Patricia played with her napkin for a few seconds and then said, “Yes, it’s true, there is a lot that you don’t know about me and more than you can imagine that I know about you. Sally and I were truly married – body and soul, if you will. Sal loved you very much, Marco, but more importantly he had a great respect for you. There was nothing that you did that he didn’t brag to me about. He was overjoyed with your achievements and suffered with your mistakes. Sally was particularly keen on your ability to control and enhance all aspects of his business and admired your total dedication to it.”
Then she paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “…which brings me to one issue that intrigued him.” Her soft voice took an intimate and almost maternal intonation. “You have never had a committed or even a stable relationship with a woman. We knew you were not gay, but never once did you bring a girl to your uncle’s home. I found this particularly curious, as well. Not that you are celibate either; Sal was amused by your frequent use of Black Card Company Management.”
This time Marco was outright flabbergasted. That his uncle knew about his particular preference of professionals over amateurs was unavoidable, but that he would share such with Patricia was unbelievable. He looked at her literally open-mouthed, as if he could not believe his ears. Black Card Company Management was the most private, most exclusive, and by far the most expensive escort service in the rarefied world of the very wealthy and very powerful. The escorts were educated, polished, worldly and amazingly beautiful. They only wore haute-couture garments and accessories; they didn’t look impressed by any amount of luxury, whether it was a G6 or a luxury villa on Lake Cuomo, and they chose, without obligation or recrimination, to include or not include sex in the relationship. Marco had been using Black Card for over ten years without reason to complain. He could not imagine why Patricia should know about his very private life. Marco had never wanted a relationship by which he could be held hostage, no emotional entanglements that could be his downfall in a business in which a person he loved could be used against him in so many ways. His father’s death had been just that; a way to hurt an untouchable man through a loved one. Marco was having none of that, no wife, no kids, not even a dog. Black Card gave him company when he needed it, sex when he wanted it, and time to forget it.
Patricia continued talking. “There is so much more that you must learn in just a few days. Sal was more, oh so much more than you or Ian Carlo knows. Ernie knows much but not everything and now you and I will have to learn even more. This is very big, Marco, more than you can ever imagine.”
But at this instant when so much was about to be revealed, Marco perceived something out of sync in his peripheral vision and as he turned he saw a Latino man moving purposefully towards them, holding his arm rigid against his body. Instinct kicked in and he threw himself and Patricia to the ground as two suppressed pops were heard above the startled shouts of diners. Seconds later the man was dancing dead to a barrage of bullets fired by Luigi and José, Patricia’s bodyguard. Yet before the bullets hit the assailant, a steak knife had buried itself deep into his throat stopping only when it hit bone. Patricia was on her knees with a hand extended in front of her. Like a cat she had grabbed the knife on the way down and before she hit the ground she had sent the deadly missile into the killer’s larynx.
The whole thing took less than three seconds, but for the terrified patrons of The Epicure it seemed interminable. The assailant’s body lay riddled with holes from which blood poured copiously, staining the white tablecloth of an overturned table and the powder-blue dress of an elderly matron upon whom he had fallen. The poor woman was in shock and could only open and close her mouth and move her arms in a fine imitation of a goldfish seeking freedom from its confinement. This pathetic scenario gave way to shouting, panicked screaming, and a rush to escape. And, since it was outside dining, exits were created by knocking over flowerpots, trellises, and rope enclosures. In no time the place was empty, leaving only Marco, Patricia, and the two men whose guns had ended the life of the man on the floor…and the old lady in the blue dress who had opted to faint in place.
Luigi and José rushed directly to Marco and Patricia, who were both up from the ground and looking around at the place. They both stared at the dead assailant, in whose hand was a Taurus .22 caliber pistol with a black three-inch suppressor. Luigi had already called the driver with a 911 code and the Lincoln suddenly screeched to a stop right in front of them. They all got into the car and Marco ordered the driver to the airport as he called Joe Strasso to check on the status of the plane. Strasso confirmed it was ready and a flight plan had already been filed for Teterboro.
Sarasota’s airport is located centrally, just minutes from downtown. The driver took them through quiet streets to the 441 North, which runs almost parallel to Runway 14 at Sarasota-Bradenton International. About halfway along, the entrance to Dolphin Aviation Services opened to them. They drove directly to the waiting Lear, which Joe had ready with engines on. Marco climbed into the copilot seat after sending Patricia into the cabin, and within two minutes they were taxiing to the runway under flight advisory, second for takeoff after an American Airlines commuter. The tower called their number and indicated that they were to roll into position and hold.
As Marco watched the American flight take off at a steep angle and veer right towards the Gulf, he heard “November-Charlie-Zebra-niner-niner-five, clear for takeoff” squawk in his headset. Joe pushed the two accelerators forward and in a breath they were moving down the runway. Less than fifteen seconds later they had positive flight conditions and a moment after that, with a slight pull on the yoke and the proper trim adjustment, the Lear lifted off the ground and rapidly gained altitude. A tight left turn indicated by the tower put them on a northeast heading. They would acquire Orlando flight control and from there climb toward the coast over Daytona and head north to New Jersey. November-Charlie-Zebra-niner-niner-five was authorized to ascend to flight level 290 with a heading of 010.
