The Gun Runner (Mafia Made) (12 page)

Chapter Twenty

Michael

Through thermal imaging surveillance, we learned there were three people in the building, and that two of them were mobile. Based on the stationary position of the third person, we assumed he was our objective.

“Northwest and southwest entrances will be blown simultaneously. Lucky will toss two M84s in the southwest. We’ll enter northwest, extract the target and be out in thirty seconds. ROE are clear. If you’re identified or threatened, engage. Shoot to kill.”

It was the plan for Lucky to throw flash-bang grenades into the area where the two mobile targets were positioned. When the devices detonated, it would disorient anyone exposed by subjecting them to a two-hundred-decibel explosion and a one-million-candlepower flash of light. The two occupants would then be blind and deaf for five seconds, and they’d experience loss of balance and disorientation for several seconds beyond that.

I believed the time we gained from their inability to function would be almost enough for Cap and me to get in and out of the facility without the need to harm anyone. “You’ll blow the doors on my command.”

“Roger that,” Lucky said.

“Now’s the time,” I said. “If anyone wants out of this clusterfuck.”

The two thumbs-up replies were all I needed to see. In a matter of seconds, we were positioned at our respective doors.

“M1 to M4, I need a status of the tangos,” I said.

Trace’s voice came over the headset. “This is M4, we have two tangos currently at number one entrance three meters from exterior wall. Tango three is stationary, over.”

I placed the explosive charge on the door. “M1, charge in place.”

“M3, charge in place,” Lucky said.

“On my three count.”

“Roger three count M1.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

The small explosive charge blew the locking mechanism completely off of the door. Immediately following, the sound and concussion of the two flash-bangs rang out through the building.

Although thermal imaging will show
hot spots
, there is no indication of where walls, doors, rooms or any other interior surfaces are located. Cap and I entered the building blind to the layout, aided only by the night-vision goggles we wore.

As fate would have it, the corner of the building we entered was well lit, making the use of our night-vision equipment impossible. Upon entering, we each flipped the goggles up and cautiously worked our way to the corner of the building.

We advanced toward a room in the rear of the building with our weapons at the ready until we reached a closed door. Knowing surveillance indicated only one man in this area of the building, the door was opened and we entered with the expectation of finding Peter.

What we saw was in no way what I—or anyone for that matter—would have expected. A man with what appeared to be an explosive device strapped to his neck—and his body fitted with an explosive vest—was lying flat on a bed.

If I tried to move him, the three of us could be dead instantly. If I waited too long to make a decision, we’d be in a firefight with two angry Bulgarians, and I had no way of predicting the outcome. I ran through the possibilities and quickly realized as soon as the two men in the opposite room regained their senses they may simply detonate the device, which would obliterate the entire corner of the building, Cap and me included.

My thoughts immediately went to Terra. If I somehow lived through the situation I was in, I needed to find a way to right my wrong with her. But the first thing I needed to do was to decide how to get out of the situation alive.

I glanced at Cap.

Positioned beside the door with his weapon pointing toward the corridor, he met my gaze. For an instant, he studied me.

He nodded once.

Prepared for the situation that had been presented to me or not, I made a man a promise that I’d do the best I could to retrieve a man’s only son.

And I intended to keep that promise.

Forgive me
,
Lord...

“M1 to M3.”

“M3, go M1.”

“Eliminate the two tangos.”

“M1, say again?”

“M3, eliminate the two tangos, over.”

“Roger that, M1.”

I heard the distinctive sound of a suppressed weapon being fired twice. The dull thud of two bodies falling to the floor followed.

“M3 to M1. Two tangos have been eliminated.”

“M1 to M4.”

“M4, go M1.”

“M4, we’ve got a situation. We need the Snowman.”

“M1, say again.”

I stared at the bomb. Since the war, I had seen nothing like it, and never expected to see anything in my civilian life—regardless of my chosen profession—that resembled it. It was one of the most intricate bombs I had ever seen.

“We need the Snowman, over,” I said.

“M3. Can I get a description of the situation?”

“Haditha, 2007,” I said, recalling a battle in Iraq that Trace, Lucky and Cap all fought in with me. A similar device was strapped to a man in the center of the town square. It wasn’t defused in time, and the man exploded in front of our entire platoon. A crater large enough to park a truck in was the only remaining proof of his existence.

“Heaven help us,” Trace said.

“Amen,” I responded.

“Peter,” I said sharply. “You need to stay as still as you can. Blink your eyes if you understand me.”

His eyes blinked.

And I began to pray.

Chapter Twenty-One

Terra

I caught my breath and tried to speak without completely breaking down emotionally. “I can’t even...I can’t begin...to explain,” I said. “He was everything to me.”

“There will always be another,” my mother said.

“No. There won’t.”

