CHAPTER 38
“What are we waiting for, Donny?” ToniAnne asked.
Out the window, Bailino watched Agent Wilcox lift Faith Carter into his arms, carry her back behind the police barricade, and disappear into the crowd of smiling FBI agents. “Nothing,” he said and stepped away from the window.
“You always were a horrible liar, Donny,” ToniAnne said with a smile, “which is probably why you never lied much.”
“She’s okay?” Jamie whispered.
“No one’s talking to you, girlie,” ToniAnne said.
“So we’re hurting little girls now, Ton?” Bailino asked.
“You never were any fun, Donny. Always so serious.” With Jamie’s pistol in her right hand, ToniAnne ran her left along Jamie’s hair as she had done with Mary Cataldi. “How is it that someone is always saving your ass?” she hissed, grabbing a handful and giving it a yank.
“Ton, c’mon, stop the nonsense and put the gun down.”
“Wow, you really like her, don’t you, Donny? Enough to go to jail for her?”
“I’ve been in jail all my life,” Bailino said.
“So you say,” ToniAnne said, releasing Jamie’s hair and picking up her cell phone. “So you’ve always said … Shit, I have no cell service.”
Bailino realized that Wilcox must have shut down cell-phone transmission when he discovered the bomb. He opened up his jacket and ripped the wires from his body.
“What the fuck?” ToniAnne said.
“You think they’re just going to let me waltz in here alone?” Bailino said. “But it looks like the cell service is down. The old tunnels still accessible?”
“You bet your ass. At least, most of them. We lost a few after the new construction when they converted this place into the palace that it is.”
Bailino imagined Wilcox had the property surrounded, but if the tunnels were still intact they could get ToniAnne and Lorenzo into the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, which is why the illegal tunnels had been built in the first place—so old man Hydeman could supplement his retirement home income with an illegal wildlife trade. With more than a million acres, the Pine Barrens offered plenty of places for the two of them to hide. Maybe Bailino would get lucky and they would get eaten by a coyote. “You need to go,” he said.
“You’re not coming?” she asked. “What the fuck did I go through all this for?”
“I appreciate it. I do. But, I told you, you’re better off without me.”
“Fuck the baby mama,” ToniAnne said, swinging the gun in her hand and leering at Jamie. “Let her rot in jail or wherever. Come with us.”
“Take Lorenzo and get out of here,” he said. “There’s not much more they can do to me.”
ToniAnne sighed. “Always the gentleman …” She lifted Jamie’s face up by the chin and said, “You must be somethin’ real special, honey,” and then she picked up her purse, wrapping the strap around her shoulder. “You know, Jamie, Donny and I used to do it right here in this bedroom. Remember that, Donny? When Nonno and Nonna went to Bingo? B-4 and O-yes …”
“We don’t have time for this shit, ToniAnne,” Bailino said. “Once the cell service is back up, this place is going to be filled with Feds.”
ToniAnne rolled her eyes. “You’re always in such a rush.” She held up Jamie’s gun. “You don’t mind if I take this, do you, sweetheart? Something to remember you by? I leave you my man. I take your gun. Not really a fair trade, but it will have to do.”
Bailino could tell that Jamie was watching ToniAnne closely, but she said nothing.
ToniAnne kissed the top of Mary Cataldi’s head. “Good-bye, Aunt Mary,” she said. The old woman looked up at her grandniece as if seeing her for the first time.
“Well, I guess that’s it,” ToniAnne said, looking around the apartment, her eyes landing on Bailino. “I’ll always love you, you know, Donny,” she whispered with a sad smile.
“You need to go,” he said again.
“I know …” ToniAnne picked up a bulky bag that Bailino assumed was filled with additional firearms and cash. “Oh, I forgot one thing,” she said, and she aimed the pistol and fired at Jamie, who fell to the ground.
CHAPTER 39
“What the fuck was that?”
Wilcox slammed the door of his sedan, where he had just buckled Faith Carter into the backseat, and Agent Barracks appeared at his side holding the dismantled IED. “We don’t know,” Barracks said. “Feed’s gone.”