When the plane reached its altitude and Joe got involved with the controller, Marco went back to sit with Patricia in the passenger cabin. She had been quiet since the incident and had followed Marco’s lead without comment. She never looked scared or distressed. She had reacted rapidly after the gunman was down and walked out to the car fast but without running. Marco had seen the knife sticking out of the man’s throat but couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that it had been Patricia who put it there.
“So, what was all this about?” she asked Marco.
“Simple, someone tried to kill me or kill us, I don’t know.”
“Any idea who?”
“No, but there was one thing about this guy, he was not a pro,” Marco answered. “He was full of tattoos and had jail scars under his eyes; just a gangbanger high on something following someone’s orders. But that doesn’t take the seriousness out of this attempt; these bangers often succeed even if they don’t survive.”
“So, have you talked to Ian Carlo?” Patricia continued. “He should know.”
“Not yet, I’m waiting for Luigi to get off the phone with Pete. He’s making sure the house is secure.”
“I need to talk to my people also,” Patricia said calmly.
“I think José may have done that already. As I came back he was talking on our secure line; our cell phones are not an option.” Seconds later he was on the airplane’s encrypted phone to Ian Carlo and rapidly in coded conversation, he gave him a short version of what had happened.
Ian Carlo made no comment about the assault; he knew better than that. “When you’re an hour out change your flight-plan to MacArthur airport in Long Island. I’ll have a chopper waiting for you.”
Patricia asked for the phone and dialed a Peruvian number. She got a response on the first ring and fired off in such rapid Spanish that Marco could only surmise what was being said. She listened for a few seconds and sent off another few phrases and finished with a “Te quiero mucho, Papi” (I love you, Da
ddy). Then she looked up at Marco. “I’ll call him back when we get to wherever we’re going and he will be at a secure line; he also needs to know about this. Believe me, it could have been me this punk was after.”
“Did you also tell him that you put a knife in this guy’s throat?”
“Oh, Daddy would guess that something of the sort would have happened,” Patricia replied with just the hint of a sad smile.
“My God, why on earth would he expect that from you?”
“Well, as you know, my mother was killed by guerrillas when I was a child. She died fighting the guy while trying to defend me. She went for his gun and got shot for her efforts. So from the time I was seven years old, my father had me take self-defense and martial arts lessons. I became fascinated with them when once in school I beat the living daylights out of the playground bully who was two years older than me and twice my size. Since that moment of total exhilaration I became very serious about martial arts and earned black belts in a few Japanese and Korean schools but most of all, I loved and became proficient in Krav Maga, the Israeli urban combat technique. That was because my father was very good friends with Israel’s ambassador to Lima, who had one of his guards, whom I imagine was from their secret service, teach me. I was seventeen years old and Moshe taught me defense and attack moves every day for four years. He also became my first love and my first lover.”
Marco took in the information, considering the mysterious Patricia. “Luigi practices Krav Maga, and some other martial arts. I don’t know about Pete,” Marco said, still trying to brain all this out.
“Pete’s good, but not as good as Luigi or José,” Patricia said, looking at them in the back of the airplane.
“Who’s the best?” asked Marco.
“I am,” said Patricia with the most innocent smile.
So much for pretty faces, thought Marco to himself. “And the knife trick?”
“Oh, that I learned from Gustavo Rueda; he works for Daddy. He used to be with the Colombian Special Forces. He taught me to throw practically anything with pretty lethal effect – a book, a bottle, a pen, but especially knives. It came in handy today, didn’t it?”
Marco could not believe his eyes or his ears. He was sitting next to a beautiful woman, who appeared to be a sweet and delicate lady, only to find out she was a virtual maiming and killing machine. He was about to say something when Joe called him from the cockpit. Excusing himself he headed forward and slid into the right seat. He put on some headgear so that he could talk and listen to Joe.
“I changed the flight plan while we were over Charleston, and we are now heading for MacArthur in a somewhat roundabout way. We’re flying out over the ocean and staying about twenty miles offshore. We will fly over Long Island Sound until we are under New York flight control who will then hand us over to MacArthur tower. It’ll be a little over two hours to touchdown. Do you want to fly or are you going back to talk to Ms. Patricia?”
“I’ll be in back. I want to talk to Luigi and José.”
José was cleaning his 9mm Beretta with a gun kit that had appeared from somewhere on the plane. Luigi was prepping and checking three mini Uzis with 30-round magazines. There were also three additional magazines for each weapon. Marco knew that the plane was equipped with several weapons but had never needed to look into that matter too closely, now was a different situation and from what he could see the on-board arsenal consisted of the Uzis, plus two handguns and six stun grenades. Weapons all designed to defend and flee rather than attack. The compartment that held this entire armory was well hidden within the aft bench seat and a complex roll-back device in which under, if you opened the bench, you would find only flotation devises for six passengers.
“No such thing as too many guns,” said José.
“Except when the other side has them,” Luigi quipped.
“Tell me what you guys think about this situation,” said Marco.
