“She seems like a nice girl.”
“She’s like all girls her age, Danny. Just like I was. If Carmine hadn’t sweet talked me into marrying him, and given my father enough to open his own shop, I’d have been pregnant within six months anyway and hooked up with a pasta maker. He was the ‘also ran’ in the Sheila sweepstakes. Gina’s a good kid but dying to have a real man treat her like a grown woman. Like I say, that won’t happen again.”
“I’m not sure what it is that happened.”
“You’re cute, you know? I wouldna thought you’d still be so naive by this time in your life. Most men are dumb about women anyway though, so why should you be any different?” She picked up a year old Cosmopolitan magazine and flipped pages.
Giuseppe joined Powers and asked tentatively if he knew chess. “A bit. I haven’t played in years.” The boy was small for 11.
“That’s all right,” the boy said. “I’m not so good myself.”
“Don’t talk like that, Giuseppe,” Sheila said, but since it was in English the boy smiled. The first game lasted eight minutes, the second six and the third less than five. “Honey,” Sheila said, “you’re showing off. Better to let the man think he’s got a chance like you’re father taught you. Understand?” Her voice was filled with pride.
“Yes, mama.”
“That’s good.” She turned back to her magazine.
“I better make the rounds, then turn in. I’m pulling the two to dawn shift,” Powers said as he stood. “I’ll see if I can’t do better tomorrow night.” Giuseppe smiled.
“I just had a thought,” Powers added. “You know backgammon?”
“Yes. I’m not very good though.” Sheila glanced up but said nothing.
“Let’s play it. I might win a game once in a while.”
As Powers left, Giuseppe was pondering the thought, not looking very happy about it as Sheila spoke intently to him in a reassuring, conspiratorial voice.
~
The next morning Luigi was blushing brightly as he gestured to Powers in the kitchen that he would make his rounds of the grounds. Sheila asked if Powers wanted more coffee then joined him at the table. “I like Luigi, you know? He’s a real gentleman. I don’t usually take to these Sicilians, too much honor and all that, but he’s a good kid. I think I’ll set him up with Francesca. They like each other already.”
“Francesca’s 15 years old, isn’t she?”
“Yeah. Luigi’s 28. He’s a little young for her but then they won’t get married for three years so there’s plenty of time to be sure about this. Don’t look so confused. You think the way these American girls climb in and out of bed with every guy who gives them the time of day, then get married because they’re almost 21 is better? I’ll tell you this. If Luigi and Francesca do marry they’ll stay that way, unless he gets killed of course. Widows with kids are tough to find second husbands for. But you have to see to it because if you aren’t careful, they turn wild on you and cause all kinds of trouble with the soldiers.”
Powers stared at Sheila with amazement and incredulity. “I think I’ll join Luigi.”
Sheila winked. “That’s fine. When you gonna show me my gun? Or are you two planning on handling this all alone?”
“I’ve got a .38 you can have if you want, but we aren’t going to need the guns. We’re secure.”
Now Sheila stared at Powers with amazement. “Who you kidding? They’ll find us. I know I’m okay and I’ll stake my life on Luigi. I just hope you’re as good as Carmine thinks.”
~
They came on the sixth night. By that time, Judge Tristan lay tortured and dead in his townhouse bedroom. The double barrel blast of Luigi’s shotgun awakened Powers from a light sleep and he was out the door before he realized he was even moving. Powers heard automatic weapons fire from three guns and cursed his stupidity for relying on secrecy instead of men and firepower. He recognized the familiar staccato of AK47's and old memories from Vietnam burst on him.
“No lights!!” he shouted over his shoulder as he ran towards firefight. The temperature had dropped 40 degrees since sunset and his shoes snapped on fresh thin ice like twigs. He stopped behind a tree. The shotgun sounded again, then a second time. There was the shouting of a foreign language, Eastern European but not Russian. Both barrels blasted from the shotgun followed by a short scream. Powers advanced cautiously.
