Blown (14 page)

A
lways one step
behind was how Moss felt about tracking his witness and Gregg Kaplan. By the time he and Moore arrived in East Nashville, two tow trucks were ready to haul the Sable and Impala to the impound yard. The only evidence there had been a crime were bloodstains on the asphalt. With assistance from the Marshals Service at the Nashville Field Office, Nashville PD had wrapped the crime scene up in less than three hours.

One Italian man and three gangbangers were under detention by armed guards at Nashville General Hospital. None were talking. The badly beaten black men remained conscious. The Italian was in a coma and his prognosis was bleak. If he survived he would likely remain in a vegetative state.

One gangbanger and one Italian were in the morgue. They weren't talking either.

The investigation was at a standstill.

Moss had nothing more than a hunch where Kaplan was taking his witness and he wasn't going to share it with Moore. Not yet anyway. Not until she earned his trust.

He pulled out his phone, put it in speaker mode, and called Hepler.

"You're on speaker, JP, catch us up," he said.

Hepler said, "Checked the local papers for cars for sale by owners and there are dozens. I enlisted help and we made it through the entire list with no luck." Hepler cleared his throat then continued, "Checked out Craigslist as well. Same thing, nothing."

"He could have paid someone to buy the car for him since he knows we'd get a description of him," Moore said.

Both men went silent. Moss hadn't thought of that angle although it was conceivable. Then again, it shot a hole in his theory that Kaplan was leaving a trail for him to follow. A big hole. Not something he was willing to admit. Not right now. He
wanted
to believe Kaplan was leading him somewhere in particular. Somewhere he could arrange a secure delivery of the witness to the Marshals Service. And then it hit him with full force clarity—he knew where Kaplan was going. He was going home.

"We need to find out what he's driving now," Moss said. "JP, check out that auto trading web site and see if anyone is selling a higher end vehicle nearby while Moore checks out the local cab companies." He looked at her. "See if there were any fares originating from East Nashville during the time frame of the incident. If there were, match descriptions and get the cabbie here. I want to talk to him personally."

"Okay, I'm on it," she said.

Moss took his phone out of speakerphone mode. "JP, let me run something by you." He walked out of earshot of Moore. "I think I know where Kaplan is going."

"Oh yeah? You get a crystal ball and not tell me? What are you thinking?"

"Where did you say Kaplan lives?"

"Let's see." Moss heard tapping on a keyboard. Hepler continued, "Tysons Corner, Virginia."

"And what might be of interest to the Marshals Service not terribly far from Kaplan's home?"

Hepler was silent for several seconds.

"Perhaps say, in Alexandria," Moss added.

"Oh my God. The SSOC?"

"That's what I'm thinking," Moss said. "And he's smart enough to pull it off."

A
ngelo DeLuca kept
the Buick between three quarters of a mile to a mile behind the Mercedes allowing cars to pull in and out between them. He needed to remain within surveillance range without being detected. There were very few Mercedes of this model on the road, which made it easy to keep his target vehicle in sight. DeLuca's car, on the other hand, was nondescript and blended in with the other vehicles on the road. It was chosen because the color and make were forgettable.

DeLuca had dreaded the phone call to his boss, Martin Scalini, who had a reputation for not tolerating failure. As a matter of fact, that's how DeLuca moved into his current job, disposing his predecessor when the man botched a job for Scalini. That's why he relied so much on Bruno Ratti.

Bruno the Rat, a name coined by Scalini, was known for his cunning and ruthlessness. The name was fitting too, not that he would ever rat on the family, but the Italian name Ratti meant slyness. And Bruno lived up to his name in every way.

Scalini had reason to be upset; DeLuca had been entrusted with a crew of men and instructed to capture the Sicilian alive and preferably unharmed. If he had listened to Bruno and waited until the old man came out of the restaurant in Little Rock, containment would have been much easier and the doomed melee might have been avoided. Bruno was right. Despite the fact Bruno had left the employ of the Scalini family twice before and then returned, DeLuca still made the right choice in keeping him by his side. Bruno, he knew, could be trusted.

After the short pit stop in Dandridge, Tennessee for food, the Sicilian and his companion made two more stops, an electronics store and a gas station. He and Bruno had no opportunity to make their move at either location. That was three hours ago and now, the sky ahead was darkening as thunderstorms loomed above the Appalachian Mountains in the western Virginia sky. Sunset was still three hours away and he hoped he'd get another chance to move on the old man before dark.

