Ultimate Betrayal (19 page)

Gino smiled at Joey. “Thanks.”

“Anything else I can do for you?”

“Can you tell me how the heroin came in?”

Cataldo smirked. “This had to be the sweetest deal you’ve ever heard of. In fuckin’ coffins! Every gram of the stuff came in under the bodies of boys killed in Afghanistan. It was pure genius, this guy who thought it up.”

“Not so brilliant; the guy just copied what had been done back in Vietnam. The operation over there did about the same thing, except the “H” was packed inside the corpses to make it more difficult for dogs to sniff the stuff. Caskets got shipped to family funeral homes with government contracts.”

“Yeah, sonofabitch, almost the same thing here. After we unloaded the smack, we sent the caskets to the soldiers’ hometowns.”

“And you have no idea who that guy was?”

“Not a clue. But whether he copped the idea or not, he must have had juice, brains, and balls to pull it off today, with all the computers and shit they got today.”

“Thanks,” Bartolucci said again. “You’ve been a big help.” He stood, and Cataldo rose with him. The two men embraced.

“Joey,” Bartolucci whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Take my advice. Next time, put some bowling balls in the drum before you dump it in the river.”

Bishop’s driver pulled the car into the garage at the back of the townhouse. Bishop entered the house and hurried up the stairs to his second-floor office, flipped on the lights, and removed several sheets of paper from the fax-machine tray. The message read:
David Hood’s wife was born Carmela Bartolucci. Her father, Gino Bartolucci, was one of ten crime bosses in the U.S. until his “retirement” several years ago. Supposedly, his only business activities today are legitimate. I have included a list of all of Bartolucci’s known businesses, as well as all of his known addresses.

Kingston had already told him about David Hood’s connection to Gino Bartolucci, but the information about Bartolucci’s businesses might prove valuable. Then it hit Bishop that someone must have talked to Bartolucci and told him about his involvement with the attempts on Hood’s life. Either Zeke McCoy, Rodney Strong, or Montrose Toney.

Bishop felt a sudden chill. Why had there been no attempt on
his
life? Although he was not an easy target, he was not an impossible one.

APRIL 25

CHAPTER 28

Bishop called Kingston at 2 a.m. His assistant was still at his CIA office.

“What else have you come up with?” Bishop asked.

“Piles of stuff on Bartolucci. You want me to fax it, sir?”

“No, bring it by my house.” Bishop gave Kingston his address and told him to drive as fast as he could. His assistant dropped the package off one hour later.

Kingston hadn’t exaggerated when he said he had piles of stuff. His package contained hundreds of pages about Bartolucci and his businesses, past and present, legitimate and illegitimate, that the FBI, Interpol, and various state and local police organizations had gathered over many years. Through the complicated web of interlocking directorates, corporations, and subsidiaries, Bartolucci had tried to hide the real ownership of his various business interests. Bishop was impressed with the extent of the man’s holdings, including an estate in Chestnut Hill.

Before he’d finished his first read of the documents, Bishop dispatched a three-man private reconnaissance team to Philadelphia. He’d used the men before because they were loyal and competent. And they owed him. They were all former Special Ops who had been thrown out of the Army after they were caught trying to smuggle some of Saddam Hussein’s gold out of Iraq. Bishop bankrolled them into their own private operation and had hired them on numerous occasions.

One man would watch the Bartolucci home in South Philadelphia. The second man would park outside Bartolucci’s Market. The third was sent to the Chestnut Hill estate. Their assignment: Locate Gino Bartolucci and follow him. Bishop was hopeful that sooner or later Bartolucci would lead him to Hood. Then Bishop could give the order that would finally resolve his problem. And this time he would see to it there were no mistakes.

Gino didn’t even try to sleep in the back seat of the Cadillac on the trip back from New York City. He was too worked up about what he’d learned from Joey Cataldo. He opted to go to his South Philadelphia home instead of the Chestnut Hill estate. His wife would be worried about him and he always slept better when they were together. He arrived home at 3 a.m. and dozed off an hour later.

Bishop’s man outside Gino’s house saw him arrive and reported to his team leader outside Bartolucci’s market. The team leader called Bishop.

