~~~~~
Christos Gionelli drove out of the Denver International Airport rental car lot and proceeded south to Pine Valley. He wasn’t sure what he would find, but he felt assured that Whiteside would successfully complete the job with few further hitches. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his government issued Blackberry. Thinking twice, he dropped the Blackberry into the center console and reached into the duffel bag that sat open on the passenger seat. He turned on a throwaway cell phone he picked up at the McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas and dialed Whiteside’s number. He thought better of using the government Blackberry device, questioning why he even brought it in the first place. The last thing he needed was somebody linking him to an assassin because he used his antiquated government issued piece of crap personal communication device to call a hit man.
The phone rang at least twenty times before Gionelli hung up. Whiteside always answered his calls, without fail. Gionelli took his left hand off the steering wheel and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, despite the cool evening temperatures and lack of humidity in Colorado. He loosened his tie, which had suddenly become far too tight around his neck. His heartbeat kicked up a notch or two as his mind began playing the scenario game.
Was Whiteside in the county lockup, cutting a deal with the U.S. Attorney’s Office and the FBI, who looked to make a huge case of government corruption, sure to capture the nation’s attention for longer than fifteen minutes? Did Whiteside have the dog, but realize there were higher bidders for the information embedded in the canine and decide to cross Gionelli and sell the information to an organized crime outfit? Had things gone horribly awry and Whiteside snapped, turning the town of Pine Valley into a murderous blood bath of death and carnage?
Gionelli fought hard to swallow, but his throat almost seemed to constrict completely shut. He knew this was not the case because he could still breathe, albeit short shallow breaths.
“Fuck this nonsense,” he said to himself as he punched the accelerator and headed onto the south bound interstate toll road toward Pine Valley. As he drove at increasing speeds, his Blackberry began to ring. The caller ID registered the incoming call as Witness Security Inspector Winston O’Neil. Gionelli preferred to speak with the senior man on an assignment and that was clearly Schwartz. This breach of his clearly defined personal protocol made his face heat up and turn a crimson hue.
Gionelli crushed the answer button on the Blackberry and shouted, “What?”
O’Neil hesitated with his superior’s curt answer. “I, uh, I’m sorry to call so late Chief Gionelli. This is Inspector O’Neil.”
“I know who the fuck this is, you idiot! What the hell do you want, and where’s Schwartz?”
“I, well, uh, that’s the thing here. We have a situation, sir.”
The Bernie Factor Page 26