I began to hyperventilate as I tried to breathe. I needed comfort that I felt only my mother could provide, so I decided to tell her about Michael, and about our breakup. By the time I got to my parents’ home, my father, like always, was gone.

“
Mia figlia
,” she said. “
Respirare
.”

Breathe
,
my daughter
,
breathe.

“It...hurts,” I said. “So...much...”

She wrapped her arms around me and held me against her chest. In a few minutes, I felt like I could breathe again, and pulled away from her.

“I just can’t...”

“Tell me what happened,” she said.

I couldn’t tell her the complete truth, and a portion wouldn’t suffice. “There’s nothing to say. It just ended.”

“But. If you feel.” She shook her head. “If you love him. You find a way.”

“There is no way.”

“It’s because he was American.”

“Mother!”

“American men don’t understand.”

“Mother,” I snapped. “You sound just like Father.”

“It’s true,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter, he’s a good man.” After I spoke, I wished I would have said
was
. A few seconds later, I did. “He was a good man.”

“If he was good...” She shrugged. “You wouldn’t be upset.”

I initially felt some comfort in talking to her about Michael, but I was quickly growing angry about her stubborn nature.

“I’m going to go,” I said.

“No, stay,” she pleaded. “Let me see a picture of him. Do you have a picture?”

I didn’t see what good it would do to show her, but stubborn pride caused me to grab my phone from my purse. After flipping through the photos on my phone, I selected one of him I had taken at my house when he was dressed in his work clothes.

I held my phone at arm’s length. “Here.”

She picked her glasses up and pushed them onto her nose. “Oh, he’s handsome. He dresses so nice. Are you sure he isn’t Italian?”

“I don’t know, Mother. I didn’t ask him.”

“You didn’t ask?” She peered over the top of her glasses and narrowed her eyes. “You should ask.”

“I don’t care. And now it doesn’t matter.”

She scowled at me. “Ask.”

“His parents died when he was little. His name isn’t Italian. He isn’t Italian, and it doesn’t matter. And even if we were together, it still doesn’t matter.”

She tried to take the phone from my hand. “He’s a Catholic boy, no?”

I jerked away and put my phone in my purse. I had no idea, but I was done arguing about something that no longer mattered. “No, he’s a Lutheran.”

She gasped as if I had told her he was a mass murderer. “Lutheran? Let me see him again. He’s no Lutheran.”

“Stop it, Mother. I’m glad we broke up. See? This is what I expected of you. But what would Father have said? Huh? If he knew?”

She raised her hand to her face and covered her mouth. Her head shook slowly from side to side. “Your father.”

Other than appearing to be ten years older than me, my mother could pass for my twin. I was born when my mother was twenty-two, but she didn’t look her age. At forty-six years old, she appeared to be in her midthirties at the most.

A beautiful woman who always dressed like she was going out on the town, she was the typical Italian wife. She stood by my father’s side regardless of what his position was on a matter, and she agreed with him verbally even if she disagreed with him in her heart.

I may have been my mother’s daughter, but I didn’t share her subservient ways.

“I need to go home and sleep.”

She stretched her arms wide. “Stay.”

“I need to sleep in my bed. I’m going home.”

“You need to be with your mother. I’m here alone. Every day since...” She shook her head and sighed.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“What?”

“Your brother. He’s been gone so long.”

“Argentina.” I rolled my eyes. “Why?”

She met my gaze. Something was wrong.

“Mother?”

She turned away.

“Peter’s in Argentina, isn’t he?”

It was muted and soft, but I could tell. She began to cry.

I stepped to her side and put my arm around her shoulder. “Mother. Where’s Peter?”

She looked up and wiped her eyes. “Business.”

“Not in Argentina?”

She looked away.

“Mother?”

“Come sit with me. And stay,” she said.

I released her shoulder. “I’ll pour some wine.”

Together, we sat and talked only the way a mother and daughter could. We talked not about Peter, or my father, but about life. We talked for a few hours about being a woman, and of loving men. We talked about sacrifice, loss and of standing beside the man you love regardless of the difficulties.

I was still convinced, but maybe not wholly, that my decision to leave Michael was the right one.

The effects of the wine were becoming apparent. I was exhausted, my heart hurt and I needed some sleep. And, considering that I never took the time to eat, I was half-drunk. “I need some sleep.”

“Just go up to your room,” she said “I’ll pick up.”

I stood up, kissed her and walked up to the same room I slept in every night as a girl. No matter how old I became, there was always something magical about sleeping in my bedroom.

After washing my face, I climbed into the bed and began to think about Michael. Despite my mother’s talk with me, I still felt strongly on the position I took with him. Senseless gun violence was something I detested, and I believed—for good reason—that assault weapons were the largest contributor.

There very well may be a time and a place for a gun, but not those types of guns.

