Omega Blue

by Mel Odom

  Then the wall exploded inward, scattering brick and mortar splinters. The Asian man jerked to one side as if he’d been hit by an invisible truck. As the body tumbled to the floor, Wilson saw there was almost no head left.

  “Nearly missed him,” Rawley transmitted. “Lost him in the confusion.”

  Wilson glanced at the grapefruit-sized hole the Barrett’s 750-grain round had left in the wall. He shoved the oxygen mask out of his way and moved the mike forward. “I’m just glad you found him when you did.”

  Mac waded through the smoke and debris, followed by January. “We’re clear here,” Mac said. “Maggie’s waiting by the elevator. It’s still operational.” He took the hard drive from Wilson’s hand.

  January easily picked up the unconscious prisoner and draped him over one broad shoulder. ‘We need to get a move on, people. The top of this structure is about to be swept by a firestorm. The fire department won’t have much time to save the rest of the building.”

  Flaming timbers dropped in Aikman’s office behind them.

  Wilson nodded. “What about Vache?’

  “He’s with Maggie,” January replied.

  “Intact?”

  “Standing. He looked okay.”

  Wilson kept his weapon in his hand as he jogged through the maze of hallways. Mac and January were close behind when he reached the elevator bank. Scuderi and Aikman stood inside; Scuderi had the doors blocked with a foot.

  As soon as they were in, Scuderi withdrew her foot and thumbed the ground-level button. The cage dropped instantly while the fire-warning Klaxons shrilled overhead.

  When the elevator doors opened again, they were on the ground floor, and yellow-slickered firemen were running in all directions. One of them came to a halt in front of the elevator holding a fire ax. His face was a dim shadow behind the glass plate of his oxygen mask. He waved a gloved hand. “You people get out of here before the gas lines blow. Move!”

  Wilson took control of Aikman and dragged the accountant toward the door while the rest of the team followed him. Fire hoses as thick as Amazon pythons writhed across the floor as hose teams worked to set up a base in the lobby.

  The air outside was instantly cooler.

  Switching off the electromagnetic seal on the oxygen mask, Wilson dropped it into his pocket and swiveled the T-jack’s mike forward. He blew to access the frequency, then switched it to the tach channel they’d set up with the state police. “Falcon, this is Redball.”

  “Go, Redball.”

  “How’s your end of things?”

  “Secure. We’ve got three people in custody, but one of them might not make it. Two more are dead. Once we found out they were wired with endo-skels, we didn’t take any chances.”

  “Understood.” Wilson cleared the channel and focused his attention on Aikman.

  The accountant glared back at him nervously. “I want to thank you for saving my life up there. I think those guys were going to kill me.”

  Wilson stripped away his night goggles and let the man see his eyes. He reached into his pocket and flashed his ID. “Wilson. FBI. You’re under arrest.” He quickly read off the man’s rights as a third fire truck joined the two in place in front of the Gresham building. A hook-and-ladder team was being elevated to the fifth floor. Splashing water rained out over the street, and steam clouds rose above the curling flames reaching for the night sky.

  Aikman’s face closed up. “I’m not talking till I see my attorney.”

  “We know about the jackal network,” Wilson said.” And we know that you were laundering the money for the operation. We have a lead on Prio, and that puts us that much closer to Sebastian DiVarco. Right now we’re in a position to make a deal. If you wait too long, we’ll make the deal somewhere else and you’ll go down on accessory to murder charges.”

  A fire chief’s red car came scrambling around the corner, lost traction for a moment, and skidded to a stop with one wheel up on the curb in front of the office building.

  Aikman rubbed his chin and glanced at the hard drive Mac was holding. “To convict me of anything, you’re going to need what’s in that hard drive.”

  “We’ll get it,” Scuderi said, moving to occupy the accountant’s personal space.