“Stay with her,” Wilcox said, motioning to Faith Carter, and pulled out his gun as another gunshot went off. He gave the sign to a group of agents stationed closest to the facility, and they slowly made their way into the parking lot.
The window of Room 343 was still open, but Bailino was no longer there. Wilcox was reasonably sure the shots, judging by their timbre and volume, had come from that room. By the time he got to the front door of the building, his men were already in and swarming the lobby, checking behind the front desk and along the seating areas.
“Upstairs,” Wilcox said, pivoting right and heading for the emergency exit. He stopped when he reached the stairwell door, expecting Bailino, or whoever it was, to be ready for them inside. In a narrow stairwell, it would be like shooting federal agents in a barrel.
Wilcox motioned for his team near the elevator to follow when the closest elevator door opened with a beep, and a blast shook the room, knocking three of his men back.
“Get down!” Wilcox shouted as the next elevator dinged, the door opened, and another explosion rocked the room.
As smoke filled the lobby, Wilcox located two of his men and pointed them toward the stairwell, and the three made a break for the stairwell door. Slowly, he opened it and peered inside; it looked clear. As he and his men filed up the stairs, a hand came over the banister and threw an object down.
“Get down!” Wilcox called again, crouching into a corner as the device hit the floor and an agent dove through the door back into the lobby as the explosive device detonated with a loud boom, black smoke filling the stairwell. When the smoke began to clear, Wilcox saw one of his men had been hit and was crawling toward the exit, his leg torn at the calf.
“Man down,” Wilcox said, charging up the stairs. He hopped over the handrail before he reached the next landing to save time and leapt up the next flight to the third floor, hiding behind the emergency exit door just as it opened. The bomber threw his arm back to lob another device down the stairwell, but Wilcox grabbed him from behind, and as the man turned around, Wilcox saw that it was Lorenzo Cavetti. Cavetti was about to shove the IED at Wilcox, who shot him in the chest, and Cavetti went tumbling down the stairs, the device exploding in his hands and filling the stairwell with more black smoke.
“Agent Wilcox!” a voice called from below.
“I’m all right,” Wilcox shouted, peering down at Cavetti’s still and ravaged body.
He opened the door to the third floor and glanced out, clear air filling his lungs. A long hallway ran the length of the facility; it was quiet and appeared empty. Slowly, he made his way toward Room 343, checking inside each open apartment door, and as he got closer he heard movement and a familiar voice shouting.
Bailino.
Wilcox raised his gun and went charging down the corridor.
CHAPTER 40
Jamie saw it coming.
When ToniAnne Cataldi turned back from the apartment door, Jamie’s body—after years of constant vigilance, constant awareness—shifted for cover, and she fell backward as the bullet, probably aimed at her eye, whizzed past the side of her face and landed obliquely into her shoulder. She hit the floor hard beside Mary Cataldi who, despite all the activity around her, continued filling out her paperwork undisturbed.
Jamie tried to scramble for cover but the chair that was attached to her was hindering her movement. ToniAnne raised her gun again, this time at Bailino, but he barreled into her just as the shot when off, hitting a nearby lamp, and slammed her against the wall, batting Jamie’s
pistol from her hand.
“How do you like it when someone you love hurts, you son of a bitch?” ToniAnne screamed as Bailino threw her to the floor. “Doesn’t feel so fuckin’ good, does it?”
“You like it rough, right, Ton’?” he roared. “Yeah, I remember.” He got on top of her, straddling her body, and clasped his one hand around her neck, pressing into her chest with the other. “Let’s see how you like it now.”
ToniAnne was swinging her arms wildly, slapping Bailino, who seemed undaunted and continued squeezing as her face became puffy and red.
A series of blasts from somewhere below shook the building. Jamie’s shoulder was on fire, but her eyes zeroed in on her pistol, which was lying on the floor only a few feet from her. Using her legs, she pushed herself toward it, reaching for it with her bound hands and trying to ignore the pain in her shoulder, the blood warm as it oozed into the fabric of her shirt.
