Ded Reckoning

by William F Lee

  Hunter says, "Joe. Hello. Listen, let me speak. We, I, have an event on my hands here. Just happened."

  "An event?"

  "Yeah, an event. A friggin' disaster. Listen. Let me finish. Samantha is dead. A guy from the IRA just killed her. Car bomb. I got..."

  "Sam," blurts Zachary. For ..."

  "Joe, listen. Yeah, Sam is dead." He adds the grim details, then, "I got to him, consequently I have some information, but he didn't survive our conversation."

  "My God. How can that be? She's hardly involved."

  Hunter reminds Joe, "Well, she is, was involved. She got all my credentials, cards, cover and stuff for me. All set up when I arrived here." He pauses. "As I said, it was an ugly scene. The bomb was...it was...shit, it blew the damn car in half...and her. Damn it was...was like a first-over A4 dropped a thousand pounder then the next one made a napalm drop." Hunter sucks in some air, then back in his icy PRC-10 Company Commander's voice, "Joe. The IRA? That's out of the loop."

  Joe interrupts. "Well, not exactly. The IRA is not in 'this' loop. However, this is something entirely different, I suspect. But the prime target, not your termination project, we suspect is using a rogue from PIRA. Samantha McGee was only a trusted contact for us. Plus she's ..." he pauses uncomfortably, "or was, family. But not an agent. Well," he takes another breath, then coldly asks, "Are the police there?"

  "Of course. This must be San Diego's Hiroshima. Fortunately, one is an old buddy, friend of mine."

  "You have no friends, remember. Have you spoken to him yet?"

  "Not really. He's coming in the house, shortly."

  "Well, don't speak to him, or anyone. And hang on a minute, don't go away. I've got to make a call or two. Take care of business."

  Hunter waits. Opens the closet door and peeks out. Doesn't see Dee. Looks out the window, or what was the window, and sees the activity still going on. The remains have been removed. More cars and more people than before, and he notices Bradovich in a group talking and pointing. Hunter continues to survey the scene until he hears Joe say, "I'm back." Joe informs him that he's sending an asset from the area. "The Feds will be on this like ducks on a June bug. The FBI's SAC from the San Diego office is on the way. Ours will be there; as a result we'll have an Agency representation. The teamwork stuff we all talk about."

  The instructions continue. He is not to talk to anyone else other than tell the locals that this is, or will be, a federal case, and that Hunter is to talk to only the Feds. Then they go through a question and answer format about the guy in the canyon. During this exchange, Joe explains that years ago Sam's father was with the CIA and had worked undercover with the Brits in Ireland. Joe adds, "He was Irish through and through; spoke the language, Gaelic, or as they say, 'The Irish.' He looked the part and got inside. Caused a lot of problems for the IRA. He retired, of course. Was out of the service. Then two years ago, when the Provisional IRA broke away, they came looking for him. They have a violent ideology. Killed his wife also. Now Sam." He pauses, "Hell, violent is too tame a label. They've killed about 1,100 British troops and another 600 or so that are civilians of some sort in England, mainland Europe, and some here." Joe pauses, catches his breath and continues. "Any-who, her folks retired and lived in England. London. As a matter of fact in the same general area where your folks lived while you were at Harrow-on-the-Hill going to school. Westbourne Terrace, wasn't it?" He pauses again. Hunter says nothing. Joe goes on. "The PIRA hate hard and carry grudges a long time. Forever it seems. Anyway, there you have it. Except for the other matter."

  Joe pauses again, audibly sighs. Hunter remains silent. Then Joe says sternly, "But this can't, cannot, interfere with our mission. Your purpose. This is nothing more than a casualty from long ago. The PIRA as an organization is not involved with Pisces. Understood?"

  Hunter says he understands and gives Joe the name of Patrick Shanahan. The credit card names. And the damage report on Shanahan.

  Joe says, "Jesus, Hunter, why didn't you just shoot the bastard?"

  "I was in my jockey shorts and bare feet. I didn't have the Puppy with me." Hunter is referring to his weapon of choice. It's a new prototype, the M39-WOX-13A, originally designed for Marines, with a silencer (suppressor) kit. The weapon is to become the MK22ModO. Informally it is appropriately called the "Hush Puppy".

  Joe drones, "Hunter, always bring a gun. Preferably, bring..."

  "I know. Two guns, and bring all my friends who have guns. I know the rule, I was just saying goodbye to Sam after a...never mind."

