s back and encouraged him to move on and allow the line of mourners to progress.

  As the ceremony wound down, the crowd spread out in different directions, heading toward their cars or limos, shaking their heads.

  Matt took Julie’s arm and directed her toward an open limo door where Jennifer Steele waited for her. He looked over at Nick and gave a silent nod.

  Nick then nodded to Sal Demenci and the two men headed for a separate limo. A group of Sal’s men fell into step behind them. As they approached the limo, a large man pulled open the back door and Sal offered Nick the honors. Nick slid down the long bench seat and watched Sal do the same directly across from him. Tommy sat next to Sal and chewed on a red toothpick. It only took a few seconds for the rest of the seats to fill up. The door closed and the silence began. Nick hadn’t smoked a cigarette in fifteen years, yet he craved one right now.

  Sal broke the silence. “So, how was dinner at the White House?”

  “Yeah,” Nick said, “it was good. Julie’s still buzzing over it.”

  “Good, good,” Sal said, his hands clasped over his stomach.

  More silence.

  Finally, Tommy said, “Look, Nicky, you gonna tell us what happened?”

  Nick knew he should tell them the story. So he did. Everything. Even the part about him sending Silk into an ambush. When he was done, his elbows were on his knees and his head was down. He could hear Sal sigh.

  “Of all people,” Sal said. “You’re the one.”

  Nick stared at his shoes.

  “You’re the one who insults Silk,” Sal said.

  Nick looked up.

  Sal sat upright with his arms folded. He turned to Tommy next to him. “You buying it?”

  Tommy shook his head. “Nah.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nick said. “Those are the facts.”

  Sal flipped his index finger back and forth between Tommy and Nick. “You two grew up the Three Musketeers with Silk. Was there ever a time one of you pulled the wool over Silk’s eyes? Ever?”

  Nick made eye contact with his cousin. Without either of them saying a word, Sal had made his point.

  Sal leaned forward now and was only inches from Nick’s face. “I’m gonna tell you something, Silk not only knew it was an ambush, he walked into the damn thing just awkward enough to be taken lightly. If he didn’t, that Kharrazi character would’ve picked him off with a night scope and Silk wouldn’t be able to plant that chip thing. He knew exactly what the fuck he was doing.”

  Sal leaned back to murmurs of support from his crew.

  “C’mon, Nicky,” Tommy said, disappointed. “You know better than that, huh?”

  Nick was beginning to understand it now. If Silk was simply ambushed, it makes him look slow, which is not exactly how these guys want him remembered. Neither did Nick.

  “There is one other thing,” Nick said, and he went on to tell them Silk’s last words, that Nick should track Kharrazi down if he screwed up.

  This opened up a chorus of, “See that?” and “Exactly what Sal’s trying to say.”

  Nick was actually beginning to feel better. This was worth twenty sessions with Dr. Morgan. He was at Silk’s funeral and was finding himself almost happy. Talking with Sal was practically cathartic. Why did he suddenly feel so blissful? Maybe it was the relief of confessing his sins. Maybe it was the document he had tucked in his jacket pocket. Maybe it was the fact that they were right. Silk could be many things, but slow wasn’t one of them.

  “Does your boss know you’re telling us all of this?” Tommy said.

  “I don’t have a boss right now,” Nick said. “I resigned from the Bureau yesterday.”

  “You shittin’ me?” Tommy said.

  “Nope.”

  “What’re you gonna do?”

  “I’m looking for a place up in the mountains. I think Julie and I are going to take it easy for a while. Get rid of some stress.”

  “Good for you,” Sal said. “I always thought you were wound up a little tight. You’re doing the right thing.” He paused and thought for a moment. “So, we all square with the Feds?” He looked out the window at Silk’s grave, “I mean, we pay enough of a price for them?”

  Nick glanced at each man, one by one. When he got to Sal, he said, “You overpaid.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Sal grunted.

  Nick reached into his inside jacket pocket and came out with a black leather case. It was a document holder the size of a large checkbook. The case gleamed in his hand and Nick could smell the fresh leather.

  “What ya got there?” Tommy pointed his toothpick.

  Nick handed the leather case to Sal, then watched.

  Sal’s face brightened as he reviewed the document inside.

  Nick waited to let the concept sink in before he hit him with it. Finally, after a minute, Sal looked up at Nick. “What does this mean exactly?”

  “It means you’ve been selected to be an Honorary Consulate of the United States of America.”

