CHAPTER FIFTEEN
For months there had not been any progress to Amiable’s search for the killer of Ana Meredith. He had been under tremendous pressure for results but as time went by even that diminished and finally disappeared as he was faced with other cases, other lives terminated by violence, other acts of mayhem that called for justice, for closure. Then out of the blue a note from Maria del Carmen Hidalgo, the long forgotten ICE agent that had helped him with Joao Pernambuco, brought him back to the case. She had placed a facial recognition cookie into the system and an entry had brought up a positive. Miami International had a positive facial match to Joao Pernambuco and Theodore Miles; confidence was high. There had been no detention as the ID took place in the sequencing process, not at the moment of entry; also there was no request other than notification. There was another problem. The passport was diplomatic, issued by the Vatican to Monsignor Enrico Testa, an American citizen; it would be a very complicated call for the State Department.
By the time Amiable was trying his luck at tracing the whereabouts of the priest he had disappeared. No car rental, no continuing flights, no knowledge of him in any dioceses within the neighboring states; nothing, nowhere, nada. The error of margin on the ID by the software and the diplomatic status of the individual did not warrant an all-out detention request. A BOLO as a person of interest was not authorized for interstate distribution and the FBI turned it down flat. Then he remembered that a powerful senator had been doing a lot of posturing and had his aids calling Amiable twice a day for weeks asking for updated reports until things had cooled off. He picked up the phone and left message for the senator. He would only speak to him as it was a very delicate matter about the murder of a Ms. Ana Meredith. And no, he would not speak to the senator’s chief of staff, and yes, it could wait until the senator was available.
Senator Archibald Mason sat at lunch in one of the Congress private dining rooms with Terry Taylor. The junior congressman had been acting somewhat erratic because his income had tanked and the lifestyle he was forced to provide his socialite wife, “without touching Daddy’s money,” was taking him to the cleaners.
“If it wasn’t for that creep Joseph Jr. we wouldn’t be in this situation. Meredith has not answered one of my calls and with the campaign just a few weeks away I really don’t know what to do.”
“You know, Delany was promoted out of the taskforce,” said Mason, “and pressure on the money shipments has diminished. Unfortunately leaks are still getting to the FBI, and now shipments of cash are a hit or miss proposition. We have lost a lot of clients even though they knew the risks involved. It looks like some Vegas operation has offered them better alternatives but we haven’t been able to find out who. Everybody is keeping this one close to their chest.”
“I think Delany is behind this,” insisted Terry. “I think he set us up. His father was a dick, so what makes you think he’s any better?”
Before Mason could answer, his phone vibrated and he looked at the screen. It was his chief of staff and the call was coded 911, which made him answer.
“I’ll call you back in a couple of minutes. Put on the scrambler and go to the conference room.”
Mason excused himself and after about five minutes he returned to the table.
“It looks like the cardinal’s attack dog is back in the States,” he said to Taylor. “I got a call from the detective that’s in charge of Ana’s murder and now he wants help to get the FBI involved in this. I have to think this one out.”
Dupree and Edward Meredith had decided to meet at the Meredith winter home in Palm Beach. The cardinal was not fond of the cold and Florida had magnificent weather this time of year. The prelate was dressed casually and so was Edward. They sat in comfortable chairs on a second story balcony that looked onto the sea. The Atlantic was calm, just a few small waves rippling the blue expanse of water that reflected the cloudless sky. Edward had rationalized that the murder of his mother was a blessing and that the man sitting next to him was somehow divorced from that deed, knowing perfectly well that if it had not been by his hand, it certainly was by his will. Edward was now complaining about the difficulties of controlling his seconds-in-command. They were always contradicting him, squabbling among themselves and taking liberties that would not have been allowed before. He had tried to get hold of the reins, but he felt that things had gotten out of his hands.