  "Okay, Hunter. Okay. Now then, as I said, your mission has not changed. Pisces killed Hermann Mueller, our guy in Pisa, just yesterday. And he slaughtered some restaurant owner and his entire family who knew Mueller. And something else, I suspect. However, there is a guy named Antonio Rizzo, who worked for the restaurant and may have seen something or knows a lot about Pisces and his henchmen. He may still be around. Probably hiding if Pisces left him alive. Our intel tells us that Pisces has left. Gone. We don't know where. And, as we told you, his real name, at least when he was with us, is Bobby Camack. Robert Camack. He has used Roberto Camack on occasion. He used Roberto Muscarella in Pisa. We know that. That's all we've got on names."

  "Joe, do you employ any Comanche's? Besides me."

  "What?"

  "They always knew where the cavalry was. Never mind, go on with the brief."

  "Oh, yeah, and he's vanished. We believe forever. Finished. Kaput. However, he may get edgy when he gets wind of this other matter. And he's got a woman somewhere. A wife. Find her somehow and we'll have him. He's probably headed there."

  Hunter interrupts, "We? Are you comin' along?"

  "Don't be a wise guy. Go find him and terminate the bastard, but get the info we need first. And, Hunter, I just about forgot. He's got two yahoos you'll probably have to plow under to get to Pisces, or his wife." He pauses. Gets no comment. Says, "Stop in to see me on the way. Take a couple of days to get squared away and settled. Your mind settled. But no more than three."

  "Do I keep this place?"

  "Yes, and keep the Property Manager. What's her name, Terry Columbo?"

  "No, it's Dee...Mrs. Teresa DeLuca Columbo."

  "Dee? Dee?"

  "Yeah, that's her nickname. The way she introduced herself to me and Sam."

  "Sam?"

  There is a pause; a silence on the phone. Hunter says, "Joe, you still there? Joe?"

  "Yeah. Tell me you're not doin' her. Tell me you didn't do Sam. Tell me."

  "No, of course not. Sam was all business. As is Ms. Columbo. Hardly knew, or to be more precise, know them. Just met the both of them yesterday, for Pete's sake."

  "Well, that's good, I hope. You know you thoroughly screwed up a couple of Ruth's friends. Remember, you're an operative now, an asset. You don't have any friends. You don't have a private life other than your cover. You're an author."

  "Joe, I know all that."

  "Yeah, well, remember the rules. This one in particular. 'Be polite. Be professional. Be prepared to kill everyone you meet.' Do you read, Hunter? Don't forget, talk only to the agents out there. Call me if something comes up. Otherwise, I'll see you on Tuesday or Wednesday, Thursday the latest. Remember, Pisces is the kill target. And, remember the total mission." There's a pause. "And try to limit the collateral damage."

  CLICK.

  "Collateral damage? Shanahan wasn't collateral damage. Sam was, and when I start shootin' anything I hit is the target, not ..."

  Bzzzzzzz.

  Hunter hangs up, stands, and locks the closet door after stepping out. Tiptoes around and over the broken glass and out of the office, into the hallway and to the dining room. Sees Dee, back to him, leaning on the kitchen counter, talking on the telephone. Mutters, "Oh, man. What a.. a...chassis." Then louder, "Hey, Mrs. Columbo, Dee, I'm done with my call. Have to talk to you."

  She turns, nods and puts her index finger in the air signaling one more minute. Says a few more words into the phone, then, "I love you
. Tell your sister I said the same thing. Bye. See you soon." Puts the phone back on the holder on the wall and says with a smile, "Children. What's up?"

  The smile evaporates, and Hunter hears the reason for it vanishing.

  Bradovich says, "Hunter, we need to talk. That guy didn't jump or fall off the canyon. So, don't bullshit me. Now then..."

  Steve, one of the other detectives, pops his head in the front door and shouts, "Brad, the Chief is on the radio. Says he needs to talk to you. Like right now. And there are a couple of Feds here. One is FBI. I'm guessin' the other is a Spook."

  Bradovich shakes his head. "Okay. On my way." Then turns back to Hunter. "Hunter, ol' friend. I don't know what you've got yourself into but…ahhh, never mind. I'll be right back. If I can." He leaves, crunching glass in the entryway as he goes. Stops, looks around to ensure Steve is gone. Hunter has not moved. Brad says, "Hawk, if you need help somewhere along the line, give me a call...at home." He turns and is out the front door.

