“Don’t—don’t leave, please, don’t leave. I’ll help you find her,” she whimpered.
He turned briefly, “I don’t need you, puttana.”
And he was gone.
CHAPTER thirty-one
By the time his feet touched the ground floor, he had his plan revised. It wasn’t much different than before because he realized all along who he’d eventually be facing. He needed to pay a visit to his favorite arms dealer. He had been waiting on some specialized equipment that was seldom seen on the regular market. He dialed Ryan’s number as he walked to his rental car. “How’s it going?” he simply asked.
“You know I’m a dead man after this, right?” he gave a brief laugh. “It’s great; just a freaking walk in the park.”
Micah couldn’t keep from laughing, even though he was afraid Ryan was right about that first statement, “I’m not trying to get you killed, but let’s just hope I’m the one who gets all the blame.”
“No—I’ve been pretty much told I’m a dead man about a thousand times. Even if you get the blame, I think we’re both in deep shit.”
“Well the shit just got deeper, my friend. Giovanni evidently killed Sharon’s men and now he’s on the run with Leese.”
There was a long breath drawn on the other end of the phone before Ryan spoke, “You’re off her chain, aren’t you?”
“She lost her leverage.”
“But did she lose her life? I know how badly you wanted to kill her, Micah.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to wish I had, and to be glad at the same time that I didn’t. She’s alive. I didn’t work this hard to allow my temper to screw it up now. This is getting ready to come to a head and you need to be prepared to move. I’ll try to bring it to your doorstep so you don’t have to, but if not… Well, all I can say is I’m afraid it’s going to be a difficult flight for you.”
Ryan was laughing, again, “Hell, that’s the easy part. It’s what happens when I land that’s going to be the hard part! Don’t worry about me, just worry about getting Leese out of this bullshit.”
Micah sighed. Ryan was right. “You know, in case something happens and I don’t have a chance to say this later, I want you to know I’m glad you’re my wife’s best friend, and I’m glad I didn’t kill you when you ran off with her.”
By this point, Ryan was rolling with laughter, “Hah! I kicked your ass, dude! Admit it, big, bad hitman, I kicked your ass!”
Micah chuckled as he cranked his car and headed for the airport, “Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for kicking my ass—and thanks for being my friend, too.”
The laughter faded, “You’re welcome. I’m glad we’re friends, Micah. Be careful.”
The moment he hung up, his phone was ringing. He looked at the number and recognized it was one of Sharon’s. She had two other cells that he knew of, and he was in no mood to listen to her beg him to return; he blocked her number and continued to the airport.
He was pleased that he’d had the forethought to pay his charter pilot for the full day so he didn’t have to arrange anything new when he arrived at the airport. He never expected to make it back quite so soon, but that was simply a bonus. He had a stop to make in New Orleans, and then he’d call David and tell him about the craziest thing he’d done in his life and see if he would consider joining him in the madness. David would have to do things Micah’s way, but he knew his brother well enough to know that he wouldn’t like the plan.
He sat in the back of the plane with his laptop open. He’d been making his arms supplier, Crank, a wealthy man lately. Crank was a former high ranking officer in the Russian military for about ten years after the collapse of the Soviet Union. His primary work had been in weapons development and weapons supplies, but he’d been doing side deals with the Russian mafia until one little slip mandated leaving the country. During those ten years he discovered the benefits of capitalism, so it was natural for him to continue his ‘business’ when he came to the U.S.
Whatever was needed, Crank could find it, from Glock 33’s with specialized clips to black-market vials of Versed, from canisters of potent Albanian sleeping gas to Micah’s latest fancy, the Mossberg X12 shotgun/taser designed to fire specialized high voltage cartridges. The only problem was that the voltage wasn’t high enough to satisfy Micah. He wanted the voltage of a stun gun, but the range of the Mossburg. Crank told him he would see what he could either find on the black market or, if need be, what he himself could rig. Crank was no slouch when it came to converting weapons into more ‘useful’ pieces of machinery.
Crank had emailed him a few hours earlier to say he’d come up with a workable solution and, for the reasonable price of only thirty-five times over normal Mossburg X12 market, Micah could now put someone down in one-third of a second, as opposed to waiting five or six seconds to drop a target. He also told Micah he found something that Micah had been asking about, but wasn’t sure if he wanted to chance using it. He said to be sure to bring at least fifty-thousand with him. Crank’s business was strictly cash and carry; no receipts, no refunds, and no trails leading back to him.
It was a little after four when Micah drove into the full parking lot of the Antebellum Antiques and Munitions store. The actual storefront was relatively small but impressive; twelve-hundred square feet of some of the finest civil war era guns, swords, jewelry, and memorabilia in Louisiana. Crank’s wife, Bonnie ran the business that was open to the public; Crank ran the private business that occupied the four-thousand square feet adjoined to the rear. Micah drove through the parking lot, past the sea of tourists’ out-of-state license plates to the rear entrance marked as ‘Deliveries Only’ and ‘Tow-Away Zone.’
