He blew smoke from his expensive cigar in my face. “Who else knows about this?”
“No one for now.”
“How much do you want?”
“Five hundred thousand and I make the evidence disappear. I think that’s a fair price for a life, don’t you?”
“Fuck you, Matthews.”
“Carmine, Carmine, Carmine. You shouldn’t have killed poor Gyro like that when all he was doing was keeping your little sister’s husband happy.”
“Gyro was a piece of shit. He got what he deserved. Live by the needle, die by the needle. That’s justice.”
“I can’t disagree with you on that, but there’s always a price to pay, and now it’s your turn.”
“I don’t like being threatened.”
“It’s not a threat, Carmine. It’s an offer. Listen. You and I, we’re both businessmen, right? Here’s how it works. I make you an offer. You make me a counteroffer.”
“How about this for a counteroffer, Mr. Businessman? I do you like I did him and save myself the five hundred Gs. I’ve got plenty of smack left from the Gyro deal. I guarantee you’ll go out with a smile on your face.”
“That’s how you got him there? A drug deal?”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“Nothing. Pretty smart. How’d you get it out of the hotel?”
“A friend.”
“What friend?”
“No more questions.”
We drove out onto a pier and stopped. Carmine’s other associate was waiting for us beside a pile of rope and an anchor.
“You think I don’t have a backup plan?” I said. “You think I’m stupid?”
“I think you’re a dead man, Matthews.”
“Let me ask you something, Carmine. Does Tony know about this?”
Tree Trunk chewed on his cigar like a man adjusting his tie because he didn’t want to answer the question.
“I asked you a question, Carmine. Does Anthony Garotto, your boss, know you came down to Philly to murder Gyro the Greek? Does he know you plan on killing a cop? Because that’s a whole new ballgame.”
Carmine took the gun from the guy in the front seat and told them both to get out of the car. He waited until the doors were closed.
“You’re fucking dead,” he said.
I had to laugh. “They didn’t know, did they? You didn’t tell Tony, and you didn’t tell your buddies that this was your little off-the-books operation. What do think they’re going to do when you get back to New York? You think they’re going to keep their mouths shut for you? Or do you think they’re going to sing to save their own skins? Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.”
Carmine held the gun to my head. “I’ll take care of them. But you? I’m done talking to you.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” came a voice from the car speakers.
“Jesus, Tim. Could you have waited any longer?” I said.
“Who the hell is that?” said Carmine.
“Your friendly neighborhood OnStar representative, Mr. DiPasquale. I’ve been recording your conversation since Agent Matthews got in the car. We have every word you said, including your confession to the crime of first-degree murder and your intent to commit another. I feel it’s only fair to warn you that everything you have said and will say from this point on is admissible as evidence in a court of law.”
“This is bullshit. You can’t do this without a warrant. I know my rights.”
Tim worked for an agency that sent out for warrants like we’d send out for coffee. I’d thought about asking him to get one, but figured we wouldn’t be needing it for what I had in mind.
“We’ve got a warrant, Carmine.” I lied. So what? “And we’ve got you dead to rights. Give me the gun.”
I’ve had a loaded gun held to my head a few times over the years. Can’t say I liked it much. With the barrel against your skull like that, you can feel the tension change in the killer’s hand when he’s about to pull the trigger. That’s when you either make your move or make your peace.
Carmine hadn’t reached that point yet when we heard the sirens and saw the cop cars pulling up onto the pier. The cavalry had arrived. Carmine’s boys tossed their guns and my .38 into the river and put their hands up. That .38 and I had been through a lot together. I still miss it, but it was a good and honorable death in the line of duty.
“Your choice, Carmine,” I said. “We can both die right here, right now, or you can give me the gun and take your chances in the witness protection program.”
“What’re you taking about?”
“I’m talking about saving your sorry ass. When Garotto finds out what you did, you’re a dead man.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Maybe so, but what about Madeline? What about little William and the one on the way? What do you think Tony’s going to do to them when he finds out?”
“If he so much as lays a finger on little Willie…”
“You can’t protect him, Carmine. You can’t protect any of them, not against Tony. You know that.”
I felt his hand ease up on the gun.
“I can guarantee you immunity from prosecution. I can give you new lives and new identities. The boy lost his father, Carmine. You’re all he’s got now. Time to man up and testify against Tony Garotto. You’ve got five seconds to decide before those cops get here. What’s it going be?”
“What about the murder one? What about the five hundred Gs?”
“Forget about it,” I said.
Carmine passed the gun over and we got out of the car.
The police took Carmine’s goons away. I called Evers at home and filled him in, leaving out the parts that would have gotten me fired or jailed. As far as he knew, Carmine DiPasquale was just another mob lieutenant turning State’s evidence in exchange for immunity from prosecution and a new identity for himself, his sister, and her family. Evers called the U.S. Marshalls, and they came and picked him up. There was no mention of any DNA evidence, any warrant, or any dropped murder-one charges. As far as anyone knew, Carmine just grew a conscience. I figured letting him off the hook was a small price to pay for bringing down one of New York’s top crime bosses.