If Michael would have told me on the day we met that he dealt
huge shipments
of assault weapons for a living, and that the details were
difficult to explain
, I never would have gone on the first date with him.

I’d been exposed to too much of the earth’s evil through my father and my family. I didn’t choose my family, however. I couldn’t walk away from them, they were blood.

But, as hard as it would be to do, I could walk away from Michael.

Convinced my life was once again a disaster, and further convinced I could do nothing to fix it, I relaxed and fell asleep.

At some point in time in the middle of the night, I awoke to the sound of doors opening and closing, which was something I had become immune to at my condo.

I sat up in bed, and it was immediately apparent I’d had more to drink than I originally thought. I rubbed my eyes and allowed them to adjust to the dimly lit room. A flash of light at my window and the sound of a car leaving sparked my curiosity. Figuring it was my father in the middle of something shady, I walked to the window and peered outside just in time to see a car pulling out of the driveway.

It was difficult to see very well through the tree branches outside my second-floor bedroom window, but as the car pulled away, it looked like the license plate said TRIPP.

I blinked my eyes.

Nothing.

I could hear my father talking to my mother. The faint sound of a third voice chimed in occasionally. It sounded like my mother was upset. Quite certain that my father was in the middle of one of his late-night business transactions, and that the car was simply one of his
associates
, I crawled back into bed and went to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Michael

The room smelled like feces, sweat and urine. It seemed the temperature had risen about fifty degrees in the last fifteen minutes. Snowman’s repeated demands for me to leave the room fell on deaf ears—this was my mission, and if things went to hell, I was going to be in the middle of it.

“Well?” I asked.

“Never seen anything like it. Son-of-a-bitch has six triggers, all wired in series. One’s a motion with a timer. The motion is a mercury switch, and it looks like it triggers a timer that can only be deactivated by going back to the original position in the allotted time,” Snowman said.

“English,” I said. “I need it in English.”

He turned around, wiped the sweat from his face and sighed. “It means you need to leave the room if you want any kind of assurance you’ll live through this. But, I’m going to need some help. I can’t do this one alone. So either you’re going to die, or one of your men is.”

I fought against my dry throat and swallowed.

He wiped his brow again. “And the price to defuse it just went up. Way up.”

The explosive device was constructed of aluminum, locked around Peter’s neck, and wired to a second device strapped to his upper body. Upon Snowman’s initial inspection, he said if it happened to detonate, the entire end of the building would be blown to dust.

“I’m not leaving,” I said.

“All right,” he said. “Come here, then. I need another set of hands.”

He motioned toward an open pouch of tools on the floor. “Clear your mind of everything, and grab two pairs of those small wire snips.”

I did as he asked.

He grabbed a flashlight and directed the light toward the mass of exposed wires. “See the red with white stripe and the yellow with green stripe wires?”

I studied the tangled mess of wires. “I think so.”

He picked up an awl from the tool pouch and pointed to the two wires. “Here, and here.”

I nodded. “Got it.”

“Okay, after the count of three, we’re going to cut through the wires. I’ve got two to cut, and you’ve got two. Don’t yank, don’t squeeze.
Snip
. Not slow. Not fast. Just snip the wire.”

“Okay.”

“Listen. I’m going to count just like this. One. Two. Three.”

His counting was sharp and quick.

“Just like that?” I asked.

“Just like that,” he said with a nod. “And when
three
comes out, you snip. Not when I start to say three, but when it’s done being spoken. One, two, three,
snip
. Both wires at the same time.”

My heart was racing, and I was drenched in sweat from head to toe. I wiped my brow. “Got it.”

“One, two, three,
snip
,” he said, counting just like he did the first time. “You comfortable with that?”

I wiped the sweat from my eyes. “As comfortable as I can be. What happens if they’re not cut at the same instant?”

“You won’t have to worry about paying me, that’s what.” He inhaled a deep breath and sighed heavily. “One, two, three,
snip
. Just like that. You ready?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m ready.”

“Which wires?” he asked.

“Yellow with green and red with white.”

He pointed the flashlight at the wires. “Okay. Position your snips on the wires and grip them carefully. Take up all the slack in your tool and just hold it there. Understand?”

“Understood.”

“When you’re comfortable, just say
ready
,” he said. “After you say it, I’ll get in position, I’ll ask if you’re ready, and you respond again with
ready
. Then, I’ll count.”

I positioned my snips, took up all the slack, and inhaled a deep breath.

“Do you believe in God?”

“You know I do,” I said quietly.

“I’m talking to
him
.”

Peter responded with a shaky voice. “I...I do.”

“Pray to whoever your God is starting right now,” Snowman said.

Everything around me except for the tools and wires got small and eventually seemed to disappear. “Ready,” I said.

He placed the light to the side. After positioning his tools, he inhaled a deep breath. “Ready?”

I sighed. “Ready.”

“One. Two. Three. Snip.”