M
oss felt
the vibration of his cell phone in his pocket. It was Hepler. An hour ago, Moss and Moore interviewed the taxi driver who picked up the witness and Kaplan. The descriptions matched. The drop off address was a shopping strip mall in an affluent part of the greater Nashville area. He'd relayed the information to Hepler and instructed him to refine his search to vehicles for sale within a three-mile radius of the strip mall. Hopefully this was good news.

Moss answered, "Talk to me, JP."

"Good news and bad news. Four vehicles inside the call zone. One was sold yesterday and one is still for sale. We can rule those two out. That's the good news."

"There are still two unaccounted for, JP. What's the bad news?" Moore's phone rang. She answered it and walked off.

"That was the bad news. No one is answering at either of the numbers so the status of those vehicles is still unknown."

"What kind of vehicles are they?"

"Let's see," Hepler paused. "A silver 2003 Mercedes SL55 AMG and a black 2007 Toyota Tundra. I tracked the addresses for both numbers, each one is about a half a mile from the taxi drop off point only in opposite directions."

Moss looked in Moore's direction and noticed her expression change to stern. She spoke harshly to someone and hung up. She walked back toward him. "That's a tough call," Moss continued to Hepler. "I could see Mr. Kaplan choosing either one. Let's put out—"

"Hold on, Dirt Man," Hepler interrupted. "We just got in touch with the Tundra owner. It has not sold yet."

"Keep trying the Mercedes owner and in the meantime issue a BOLO on it." Moss looked at Moore. "Let me know the minute you have something." He hung up before Hepler could respond.

"What's up? You don't look happy."

"I'm not," she said. "I've been recalled. Can you take me to the Nashville airport?"

"I guess so. Where are you going?"

"Back to Atlanta."

T
hey drove
in silence the thirty minutes it took to get to the Nashville airport. He contemplated telling her of his speculation about where he thought Kaplan was taking his witness, however after she mentioned she was leaving, he was glad he had kept it to himself. He pulled the Crown Vic to the curb in the departure area of the airline she mentioned.

She opened her door. "I hope you find your witness," she said. "And I still don't think you should go easy on Mr. Kaplan. He is aiding and abetting in my opinion. If it were up to me, I'd throw the book at him."

"Yes, Inspector Moore, I am aware of your feelings," he said. "I'll keep that in mind when I catch him. And I
will
catch him."

"Good luck," she said. Then she got out and closed the door.

"You too," he yelled through the open window.

His phone vibrated. Hepler.

"Moss," he answered.

"Confirmation from the Mercedes owner. He sold the car for cash this morning to a man fitting Kaplan's description who was accompanied by a man fitting the witness's description."

"Good work. Send local PD over with pictures to verify the identities."

"Already in the works."

"I just dropped Ms. Moore off at the airport, Atlanta yanked her back, or so she said."

"Still don't trust her do you?"

"Nope. I say good riddance." Moss rubbernecked looking for traffic before pulling away from the curb. "I'm going to get some go-go juice and hit the road."

"Where to now, Dirt Man?"

"The SSOC."

U
. S. Marshals Service Witness Security Inspector April Moore
walked away from Senior Inspector Pete Moss's car and into the Nashville terminal. She waited five minutes after he pulled away from the curb then walked back outside and hailed a taxi. She had lied to the man since the moment they met. And now, for some odd reason, Moss's hard-line attitude toward Gregg Kaplan had changed. He seemed to have made some sort of connection with him, totally opposite the personality profile she received on Moss. He had the reputation of never giving anybody the benefit of the doubt when working a case.

Moss's rugged handsome looks were sexually appealing to her. She had even toyed with the idea of trying to seduce this big strong man, but now he was a liability.

Moss had without a doubt figured out where Kaplan was going. Kaplan wasn't taking a straight route; instead making a veiled attempt in misdirection. Moss was also right about the man leaving clues only law enforcement could find, one of his more enlightened moments over the past twelve hours or so. She wasn't going to waste any more time riding in a car with Moss, always several hours behind Kaplan and the witness. She needed to get in front of them. She needed to be there, waiting for them when they arrived.

She instructed the taxi driver to take her to the General Aviation fixed base operator where her Hawker 400 XP business jet was waiting to take her to Washington National Airport in Washington DC.