The woods were lit by starlight and he could just make out shapes. The scene was nearly surreal, set in black, white and grey. There was a human form splayed on a patch of white, black ink spreading slowly beneath him. To Powers’ right an AK47 sounded, directed towards his left, probably at Luigi. Powers fired with the .45 since he was further away than he liked for the pump shotgun. Three quick shots, as he was trained in the woods of Maryland one hot August. The AK47 stopped abruptly and a second opened up on Powers. He dropped to his stomach and crawled to his left. The shotgun had been quiet too long.
The man with the automatic knew his business. He fired in measured bursts, the bullets kicking up ice and frozen earth where Powers had been just seconds before, then he aimed left and right of the spot, a single bullet striking the heel of his shoes like a heavy hammer slamming into it. Luigi fired from deeper in the woods and there was another scream, this one long and slow, piercing the dark with pain. Powers stopped.
Nothing.
He advanced cautiously towards the figure he’d spotted and stripped the heavy man of his AK47, a heavy automatic pistol and three Russian hand grenades. From behind him Powers heard the snub nose .38 bark. He rose and bolted towards the house. The Smith and Wesson sounded three times more and Powers knew it was empty. He crashed through the front door and spotted Sheila standing over a man sprawled across a throw rug, dressed like a soldier, an Asian cast to his features. “The fucker’s dead,” she said casually, but in a high-pitched voice.
“Have you seen another?”
“No.”
Powers pulled an automatic from the body, jacked the slide and handed it to Sheila. “Just press the trigger if you need a gun again. You’ll have about 13 shots this time. Protect the children. Take them into the furnace room. I’ll be guarding the stairs after I do a quick check outside, so don’t shoot unless you are certain.”
He went out the door then moved along the side of the house. An automatic fired, the bullets tracing the wall just beside him. He dropped, pulled his liberated AK47 around and emptied a clip into the brush from where the gun had fired. Then he yanked the pin from a hand grenade and lobed it there as well, as much to let the opposition know he had them, as to do damage.
There were no more fireworks after that and the perimeter held no other surprises. He went back into the house and took up a place in the dark. Sheila was going to have to handle the cellar windows herself and Luigi was out of luck. Powers job was the family. He made it two down for certain. One the Sicilian had seen to, perhaps another as well, the other Powers had killed in the woods. He was nearly certain he’d also got this last one but wasn’t going to count on it. It was difficult to gauge the number of the enemy. He’d counted four for certain, but if it was a professional assault team, and it had the earmarks of one, no one would use a weapon unless there was a target in sight. He couldn’t know how many there were altogether.
It was ten minutes by his wristwatch when one of the girls screamed, followed by seven rapid shots of the Russian automatic he’d given Sheila. Powers held his ground and, as he’d suspected, a dark figure eased his way along the floor towards him from the rear bedrooms, intending to take advantage of the distraction. Powers pulled the pin of a second grenade and rolled it like a small bowling ball to him.
The explosion indoors was even more violent than he’d anticipated and he took shrapnel along his side. The pain burned white hot into his flesh. It was a full minute before his hearing returned and he detected the distant, then suddenly close sounds of the handgun firing again from below. He rushed outside to clear the basement windows when the night turn
ed white.
~
Powers later determined he was out less than two minutes and was awakened by Giuseppe whispering insistently into his ear. “Wake up! Wake up! One’s here. Please!!”
Powers, feeling heavily drugged and remote from events, glanced leisurely left, right, then very slowly along his legs towards the house. A huge man was entering. Powers lifted his right hand and emptied the .45 into him before blacking out.
FIFTEEN
Northern Virginia, 6:28 a.m.
Powers estimated that Estelle was blowing winds of 50 miles an hour with gusts exceeding that. The rain was heavy and often overwhelmed his wipers’ capacity. The semis were down to a crawl and more than one had stopped on the side of the interstate with parking lights marking its place.
His cell phone chirped. “Where are you?” Alta asked.
“Checking a lead.”