Izzy and I went back to Jersey. We celebrated one for the good guys.
Chapter 10
When we got up the next morning, I felt like taking a walk. Izzy said she had some things to check on, so Shep and I hit the trail. It’s funny how things in the woods don’t seem to change much, but then trees don’t have the brains we do to know that the world is falling apart and it’s our own damned fault. When we got back, the cat was playing with a mouse on the back porch and the house smelled like an IHOP.
“What are you making?” I asked.
“Waffles and bacon,” she said.
“Maybe it’s just a technicality, but I don’t own a waffle iron.”
“I’m using this electric grill.”
They looked like pancakes with one-way ridges. For once, I didn’t say what I was thinking.
“No kidding?” I said. “George Foreman would be proud. What I can do to help?”
“Make more coffee.”
I put on the coffee and brought out the laptop.
“Jimmy called,” she said.
“Anything interesting?”
“He said that when his men checked Birot’s phone, there was no record of any incoming or outgoing calls.”
“Yeah, he told me that already.”
“He said you asked him to get a court order to subpoena the call records from the phone company.”
“That’s right. I did.”
“It was approved late yesterday.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t know you’d done that. I thought you were keeping me in the loop on the investigation, Bam. After all, Birot was my responsibility.”
“Sorry. I guess it slipped my mind.”
“Is there anything else that slipped your mind?”
It’s
no fun getting old and forgetting things. I wanted to tell her that, but it’s also no fun admitting you’re old and forgetful.
“No. I think that’s about it. It won’t happen again. Scout’s honor.”
And there was that smile again. “You were never a scout.”
“Guilty as charged. So what did Jimmy have for us?”
“Birot called All City Cab when he arrived in Philadelphia.”
“Where did they take him?”
“I asked Jimmy to find out,” she said.
“Good. Anything else?”
“Birot called his father the morning of his death.”
“And he took the time to delete the call before he died. Interesting.”
I checked my work email. There was nothing that couldn’t wait. I sent off a message that I would out of the office and checked one of my personal accounts, the one Tim and I used to exchange information. We both had access to it. When we had something to show the other, we just emailed ourselves, leaving no trail for snoops to follow. There was one email in my inbox from me to me. All it said was “test.”
I closed the browser and opened another called Tor. That’s the one used by hackers and anyone else looking to remain anonymous on the Internet. It’s supposed to be secure, but Tim says it’s like locking your door. It only keeps the honest people out, but it’s better than nothing. The IP address I entered into the browser was one of a number we used, depending on the key word in the email. The classified document I was looking for was there on the site. I downloaded it, deleted it from the server, shut down the browser, and rebooted. Breakfast was ready, so I set the laptop aside and we ate. Best one-way waffles I’ve ever had.
“I got the classified document,” I said.
“Do you always break the rules like this?”
“You’re really busting my chops today.”
“Someone has to do it.”
“To answer your question, only when I can’t get what I want any other way.”
“How is that any different than the criminals?”
“Subtle,” I said.
“You’re a complicated person, Bam. I’m just trying to understand.”
“Would you have done it differently?”
“If I were you, I think so. I think I would have tried to find whoever was responsible for giving me clearance to see the document.”
“And they would have told me I’ve got no right to see it. I’ve got no need to know.”
“Then, why do you want to know?”
“Because Billy is dead. Because the whole thing smells. Because I want to know how the hell this could happen.”
“You’re stubborn like a bulldog, and you don’t like giving up, do you?”
“Not usually.”
“Yet you gave up on your marriage.”
For someone so young, she sure knew how to fight dirty.
“I wasn’t the one who gave up,” I said.
I must have looked like one sorry sack of defense-mechanism shit, because she looked down at her coffee and apologized.
“You want the truth?” I said. “Here’s the truth. It’s always been about the job for me. I was a lousy husband and a terrible father. I was never there for them. Hell, I was a stranger in my own house. I’m surprised the kids didn’t call 9-1-1 when I came through the door at night.”
She didn’t say anything.
“After the breakup, I used tell myself that the whole marriage thing was a mistake, that I’d have been better off if I’d never done it. But you know what? I’ve regretted a lot of things in my life, but that’s not one of them. Pam and I had something once, something good. And the kids? I don’t care that they never call or write, because they’re my kids and I love them.”
Izzy took my hand and squeezed it.
“Say the word,” I said. “I’ll delete the file, we’ll call it done, and move on.”
“No,” she said. “You won’t stop until you know the truth.”
We cleaned up after breakfast, took our coffees, the newspaper, and the laptop, and went out to the front steps.
Izzy read me the headlines, “The Blacker Death, Ebola Cover-up — Congress to Investigate.”
“They sure know how to sell papers. What are they saying?”
She scanned the articles. “It’s everywhere: Beijing, Delhi, Tokyo, London, Moscow. The Russians are blaming the United States. They’re saying it was a planned biological attack on them that’s gotten out of control.”
“I hope they don’t think they can nuke their way out of this.”
“They’ve raised their alert status. So has NATO.”