She had already figured out where Mr. Kaplan was taking the Marshals Service witness. He was headed to the Safe Site and Orientation Center outside of DC. And with his credentials, he would likely be able to place the witness in the top-secret facility where no one would have access to him. Not even her. She climbed the air stair into the Hawker where she noticed a manila envelope sitting on the table addressed to her. She suspected it might reveal the secret location of the facility the Marshals Service called the SSOC. It was addressed simply, VALKYRIE.

The assassin studied the location and formulated her plan based on the information Shepherd had provided.

She smiled.

It could work.

She decided to modify her assignment to confuse the authorities and throw them off her trail. Valkyrie had originally hoped Moss would lead her to the target and make this easy, but things had a way of not working out. After this was over, whether she was identified or not, it wouldn't matter. The money was enough to keep her off the grid for years.

This time Shepherd would get more than he paid for. When the witness showed up with Mr. Kaplan, she would kill them both.

T
he roads leading
into Lexington were still wet even though it was no longer raining. He glanced at Tony and noticed the old man's head was bobbing up and down. The lack of stimulation had dulled the old man's mental alertness. He couldn't be tired; hell, he'd slept most of the time they were on the road. And when he wasn't sleeping, he was running his mouth.

Kaplan nudged him on the shoulder, "Tony, we're here."

Tony lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Lexington?"

"Yes. You want to eat first?"

"Sit down restaurant, right? No more fast food. That stuff is clogging my arteries."

"That's funny. First you were concerned about driving without a license, now it's clogged arteries. Why don't you just worry about staying alive?"

Tony ignored his comment. "Where are we staying?"

"At The B and B."

"I love B and Bs. They always have a wonderful hot breakfast."

"No.
The B and B.
It's an unofficial CIA safe house. Once we go in, we're locked in until morning…or at least you are anyway. In all honestly, I shouldn't even be taking you out to eat. But, I figure we have a few hours to play with before anyone could close the gap. By then, you'll be tucked away safe and sound."

"How safe is it?"

"It's called a
safe house
for a reason, Tony, what do you think? Two ex-spooks run it as a courtesy to active and former operatives who need to duck out of sight for a day or so."

"Let's eat now."

"Figured you say that. Italian okay?"

"Southern Italian or Northern Italian?"

"I don't know, Tony. It's not like you really have a choice."

"I'm a harsh critic when it comes to Italian cuisine."

"You won't be disappointed." Kaplan turned and looked at the old man. "You eat anything other than Italian?"

"I like all kinds of foods. I love to eat and I love to cook. I'm especially fond of French Creole cooking, especially Caribbean style. Ever had any?"

"Oh yeah." Kaplan felt a genuine smile for the first time since this ordeal started. That was it, an epiphany. Food. Their love for the same type of food was the common denominator that put Tony and him in the same place at the same time. Because French Creole and New Orleans style Cajun food weren't that far apart. "I love it. I think the best food I have ever eaten was in Guadeloupe."

"I think I know that place, but my favorite spot is in Martinique. It is a quaint little joint…actually it's a dump, but the food is awesome."

"Well, tonight you're in for an Italian treat. The owner is a friend."

Kaplan pulled the Mercedes into a side lot of
Francesco's Little Italy
. It was a square building with white washed concrete walls and an old-fashioned neon sign flashing by the roadside. He backed into a parking space. "Let's go."

Tony got out and proceeded toward the main entrance.

"Tony," Kaplan shouted over the traffic noise. "This way, side entrance."

"What is this?" Tony was bouncing his upright palm again, fingers touching thumb. "Are we eating in the kitchen or something?"

"Tony I am trying to be nice, which isn't easy with you, so don't say another word." Kaplan rapped on the side door.

The door opened and a medium-sized man with graying dark hair and dark eyes stood in the doorway. His eyes lit up. "Signor Kaplan. Buon giorno. It has been long time." His Italian accent thick. He gave Kaplan a hug. "Please come in. Come in."

"Francesco, this is Tony." Kaplan winked. "I told Tony you serve the best Italian food he will ever eat. Is the booth available?"

"For you, is always open." He turned to Tony and said something in Italian.

Gesturing with both his hands, Tony responded in Italian. Then, the two men laughed.

"Hey," Kaplan said. "English you two. You can speak your native tongue another time."

Francesco said, "Signor Tony said you kidnapped him last night and are holding him hostage, almost got him killed twice, and you need a bath because you stink like hell."