“Too many possibilities to guess,” replied Luigi. “The only thing I know is that it probably wasn’t from inside the family or anybody close to us. If that had been the case, they would have tried to neutralize me first. This guy didn’t even look our way.”
“He could also be shooting for Miss Patricia,” said José.
“Why on earth would anybody want to hurt her?” Marco wondered out loud. “Sal isn’t around anymore, which would have been the only reason I can imagine.”
“Ask her, she might tell you.” It was José speaking now as he looked toward the front where Patricia sat pensively looking out the window.
Marco made a note to do just that as soon as he was back in his seat, but for now he had to clear his mind and do some planning. Life was suddenly playing for keeps and he wasn’t about to lose.
“I agree with you,” said Marco to Luigi. “I have no reason to think anyone from inside our organization would make such a rash move with little to gain. The cards are on the table and Ian Carlo is the boss now. I have no direct hierarchical value to anyone and this would only be a setback for all interested parties. No, this came from way out in left field but I can’t think of anyone, particularly if there is no all-out war on the family. If that was the case, we would know by now.”
“Also, the shooter was out of whack,” said Luigi. “He was either drugged, crazy, or both…probably both. My first shot hit him in a kidney and he didn’t even flinch. It took the knife and three bullets to bring him down when any one of those should have been enough. I would give a pretty penny for the toxicology report on that ‘putana.’”
Marco remembered that he had yet to call Pete at the house and get the lowdown on what was going on there. He dialed and Pete answered on the first ring.
“The major is here and he has men deployed all around the property.” Pete sounded cool, as always; a real pro. “He’s on the phone right now talking to a contact at Sarasota PD. I’ll let you know about that as soon as he’s finished. In the meantime you ought to know that I had the major secure Ms. Patricia’s apartment as well. There are four men deployed there. One of her bodyguards is here and two are at her place. José is with you, I hear. Also, I got an update from New York. Apparently there has been no other incident anywhere within the organization but everyone is on high alert. Hold on a sec…” Pete spoke briefly to someone in the background. “Major Allen wants to talk to you.”
Major Allen took his job seriously. Carducci, Lujan, Goldman, and others associated with them or referred by them signified most of his business and it was a very, very large business. His headquarters in Sarasota, Florida, was in a twelve-story building totally occupied by Allen Security. He employed several hundred people, of which the least number were administrative.
“Mr. Carducci, I’m sorry you had to live this experience. We are now in full defensive mode here and at Ms. Lujan’s property, but this is not what I want to talk to you about. Sarasota PD is still at the incident site, which now has been dubbed a crime scene. My contact tells me that there are literally too many witnesses and every one of them has a different story. Nobody knows who the deceased was shooting at or really who shot him, and most mysterious of all, he had a steak knife deep in his throat and nobody knows where it came from. They’re speculating that it just went into him as he fell on the table, or that maybe the lady he fell upon had it in her hand and involuntarily stabbed him with it. You have not been identified by anyone and only a waiter seems to recall having seen Ms. Lujan before but cannot identify her either. Sarasota PD is canvassing the area for video records of the incident but nothing has come up so far.”
“Thank you, Major,” said Marco. “Please keep me posted and if possible keep our names out of this matter. A bonus will be the outcome if this is handled to your usual high standards of discretion, of course. Please let me speak with Pete again…”
When Pete was back on the line Marco instructed him to secure his laptop and send it to the attention of the manager of the laundry via Fedex for next morning delivery. He stressed that the sender should
be one of the security people, not from any of the household staff, and the origination address should be that of his or her home. One never knew if the Feds had a tag on the mail.
Marco decided to continue his conversation with Patricia and immediately felt exposed again. This woman had intimate knowledge of his life and she seemed to be comfortable discussing openly with him such private and personal details as his frequent use of high-end escorts. She was also very knowledgeable in all aspects of the family business, from what he had surmised from the short conversation before the attack.
As he made his way back to her, he remembered the second envelope that he had received from Sal, the one marked “Personal” that was still in his pocket. He excused himself from Patricia again and went back to the cockpit. With Joe wearing his earphones and talking to air control somewhere, he had some privacy. He opened the letter and read:
Well Marco, if you’re reading this it is because I’m a goner. I know it’s coming soon because I have an incurable bone marrow disease that will eventually create an embolism large enough to kill me. I hope I went while fishing or fucking, which are the only things worth dying for. Anyway, you will have read the other envelope with the bank instructions and that will be that. This, however, is a personal request. I need you to stick around Patricia; she is more than my wife, she is your partner. You need Patricia and she needs you so that things turn out right. You’ll see what I mean. I imagine that by now you will have bucked off the family “leadership” on to Ian Carlo; smart move. You can trust him a hundred percent because he is terrified of dealing with big business in the real world, and he knows you thrive there. Also, I know that he can trust you for the same reason. Simple ain’t it? So there it is; I need you to be totally open with Patricia about everything as she will be with you. It’s gonna be a wild ride. Maybe I’ll be seeing it from somewhere; hopefully from a mild climate! Goodbye Marco and good luck. I have always loved you as a son.
The Carducci Convergence Page 4