“In this storm? You’ll drown. Where are you anyway?”
“Go back to sleep.”
“You’re making this a habit. I’m starting to take it personally. Really though, where are you? I’ll get in trouble if I don’t know.”
“Stay out of this, Alta. It’s for your own safety. Find a way to get clear of this. It will be over, either way, very soon.”
“What do you mean by ‘either way?’”
“Better yet, find another job. I don’t think this one’s got much of a future. Goodbye.” The phone chirped ten times after that before it fell silent.
A man’s voice, less skilled and insinuating than NPR was speaking on the radio, “Locally, Hurricane Estelle has been downgraded to a tropical storm and will continue to pummel Virginia, Maryland, and the capital today and tonight. Additional heavy rain and gale force winds are anticipated along the coast and in the mountains. A storm warning has been issued by the National Weather Service. This is a good day to stay in folks. On the national scene, Special Counsel Coy Rampel issued a statement late yesterday that there will be no indictments prior to the election. Rampel stated that he wants to end damaging speculation and to not subject his impartial inquiry to baseless accusations of attempting to tamper with election results. The statement was denounced by Democratic Party leaders as partisan, coming as it does during the convention and on the eve of the First Lady’s address.”
Powers took the Markham exit, drove down several residential streets then stopped against the wall of a convenience market where he was shielded from the wind, lit another Camel and watched. Eight minutes later he went inside, bought two sandwiches from a wide-eyed teenage clerk who kept looking at the storm, then drove cautiously back to I-66 and turned west again.
St. Charles County, Missouri, Four Years Earlier
It had been daylight when Powers came to. His bleary vision showed Sheila standing not far away contemplating a table display of a vast array of weapons. He heard Gina say with concern, “His eyes are open, mama.”
Sheila glanced at Powers then smiled. “You did all right, Danny, and I think you’ll live.”
“The children?”
“All fine. Luigi’s dead though. Francesca’s in her room crying. I count two he got first. You got two more and I did the other. Five altogether I make it. Giuseppe found an empty van up the road. What now? I don’t think we should stay, do you?”
“No. How long was I out?”
“What do you think Gina? About an hour?” The blond-haired girl nodded while biting her lower lip. “Don’t do that honey. It makes you look ten years old.”
“Do we need a doctor?” Powers asked.
“Only if you plan to live. There’s a wound in your side and that’s a bullet you took across your pretty scalp but your hair’s gonna cover it up. Do I make the call or do you?”
Powers made it and learned then that Dorsey Tristan was dead. He got word to Carmine to report the attempt and that his family was well but he would be moving them. He ordered that the bodies be left where they lay in the woods, even Luigi’s, and instructed Sheila to drive them to a doctor in St. Louis who took care of his wounds.
“You should be in a hospital, Danny,” the friend told him. “You’ve got a concussion and if you’re bleeding internally you could drop dead if the proper medical staff isn’t on hand.” Powers asked for some pain pills and cautioned the doctor to say nothing about this to anyone.
He instructed Sheila to drive south on I-55 then slept most of the way, Gina tending to him like a mother hen. Outside of Memphis, just after dark, he told Sheila to load up with souvenirs and hair coloring. At a truck stop Sheila dyed her hair and the girls’ a rich chocolate. Powers then directed her to drive east on I-40 to Nashville. At a Hyatt, near the new Grand Old , they took a small suite, a family on vacation.
Giuseppe, who Powers now understood was the most valued member of the family, was assigned to tend to him and never left the suite. Sheila and her daughters took in the sights after Powers agreed they were more conspicuous holing up than playing tourists. Not even Carmine knew where they were. Giuseppe decided he didn’t like backgammon all that much when Powers won two games in a row and had them stick to chess, where he systematically destroyed Powers at every match. After two weeks, Powers drove north to Bowling Green to make his call.
The war was over and Zorya had fled the country. Half a dozen wise guys in Chicago had abruptly disappeared and the scene was so calm it was as if nothing had happened. Powers made his official report, then called Carmine to tell him where he could find his family. He was already in the hotel waiting when Powers arrived from Bowling Green, exhausted.