“There is always something like this when the heir to a powerful leader might not have had the full support of that person. Then others think it is not their obligation to accept the full authority of the new head of the organization, be it a corporation, a nation or a church. Then it’s time for the new leader to act ruthlessly or lose forever his or her domain. I for one,” said the cardinal, “have seen this happen within our church more than once and only by the hand of our Lord Jesus Christ was disaster averted.”
“Well, don’t think I don’t pray for guidance, it’s just that God hasn’t answered and I’m getting desperate,” said Edward.
“What do you mean He hasn’t answered?” asked the cardinal. “Am I not here?”
For the last couple of months Marco’s life was perfect. Living in paradise with a woman that was everything he could have dreamt of and much more. His work was rewarding and he tackled it with gusto getting results that were tangible, reflected his convictions, and showed the first tendrils of the roots that would sustain his plans for the future he had laid out in his thesis so many years ago.
Meredith was checked and every move he made was countered or thwarted. Land expansion of that family was curtailed by one means or the other and now with the help of Francisco and Patricia, he was getting local politicians in most of South America to implement farming programs targeted toward neighboring communities and avoiding gas consumption and infrastructure deterioration. This promised to sustain land reforms that had so many times failed in the past. Logistics programs were implemented using free software that was provided by Scorpio and that maximized the benefits of each mile traveled and each gallon of fuel consumed. A test run of a banking program was implemented in Colombia where the group had bought a local bank and was making short-term, recyclable loans to farms that accepted the challenge and to outlets that stocked their produce. The results were very promising. Other banking institutions were carefully looking at the results and hopefully in a not too distant future the culture of these would change. It was only the beginning of the beginning but he was encouraged to act faster and in wider scope.
Patricia had, in her mind, created a continuum between her time with Sal and now her delightful life with this extraordinary man who made her completely happy. Her father and Marco got along fine. Francisco had been somewhat taken aback when Patricia, as delicately as she could, let him know of this new love in her life. Francisco and Sal had become very good friends and were closer in age so they shared more memories than he could with Marco, but the happiness that Patricia exuded and the light in her eyes melted his heart and he wholeheartedly accepted him as Patricia’s partner in life.
The success Marco’s suggestions for the businesses of The Board also put him in high esteem of all. There was only one thing to mar their happiness; their enemies were still at large and reasons to hate Marco and Patricia were greater as The Board grew and they lost terrain. Francisco knew who they were, but little could be done other than what they were already doing. M&M had suggested alternative actions but the timing had never been right and it was obvious that even the death of the most powerful person in that confabulation did not diminish their aggression and the one rift between the Meredith and the cardinal was naught. Their security was heightened and Allen Security was confident that they had the situation in hand, but past events where security was high, showed that it could be breached.
Ian Carlo’s power and prestige in the world of organized crime had grown exponentially and his coattails had brought Tommy Lee to heights he had not dreamed. The Liguria family was now a force to be reckoned with
and that made some people nervous. The gangs of Colombians, Jamaicans, Russians, Irish, and Orientals had to buy from the Liguria or one of the Lorenzana, a family from New Orleans that Ian Carlo set up so that not all the eggs were in one basket. As usual, when this took place, Tommy Lee did not protest or even comment on it. He was no dumbass and knew on which side his toast was buttered. This earned him a huge bonus by way of becoming a partner in the largest nightclub chain in the USA, Camille’s Playpen. Fifty-eight highly appointed establishments offered the best in gentlemen’s entertainment. The service and security of these clubs were the highest, as were the beauty and training of the girls that worked there.
