Rogue Asset (Rogue Warrior Thrillers Book 11), page 23
“That’s you guys, then, eh?”
“It is.” He strolled over, hands still in his jacket pockets. “And more to the point, we have a court order to do so. Even more to the point, this is an official investigation. Should you interfere in any way, I would have grounds to arrest you and hold you for at least forty-eight hours. Of course, that would be forty-eight hours from whenever you are officially booked in, and sometimes, they get so busy…”
“Are you threatening to arrest me for walking out of a church?” Bob said. “Seriously?”
“If you insist on telling them what you found, sure. But in any case, we would greatly advise that you not attend tomorrow’s ceremony.”
“Really? What… you’re going to raid it?”
“Nothing quite so crass and public. However, there is absolutely no chance that, with that many criminals present, illicit business is not discussed. At that point, it becomes a matter of organized crime meeting with intent. All sorts of racketeering charges can be possible. Everyone may be subject to immediate arrest… or even shot accidentally, attempting to escape. The probability is that that will not happen, of course. But whatever is gathered will lead to charges, and then you will be a material witness. Given your background, it would also be an embarrassment for both of our governments. Do yourself a favor, Singleton, promise me you’ll stay far away.”
“I can’t do that,” Bob said. “I made an agreement. You don’t have to understand that, but it is what it is.”
The smaller man shrugged. “In that case…” He nodded past Bob. A uniformed constable appeared from behind the other pillar. “Mr. Robert Singleton, you are under arrest. Would you turn around, please, and place your hands behind your back.”
They led Bob to a police car, a Fiat parked around the corner from the church.
“This is ridiculous,” Bob said. “What’s the charge?”
“Assault,” Boni said. “We have video of you viciously accosting an elderly lady in the pedestrian stripes outside your hotel room and hurling her to the ground most roughly.”
Bob stopped walking. “You cannot be serious.”
Boni shrugged again. “It is what it is, my American friend.”
“So… did I accidentally stumble into the last scene in Casablanca or something? You’re playing the part of Claude Rains’s Captain Louis? You’re going to ‘round up the usual suspects’ and then find something to charge them with?”
Boni smiled at him gently. “It’s my job to make sure the people you are working for go to jail. I don’t really care if this seems fair to you or not, Singleton. They are the literal scum of the earth. That you work for them for, as you say, reasons of altruism does not change that fact.”
“The assault charge won’t stick. You know that. So you’re doing this under false pretenses.”
Boni bobbed his head from side to side. “True. But we are legally allowed to hold you for forty-eight hours without actually laying the charge. So there will be no awkward explanations later, no grounds for you to sue, were you the type, which you are not. And that takes us beyond the wedding. Had you merely listened to me, this would not be necessary.”
Bob stared at him flatly. “For a guy whose enemies and friends seem to think a little crazy, you sure are a shrewd little guy, aren’t you?”
Boni shrugged again. “What can I say? I would much have preferred this be the start of a beautiful friendship… but we both know that wasn’t going to happen.”
The officer opened the back door, then pushed down on Bob’s head to lower it below the roof, guiding him into the caged backseat area.
The car had been rolling for about two minutes, traffic heavy, before Bob got his bearings on their direction. “Where are we going?” he demanded.
“You were arrested a few days ago after another complaint, one that was dropped. The word of your arrest seemed to reach your employers near instantly. Clearly, there are too many leaks at that station, so we will be using another.”
His intent was clear, to make sure Benny Michetti couldn’t bail Bob out quickly.
“This is a pretty cheap stunt,” Bob muttered. “You know I haven’t done anything since being here but defend myself.”
“And a little break-and-enter. Twice. Don’t think we don’t know about that townhouse and Raffi Caruso’s little accident, Singleton. Seriously, my American friend, sit back, relax. You’re going to be with us for a few days.”
The jail cell was tiny, three sides made of old-fashioned iron bars, the cream-colored back wall of cinder block, with just two thin cots with equally thin mattresses. Compared to the holding cell in Padova, it looked positively medieval.
The tiny station was just a front desk, two offices, the holding cell, a few shared desks for officers taking statements. And it was twenty minutes from Padova, in the village of San Giorgio in Bosco – or “St. George of the Woods” in English.
Boni waited until Bob was locked inside. “So… you are comfortable, yes?”
Bob crossed his arms and glared at the man.
“Good, good.” Boni chuckled. “To be honest, you could stand to be a little more grateful. We could have taken your belt, shoes and watch as well, to prevent you from doing something desperate.”
Bob maintained the glare.
“I suspect that, by Monday, the old lady may decide not to press charges. Then you can go home, and we can all pretend you were never here. In the interim, I can take down elements of the Grasso and Guidotti crime families. A win-win for everyone.”
Bob’s expression didn’t shift at all.
“Okay. So you’re not happy,” Boni said. “I get this, and truthfully, I do not care. I have a job to do.” He nodded towards the constable manning the front desk. “Officer Perri has been graciously given control of the station for the next forty-eight hours by his cousin, who is the local detachment commander. The local volume of serious crime is near nonexistent, and their people shall not bother us. If you have any questions, concerns or needs, please ask him. He will probably just tell you to sit down and be quiet, but there is no harm in trying. Now… I bid you adieu.”