  Sal smiled and held up the shiny leather case to give everyone a good look. When they were all done gawking at the official document ins
ide, Sal looked back at Nick, “Okay? What exactly does a, uh, Consulate do?”

  “Well, technically, he would look after American commercial interests in foreign countries.”

  “American commercial interests? What the fuck’s that mean?”

  “Well, Sal,” Nick said, “you’re a successful businessman. We need someone with your talent to help grow your industry throughout the world.”

  Sal’s eyebrows furrowed. “But I run an exterminating business.”

  “That’s right,” Nick said. “It’s precisely the type of business we need to export. We need a good exterminator.”

  Sal tapped the case against his leg and gave Nick a skeptical glare. “You need an exterminator?”

  Nick nodded, giving nothing away.

  Sal looked like the tumblers were falling into place as understanding crossed his face. “You said, technically I look after these interests? What about untechnically?”

  Nick grinned. Silk wasn’t the only one who could smell an ambush. “Well, untechnically, you would report to a Victor Pedroza in the U.S. Embassy in Amman, Jordan.”

  “Jordan? What the fuck—”

  Nick held up his hand. “Hold on, Sal. Before you get all bent out of shape, let me explain.”

  Sal leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Only if you’re willing,” Nick continued, “Victor Pedroza will be your contact at the embassy. Pedroza is a twenty-year veteran of the CIA. He will furnish you with classified papers and photos of the worlds most powerful terrorists and their current whereabouts. Leaders of Hamas, al-Qaeda, Hezbollah. Your expertise will help eradicate these leaders.”

  Sal lifted an eyebrow. “I see.” He studied Nick for a moment and said. “If they know where these guys are, how come they need us? And how come it took so long to find . . . uh, what’s his name?”

  “We always know where they are, Sal. Sometimes it benefits us to watch who comes and goes more than it does to take the guy out. Then there are times when we don’t have enough evidence to arrest, yet we know what they’re up to. We use wiretaps, satellite photos, stuff that sometimes doesn’t hold up too well in court. We need someone to, well, let’s say, we need someone to take care of certain projects behind the scenes.”

  Sal nodded, thinking about the idea. “If we always know what they’re up to, then what happened on September 11th?”

  Nick sighed. “Yeah, well, that’s when the gloves came off and all of this satellite communications stuff became routine. We’ve been infiltrating their networks ever since. And as far as Kharrazi goes, the CIA had the goods on him, but egos got in the way.”

  “Ain’t that always the case,” Tommy said.

  Nick rubbed the side of his face. “Look, there’s going to be mistakes made. That can’t be avoided. But we can diminish their abilities dramatically. You only have to go over there a couple of times a year.” Nick looked around at the rest of Sal’s crew. “You’ll need to find some staff members to take with you.”

  Sal sat still a moment, then unfolded his arms and slapped his knees. “Damn. So the government actually wants us to go whack these assholes?”

  Nick winced. “Let’s just say, the United States Government doesn’t mourn the loss of terrorists. And they’re willing to pay handsomely to expedite their demise.”

  “What happens if we get caught?”

  Nick nodded again, ready for the question. “When a terrorist is killed, the CIA becomes the lead investigator. They will work with the local authorities and confiscate any evidence left behind. This evidence has a way of getting buried. As long as the incident isn’t filmed by the media, it’s a safe bet that the killer will never be caught. The CIA will guarantee that.”

  “They can do all that?”

  Nick grinned. “Sal, if the CIA wants to, they can always find a way to gain jurisdiction. Once they have jurisdiction, they control everything. And I mean everything.”

  Sal seemed satisfied with that.

  Nick thought about something Kharrazi told him just before he bled out. “The United States has been forced to play by the rules when it came to terrorism, yet the terrorists don’t have those restrictions. Up until now it hasn’t been a fair fight.” Nick pointed to the document in Sal’s hand. “We’ve just evened up the odds.”

  Sal lifted a brown cigar from his jacket pocket and played with it. “I don’t know.” He pointed the cigar at Nick, “How do you figure in all of this?”

  “I’m simply the liaison for the State Department. Just an ex-FBI agent making decisions on my own. There’ll be no footprints to follow back to the White House.” Nick hunched over and looked up at the crew as if he were a quarterback in the middle of a huddle. “Everyone in this car is an American. It’s time we show these assholes how to play the game. We’ve always had the technology, now we have the muscle to back it.”