Powers said goodbye to Sheila – “Tell that wife to take good care of you” – and the two girls with Gina staring at him dewy eyed, then shook hands with Giuseppe. “You’re not too bad for a cop,” the boy allowed. “I don’t think practicing your chess will do much good.”
“I’m hanging up my pieces.”
On the drive to the airport, Carmine related how he knocked off the Russians then took care of his own boys. “I had to settle for runnin’ a couple out of the city when I’d rather’av fed ‘em to the fishes, but that’s the way sometimes. How about that, Giuseppe? Just like his grandfather, God rest his soul. He heard the shooting outside, then nothing, so went out to see what was goin’ on. Found you. If you hadna come to, and killed the Roosky, I think the boy woulda done it himself. Who says genes don’t count? The boy never met his name’s sake and acts just like him. What a son!”
As they approached Carmine’s private plane that would fly Powers back to St. Louis, he expressed his devotion. “You saved ‘em all and I’m grateful, you got that? My boy, that Giuseppe, he’s everything. You got a friend for life here. Don’t ever hesitate callin’ me, you got that? And forget what Sheila says. Things don’t work out with your wife or God forbid something should happen to her, my Gina’s first class, and I fix it up for you. You just say so. You’re family now, Danny, family.” There were tears in Carmine’s eyes as he embraced Powers beside the airplane. “For my son, anything you want. Anything.”
Northern Virginia, 6:51 a.m.
The wind was so violent that fully grown trees had been uprooted and lay on their sides. Other trees were snapped clean 15 feet above the ground. There was no sign of a tail and in this weather one was virtually impossible but Powers decided to continue as if he was being followed. At Strasburg, off I-81, Powers change course, waited and watched, drove, reversed course, then ran four evasive routes along parallel State 11, none of the maneuvers easy in the increasingly angry weather, before picking up I-81 at Toms Brook. From the runoff and gale force winds he was wondering if it would even be possible to reach the cabin. It was as good a job at shaking a tail as he was capable of. The telephone sounded in his pocket. He hesitated then answered.
“Someone’s askin’ about me,” Shanken said. “I’ll bet it’s you.”
“Nice day, isn’t it?” Powers said as the Cadillac was rocked again by the wind.
“Shitty all around if you really wanna know. That a rag head you ta
lking to earlier?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t give a fuck, but you gotta admit it makes me wonder whose side you’re really on.”
“The same one you are, Chesty. Was there ever any doubt?”
“What’s that suppose’da mean?” When Powers said nothing, Shanken continued, “What I hate about cellphones is you can’t tell where someone is, ya know? So where are you, buddy? It’s not nice to just take off like this. Our lady friend is asking about you and what am I supposed to tell her?”
Powers disconnected. The hourly news came on the radio a few minutes later and he turned the volume up. Estelle wasn’t moving as quickly as expected and the local area could anticipate even more heavy wind and rain. Then the announcer turned to politics. “In an unusual development former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger spoke to reporters today at the National Press Club expressing concern about the conduct of the Tufts Administration in dealing with Saddam Hussein.”
Kissinger’s familiar flat, accented voice came over the speaker. “The President’s dealings with Saddam are not from a position of strength but rather from weakness. This is a man who responds only to power. That should be obvious to all concerned by this time.”
The announcer returned. “In a related development the fragile Gulf Coalition is showing its first major fracture with a statement by the French foreign minister demanding that President Tufts state categorically that his Administration is not engaged in secret deal making with Saddam Hussein. There has been no word from the White House as of this hour.
“Nationally, the United States Supreme Court issued a decision today, ruling that the First Lady is a private citizen and does not possess personal immunity for quasi-official acts. She was ordered to turn over to the special prosecutor all personal and White House documents he subpoenaed last spring. Reaction to the ruling, coming as it does the day of her speech...”
Shadows and Lies Page 16