“You fuckin’ cunt,” Bailino was shouting.
ToniAnne’s arms were limp now, her face discolored and bloated, her eyes bulging from their sockets, but Bailino kept squeezing until it looked as though ToniAnne Cataldi’s head would pop off. Finally, as he released his hand from her neck and searched the room until his eyes found Jamie, there was a noise at the apartment door.
Fearing it was Lorenzo Cavetti, Jamie gave one last push toward her pistol, but Bailino reached it first and swung it toward the door as another gunshot ripped through the room. Bailino fell back to the floor as Agent Wilcox rushed inside, his gun still pointed at Bailino.
“Nooooo,” Jamie screamed, pushing herself forward.
“Jamie, get back,” Wilcox ordered, keeping his gun on Bailino, who was lying with his back arched, his right hand groping his chest as if to pluck out the bullet.
“Where’s Faith?” Jamie asked, holding up her bound arms.
“She’s fine,” Wilcox said, but hesitated before reaching for Jamie’s wrists, as if debating whether or not it was a good idea to set them free, but then he reached into his pocket and sliced the ropes with a switchblade. Wilcox glanced at Mary Cataldi before examining Jamie’s shoulder. “What happened?” he asked, reaching for her hand, but Jamie pulled away and continued to crawl toward Bailino, using one side of her body, the chair dragging behind her.
“Get back, I said, Jamie,” Wilcox shouted, picking up her gun, which Bailino had dropped to the floor as two more agents entered the room.
Jamie reached Bailino’s arm, latched onto it, and pulled herself up onto his waist. His chest was heaving and covered in blood, which was trickling down the sides of his shirt and onto Jamie’s hand, the fabric turning a deeper and deeper red. Jamie pulled the bottom of his shirt up and onto his wound to try to stem the bleeding. He groaned.
“Fuck,” he whispered, looking down.
“Don’t move,” Jamie said. “We need an ambulance,” she said to Wilcox.
“Don’t bother, sweetheart,” Bailino said, his breathing coming in ragged bursts. He tilted his head toward her, his red face beaded with sweat. “Your shoulder,” he said and tried to reach for it.
“It’s okay,” Jamie said. “I saw it coming.”
“At least …” His throat sounded full, and he coughed, a gurgle that refused to clear. “ … one of us did,” he said between ragged breaths and coughed again. “Damn country living.”
A loud siren filled the air, the volume increasing until it sounded like the ambulance was just outside the open window.
“Step back, Jamie,” Wilcox ordered again. An agent Jamie didn’t recognize came up next to him.
“The building’s clear, sir,” the agent said, and Wilcox nodded.
Bailino’s eyes were trying to find Jamie, but they couldn’t focus.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m here.”
“I … I …” Bailino’s lids began to flutter. “I … I …”
She tilted his face so she could see the dark brown of his eyes, Faith’s eyes.
“I … I …” he said again, raising his head from the floor.
“I know.” Jamie placed her hand behind his head. “Me too,” she said, and his breathing eased. She reached for Bailino’s hand and squeezed, and his hand slightly tightened on hers. Then Bailino’s eyes closed, and he let out a long breath as his head fell back into her hand and the EMTs rushed into the room.
CHAPTER 41
Phillip stared at the cover of The American Conservative magazine, his large face taking up most of the page. With all that had gone on in the past week, he had forgotten about the article and would have had it retracted had he remembered.
He flipped to the cover story, which consisted of a two-page family portrait of him, Katherine, and the kids on the White House lawn flanked by blooming cherry blossom trees. He looked so much younger, he thought; the interview and photo shoot had been conducted only six months prior, during his first hundred days in office, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Against his better judgment, he began reading the story:
Not since the days of Theodore Roosevelt—and, arguably, the father of our nation, George Washington, before him—has the United States had a true hero at its helm. Statesman and war veteran Phillip Grand rode into the White House on a wave of awe and gratitude from a populace not often privy to selfless acts of honor and courage, and he has brought a new energy to the White House and to many Americans’ view of the future …”
“Such a handsome man,” Katherine said, coming up behind him and putting her arms around him. “Although with the way people are gaga for the damn cherry blossoms around here, I’m not sure anyone will notice. If only they had the same excitement for what goes on in the big white house behind the trees …”
“I assume people will be lining birdcages with this issue.” Phillip closed the magazine and placed it on his desk.