  Dee comes up to Hunter, running her index finger along the words, "Swift, Silent and Deadly" on his T-Shirt. "What was that all about?"

  "We gotta talk."

  In the warmth of a mid-afternoon sun, Danny Shanahan looks at his younger brother, Sean. Takes a sip of his pint and says, "I wonder when Paddy will be comin' home? It's been well over a week now."

  They sit quietly at a table in the corner of the pub's outdoor patio. Actually, just the sidewalk with tables set out when the weather is grand. The street before them has only a few men walking about since it is near the supper hour. Later, it will be alive with activity, especially here at The Well.

  "Don't know, but none too soon for me. They be enough troubles without some of our own."

  "Aye, none too soon." They both take a long drink from their pints. Put the glasses down and like they were twins, wipe their mouths with the sleeves of their shirts. Sit back, and gaze out onto the roadway.

  Derry to the locals and countrymen, Londonderry to the world, is broiling with troubles and has been for years. It may well be coming to a head. The Shanahan clan has lost three men from the family and one lass in the war. A grandfather and a father; a son or brother; and a young lass, a sister. What is left are the three lads, Paddy, Danny, and Sean and their Ma. And Paddy is off on a job for the cause.

  Sean takes another gulp of his draught. Looks at Danny and asks, "Patrick will be back, won't he?"

  "Aye, I hope, lad. I hope." He then takes a swallow, his last. "Hell yes, he'll be back. And soon, too. Now, drink up, Sean. It's supper time and we need to be puttin' a foot under us. We have a job tonight for Muldoon. Remember?"

  Pisces opens the door to his villa. Calls out, "Gina, I'm home."

  Into the foyer, on the run, comes the house mouse, the maid, Gina Pappalardo. She is better looking than her namesake. Gina coos, "Buon giorno, Signore Catalano." She continues on in her native Italian. "So good to have you home again. Signora Catalano went down to the beach to swim and relax."

  "To shop, but that's fine," he responds in English.

  "Just for some fresh fish, Signore. The catch of the day," she responds in the same language.

  "I know, and thanks, it's good to be home. I plan on staying much longer this time. Perhaps forever. Could you bring me some Chianti on the veranda? I too want to enjoy the sun. Relax. It's been a long trip."

  "Yes, Signore, sir. Sorry. Was business good?"

  "Ah, as the English might say, bloody good." He laughs softly. Nods to Gina. "My wine, please." Roberto Catalano strolls through the large tiled living room, onto the veranda. From here he can see down the now shadowed mountain to the town and the sea which is reflecting the reds and oranges of evening twilight. He murmurs, "I have to paint this view. I have the time now." He sits in a large, well-cushioned chaise lounge, first taking off his jacket and tossing it over another chair. Then slips off his shoes, wiggles his toes and finally stretches his arches.

  Gina arrives with the Chianti and places the glass on the lounge-side table. She pours a sip. Stands aside while Signore Catalano picks up the glass, sniffs the bouquet, nods in satisfaction and takes a sip. He nods again. Gina finishes her chore, then places the bottle on the table. She pads quietly back toward the house wondering if Roberto will take advantage of this time that the Signora is gone. They often have, but it looks as if not at this moment.

  Gina lingers at the door gazing back at Roberto. Perhaps he is losing interest. I am not as young as I once was. We'll see; it's only his first day, first moment back.

  Pisces watches her leave. Smiles in satisfaction, then looks out over the veranda view and murmurs, "Pisces is dead when Pisces wants to be dead."

  Then after a few moments, "And finally, Pisces is dead. To the world. "

  But not to her.

  He peers at Gina as she shifts and sways her hips as she enters the villa kitchen.

  CHAPTER 3

  "Always cheat; always win. There ain't

  no such thing as a fair fight."

  A gunfighter's rule

  The two federal agents ring the doorbell and wait at the still open front door. It is ridiculous to be so proper under these circumstances. After all, it's one of their own they've come to see; one of their own they're going to cover up and shield. Emergency vehicles still clog the cul-de-sac as does a neighborhood crowd, including the press. And it's a Saturday. A day already warm and humid made worse by the lingering heat and spun out smoke of the bombed car. Nonetheless these two callers are in business suits, starched white shirts and power ties. Additionally, the handyman and his helper that Dee called are standing behind the agents, half-surveying the damage to the house and waiting to come inside. They are in their business suits: coveralls, San Diego Padre baseball caps, sweat-stained T-shirts and leather tool belt holsters fastened around their waists. Watching this front door dog and pony show is Eugene Bradovich, standing in the street, leaning against his vehicle. He mutters, "Be careful ol' buddy. If you need me, call." Removes his elbows from the roof of the car, leans across the top of the car and adds, "And watch your six, Marine."