He headed over to the door, stopping for a moment to talk to Perri. Bob thought he heard something about getting a ride from another officer into the city.
Then he left.
Bob surveyed the cell. The bars were inch-thick iron or steel. The floor was concrete, the single drain set into it. There was a sink in one corner and a toilet next to it. The cell was lit with available light from the rest of the station house.
His instinct was to be patient. The families had already shown once before that they had an astonishing array of intel coming in, including when one of their people was taken. Even if they weren’t sure where he was, it might not take them long to find out.
But… then what? In Padova, I was being immediately charged. They had something to attack. In San Giorgio in Bosco, he was being held for two days of questioning, which was entirely legal. Even pulling strings with Boni’s superiors might not get him out in time.
Absolutely nothing to work with. He strolled over to the toilet and leaned down to quickly check the tank lid. But it felt glued down, and there was certainly no way he’d get it loose to use as a weapon without the well-armed constable getting wind. Bob hadn’t seen a Taser or stun gun hanging from the man’s belt, which meant any attempt at resistance would probably wind up with him being shot.
Maybe…
“HEY!” he yelled through the bars. “Officer Perri, why are you allowing Boni, who is clearly mentally unhinged, to get you in trouble like this? You know you can’t just go around arresting foreigners on false pretenses.”
Perri glanced over his way languidly, then returned his attention to the magazine on the counter ahead of him.
“Come on, man! He’s clearly crazy. He has a live grenade around his neck as a pendant!? You’re aware of that, right? Can you imagine how big the lawsuit from this is going to be!?” Bob yelled. “Do you expect he will protect you then, when you’re on the stand facing the loss of your career and livelihood?”
It was hot in the building, stifling from a lack of air circulation even though it was relatively cool outside. The officer grabbed the edge of the magazine and waved it suddenly, trying to swat a fly. He swung it wildly twice, the insect clearly evading him. Perri threw the magazine back onto the counter, then swiped a sheen of sweat away from his brow and temple.
Of all the rural shithole jail cells to pick, they go for one with no AC. That sure is swell, Bob thought.
“If you called him out… if you called his superiors in Padova, I mean… you could be home today with your family instead of sweltering in this hole of a building,” Bob suggested.
This time, the officer did not even turn his head.
Bob walked back to the cot and sat down. He tried to run through the next day’s events in his head. The order was carefully laid out. The two dons were to get there two hours early, unannounced, and be stashed with Bob in the waiting room by the church’s front entrance. A pair of limousines carrying body doubles would pull up just a half hour before the service, potentially flushing out any attempt to pick them off outside the building.
Guests, who would walk a two-block cobblestone street closed to traffic to enter, would do so through a “decorative arch” just outside the main church doors, adorned with garlands and flowers but actually covering a full-body scanner, the signal sent to a van parked nearby, from which they could instantly flag Bob by earpiece.
The two “don” doubles would then be led up the central aisle of the nave, past the other guests, to the rear vestry door and out of the picture. After a fifteen-minute cooling off, Johnny Grasso would head up the aisle with his best man, his cousin Angelo, to the dais. Father Bertolo would be waiting at the dais to officiate, with Bob surreptitiously a few feet behind him, while Father Parisi would man the double doors, opening them when it was time for the bridal procession to begin.
With the front doors to the church guarded outside by a pair of armed men, the two dons would then lead Alessandra up the aisle.
So they’re isolated at every stage other than the procession.
They won’t be seen going in, and doubles will foil any attempt to snipe them.
A pair of guards will stop anyone from outside the church getting into the atrium in the minute or so that they wait with Alessandra.
So… what am I missing? His time in the Marines and Team Seven had told him there was always an unforeseen element, maybe even something they wouldn’t be able to recognize until it happened.
Not that any of it would matter if he couldn’t get out of that jail cell, he knew.
If I could just get the guy talking, at least… “Hey! Hey!”
The officer turned his way again, looking peeved. “What?”
“You’re going to leave me in here for two days and there’s not even a television?” Bob argued. “Seriously… I’ll go crazy in here! Two days!? I can’t do it!”
The officer looked utterly unimpressed. But after a few moments, he got off his stool, walked over to the double desk in the middle of the room that Bob assumed was used for interviews, and retrieved a paperback from the top drawer.
He walked over to the cell and pushed it through the bars. “Here.”
Bob walked over and picked it up.
It was Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment in Italian.
“Enjoy,” the guard said dryly before walking back to his station.
Bob stared dourly at the old-fashioned, hand-painted cover image of a man in shackles. He flicked through it. I remember this being shorter.
Ah well. Gives the families a few hours to figure out where I am.
Bob checked his watch. He was nearing the end of Raskolkinov’s plight, fewer than a hundred pages left. It was near midnight, the station dark aside from a reading lamp at the desk near the front counter.
The constable was tapping away on his phone, texting someone. Eventually, he finished up and looked at the clock. “End of shift for me,” he said. “Normally, there would be a man on overnight, but as we have the loan of the station and you are secure, you will be left alone until daybreak. And me, I am lucky. Tomorrow, I get help from my cousin; we do split shifts.”