He pressed the buzzer at the backdoor and waited for Crank to let him in. As soon as the door opened and Micah saw the toothy-grin on Crank’s face, he knew he had something good to show him; getting a smile out of Crank only happened when he found something either unique or extremely cool.
“So let’s see what you’ve done to the Mossburg,” Micah stated as he stepped inside.
“I have something better!” came the exuberant response.
“I wanted you to work on the X12,” Micah growled. He wasn’t in the mood to walk out of here without the weapons he needed.
The smile dropped to Crank’s normal grouchy expression, “I have something better!” he stated, but using a completely different tone. He turned and headed for the very back of the shop. Micah followed.
Micah was pleased to see two X12’s sitting on the table in front of the small, indoor firing range.
Without saying a word, Crank picked up a shotgun and fired it at a dummy ten yards down range. Micah saw the projectile stick with wires dangling from a small capacitor.
“I need more distance,” Micah began.
Crank turned and gave him a silent, dry expression.
“And, did you up the voltage?”
“Do not insult me,” Crank snapped. He handed one of the cartridges to Micah. “The standard round is fifty-thousand volts with a twenty-second duration. Not bad if you want to wait five to ten seconds to drop your victim. Motor skills return in another ten seconds or so. Your range is up to thirty yards.”
“I don’t have that much time.”
“So you told me,” he said handing Micah a different cartridge, but it was much heavier. “This is my modification; six million volts with a five second duration—unconsciousness occurs in less than a second. Consciousness can take up to two minutes to reoccur, but motor skills are not fully achieved for another minute or so. Then—”
“But the added weight is going to cause my distance and accuracy to be off.”
“Do not interrupt me. I said I had something better to show you. You are correct. The lighter round with the smaller capacitor is more accurate and goes farther, but it is less powerful. You need a more powerful gun for the heavier projectile.”
“If I get a much bigger powder charge, my projectile wi
ll likely kill my target.”
“Are you going to continue to talk or are you going to listen?” Crank didn’t take shit from anyone, not even someone as feared as Micah Gavarreen—especially not when he knew Micah needed what he was about to show him.
He opened the cabinet below the table and pulled out one of the wickedest looking pieces of die-hard gun-enthusiast, sci-fi fantasy fan items Micah had ever seen—but he knew what it was.
“I can’t use a coil gun or I’ll kill them with the magnet!”
Crank took in a deeply annoyed breath, “You said you wanted to disable not destroy your target. I am not stupid; I remember the conversation. I modified the coil gun so that the magnet does not leave the barrel, only the projectile leaves the barrel. Of course, velocity is a bit of an issue—you could possibly kill someone if the probe hits directly over the heart or if you hit them in the temple or eye. I take it that you are still an accurate shot?” he said sarcastically. “I prefer aiming for thighs with this gun. If you are facing other ‘professionals,’ they may have on a vest anyway. Legs are unprotected.
Micah ignored the remark and asked for Crank to give him a demonstration.
Crank smiled, “Here is the beauty and the benefit of my modified coil. Pay attention.” He turned and fired at a dummy ten yards beyond the first, but the shot was utterly silent with the exception of a small sound that was hard to describe, difficult like describing air stopping.
Micah felt the smile turning the corners of his lips, “You smart Russian son-of-a-bitch; how did you do it?”
Suddenly, Crank looked like a little kid as he began to explain that he put a reversed polarity coil in the end of the barrel, effectively stopping the magnet from ever leaving the gun—only the projectile in front of the magnet would continue the flight. “Once you release the trigger, the magnet returns to the firing chamber instantly—triggering the loading of the next taser round, rounds that fire in near total silence, so as not to alert your enemies that they are under attack. This gun is fully automatic. It is heavy at fifteen pounds, but that was necessary to store enough current to launch up to eight cartridges. But,” he continued, “if you simply press this button by your barrel-supporting hand, the reversed polarity is turned off and you will kill someone,” Crank said, his grin growing to greater extremes. “The magnet will exit the barrel at an extreme velocity, most likely passing through and killing whomever you hit, vest or no vest.”
“Crank, you’re worth your weight in gold.”
“That is one pay-off I would like to receive,” he laughed. “I did get another item you had questioned me about, but it is extremely dangerous. I cannot guarantee that you will not kill your victim.”
He had discussed lots of things with Crank so he wasn’t sure what was about to be produced as Crank opened a smaller drawer and handed him a vial.
“Do not drop it,” he said with a bit of a nervous laugh. “You asked about dart frog poison.”
Micah’s eyebrows rose unconsciously. “You said it was always lethal.”
“I found this on the black market by a seller who claims that it is of a reduced strength and blended with a weak puffer fish solution. He said it disables the victim for up to three hours.”
“Did you test it?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I owe my neighbor a pig,” he said with a little embarrassment showing. “The dosage, apparently, is not as weak as professed, but you could try less.”
“No, my friend, I think I’ll pass on this one, but I do hope you have two coil guns for me.”
“What is one gun without one for sharing?” he winked, “A very lonely gun.” He opened another cabinet and produced a second modified coil gun. “Worth fifty thousand dollars, my skillful friend?”