  Hunter comes to the door, introduces himself to the two Feds. The FBI Agent shows his credentials and presents himself as Special Agent in Charge (SAC), James "Jim" Ryder. The Spook does the same, simply as Agent John Oboe. Then adds, "My friends call me...never mind, I don't have any friends."

  Hunter replies, "Agent Ryder. Hello. Agent...Agent, ah, what was your...your, ah, never mind. I don't either." He and Oboe exchange icy stares. Then Hunter waves all inside, adding, "C'mon in."

  The two handymen push by everyone and go directly to Dee, who is standing in the middle of the living room still in her bra-less halter top and short shorts.

  Dee says, "Bobby. Richard."

  Richard says, "It's Dick."

  Bobby smiles and remarks, "No. That's what you are," and sniggers, then quickly feigning courtesy adds, "To Miss Dee you're Richard." The two clowns laugh. Dee doesn't. Nor do the agents. Hunter glares at the two workmen and takes a step toward Bobby.

  Dee cuts him off. Places a hand on Hunter's chest, "Please, leave it be." Then faces the Moe and Curly duo, snaps, "Stop it, you two. Follow me, and I'll show you what needs to be done, which should be apparent. And where to start. And I want it done right, and quickly." Looks at Hunter, shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "Sorry. I'll get them started, then join you three."

  Agent Ryder says, "FBI, Special Agent in Charge, James Ryder, ma'am, I'm the..."

  "I heard," retorts Dee. "I'm Teresa Columbo, the Property Manager here. I'm responsible to the owner for...oh my, God...oh, Lord. She, uh, Samantha, I mean, Ms. McGee was the owner. I still represent...I'm so sorry but..."

  "You're doin' it again, Dee," interrupts Hunter.

  Ryder feigns a smile and says, "Well, ma'am, good you heard and we understand your confusion ... and grief." He pauses, "But we won't be needing you to join us. If you and the workmen just stay in those rooms that need repair, we'll be out of your way on th
e patio. Agent Oboe here," jerking his thumb, "will need to talk to you later. In your place." He looks to Oboe and gets a confirming nod. Then asks, "Next door, isn't it?"

  Dee looks to Hunter. Sees him nod. Agent Oboe nods also, but with a sly grin. She pushes Bobby, with Richard in front of him, toward Hunter's office.

  Dee half-shouts over her shoulder, "Got the message."

  Then several steps along her way, murmurs, "They're all clueless."

  Dee and the two handymen disappear into the office. She tugs on the closet door and finds it locked, again. Hunter and the two agents stride through the living room, go outside to the chairs adjacent to the Jacuzzi on the patio. Only after Agent Oboe surveys the area outside the backyard fencing do they sit.

  Hunter asks, "Any bodies? Friends?"

  Oboe asks, pointing at Dee's house, "Who lives there? The pretty lil' landlady?"

  Hunter says, "The Property Manager, Mrs. Columbo. Yeah."

  Oboe says to Ryder, "Let's get this over with, then I'll have a chat with the good Ms. Columbo," smirking at Hunter like a boxer jabbing, hoping to invite an expected roundhouse right. It provokes only an icy stare.

  Ryder begins by asking Hunter to tell what he knows, saw, and did this morning. Hunter delivers a more than complete "SitRep". Ryder listens to the situation report without interrupting. Then follows with questions. Akin to an endless oral exam. Agent Oboe listens, watches, and on occasion asks a question himself or clarifies a point for Ryder. The result of this hour-long interrogation is that there will be a cover-up. It will be in the hands of the Feds because Samantha McGee was an individual under contract to the government, and thereby a federal employee. And of course, because it involves the death of a foreign national and because the CIA deems it thus to control the cause, the information and results. What is difficult for Hunter to digest is the seemingly willing cooperation between Ryder and Oboe, particularly since the latter is a wise-ass. This session is a wonderfully executed scam. Nonetheless, Hunter's mind is set on finding and killing Pisces, completing his ultimate mission, and, if lucky along the way, kill a gaggle of passing PIRA. Ryder drones on explaining the agenda and what will be said to the press.