“I guess that’s one way to stop it. Kill everyone on the planet.”
“Your Congress is going to hold hearings.”
“That’s decisive action for you.”
“Here’s a story from Paris,” she said. “Residents are barricading their neighborhoods and setting up their own checkpoints. No one goes in or out unless they’re inspected and symptom-free.”
“Great.”
She kept reading. “Israel has closed it borders and instituted a one-week lockdown. Everyone must remain in their homes until it’s over.”
“What about the sick? Who helps them?”
“According to this, no one. They quote the Israeli Defense Minister as saying that because there is no cure, the only hope for Israel is for the sick to die with honor.”
“That’s the Israelis for you. Practical to the end.”
“They’re going to reopen the U.S. stock markets this morning. Your president insisted. He wants to prove to the world that it’s business as usual. It says the other countries are expected to follow suit. It also says that all FDIC-insured banks have been ordered to remain open.”
“He’s got balls. Let’s hope he’s right.”
The classified document Tim had uploaded for me was actually three documents, dated three years ago. Deciphering the first would have meant going back to college and getting a degree in biochemistry. It contained test results, projections, formulas, all Greek to me. I clicked through to the summary at the end. Ebola-B, they called it. It could be transmitted by fluid contact or through the air. The airborne version was identifiable by a slightly different arrangement of nucleotides, whatever that meant. They concluded that a mutation to the airborne type was rare, but even I understood the important point of the summary— if it did, it was always fatal.
The next document read like a rap sheet for two hundred people. Farmers, laborers, hunters, children, aid workers, healthcare workers — their vitals, their bios, an entire village in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and they were all marked deceased. Three doctors had died with them.
“Holy shit,” I said. “Wasn’t Maryann Birot, Jacques Birot’s wife?”
“Yes, why?”
“Her name is on this list. She was one of the doctors.”
I did a quick Google search.
“Médecins Sans Frontières, that’s Doctors Without Borders, right?”
“Yes,” Izzy said.
“According to this old profile page she was a pediatrician at a hospital in Philly and volunteered every year with Doctors Without Borders. Why do you think the elder Birot neglected to mention this?”
“He’s under a great deal of stress. I’m sure he either forgot or didn’t wish to speak about it. I can’t imagine losing both a wife and son to Ebola. Can you?”
“No. I can’t. Ever heard of Ebola-B?”
“No.”
I googled that next, but nothing came up, so I went on to the third document. That one looked a lot like a battle plan. It laid out different scenarios for the spread of Ebola-B, each estimating the approximate number of deaths. Each had its own coverage map, showing how far the virus would spread. The death tolls ranged up to the millions, except on one map, labeled “airborne scenario.” On that one, the kill zone covered the globe and the number of deaths was in the billions. The section on recommendations listed several possible strateg
ies. One of them was marked “adopted, previously confirmed effective.” I read the section. According to the document, it was the same strategy they’d used in the previous outbreak of Ebola-B in the late seventies.
“My God,” I said. “These people didn’t all die from Ebola. They used a thermobaric bomb.”
“A what?”
“A fuel-air explosive, an FAE. They call it a fuel bomb. It feeds on the oxygen in the air and creates intense heat and a pretty damn big blast wave. Depending on the strength and number of bombs, they could easily incinerate several square miles. Nothing in the blast radius would survive, not man, not virus, nothing. It’s no wonder this never made the news. They murdered everyone in that village to stop the outbreak.”
Izzy’s phone rang. It was Jimmy. He was calling to tell her that the cab had taken Birot to his father’s home the day before he died.
“Feel like taking a drive?” I said.
Izzy agreed that another chat with the elder Birot was a good idea, so I picked out a Glock 9mm from the gun cabinet to replace my .38 until I could get new issue from work. I’d gotten it just to see if I liked it. I didn’t. It was too small, too light, and made me feel like John Wayne riding a pony, but I didn’t want to risk losing any of my other personal weapons on official business.
I asked Izzy to stop at my bank on the way. The line was out the door, so we skipped it. The Gremlin would just have to wait for another day. We took the long way around Philadelphia, keeping to the highways to avoid any problems in the city. Jimmy had warned us that things were getting worse there, and he was right. It was all over the news. The so-called experts were recommending that people buy air purifiers, masks, window and door sealant kits, anything to make themselves and their homes airtight. They were telling them to stock up on non-perishable food and bottled water. They wanted everyone to get a backup generator and extra gas. You’d think these guys were working for Home Depot the way they were throwing fuel on the fire. Big box stores, home improvement places, hardware stores, places that sold any kind of mask, duct tape, insulation kit, or anything else that some bozo on the radio told them to buy, were swamped. Panic had spread to supermarkets, convenience stores, and buyers’ clubs, emptying their shelves in hours. And anywhere the presence of the law wasn’t obvious, the people were taking the law into their own hands. There were reports of fights, shootings, and stores being looted. People were being mugged outside stores and on the subway platforms, not for their money, but for crap that wouldn’t do a thing to stop the Blacker Death.
The Blacker Death: An Ebola Thriller Page 15