“Absolutely,” Micah said as he pulled five crisp bank bundles of hundred-dollar-bills from his pocket and placed them in Crank’s outstretched hand.
“I am very glad you did not retire as everyone had told me.”
“Oh, I am retired. The problem is that some people didn’t get the message.”
Crank patted the barrel of one of the guns with his free hand, “Good name for my new invention: The Message. I think they will ‘get it’ this time, No?”
They both laughed as Crank helped Micah box the guns and cartridges for transport.
CHAPTER thirty-two
Micah headed out of New Orleans toward his home. It felt good to be home; he’d missed this place. He never had trouble resting when he was here. He hadn’t slept much over the last several weeks and his body and his mind were both tired. He needed his mind to be sharp and clear for the next step, and the only way that was going to happen was to pull into his home, go upstairs and collapse into the bedroom he’d been accustomed to long before he ever met his beautiful, Annalisa. He didn’t know how he would be able to live a life without her when it felt as if as he couldn’t even breathe properly when she wasn’t near. He would call David when he woke up and tell him if he still wanted to help, once he knew the plan, to fly home.
It would be a short rest. Micah’s eyes had only been closed for about two hours when his phone went off. He’d never heard his brother sound so panicked in his life.
“The son-of-a-bitch has all three of them!”
“Who has who?”
“Freaking Caprizio! That asshole took Leese there and they’ve convinced her that Caprizio is—get this—her long lost father! She calls Nadia, and Nadia falls for it, too—and she and Kimmy are flying to New York!”
Micah was speechless. He could barely even will his brain to think, much less operate his lips.
“We’ve got to do something, now! Where the hell are you?”
“I’m home.”
David paused. “Florida home or home-home?”
“I’m in Louisiana at my house. Where are you?”
“About twenty-five minutes away at my house. I’m on my way. Call dad and see if he can get a number for Caprizio or—”
“I’ve got it,” Micah said calmly.
Once again, David stopped. “How the hell did you get his number? Nobody has his number.”
“The Bosses all have it.”
“Yeah?” David still wasn’t getting it.
“Botachelli’s phone is in my pocket.”
“You know, bro, I’ve never wanted to admit this, but I always figured you were one of the smartest bastards I knew, but that had to be the dumbest thing you’ve ever pulled, right behind Moretti’s murder.”
“David, when you get here, I’ll tell you everything, but you’ve got to promise me that we do this job strictly the way I tell you.”
“Bullshit! I don’t care if I have to kill every—”
“David, you have to calm down and listen to me.”
“Then you better have something pretty fucking good to say when I show up because I’m on my way!” David hung up.
Micah sighed. He understood David’s feelings, but if his hot-headed temper hadn’t cooled by the time he showed up, Micah would get his attention another way.
He pulled Botachelli’s phone from his pocket and opened it to the contact list. There was an entry by the initials CDC. “I guarantee this isn’t going to be the Center for Disease Control,” he said and then pushed the button.
The phone was on the fifth ring when a man answered. “I’m going to guess you are Micah Gavarreen,” he said with grisly calm.
“You guessed correctly. I’m going to guess you’re holding some people who are very important to me.”
“You have to be one of the stupidest assholes I’ve ever known.”
“I’m getting really tired of people telling me that.”
“Then perhaps you need to wake the hell up and do the right thing. I’ll offer you one opportunity to turn yourself over, unarmed, to my representative. If you’re really lucky, I’ll feel generous and let you be the only one to die.”
“How about I offer you a deal.”
“You are
in no position to—”
“I have some things you want.”
“You don’t have shit—other than a beautiful wife; don’t you even care about her?!”
“If we can’t work this out you’re going to find out how much I do care, but there is an easier way. I want to offer you a trade.”
“What could you possibly have that I would want?”
What did Sharon Moretti promise you?”
“Nothing.”
“I know better; Giovanni wasn’t a gift. I’ve been racking my brain trying to think what she had that would be so valuable that you’d loan her someone like him. And then I realized she has the top supply of premium, hundred-percent pure, Columbian cocaine coming into the U.S.—courtesy of my brother and me.”
There was a stretch of silence so long that Micah wondered if Caprizio hung up on him, but he waited patiently to see if he was still on the line.
“It’s not easy,” Caprizio said guardedly, “to find anyone willing to take out a diplomat in another country. She said she was able to get you to do it once, and she was sure that with the right leverage in her possession, she could get you to take out Martinez’s replacement, Ambassador Tocovara, and reopen the line—a fifty-fifty split if I helped her. I offered Giovanni, she didn’t ask.”
“If she told you the line was closed, she lied to you. It was never about the drugs; she wanted her father dead so she could become the Boss.”
“Can you prove the line was never closed?”
Micah lifted a recorder near the phone and pressed a button.
“Let me speak to Jaime.” Came Sharon’s voice over the phone.
“Senorita Moretti?”
“How far out is the shipment?”
“The boat is less than 1,500 kilometers from New Orleans. They should make port Wednesday night.”
“Good. I’ll have my men ready to unload at one a.m. Thursday morning. What did they mark the crates this time?”
“Coffee—they said you were angry when they crated the last load as sugar.”
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