Swimming with Sharks (78 page)

“I found your man, boss,” he said. “He’s living under a false name in Florida, near Tampa.”

“Are you one hundred percent sure?” The deputy US attorney’s voice sounded tense.

“One thousand percent,” Forrester replied. “I’m never mistaken.”

“Okay,” Connors said, “I’ll send two US marshals. Don’t do anything that could give him advance warning.”

Lloyd Connors could hardly believe his luck. He hadn’t had particularly high hopes that Forrester would find the man that Nelson van Mieren had mentioned in his testimony. If this Molto—now Mills—was also willing to testify against Vitali, then everything would be clear-cut. The deputy US attorney smiled grimly. Maybe he could charge Vitali with the murder of Stefano Barelli. This murder, committed on March 17, 1963, was definitely a case for the electric chair. Van Mieren claimed that Barelli had tried to push Vitali out of the business. So Vitali killed him with a shot to his neck. The murder charge would be the icing on the cake when seeking a warrant for Vitali’s arrest. Connors picked up the telephone and called Nick Kostidis, but his secretary said he was out of the office taking care of private business. The deputy US attorney dialed Nick’s cell phone number.

“I’m on my way to the hospital right now,” Nick said after he heard about Forrester’s find. “I think we should move Alex to a different location.”

“Is she capable of answering some questions tomorrow? I want to arrest Vitali tomorrow evening at his grand ball, and I urgently need her testimony for that,” Connors replied.

“I think she’s ready,” Nick said.

“Good,” the deputy US attorney said as he leaned back, “she’s my best trump card against Vitali. Take good care of her.”

Two paramedics in scrubs entered Dr. Virginia Summer’s private ward at Goldwater Memorial Hospital. One of them pushed a stretcher, while the other held a clipboard under his arm.

A young doctor came out of the nurses’ station.

“Hello, can I help you?” he asked.

One of the paramedics, a stocky man in his midforties, smiled in a friendly way and looked down at his clipboard.

“We’re supposed to transfer one of the patients in your ward to another hospital,” he said. “Ms. Alexandra Sontheim.”

The doctor gave him a suspicious look.

“We don’t have a patient with that name. Can I see your papers?”

The paramedic standing behind the doctor reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a revolver with a silencer. While the doctor stared at the papers, he raised his weapon and pulled the trigger. The stocky man caught the young doctor and placed him on the stretcher, while the other entered the empty nurses’ station to check out the ward’s patient listings.

“Room 16 is the only one that’s allegedly empty,” he said.

Both men walked along the hallway until they reached room 16. They didn’t waste time knocking, but entered immediately.

“Best regards from Sergio,” Luca said. From a distance of about six feet, he aimed at a patient lying beneath white hospital bed linens and fired four times.

“That’s it,” he said, putting the weapon in his jacket pocket. Both men left the ward unseen and took the elevator to the ground floor.

Nick Kostidis and Frank Cohen entered the foyer of Goldwater Memorial Hospital accompanied by the US marshals Spooner and Khazaeli.

“Fucking idiot!” Deputy Spooner grumbled. “That guy almost hit my brand-new Dodge.”

Khazaeli tried to calm his colleague down. A dark Lincoln had suddenly pulled out of a parking spot and almost hit Spooner’s car in the hospital parking lot. The driver—a fat paramedic—didn’t apologize and simply drove away.

“He’s still an idiot!” Spooner shook his head. At that moment, the beeper on his belt went off.

“It’s the head office,” he announced after a quick glance at the device. “Shit. My cell phone doesn’t work in the hospital.”

He turned away and walked to the desk to make a phone call. Nick, Frank, and Khazaeli waited in the hall until he was done. When he saw Spooner’s face, Nick was overcome by a strange feeling—a kind of dark premonition. He felt like someone had punched him in the stomach.

“What’s the matter?” he asked the US marshal, struggling to control his voice.

“Something’s wrong,” Spooner responded with a grim face. “Boyd and Roscoe are unreachable. They’re not at their post.”

“Who are they?” Nick asked impatiently. Spooner didn’t answer, but he disengaged his Glock’s safety catch and rushed to the staircase.

“The marshals guarding Sontheim,” Deputy Khazaeli said. He also pulled out his gun and pressed the elevator call button. Nick turned ice cold. All the color vanished from his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Frank asked as they got into the elevator with two nurses, who were staring aghast at Khazaeli’s pistol.