I snipped through the wires and all but choked on the silence that followed.

I glanced at Snowman. “Is that it?”

He picked up the flashlight and a meter. He poked a few wires, and his deafening scream filled the air.

“Fuck!”

I felt like the room exploded, but it hadn’t.

Yet.

“What?” I shouted.

He dropped the meter and pressed the heels of his palms against his temples. “Shut up,” he screamed. “Everybody shut the fuck up! Nobody move. Don’t even fucking breathe.”

He tossed the meter to the side and dug through the pouch, frantically removing another meter. My head ached with each beat of my heart. Afraid to do anything, my eyes remained locked on the little pointed leads of his meter. After poking a dozen wires and studying the meter, he carefully placed it to the side and sighed heavily.

“You, whatever your name is with this thing on your neck. Don’t. Fucking. Move. Don’t breathe, don’t do shit. Don’t even fucking answer me.”

He turned toward me. “Still have your tools?”

I didn’t respond immediately. I may have been afraid to.

“I’m talking to you, Tripp.”

I glanced down at my hands. The tools were still clenched tight in my fists. “Yes,” I breathed.

“You hear that light buzzing?”

My ears were ringing and I could feel my heart beating in my eye sockets. I tried to clear my mind, and when I finally did, I heard a light buzzing sound from Peter’s neck. “Yes,” I responded softly.

“Same thing all over again. We’ve got about two minutes from what I can tell, and maybe less. One. Two. Three. Snip. If we snip it, and that buzzing doesn’t stop. Run as fast as you can out to the street. We’ll have to leave him here. Understand?”

I shook my head. “I can’t...”

“You don’t have a choice. Green and yellow stripe. You ready?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He pointed at the wire with a shaking hand. “See it?”

I wiped the sweat from my face. “Green and yellow.”

“What’s his name?”

“Peter,” I said.

“Pray, Peter,” he demanded.

“You ready?”

“Ready.”

“Well, get in fucking position, then,” he barked.

I gripped the green wire with the yellow stripe and held it firm in the jaws of the snips.

He gripped two other wires.

“This is for fucking real. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“One. Two. Three. Snip.”

I snipped the wire.

The silence was deafening.

He fumbled to pick up the meter. After poking a few wires, he turned to face me. “We did it. We fucking did it.”

“It’s defused?”

“It is.”

“So he’s safe?”

“I’ve got to cut this damned thing off his neck and get rid of it. It’s still a fucking bomb, though.”

“But it’s not going to go off if he moves, right?”

“That is correct,” he said.

A sigh shot from Peter’s lungs like a rocket. “
Grazie a Dio.
”

* * *

I paced the living room floor with a glass of scotch while Peter took a shower. The relief I had felt in the past after liberating so many Iraqi citizens from similar situations was missing. I felt no relief from freeing myself of Agrioli’s grip. With each respective step, I felt a calmness wash over me, and the tension from the mission slowly escaped.

Only to be replaced with an equal amount of sorrow.

I refused to believe that Terra was gone. I walked back and forth, sipping my scotch, trying to think of what went wrong. After all of the tension was gone, the answer was clear.

I hadn’t been forthright. In the end, my reservation to be straightforward about who I was left me telling her nothing but a lie.

I felt sick.

“These clothes. I appreciate this,” Peter said.

I turned around.

Damn.

In taking him from his place of captivity, it appeared that he had lost twenty pounds, and his face had taken on a rather gaunt appearance. Freshly showered, shaven and dressed in one of my suits, he looked much better.

Presentable.

I raised my glass. “Think nothing of it. And just keep the suit. It fits you well.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” I asked.

“Why?”

“Same as I told you in the car,” I said. “I made a mistake. I righted my wrong.”

He shook his head. “I owe you my fuckin’ life.”

I finished my scotch and sighed. “You owe me nothing.”

“Same as I told you in the car,” he said mockingly. “My father will reward you well.”

I hadn’t told him of any arrangements I had made with his father, or that he had participated with the organization of his release. I didn’t feel it was my place.

“All I care about is getting you home safely. You’re sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

“I’m sure.”

I raised my glass. “Drink?”

His eyes lit up. “One shot, just to take off the edge.”

I poured two glasses of scotch, neat, and we sat down at the bar. I studied him as he drank the whiskey, and came to realize three things.

One, he wasn’t much different than me. Although his involvement might be more criminal than mine throughout the course of a typical day, our work didn’t differ much. He was simply on one side of the line, and I the other.

Two, I missed the war. It was one place I truly felt I had a family of my own, a connection and a purpose. Rescuing Peter reminded me of war. For the brief time I was involved in his rescue, the three men at my side were my family. My brothers. I had no doubt that I would have forfeited my life for them if need be.

And, three, the union of family is a greater bond than any other, with the exception of one.

Love.