  Aikman took a step back. An uneasy sneer twisted his lips. “I’ll take my chances in court and with your computer experts. Personally, I don’t think you can retrieve anything from that unit. I could be wrong. If so, I’ll go to jail. One thing I’m not going to do is cross somebody like DiVarco. Assuming you re right about me being involved and DiVarco ultimately being behind something like this. You saw the guys that came after me tonight. I can’t say that I know what they were after. Personally I think they just wanted the cash I keep in my office safe-but I can tell you I don’t want anyone like them coming after me again. You understand? You feds aren’t really noted for being able to keep witnesses alive these days.”

  Wilson turned away from the man. “Get him out of here.”

  Scuderi nodded and shoved the accountant toward one of the state police cars that was parked outside the cordoned-off area set up by the fire department.

  Media vans drove up to the edge of the crime-scene perimeter being enforced by the yellow-slickered firemen and the uniformed Atlanta police department. A hundred people in various stages of night dress had turned out from the nearby residential sector to see what was going on. Mac, January, and Rawley left quickly.

  “Let’s blow this pop stand.” Vache turned to Wilson. “You’re not going to get anything further here.”

  “Hey,” a feminine voice shouted. “Over here.”

  Wilson glanced up and saw a trim brunette with striking features leading a camcorder crew to intercept him.

  “Agent Wilson,” the woman called out, dodging a red-and-white-striped sawhorse and ducking under the yellow tape put up by the Atlanta PD. “I’m Wrenne Phillips, Station Eight Action Headlines. Could I have a few words with you?” She was dressed in a red skirt and blouse ensemble designed to capture viewer interest even if the audio portion of the telecast was suddenly lost. Her silver filigree earrings dangled past her short-cropped hair.

  “No comment,” Wilson replied, making his way to the car Mac had waiting.

  “To what degree was the FBI’s Omega Blue unit involved in the outbreak of violence that shook this neighborhood only moments ago?”

  “No comment.” A uniformed cop moved out of Wilson’s way. Before he could pass through, Phillips grabbed his arm.

  The newscaster dropped the hand mike to her side. “Give me a break here, tough guy. I’m just a girl trying to do her job.”

  “Then give me the same courtesy,” Wilson replied in a level voice.

  “Give me the story.”

  “Your story’s with Captain Frank Burleson of the state police.”

  “C’mon, Wilson, Omega Blue has higher interest quotient than the local cop shop. If you give me the interview, there could be audio and video bytes of you and me across the whole country by morning.” Over her shoulder, the camcorder operator was zooming in for close-ups.

  The spray of harsh light stung Wilson’s eyes as he gently disengaged the woman’s fist from his jacket. “No comment,” he said evenly. He showed her his back and walked away.

  Phillips cursed after him. She paused only a moment. Then a cry went out that a body had been found in the alley. Her voice was strident as she ordered her camera crew into action before the police and fire department could seal the alley.

  “You should have given her the story,” Vache said as he fell into step beside Wilson.

  “What story?” Wilson asked. “We don’t have proof of anything I could have told her.”

  “You could have worked around that”

  “Look, Earl, I’m a federal agent, not a politician. I earn my keep by bringing people like Sebastian DiVarco down, not by pandering to the public.”

  “Yeah, but the public puts the pressure on politicians who can make your job harder
or easier. You need to keep that in mind.”

  “When I get something she and I can both use, then I’ll give her the story. If I have time. Until then, I start dodging the issues she’ll bring up, or DiVarco is going to know we don’t have zip. I want him on his toes so he’ll be more apt to make a mistake. I want him listening for footsteps.” Wilson moved away before Vache could bring up any further arguments. He considered what his next steps were going to be, but most of that depended on what Sebastian DiVarco chose to do in retaliation.

  6

  Sebastian DiVarco reached across the curvaceous redhead seated beside him in the back of the stretch limousine and punched in the code for the armored door. It raised, gull-fashion, with a pneumatic hiss. “Here you are, babe,” he said. “Curb-to-curb service just like I promised.” His right hand was never far from the Detonics Janus Scoremaster .45 ACP holstered on his hip.