“I don’t know,” the US marshal replied. “Both of you wait in the elevator until we figure this out.”

Nick’s whole body began to shake. The elevator stopped on the third floor with a quiet ring.

“Stay here!” Khazaeli repeated, but Nick shook his head.

“I certainly won’t,” he replied.

“Damn it!” Tension was etched into the US marshal’s face. “I don’t want to argue with you! Do what you want!”

Frank objected, but Nick wasn’t listening. “Nick, maybe we really should—”

Nick’s dark eyes were black with fear. He felt like charging past the officers. At that moment, the private ward’s glass door was flung open, and a young nurse came out screaming.

“Dr. Walters!” she screamed. “Dr. Walters is dead!”

Spooner and Khazaeli ran past her, with Nick and Frank following. In front of the nurses’ station a collapsible stretcher held a man whose eyes were wide open. Blood dripped from his half-closed mouth onto the light-gray linoleum floor. Terrified doctors and nurses were shouting hysterically and some were crying. Frank, who couldn’t stand the sight of blood, fought his nausea and turned away.

“Which room is Sontheim in?” Deputy Spooner yelled at Nick.

“Sixteen,” Nick whispered. His heart was racing: his mind refused to accept what seemed obvious after seeing the murdered doctor. Vitali had heard that Alex was still alive and didn’t hesitate. His killers had already finished their bloody job. Ginnie Summer was suddenly standing in front of him. Her usually friendly face looked shocked, terrified.

“Nick!” she shouted in a shrill voice, grabbing his arm. “What’s going on here?” Who did this?”

“I…I don’t know.” His watched as the two marshals as they ran down the hallway, then returned his gaze to the dead doctor. He didn’t want to know what had just happened in room 16. He didn’t want to see Alex’s body riddled with bullets. He had failed once again. Hadn’t he promised that he would protect her?

“Nick…” Frank touched his arm, and the mayor flinched.

“Mr. Kostidis!” Deputy Spooner shouted at the same moment and waved to him.

“No,” Nick whispered, “please, please don’t…”

The few steps to the door of Alex’s room felt like miles to Nick. But he registered that Spooner looked relieved; soon he was staring uncomprehendingly at a bed riddled with bullets.

“Someone stuffed blankets and pillows beneath the bedding,” Deputy Khazaeli explained. “The killers probably thought it was a human body and blazed away at it.”

“But where is she?” Nick whispered.

“Here,” Spooner said, “she seems to be okay.”

Alex cowered on the floor of the adjoining small bathroom, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. When she realized it was Nick, she silently extended her arms, and he fell on his knees in front of her. His relief was overwhelming as Alex flung her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” Nick whispered in a tearful voice. “I’m so sorry. I promised that you would be safe here.”

“Please get me out of here.”

“I will,” Nick said as he stroked her hair. “Don’t cry—everything will be all right.”

Gordon Engels accompanied them out to the hallway with five US marshals.

“Is she all right?” he inquired.

“Yes,” Nick replied, “but what about your people who were supposed to guard her?”

“They’re both dead,” Engels said, his expression frozen. “I don’t know yet how it happened, but they were both shot in the neck just like the doctor. We found their bodies in the laundry room.”

Nick felt Alex shudder in his arms.

“I know who shot them,” she whispered. “I was just about to leave the room. I don’t know why, but I had a really strange feeling. Then I saw the doctor standing in the hallway with two paramedics. One of them suddenly pulled out a gun, and from behind, he shot the doctor in the head. I knew they were here for me because I recognized them.”

She started sobbing.

“Who were they?” Nick asked in soft voice.

“Sergio’s closest men. Luca di Varese. Silvio Bacchiocchi.”

The bloody murders at Goldwater Memorial Hospital dominated news broadcasts that day. Camera teams from all over the country besieged the hospital building. Gordon Engels decided to disseminate false information in order to protect Alex. He announced to the waiting television reporters and journalists that unidentified perpetrators who fled the scene had shot two police officers, a doctor, and a hospital patient for no apparent reason. Engels assumed that both perpetrators wouldn’t go into hiding because they believed they were unidentified; he knew they’d be arrested the following evening. Nick took Alex to the St. Ignatius monastery. She’d be safe behind the Jesuit monastery’s fortresslike walls.