“Hola, Salvatore.” Carlos didn’t deny being Alejandro since lying in a situation like this wouldn’t help him. At least Salvatore would probably kill him with another bullet between the eyes instead of torturing him.
“You are the one Helena went to meet the day of the bomb,” Salvatore stated.
“Yes. I know you don’t believe me, but I never wanted her harmed,” Carlos told him, his voice thick.
The door slammed open again. Carlos kept his gaze on Salvatore since he couldn’t imagine a bigger threat than the one he was facing.
Retter came into view…wearing more artillery than Rambo. Except Retter was so much taller than Stallone. He had black grease on his face. Arms bulging with roped muscle held a.50-caliber machine gun. Two belts of ammunition crisscrossed over the black tank shirt on his chest. Black cargo pants were ripped and dirty as though he’d crawled through mud. Blood was splattered over him.
He’d never looked better to Carlos.
Salvatore didn’t blink an eye. In fact, he ignored Retter.
What the hell was going on? Carlos started to ask Retter when Salvatore spoke.
“I know you didn’t kill Helena or try to kill me. Durand tried to convince me the Valencia family set the bomb and that his family suffered from the explosion. When that didn’t work, he leaked that you had made the failed attempt on my life. He blamed his nephew’s injury that made him a paraplegic on you. We searched Helena’s diary for a clue on who had wanted her dead. I was not the only target, but I was warned not to go outside the store.”
The pain from the handcuffs cutting into Carlos’s wrists was nothing compared to the anguish shafting Salvatore’s eyes.
Salvatore lowered his gun. “She wrote about how the two of you believed you could end the war between our families. That might not have convinced me if one of my security men hadn’t told me what he heard on his radio. He scanned all channels that day and caught you yelling to your cousin, ‘No, Eduardo, don’t hurt Helena. Don’t do this.’ Then he heard your screams at Helena through the radio, telling her to turn and run.”
Carlos wanted to say something, but all he could do was try to breathe through his constricted throat.
Retter was searching the room and found the control to the chain hoist, which he engaged to lower Carlos to the floor. He found a pair of bolt cutters and snapped the handcuff links.
“Thanks.” Carlos stood, rubbing his wrists around the metal. “Want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Salvatore’s man captured me,” Retter stated as if that were an explanation.
Salvatore scoffed. “Because you let him.”
“True.” Retter’s face split with a smile that turned the heads of women anywhere he went, regardless if he was decked out for a night on the town or wearing dirty fatigues as he was now. “I couldn’t pass up a chance to meet with Salvatore. Once I did, I knew he wasn’t behind the attacks on the oil minister. I had just explained that I thought someone else was trying to finger him for the attempts on the oil minister’s life when he got a call from some guy named-”
“Vestavia,” Carlos supplied.
“Yeah, you know him?” Retter asked.
“Sort of. Go on.”
“He told Salvatore that Durand was behind the attempts, and if he didn’t stop Durand now, Salvatore risked losing his political ties when he got fingered for the assassination. Vestavia also told Salvatore if he wanted to end the assaults on the oil minister, Durand was light on soldiers right now. But Salvatore knew that since he had men watching Anguis, it was no problem to mobilize quickly. So here we are.”
So Vestavia sent Salvatore to take down Durand, but probably hadn’t planned on Durand having Mirage.
Or the person Durand believed was Mirage.
“So where does that leave us, Salvatore?” Carlos had to know whether Salvatore would still chase revenge after today. “Does the fighting end here?”
“I want the man who killed my Helena” was his reply.
Carlos shook his head. “I swear to you the one responsible forfeited his life that day as well.”
Salvatore stared a moment, then nodded. “I have killed the head of the beast. His blood can no longer harm my family.”
Carlos brushed both hands over his face and hair, then looked at Retter. “What about the teenagers?”
“What do you mean?” Retter asked. “I haven’t talked to anyone. Salvatore said if I got his men inside here and he walked away alive, he’d let me go. You, too, if you lived.”
Salvatore told them, “You’re both free to go. I owe you for your help.”
“You willing to repay that now?” Retter asked.
“How?”
“Cell phones, clothes, money…airplane?”
TEE TURNED THE knob halfway, then shoved the door open, her weapon on Josie. The DEA agent was so focused trying to do something with her cell phone that her weapon was still holstered.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Drop the phone.” Tee moved the laser beam on her weapon to the center of Josie’s forehead.
Josie calmly lowered her hands and looked down her nose at Tee. “I’m a DEA agent, you fool.” Her fingers still tried to press buttons on the phone.
Tee switched the beam to Josie’s hand and blew off her thumb. Josie dropped the phone, screaming in pain.
Hunter and Gotthard rushed inside, weapons drawn.
“Cuff her and pat her down.” Tee waited as Gotthard bound Josie’s bloody hand and bound her wrists with flex cuffs. While he patted her down, Tee lifted Josie’s phone, which showed the call would not connect.
That would be because Joe had Secret Service agent Dolinski jam all cellular service in a one-mile radius of the Capitol Building the minute he got Tee’s text message. By now, the chambers would be almost cleared of occupants, the first shunted out being the president and his cabinet. Joe would have the three teens and the Collupy woman locked down in an underground holding facility as well.
Hunter contacted Rae and Korbin by sat-phone with authorization to take the other three teens into protective custody in Switzerland. Within the hour, they’d know who was real and who was not.
“You aren’t cops or FBI. You haven’t even read me my rights,” Josie snarled.
Tee stepped close to Josie. “Here’s your right. Open your mouth again and I’m going to pull your tongue over the back of your head.” Tee motioned for her agents to move out. “Let’s turn her over to the authorities she wants to see.”
Outside, Gotthard and Hunter each had a hand wrapped around one of Josie’s arms. The DEA agent glared in spite of the shock blanching her face, but never said another word.
Tee followed several steps behind, scanning for anyone who might try to help Josie.
“YOU HAVE THE target in sight?” Vestavia asked, staring out the tenth-floor window of a vacant D.C. office.
“Yes, sir. I’m ready,” his sniper confirmed, waiting on the order to shoot. Another second passed. “Fra? Sir?”
Vestavia ventured one more look over the sniper’s shoulder. “Take the shot.”
The explosion might as well have ripped Vestavia in half. His whole body clinched as he watched Josie’s beautiful head shatter like a ripe melon slammed with a sledgehammer.
He wanted to order the death of the Asian woman and the two men with her, but this shooter was a Fratelli sniper. Vestavia couldn’t risk the Fras learning of an unnecessary death.
The reigning group of eleven North American Fras had ordered this sanction if Josie ever got caught.
And the removal of Pierre in France. Like his death mattered?
Vestavia had never thought anyone could trip up Josie.
He fought to maintain control, shield how difficult it was to get his breath. His Josie was dead. He would make everyone pay. His heart punched his chest with each painful beat.
Sweet Josie. Gone.
He had to face the Fras and explain what went wrong, but not tonight. Not now while he was so raw.