On a Sunday morning Tommy Lee took his father to church as was his custom; the service was an early one and shortly before nine as father and son were leaving the church, saying goodbye to the priest, a motorcycle roared in, jumped the sidewalk and over barriers. The person in the back was sitting looking backwards and as the bike was passing by the church door where the Liguria and a few other parishioners were saying their goodbyes he opened fire with a Double Eagle M-30 submachine gun spraying bullets indiscriminately into the small crowd. Tommy’s father died instantly from a bullet through his head and one that severed his aorta. Two other parishioners, a bodyguard, and the priest also received fatal wounds. There were several wounded, including a ten-year-old girl whose father was one of the dead. The only person that came out unscathed was the target of the attack, Tommy Liguria. His security detail that was across the street in SUVs reacted fast but the motorcycle turned into an alley and was impossible to catch. Later the Honda was found abandoned a few blocks away with the rider dead beside it. One of the guard’s bullets got lucky or the driver of the bike did not want loose ends. The body had no ID, his clothes had no labels, the fingerprints had been burned off with acid, and his teeth were all implants. All the police had was a male of about 25 to 30 years of age, light hair dyed blue in sections and DNA samples that would take a day or two in coming back.
Before the DNA samples even reached the laboratory, Francisco’s Bogotá communications center had picked up chatter about the hit. Apparently the hit men were a Namibian squad wanted by Interpol and, surprise, surprise…they were hired by the Lorenzana family in New Orleans. Within minutes M&M, Ian Carlo and Marco were on a very secure line with scramblers and encoding that maybe only the NSA could break.
“This could turn into a shit storm and it would hurt business beyond recovery if Tommy goes to war with the Lorenzana. In hours people are going to take sides and few if any of the families will remain neutral,” Ian Carlo was saying.
“I agree and it’s not to anyone’s advantage that Tommy learns this from us,” said Marco, “but on the other hand he’s a friend and we have to be loyal as he has been to us.”
“I suggest we neutralize the Lorenzana before Tommy gets wind of this. Sooner or later they will try to kill him again and maybe they’ll succeed. Tommy was very lucky this time but who knows next time.” It was M&M talking.
“What do you mean by neutralizing?” asked Francisco.
“The head of the Lorenzana is Paolo. He’s efficient and effective. That’s why Ian Carlo picked him, but he’s also greedy and somewhat of a psycho. He was barred from Camille’s because he roughed up a couple of girls. He rides his two brothers and his old man. They don’t dare disobey him from what I hear. If we get rid of Paolo and maybe the old man for Tommy’s sake, we can stop this before it starts.”
M&M waited to hear what the others had to say.
“Works for me,” said Ian Carlo, “who will do it?”
“Same here and same question,” said Marco.
“I have a team in New Orleans that is highly efficient but expensive. Francisco knows their work. We used them with Los Locos in Matamoros.”
“Money is not the problem. Time is,” said Francisco. “I vote we move now but it’s Ian Carlo’s call.”
“I’m in,” said Ian Carlo. “Go.”
Before noon in Las Vegas and while Tommy Lee was consoling his distraught mother, the team in New Orleans had their marching orders. The same group that had deleted Los Locos was sitting in a large room a block from Bourbon Street listening to their boss; a small black woman of thirty-four was outlining their plan of action. Juliette Lefebvre was the great, great, great-granddaughter of the first free black man of that fair city. She was an ex-Army Ranger, combat experienced in three tours of duty with hundreds of hours in enemy territory.
“We will divide up in three groups of three. We have Intel of the probable whereabouts of the targets this evening. Target one goes to Pat O’Brian’s and drinks hurricanes until he has to be taken home by his security team, who by the way are six dangerous dudes. One I know personally and he will rather kill you than shake your hand. Fortunately for us O’Brian’s is a security nightmare and our target likes the piano bar which is indefensible. People go in and out constantly and sometimes after a few drinks you get a punch or two thrown. That is our opportunity.
Team One including myself will get to the bar early as patrons. Team Two will be headed by Tom, and you will be drunken newcomers, rowdy and loud. This will be up close and personal. I will terminate the target with one stiletto stab to the heart. I depend on you all to keep your cool because when he goes down we are not leaving. We will be the panicked bystanders and hysterical witnesses. The stiletto handle will be on the floor with no fingerprints or DNA on it. The blade will stay in, because we don’t want blood squirting out of him; do we? In case the bodyguards turn on any of us, Team Three will terminate any of them with silenced guns. Locate yourselves close to them. Three will be inside and three outside. The ones inside are the dangerous ones. The others will have no possible way of knowing who is who in the chaos.”