“That can’t be policy, leaving a prisoner alone overnight,” Bob suggested.
“No, but you are not formally a prisoner. You are a suspect being held for questioning. Boni says you’re not the type to self-harm, and I trust him. So…” Officer Perri rose from his seat and put on his jacket. “If I were you, I would get some sleep, stop worrying about Mafioso and their problems. There is an emergency button by the cell door, but I would not bother ringing it, as I have disconnected the forward-to-phone command.”
“You can’t actually feel good about this,” Bob added. “Not if you’re a good cop.”
Perri strolled over but maintained a healthy distance from the bars. “The other reason I trust Boni is that he is my brother-in-law,” Perri said.
Bob put the pieces together instantly and couldn’t help the show of concern. “Your sister—”
“Is one of the people the SCO killed, yes, and my nephew, too. He was six.” Perri stared at him, dead-eyed. “I don’t care about your problems, Singleton. I don’t care why you work for them. I only care that anyone who does so is not successful and therefore cannot help them hurt anyone else. Understood?”
Bob gave him a polite nod and left it at that. Some matters were bigger than protocol, more important than the rules. He watched Perri head out the front door, the deadbolt sliding into place a moment later.
He wiped his brow with his sleeve, then lay back down on the cot and grabbed his book. The least they could have done was turn down the damn heat, he thought.
Bob sat bolt upright.
Shit.
That’s it.
I know who the Ghost is.
But if I’m stuck in here, it’s not going to matter.
The wedding was going to be a bloodbath.
36
In the Villa Di Miglia’s grand salon, the two dons stewed in their tuxedos, waiting for word impatiently. Alessandra watched them nervously. She knew both men could fly into a rage from being served the wrong temperature of pudding, let alone being stood up by a protector.
But so far, there was no sign of Bob, and they were scheduled to leave for the church in less than two hours.
“My people have called everyone who is anyone in Padova, even Caruso and his SCO captains,” Giacomo grumbled, pacing ahead of the gigantic stone fireplace. “There is no sign of him anywhere. Not at police stations, not at hospitals, not at brothels or gambling. It’s like he has vanished.”
“He doesn’t have a car here,” Alessandra noted. “Just a rented Vespa. I very much doubt he would try to use something so small and slow on the main roads to another city, and we know there have been no local flights chartered on short notice. The hotel was ordered to tip us if he tried to check out. So… he is here somewhere, it would seem.”
Vito banged a fist on the carved arm of his wingback chair. “IT WOULD SEEM! So! This is the best we can manage, between both our families! It almost makes me wonder why we are bothering with this farcical union when—”
“Yes!” Giacomo mocked. “Why bother? Why bother after all these months of negotiating, all this time and sweat and effort? Why bother, despite the obvious bottom-line benefits to both companies!”
“Don’t test me, Giacomo!” Vito snarled.
“PLEASE!” Alessandra broke in. “ENOUGH! I tell you both, I have talked to this man at length. And I trust he will do as promised. If he is not here on time, it is because of a good reason and not one he can control, or we would have heard.”
“So maybe he’s dead,” Vito argued. “I believe he is just a coward who has fled, but let us say you are right. Either someone has hold of him, or he can’t call back. And you know what that usually means.”
“He has promised to be there. It is my wedding. I say we go ahead as planned. Even without him, there will be so much security in place.”
Vito’s irritation hadn’t subsided much. But he gave her a quick, curt nod. “So you say.” He glanced over at Giacomo. “What do Victor and Benny advise?”
“They think she’s right, that he had everything under control. The setup is protected. Any scenario inside the church will likely result in the Ghost’s death, and he is a mercenary, first and foremost. Unless he has a guaranteed route out, he will not act. We’ve left him none,” Giacomo suggested.
Alessandra felt her stomach flip. It wasn’t wedding jitters; the marriage was one of sheer convenience. It was the unknown factor Bob’s absence had introduced. That, and his assurance earlier in the week that if someone really wanted another person dead, it was usually almost impossible to prevent.
The Ghost already has his money. That’s what will count most to him, she told herself.
Everything will be fine.
Officer Luca Perri worked the police station front-door lock with his left hand, a brown paper bag carrying his pastry clutched between his teeth, a paper cup of coffee in his right hand.
It jerked open more suddenly than expected, and he slopped the coffee slightly. “Mannaggia!” Damn. He pushed the door open with his foot, leaning down to slurp some coffee off his right hand and wrist.
He looked up, the lights off and just daylight through a half-dozen windows to add a glow. The place was empty aside from…
He saw the figure hanging from the bars on the other side of the room.
Oh shit. Oh shit, no…
He ran over to the cell door. He fumbled with his key loop, first snagging it on his belt, then struggling to slot the proper key into the lock. It turned with a click, the deadbolt pulling back. He pulled it open and ran over to Singleton’s body.
He’d torn strips of cloth from somewhere, fashioned a rope and noose. His face was purple. But where did he get… Perri looked over his shoulder at the cot. Sure enough, he’d ripped it apart to get to the shell of sheeting around it.
