by Roddy Wix
Frank Beretta always said there is no such thing as a perfect plan, and Tommy’s brilliantly executed abduction of Joey Beretta proved to be no exception. The first phase went off without a hitch. He disposed of his accomplice and flew on to Grand Bahama Island where a Boeing Business Jet stood waiting at the airport. Arrangements had already been made with the local authorities to expedite the transfer of a ‘celebrity’ passenger from the helicopter to the jet. A little money proved very persuasive and besides, the security detail worried more about outbound flights headed toward the US and not Europe.
The plane’s flight plan called for a direct route to Nice, France. During the flight across the Atlantic they spared no effort to insure Joey’s delivery without as much as a bruise. She remained sedated and belted into a comfortable bed in one of the luxurious jet’s private cabins. At a cruising altitude of more than forty thousand feet she had nowhere to go, but Tommy intended to deliver his valuable cargo precisely as instructed. With the elimination of his cohort the payday stood at two million dollars. Seeing the exchange rate working against him he wished he’d demanded payment in euros, but he knew renegotiating with Serge would not be an option. C’est la vie! At least he’d opted for a big expensive plane on Serge’s tab.
The bigger planes carry at least two cabin stewards, but given the circumstances, they had only the flight crew plus a woman named Tori. Tommy brought her along to help with Joey. She was a trained nurse anesthetist with a gambling habit and Tommy’s occasional sex partner. In exchange for a few days at a Bahamian casino, a fistful of cash and a free ride to Italy she made an easy recruit for the mission. Besides, Tommy kind of liked her and she proved useful in the absence of a real stewardess to take care of him. They’d been drinking Roederer Cristal, also on Serge’s bill, and initiated themselves into the “mile high club” several times.
“Hey, Tori, would you get me one more glass of champagne? There are a couple of bottles in the galley.” Tommy leaned back into the glove soft leather upholstery as though he were the chairman of a major corporation.
“Sure.” The perky, petite brunette retrieved a fresh bottle from the refrigerator and two glasses from a large, polished wood cabinet. In her absence the phone next to the GraveRobber’s big swiveling seat buzzed with an incoming call from Serge.
“Good morning, boss.” For a moment he was almost cheerful.
“Perhaps. What is the status of your traveling companion?” Serge asked flatly.
“Couldn’t be better. Sleeping like a baby.”
“There has been a change of plan.”
“What do you want me to do?” Tommy instantly became suspicious of any changes at this stage of an operation, particularly from Serge.
“I want you to deliver her to the private clinic of Dr. Farnazzi. Once done your responsibilities will be fulfilled.”
Interesting. Originally his obligation was only to deliver Joey to the airport at Nice. There, she would be picked up by Serge’s people and Tommy would be paid. In cash. This looked like a new kink.
“Transportation?”
“A car from the clinic will be waiting for you at Malpensa.”
“Our flight plan was filed for Nice and not Milan.”
“Change it. Corporate jets do it all the time.”
“What about payment?” Tommy, already suspicious, began loosing patience; always a dangerous proposition in dealing with Serge.
“You will receive your payment at the clinic.”
He heard Malroff hissing the words into the phone. The conversation raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Major deviations from plan didn’t sit well with Tommy, but his options were limited: he and Malroff both knew it.
“Changes create opportunities for problems, but I guess we’ll have to deal with it.” His protest fell on deaf ears.
“You are being well paid to meet my requirements. Don’t fuck this up.” Serge’s temper boiled over and he hung up having issued his warning.
“Is something wrong, Tommy?” The girl handed him a glass of champagne but the wine no longer seemed appetizing.
“I suppose not. Serge just dictated a change of plan.” He put the glass down without taking a sip. He stared out the window awhile then turned to face Tori Bates across a rosewood dining table. He now regretted having gotten her involved in this.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you go check on your patient while I think things through? We need to get her coherent enough to walk her off the plane and into a car.”
“OK.” The girl gave him a smile and quick kiss before heading aft toward the stateroom.
By the time they entered Milanese airspace, Tommy had a backup plan in mind. Then, things started to go wrong. Due to the change of flight plan they arrived at a busy time of day. The plane spent longer on approach than normal and wound up in a queue taxiing up to the FranzJet FBO. On arrival the big plane was sandwiched between two other corporate jets on the tarmac.
For her part Tori did an outstanding job of getting Joey ambulatory while keeping her drugged enough to remain compliant. She struggled a little dressing the pharmaceutically dazed woman in a pair of jeans and a black cashmere pullover. Fortunately she had sandals that fit Joey. The woman was in no condition to navigate on stilettos. With Tommy on one side and Tori on the other, they maneuvered Joey to the door of the plane and started down the portable stairs toward a classic black Mercedes 600. The car bore the garish loge of the Farnazzi Spa and Clinic on its front doors.
Halfway down the steps the remaining dominos in the GraveRobber’s epic plan came crashing down. A teenaged girl stepped from behind the next plane, a chartered sixty passenger Challenger hauling rich New York prep school kids around on a summer tour of Europe.
The teenager called out, but something seemed wrong to her. The woman she presumed to be Jemima Burck didn’t seem well. The man and woman were holding her up. Jemima looked sick or maybe on drugs. Serious gossip.
Tommy’s grip on Joey’s arm tightened reflexively and Joey tried to pull away. Drugged or not she had a low tolerance for being manhandled. The rest of the walk to the Mercedes proved awkward at best.
“Jemima, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” The girl stood near the tail of the plane and snapped a few pictures with her cell phone.
The chauffeur, already out of the Mercedes, held the back door open. When he spotted the girl taking pictures, a goon name of Mario emerged from the front seat. Wearing a custom suit and a permanent scowl he headed in her direction, but before he could take action the kidnappers and their victim were in the car. Time for a hasty departure. All the while, Hayley Carmody, a rich kid from Connecticut pounded the keys of her BlackBerry. Her photos went viral in less than a half hour.
When the limousine arrived at the Farnazzi Spa and Clinic a dozen paparazzi and a wire service stringer milled around the gated entrance awaiting the arrival of Jemima Burck. They stood in front of the limo trying to get photos until Mario unfolded his bulk from the car and lumbered toward them.
A quick thinker, Tommy thought over the notion of opening the back door and shoving Tori out. The photographers would be on her like bees on honey and their cover might be enough to save her life. He mulled a moment too long as Mario forcibly cleared a path and the driver accelerated through the gates even as they began closing.
Mario stood behind the ornate ironwork glaring out at the photographers. In his warped mind he envisioned himself gunning them all down. Keeping a barrier between Dr. Farnazzi’s famous clients and the press was a big part of his job and he attacked his work with a passion. The buzzing little insects needed to be exterminated and he wanted to get started. The chauffeur stopped the limousine about three car lengths inside the gate.
“Hey, Mario, are you riding or do you want to walk the rest of the way?”
“Yeah, I’m coming.” Unhappy, the big man trudged to the car and wedged himself into the front seat.
58.