The termination of Paolo Lorenzana went almost as planned. The party at the bar was as usual, with lots of people in a festive mood. Unfortunately Paolo was sitting with his back to a wall surrounded by his bodyguards. Even a fight was not going to offer an opening to kill him with the knife. When Juliette was about to signal a retreat in order to implement Plan B, which required a tenth operative with a sniper rifle and the problems that that could generate, Paolo saw a leggy blonde approach the bar and shout for a hurricane.
He got up and signaled his men to stay put. He headed for the bar and crowded the blonde from behind, pushing other patrons out of the way. This generated a small scuffle with some pushing and shouting. Paolo’s men moved in to cover their boss and this gave Juliette her opportunity. She crowded against the bar, where Paolo had his arm around the blonde’s shoulder and was trying to grope her with his other hand, and in a lightning-fast move that was covered by her body she drove the stiletto between his ribs and into his heart. She was ready to start screaming at the top of her lungs when he dropped but…he didn’t. Paolo sort of relaxed into the girl and the bar, pinning her to it, but didn’t drop. He just looked drunk while talking up the poor woman who was trying to hold herself up. This gave Juliette the chance to grab a drink from the bar and move out to the patio followed by her team.
It took another two minutes for the blonde’s scream to cut through the noise and the music. Then it was chaos. People were pouring out of the bar and into Bourbon Street, some shouting and some laughing not knowing what had happened. With them went all of Juliette’s team, who dispersed rapidly to meet back at their place, just a couple of blocks away. Paolo’s bodyguards didn’t know what to do. The bar had hidden the blood and only when the girl, tired of the drunk’s weight, shoved him off did he fall to the ground. It took a few more seconds for them to realize that their boss was dead and not just plastered by the hurricanes for which O’Brian’s is famous. By then there was nothing they could do. The barman called 911 and within minutes the place was crawling with cops. NOPD pay a lot of attention to what happens on Bourbon Street. The investigation would produce no results, no witnesses, no evidence, and no suspects.
That evening when Nicolo Lorenzana receiv
ed the news of the demise of his oldest son he collapsed and had to be taken to the Tulane Medical Center. In the ER he was admitted without his bodyguards who stayed in the waiting room and outside the Emergency Room entrance. A few minutes later a man complaining of chest pains was also admitted and placed in one of the curtained cubicles. He got up from the gurney the moment the nurses were off to see someone else and before the ER MD arrived. He walked over to the bed where Nicolo Lorenzana was connected to an IV and was being oxygenated. He stuck a small syringe into the IV and walked out of the ER and into a waiting car. Nobody even noticed him. When the MD got to Nicolo’s bed side he was dead.
Early next morning, the Lorenzana family was in chaos. Their real and nominal heads were dead and there was no one to blame. Tommy Lee, who was the obvious candidate, was facing his own losses and had not moved from his mother’s side. Who then could have done this? The answer came promptly.
At 9:00 a.m. a full contingency of FBI and NOPD rounded up all the family’s capos and soldiers, something that was easy as they all were at the family home trying to make sense of this. The two remaining brothers, Nicolo Jr. and Maurizio, were separated and taken to an interrogation room. There they were met by a team of attorneys who argued for their immediate release and obtained it without difficulty. The two brothers, in the company of their attorneys, who they didn’t know but assumed were on a family retainer, left the precinct and were taken to the parking lot of the Ritz-Carlton and then to one of the better suites. The lawyers left and the two brothers looked straight at their host. In a comfortable chair, dressed to the nines, was Ian Carlo de la Rosa. He did not offer the brothers a seat. He addressed them in a low but audible voice that he used when stating unquestionable facts.
“Yesterday morning a hit upon an associate and friend of mine, Mr. Tomaso Liguria was executed by mercenaries hired for that by your brother Paolo with the approval of your father.”
The Carducci Convergence Page 22