Katherine sighed. “From what I hear, the issue has been very well-received. I doubt the magazine will be losing readership.”
“The video is out, Katherine. I’m not the man who saved Jamie and Faith Carter anymore. I’m not the hero. I’m the man who helped Don Bailino escape and lied to the FBI. The Republicans who read this magazine,” he motioned to the publication, “want to skin me alive. Forget about losing readership. We’ll lose the Senate in the midterm elections.”
Katherine reached for his hand, pulled him toward to the sofa, and sat down beside him. “Phillip, you know as well as I do that people will believe what they want to believe, whether it’s true or not. And I believe they want to believe in you, even with everything that’s happened.” She looked into his eyes. “And if they don’t? And if they vote you out? If Clark, Mitchell, and the entire Republican Party turns their back on you? Who cares. Fuck ’em.”
Against his will, Phillip gave a small smile.
“And I know you couldn’t care less about this magazine interview. That’s not what’s really bothering you, is it? You’re upset because you couldn’t save him.”
It had been more than twenty-four hours since Phillip had received the call from Wilcox that Bailino was dead. Phillip’s instinct was not to believe it, since Bailino seemed to be able to evade death all his life. He insisted on visiting the morgue to see for himself, and Wilcox knew better than to argue. It was only when Phillip had seen Bailino’s lifeless body inside the body bag that he realized it to be true.
The thought of a world without Don Bailino seemed surreal. He had been lurking in the shadows of Phillip’s life way before he ever stepped into the nursery to kidnap Charlotte. It’s a strange thing to have a man be so absent from your life and yet make such an impression. On the surface, Phillip would go on as he had, but, inside, he would be forever changed.
“You gave him what he wanted in the end,” Katherine said, as if reading his mind. “If you ask me, that was more than he deserved.”
“A person can’t help who his parents are, Katherine.”
“You think that gives him a pass? There are plenty of people out there with shitty parents who fin
d their way. You and he may have started in the same place, in some respects, but you are far from the man that he had become.”
“I will never be the man that he was,” Phillip said.
“You are that and more,” she said, cupping his chin in her hand. “And I think he knew that, too. Now …” She put her tablet on his lap. “I was looking over the agenda for tomorrow’s press briefing. Have you spoken to Jamie?”
Phillip nodded and rubbed his eyes. He had been able to squeeze in a few hours of sleep after he and Katherine had returned from the hospital after Jamie’s emergency surgery. Although the doctors had told him that the bullet had penetrated the soft tissues surrounding her shoulder joint and assured Phillip that there was no permanent damage, he knew there were probably months of physical therapy in front of her, and possibly additional surgeries. Phillip was thankful it hadn’t been worse. “Spoke to her about an hour ago,” he said. “She seems to think she’ll be back to work in six weeks. I told her not to worry, that she should take as much time as she needs.”
“Well, until she’s back, who would you like to lead the daily press briefings? At this point, with all the resignations, our choice is between the sous chef and the custodian.”
“I’ll do them until we get someone up to speed,” Phillip said.
Katherine wrinkled her nose. “Only if you promise me you’re not thinking of doing something crazy, like announcing your resignation.”
Phillip shook his head. “I thought about it,” he said, “if I’m being honest, but I decided against it.”
“Why?”
Phillip thought of Bailino’s pep talk in the holding room. “What was that you said? Fuck ’em.” He smiled. “I’ll stay as long as the American people want me, whether that’s one term or two.”
“You know, if there’s one way that you and Bailino were the same, it was that you both knew how to fight for what you want—and what you believe in,” Katherine said when there was a knock at the door.
“Yes,” Phillip said, and the door opened. Brandon stood at the threshold.
Baby Carter (Baby Grand Trilogy, Book 3) Page 26