Kaplan raised his arm and gave his armpit a sniff then smiled. "Guilty on all counts."

"I told him you are very good at this kidnapping. Everyone you ever bring here has been kidnapped." Francesco motioned with his arm. "Andiamo Signor Tony, per favore."

Francesco led them to a small room walled off from the main dining area. It was a booth with a side curtain for privacy. "You sit here, signore," he said to Tony.

Kaplan slid in the seat across from Tony.

Tony twisted his head around and then back at Kaplan. "Why do you get to look out the window and all I get to see is the old map of Italy?" He pointed over Kaplan's shoulder.

"Shut up, Tony. All you do is complain. For your information, this window has a mirror on the other side. Bullet proof, or so I've been told. Never been tested that I know of. We use Francesco a lot and we need to be able to see in the event of a threat."

"Who are
we
?"

"Okay,
I
used to use Francesco a lot. Best of all, we're only three minutes from The B and B."

"Sounds like there's a story there," Tony said.

"There is."

"Just like the woman you're trying to find."

"Yeah, like that."

The curtain parted and Francesco brought two glasses and a bottle of wine. "This is Signor Kaplan's favorite. I hope you approve." He poured a small amount in Tony's glass.

Tony swirled the red liquid around in the glass, raised it to his nose, and sniffed. Then he took a sip and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing.

"Molto buono." Tony touched his fingers to his lips. Francesco filled both glasses. Tony looked at Kaplan. "I am impressed. You have excellent taste in wine."

"You should see his women," Francesco said. "Va voom."

"He does not care to discuss his women." Tony stared at Kaplan.

"No kiss and tell." Francesco wagged his finger. "No kiss and tell."

Francesco turned and left.

"Well?"

"You heard him," Kaplan said.

"Something I've learned over the years, there is that one special woman in every troubled man's heart. It might be the one who got away or it might be a scorned lover. And one thing is for sure, Mr. Gregg Kaplan, you
are
a troubled man. I knew when I met you it was because of a woman."

"Two."

"I beg your pardon."

"Two women," Kaplan said. "One is dead. I don't know where the other is. She might be dead too."

Tony went quiet for a moment. "You want to talk about them now?"

He stared at Tony. In a way it would be nice to talk to someone. Kaplan was a private man and kept his personal life to himself. He refused to talk about the women in his mandatory sessions with the agency shrink and he wouldn't talk about them with the few friends he had. Except one. And he hadn't seen that friend in over two years. They had parted on bad terms and haven't spoken since. Kaplan sure as hell wasn't going to tell Tony anything personal. The curtains parted and Francesco delivered two sampler platters.

He looked at Tony. "You find something you like, I make it special for you next time you come, sì?"

"Sì," Tony said.

Forty-five minutes later, Kaplan and Tony pushed their platters away as the curtains parted again. It was Francesco. "More vino?"

Kaplan had been getting antsy over the past few minutes. "No, Francesco, thank you, but we really must be leaving."

"No dolce?" Francesco looked at Kaplan. "Signor Tony must have dessert."

"Okay," Kaplan acquiesced. "Then we must—"

A commotion erupted in the main dining area as two Italian men charged through the front entrance brandishing handguns. One man raised his weapon and fired at the mirror. Kaplan yelled, and pulled Tony under the table. He looked up at the glass, his heart pumping. It
was
bullet proof. Spider cracks spotted the mirror although the bullets remained embedded in the glass. Kaplan guided Tony away from the mirror, out of the booth, and toward the side exit from which they entered.

"Signori, hurry," urged Francesco.

Kaplan had explained the risks to Francesco on numerous occasions, as had every other operative who ate in the booth. Risks Francesco was willing to take. After all, it was one of those operatives who had rescued him from captivity when he and nine other Italians were kidnapped while vacationing in Egypt. That operative was the woman Kaplan sought. His way of repaying that debt was taking the risk and making his restaurant available to guests of The B & B.

Kaplan unlocked the car doors with his key fob, shoved Tony in the back seat, and instructed him to stay on the floorboard. He slipped in the driver's seat, started the engine, and gunned the Mercedes into traffic.

In his rear view mirror he saw another car pull out of the restaurant into traffic causing several cars to swerve to avoid impact.

He hit speed dial and called The B and B.

"Kaplan, Alpha One Alert," he said. "Coming in hot."