  Nick could feel the testosterone level elevate around him as he spoke. He pressed down a bandage that was coming loose from his sweating forehead. He spoke, not as an ex-FBI agent, or Tommy Bracco’s cousin, but as a salesman trying to close the deal. He’d spent too many sleepless nights worried about the things he couldn’t do because of the law, or because of his moral obligation to follow the Constitution. Nick had turned the corner and he wasn’t ever going back.

  He noticed Sal absently finger his cigar as he concentrated fully on Nick.

  Nick said, “It's time we go after the leaders of these groups. We sort of take all the fun out of being the boss. It disrupts their plans and lowers the quality of leader they choose. After a while, they’re doing more fighting among themselves than anything else.”

  Sal stopped playing with the cigar. He put it back in his jacket pocket, leaned over and rubbed his hands together. “What kind of protection we get?”

  “The best,” Nick said. He looked straight at Sal and said. “Look at me, Sal. What do you see?”

  Sal appeared leery of the question and didn’t say anything.

  “I’ll tell you what you see,” Nick said. “You see a man who’s just lost a close friend, and who isn’t about to take unnecessary chances with any more of his friends. You also see a man of Sicilian heritage who’s proud to be an American and who’s not afraid to make right some injustices that have been inflicted upon us. Now, does that remind you of anyone else in this car?”

  It started slowly, but the corners of Sal’s lips quivered upward and kept going until it was a full-grown smile. This, of course, became contagious and a few moments later every man in the limo was smiling. Sal began to chuckle and the background chucklers filled in behind him. Now the whole car was a symphony of laughter, with Sal gently slapping Nick’s cheek. “You’re good, Nicky. You are really good.”

  ***

  Nick slid into the limo next to Julie and across from Matt and Steele. The four of them rode in silence as the vehicle pulled away from the gravesite. Nick glanced at Matt and gave him an imperceptible nod.

  Steele had a tissue up against her nose as she gazed out the window. Julie focused on the ball of tissues in her hands. Nick couldn’t remove the smile from his face. Matt ignored it, but Steele sat cross-legged in a knee length black dress and took notice of Nick’s behavior.

  “Something funny?” she said.

  Julie turned and saw a straight-faced Nick say, “What?”

  Matt covered for him as he always would. He looked out at the opening in the overcast sky, “Looks like it might be clearing up out there.”

  Julie must have seen the contentment return to Nick’s expression. She touched his face. “You okay?” she whispered.

  Nick nuzzled her ear. “I’m fine.” He turned her chin to face him, their foreheads pressed together. “We’re fine.”

  Julie smiled, then dug her face into Nick’s shoulder and let it all come out until Nick could feel the moisture make it through his jacket to his shirt. From the corner of his eye he saw Matt put his arm around Steele and watched her fall perfectly into Matt’s hold, like
two pieces of a puzzle reuniting for the first time since leaving the box.

  Nick met Matt’s eyes. A partnership that needed no words.

  Nick’s smile lingered. He looked out the window. “It does look like it’s clearing up, doesn’t it?”

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  A couple of puffy white clouds looked lonely crossing the expansive Arizona sky. Beneath them, a spring breeze tickled the tops of the Ponderosa pines that surrounded a small fishing lake. At the east end of the lake, Nick and Julie gently rocked on the porch swing. From their wooden deck they could take in the entire scene. Nick was reading the Sunday edition of the Arizona Republic while Julie worked a pair of knitting needles around a spread of yarn on her lap.

  “Here come the neighbors,” Julie said.

  Nick looked up from the paper and had to squint from the reflection of sunlight glaring off the lake. He saw two figures emerge from a path in the woods just north of the lake. Matt McColm and Jennifer Steele furiously pumped the pedals of their lightweight bicycles toward the Bracco’s A-frame. Their momentum guided them up the slope of grass that separated the Bracco’s home from the lake itself. They stopped in front of the porch, straddled their bikes, and took long swigs from their bottled water. They both wore shorts and tee-shirts, which were marked with small patches of sweat. Matt slid his water bottle into the carrier below his seat and peered over the wooden railing that surrounded the deck, “Howdy, Sheriff.”

  Nick rolled his eyes. “You’d be Sheriff too if the President flew into Payson to campaign for you a week before the election.”

  Matt shook his head and smiled. “Sheriff Bracco.”

  “He never gets tired of saying that,” Steele said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

  “I never do,” Matt agreed.

  “Well, I love it,” Julie said. “It sure beats, ‘We were shot at today, Jule, but don’t worry, they missed us again.’”