“Sit on him,” Bishop ordered. “Tell me if he goes anywhere.”

Gino woke at 7:00 a.m. and felt exhausted, with a pain in his chest that felt like heartburn. By the time he’d showered, shaved, and eaten a light breakfast, it was 8:30. He was anxious to tell his guests out in Chestnut Hill what he’d learned from Cataldo.

When Gino walked out of his home, the watcher there spotted him get into a black Cadillac, joined by two other men. He radioed his two partners. The team leader in a car outside Bartolucci’s Market instructed the third member of the team to sit tight at the mansion in Chestnut Hill. Then he called Bishop on his cellphone.

“When you determine where Bartolucci’s headed, I want you to call me ASAP,” Bishop said. “Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” the team leader said. “But can you tell me what we’re dealing with here? We’re following a former Mafia chief who’s with a driver and another passenger. All three might be armed. I don’t want to walk into something blind.”

Bishop generated his calmest and coldest tone of voice. “As long as you continue in a surveillance mode, you and your men have nothing to worry about. I need you to tell me where that mobster goes and who he meets with. Do you think you can do that without questioning my instructions?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I meant no—” Bishop disconnected the man in mid-sentence.

When it became apparent the Cadillac was headed for the Bartolucci mansion, the agent dropped even farther back. He radioed a warning to the man posted outside the mansion, who slouched in his seat when he saw the Cadillac approach. After the Cadillac had gone through the gate and disappeared up the driveway, the third agent called his two teammates with a status report and waited for further instructions.

David and Peter had just finished a walk around the grounds of the Bartolucci property and saw Gino’s car roll up to the mansion. They picked up their pace to meet the car when it stopped.

“What’s up, Gino? Where’ve you been?” David asked.

Gino smiled. “Ah, the impatience of youth,” he said to Peter. “Hold your water, David. I have some interesting news. Let’s go inside and find Dennis and his long-legged partner so I only have to tell my story once.”

Gino, trailed by David and Peter, entered the dining room where Dennis O’Neil and Jennifer Ramsey were seated and asked, “You two come up with anything new?”

“Nah!” O’Neil said. “How about you?”

Gino smiled. “Well, I might have come up with a thing or two.”

David knew Gino well enough to know he loved drama. He could tell from Gino’s smile the old man knew something important. “What is it?” he asked.

Gino held up both hands. “Okay, okay. Sit back and pay attention. Because you won’t believe this.”

Gino told his story after he made it clear his source could never be identified.

David shook his head as though he wanted to deny the truth of Gino’s story. But the whole thing at last made sense.

“Colonel Rolf Bishop was not just in charge of the SLSD. He was a Quartermaster Corps officer whose MOS—military occupational specialty—was logistics. But the Quartermaster Corps does not limit its activities to supplies and materiel. It’s also responsible for handling the bodies of dead Army personnel. It’s the Army’s mortician, so to speak. This branch of the Army touched every dead American serviceman who had to be shipped back to the States. Bishop was the senior Quartermaster officer in Afghanistan. That bastard had access to every coffin. And he and Robert Campbell had worked together for years.” David shook his head. “Bishop had to be the brains behind the drug scheme.”

“But why murder the other men?” Ramsey asked.

David thought about the question for a while. “Maybe Bishop’s afraid one of us knew or suspected what he was up to. He’s cleaning house just to be safe.”

“Nine men, including Campbell, murdered in case one of them
might
have known something?” O’Neil said.

“And my wife and children,” David said, his voice rough with anger.

“The sonofabitch . . . the rotten sonofabitch!” Peter growled.

“Why wait until now to kill these men?” O’Neil asked.

“Again, we can’t be sure,” Gino said. “But it could be because he had no real public exposure until the President nominated him to the CIA position. Maybe he just got paranoid. Who knows?”