  Two bodyguards who had been trailing the luxury car in another vehicle trotted into place on either side of the open door. Before them, the charcoal gray awning ran the length of the red carpet leading into the glittering lobby of the Boston Ritz-Carlton.

  Alyssa LaRocca leaned forward and put her hands on either side of his face. She gave him a champagne-stained kiss that raised his blood level. “You sure you won’t come up for a while, lover?”

  “Can’t.” DiVarco gently pulled the woman’s hands from his face, then delicately kissed her fingers. “Got some business to take care of before morning. Maybe afterward I could come by, wake you up, and show you a whole new day.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Me too. Now scram. I’m on a tight schedule here.” It was true. He’d already cut into the safety margin he’d figured for the trip from the Back Bay area to the North End by five minutes. Traveling across Boston was only slightly easier in the predawn hours than during business hours. The Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority rapid transit lines shut down operations at one A.M., leaving only private traffic and cabs on the streets. It was during those hours that DiVarco scheduled a lot of his financial dealings.

  She made a show of getting out of the car, as if she were trying to make sure the black spandex mini-dress covered her modestly. It made the flash of white bikini panties and garters underneath even more tantalizing. Once outside the luxury vehicle, she smoothed everything back into place. Her breasts were high, white, and firm. At twenty-one, she was almost ten years DiVarco’ s junior. She had good thighs, too. He’d decided most women didn’t take care of their thighs these days. It was worth the wait to find one who did.

  “Just make sure you come see me,” she said. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  DiVarco couldn’t keep the smile from his face. It was the same one his mother used to be so proud of, and the one that Aunt Rosina said was full of devilment just before she pinched his cheek.

  “Carmichael,” DiVarco said.

  “Yes, Mr. DiVarco.”

  “We’re burning gasoline here.”

  “Yes, sir.” The chauffeur tucked his hat under his arm and raced for the driver’s seat.

  Keying the security panel again, DiVarco closed the door and listened to the seal hiss as it became gas proof. He picked up the remote control from the magnetic plate on the wet bar and aimed it at the blank section in front. A beveled panel slid away to reveal a television screen. He flicked another switch and the screen came on. He saw a picture of himself sitting in the rear seat as the image was relayed through the closed-circuit system carefully artificed into the limo’s opulence. He leaned forward to see himself more clearly.

  Tonight he wore black leather pants, an aqua silk pullover, and a black leather jacket with fringes hanging off the back, waist, and arms. Black-on-black Air Jordans covered his feet. His dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that emphasized the severe widow’s peak on his forehead. He’d gotten his beak of a nose from his father, but his cobalt blue eyes were a legacy from his mother’s Irish ancestry. At six four, two hundred and twenty pounds, he stood straight and tall and worked at carrying around an air of defiance. Scars covered his knuckles, bits of the past that proved he’d worked his way up through his own resources and intelligence.

  “Mr. DiVarco, Mr. Magaddino would like to come aboard.”

  DiVarco grinned. The chauffeur always talked about the limo like it was some kind of ship. “Let him.”

  The limousine stopped on Tremont Street across from the Old Granary Burial Ground.

  Deliberately not looking over his shoulder at the car that had parked behind him, DiVarco surveyed the rolling hill of the cemetery. No one in there was buried later than the eighteenth century. He remembered summers spent there in his teen years, breaking into the mausoleums and slipping through the low, narrow tunnels smugglers had built during the years before the American Revolution. Once, he and his buddies had surprised a group of college students swapping ghost stories and sent them screaming into the alleys. He smiled at the memory. It hadn’t been until years later that he realized the H. P. Lovecraft they’d been talking about had actually lived in Boston.

  Sal Magaddino’s robust shadow fell across the bulletproof glass of the window. DiVarco leaned over and keyed the door’s security and the door rose out of the way. Seating himself with a sigh of relief, Magaddino offered his hand.

  DiVarco took it reverently and kissed the black stone of the man’s ring. “Don Magaddino, friend of my father, how may I help you?”

  “I came to talk, Sebastian.” The old man was fat; flesh hung from his jowls in loose folds. He wore a long coat and a snap-brim fedora that had been his trademark.

  “I always enjoy talking with you, but I am engaged in some business now.”

  “With Jimmy Gioia?”

  The winning smile on DiVarco’ s face almost collapsed but he saved it. “It seems too much of my business is leaking out onto the streets. I’ll have to take care of that.”

  “I’ve heard this from no one.” Magaddino tapped his temple. “You forget, before life dealt me this aged body, I was once a young man of vision myself. I’ve been watching you. I knew it was only a matter of time before you dealt with Gioia.”

  “Will you ride with me? I’m pressed for time.”

  “Of course.” Magaddino waved to his bodyguards and they dropped back to their own vehicle.

  DiVarco pressed the intercom button. “Roll it, Carmichael.”

  The limo cruised back out into the street.

  “What did you want to talk about?” DiVarco asked.

  “Your great expectations.”

  DiVarco looked at the older man n perplexity.

  “It’s from a book,” Magaddino explained. “A very old book by Charles Dickens that deals with a young man on the threshold of a very promising life. It reminds me of you these days.”

  “This book does? Maybe I should pay more attention to novels. The last one I read was The Horny Librarian’s Feather Duster.”

  “Don’t try to con me, Sebastian. I knew your father. I knew you when you were a little boy. You were never satisfied with your lot in life. That’s why you were the source of your father’s pride and the answer to your mother’s broken dreams. You’ve studied. Maybe not at college, but I know you’ve hired tutors over the years. You may not have a college degree, but you’ve had the training. This act you trot out for the other people, it don’t work for me. You want them to think you’re only street smart. But I know better.”

  “All my life,” DiVarco said, “the people in this city have told me I was a punk, that I was going to die in the gutter like my old man. In the next couple of weeks, I’m going to show them they were wrong.”

  The limo came to a brief stop at the intersection.

  When the light changed, it took a right and headed west toward State Street, passing the Old State House, where the Declaration of Independence was read from a balcony to the citizens of Boston in 1776.

  “Is that what this is all about?” Magaddino asked. “Showing these people t
hat they were wrong about you?”

  “It’s about power, Don Magaddino.” DiVarco clenched his hand into a fist. “I’m taking it away from the weak and giving it to the strong. I’m giving it to me.”

  “And Jimmy Gioia? Does he know you are coming to kill him?”

  DiVarco smiled. ‘‘My old friend, Jimmy? No. He thinks I am coming to make him a part of this thing.”

  “But you aren’t?”

  “No. He’s a crackhead, addicted to his own product. He’s of no use to anyone. Tonight I’m going to deal him out.”

  “When you were boys, on your way up in the families, Jimmy would have died for you.”

  “I’m going to let him tonight.”

  “And you feel no remorse?”

  “No. When I was a boy, my father told it to me straight. So did you. When it comes time for a man to take action, there can be no second thoughts, no weakness. I’ve made myself strong. Even though the families won’t recognize it, I’m a capo in this city, a man to be dealt with. I intend to be crown prince before I’m through.”

  “The families won’t stand for it.”

  “Did they send you here to tell me that?” DiVarco demanded.

  “No. I came of my own accord, because of the small boy I used to know. And because of a promise I made to your father to look out for you.”

  “I don’t need anyone to look out for me.”

  “Then look out better for yourself, Sebastian. The moves you are making, they have made the families nervous. Soon, I’m afraid, there will be talk of retribution against you.”

  “Take a message back to those old men, Don Magaddino. Tell them that any man who makes a move against Sebastian DiVarco is a dead man, and the day they do it, they can carve the date on their gravestone themselves. Tell them that for me.”

  “Those are harsh words.”