“What do we do with this information?” O’Neil asked. “We have no evidence, no proof we can use to get him arrested. Toney’s confession was tortured out of him. Besides, Toney’s criminal record would raise questions about his credibility. Mr. Bartolucci, I take it your informant in New York is not about to testify he committed murder as part of a narcotics smuggling ring. And David, the connection you made between the drugs and the responsibility Bishop had for coffin shipments is nothing but circumstantial. We could try to use the news media to ruin Bishop’s reputation through hearsay and innuendo. But that wouldn’t be enough even if the media would play along, which I doubt.”

No one spoke for a long while.

“Gino, one thing is missing from the information you got in New York,” David said. “Your informant told you he bought drugs from someone in Afghanistan and how the drugs were shipped into the United States. Did he tell you how they paid for those drugs?”

Gino stared quizzically at David. “With cash, of course. Checks and credit cards aren’t usually accepted in the drug business.”

“No, no, Gino. I mean how were payments made? Was cash transferred to some bank account in the seller’s name, or maybe to a numbered account in some foreign bank? Is the cash buried in some vault somewhere?”

“Of course,” Jennifer said. “If we could track the money we might be able to discover who the seller was.”

“Excuse me for a moment,” Gino said. “I need to make a phone call.”

From another room in the house, Gino used a cellphone to dial Joey Cataldo’s number.

When Cataldo got on, Gino said, “That was a great dinner we had last night. We need to do that more often.”

Cataldo replied, “I would enjoy that.”

“Do you think I could impose on you just one more time with a question I failed to ask last night?”

“Ask and if I have the answer it’s yours.”

“
Grazie
, Joey. When you paid for those . . . boxes from Asia years ago, how did you deliver the money to the manufacturer?”

“I understand, my friend. How much do you want to know?”

“Everything you can tell me. The name of the bank or banks where money was sent. The account numbers. Dates of money transfers. And whatever else you got.”

“That’s a lot to ask,
mi amico
.”

“Yeah, I understand.”

After a ten-second pause, Cataldo said, “I think maybe we should have a nice dinner again, in two days. Same place, nine o’clock.”

“Fine,” Gino agreed. “I’ll see you then. And thanks.”

“I ain’t promisin’ nothin’,” Cataldo said. “See you Thursday.”

Bishop forced himself to remain calm. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He’d never lost his cool before, no matter what the pressure. But there had been too many screw-ups lately. A plan had formed in his mind and he knew he had to put the pieces together carefully. He couldn’t afford any more mistakes. The buzz of the intercom broke into his thoughts.

He pressed the send button. “Yes?”

“Mr. Bishop,” Kingston said, “I’ve got a Detective Roger Cromwell on the line. Claims to have information for you. Something about David Hood. Should I take a mess—?”

Bishop broke in and said, “No, no, put him through.”

“This is Bishop. How may I help you?”

“This is Detective Roger Cromwell. I’m with the Bethesda Police Department. I’ve got a homicide case that involves the deaths of a woman and two children. Family by the name of Hood.”

“Yes?” Bishop said.

“I . . . I thought you might have an interest.”

Bishop heard Cromwell’s voice quaver. The man wasn’t confident of whatever information he had.

“Why don’t you continue, Detective Cromwell? You never can tell what I might find interesting.”

The man’s voice firmed up a little when he said, “There’s a Bethesda detective by the name of Jennifer Ramsey who’s holed up with David Hood; Hood’s father, Peter; and a mobster named Gino Bartolucci on Bartolucci’s estate somewhere in the Philadelphia area.”

“And why do you think this information would be of interest to me?”

“Detective Ramsey left a message here. In that message she said something about several murders.”

“And you’ve called me because . . . .”

“Ramsey mentioned your name.”

Bishop forced himself to maintain control. He let out the air in his lungs very slowly, quietly. “And what do you think, Detective?” he asked.

“I think it’s just more of Detective Ramsey’s bullshit.”

“I’ll consider this information, Detective Cromwell. We can’t have people use other people’s names in vain, can we?”

“That’s exactly what I thought.”

“And what’s your interest in all of this?” Bishop asked.

“I like to see the good guys win.”

“Can I infer you don’t include Detective Ramsey in that same group of good guys?”

“You could come to that conclusion, Mr. Bishop.”

“Should I look into this matter, Detective, as if you and I never talked?” Bishop asked.