In Too Deep: A Romantic Suspense Novel (56 page)

Taylor Broadwell was perhaps the richest member of the Confederation. If it wasn't that he didn't enjoy bloodshed, and that he was a first generation gangster, he probably could have run the whole damn thing. As it was however, he was fourth in power to Sal Giordano. Taylor's money came from the simple fact that he controlled trafficking in the city. Whether it was drugs, guns, or anything else; if it came by plane, by train, in a semi truck or buried in the trunk of a 1979 Oldsmobile, Taylor Broadwell was the man who controlled over ninety percent of it.

The only weakness that Broadwell had, besides his hesitancy to get his hands personally dirty, was that his operation was just a bit too loud. As such, even though he was a major player in the Confederation, he was paying just as much money to Owen Lynch for his police and other people to look the other way. As such, it hurt his standing, as some of the other Confederation members didn't trust him as much as they could have.

The plan was simple. Broadwell had a very unique schedule among the criminal element, in that he actually worked banker's hours. I got access to the airport by going through the marshes, which bordered the airport on its southern edge. The entire airport had been reclaimed marsh from the World War II era, and had in fact once been a B-17 crew training site. Afterwards, a lot of the old Quonset huts had been converted into the first generation of warehouses and privately owned buildings as runways were expanded and regular air traffic started up in the nineteen fifties.

Taylor Broadwell had bought them, giving him a secure cargo area. The southern edge of the airport however had been mostly ignored, being deemed too wet and too difficult to finish reclaiming. It was along that edge that most of Broadwell's warehouses were, along with the one he used as his office.

The biggest danger of penetrating the airport perimeter from the south was the snakes. Ten workers had died in the nineteen thirties in the initial construction of the airfield from copperhead bites, a subspecies that had adapted to the marshy land and stagnant water. They were smaller than your average copperhead, but because of the fact that the marshes contained a lot of other large predators, they were especially venomous. I don't mean yellow bellied sea snake venomous, but not something you wanted to mess with. I wore high hip waders and thick clothing making my way through the marshes, along with night vision goggles that helped.

I started my trek through the swamps at midnight, going slow. Broadwell knew that the southern edge of his warehouses were undefended, so in addition to normal airport security, he had his own security patrols that went around all of his warehouses. Still, I had good training, and slipped out of the water at just after three in the morning. The narrow blacktop road was quiet, and I ditched the heavy waders and outer heavy waterproof jacket for what I carried in my backpack, a pair of wrestling shoes that gave me both grip and flexibility.

I got into Broadwell's office through a window in the back of the building, picking the lock. Slipping inside just fifteen seconds before a searchlight from a security patrol bathed the back of the building, I took a moment to calm my nerves and slow my breathing. While I doubted that he had any men inside the building, I couldn't be sure.

Broadwell's office was cluttered, the man hated using computers. He had an overwhelming paranoia of storing anything on computers, even those that weren't networked, convinced that someone could hack into them at any time. I may have played a part in that, actually, considering some of the things I'd told him during the times I had done contracts for him. It was ironic, then, that I was going to use a network connection in order to kill the man.

Looking over his desk, it took me a few minutes to find Broadwell's day planner. I looked up that day's schedule, and saw that he had a lunch appointment at one in the afternoon. The morning however was clear, and I knew he would be in his office, overseeing his men loading and unloading his illicit packages. I had noticed the crates already in the warehouse, and wondered how many contained cocaine, heroin, or meth, and how many contained other materials. Thankfully he didn't have any human cargo in at the time. With Petrokias' death, those shipments were at least temporarily suspended.

I got down on my knees and slipped my package underneath his antique desk, which filled half the damn office it was so large. I had once joked to Broadwell that he could keep a midget under his desk and not find him for a week, to which he had replied to me, "Snowman, I've found that after a hard day at work, nothing beats getting a blowjob while I fill out my paperwork. With this desk, I can do both very easily."

Like I said, my former associates were not good people. In any case, I put the shaped charges in the lower corners of the desk, angled in such a manner that when they went off, they would scatter a rain of shrapnel into Broadwell's legs and lower torso, kind of like a miniature Claymore mine.

The final touch was the trigger. In my old life, it would have been far too easy to just put in a simple timer, one that would go off at about ten thirty. But I wanted to make sure, and I also wanted to make sure that Broadwell was the person taken out. My message wouldn't be anywhere near as effective if my bomb killed a secretary who just happened to be using the boss's desk to answer the phone when it went off. So, I connected the trigger to a WiFi capable video camera. Piggybacking off the signal that the airport used, I could monitor it from anywhere I wanted, and with just a click of a mouse, trigger the bomb to go off.

I checked the connection on a prepaid smartphone and made my way out. The exit was more difficult than getting in, because I couldn't go through the marshes again. With daylight coming in soon I instead made my way building to building, over two miles to a FedEx processing center. At seven, the shifts changed, and I walked out the front gate towards the employee parking lot, flashing a fake ID badge to the security guard as I went.

Two rows from the back of the lot, Tabby was waiting for me behind the wheel of a used Ford that was another one of my small fleet. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and track pants, and looked like a normal working class girl. "Wow, you've got camouflage skills," I said, plopping down into the passenger seat. "No offense, but you look like a regular girl."

Tabby laughed and rubbed her head. "None taken, it was what I was going for. Besides, if you're saying that, you also mean you think I look pretty when I'm doing my normal thing. So everything is set?"

"Yeah, we're good. We need to check the feed in about three hours. According to his schedule he'll be there by himself."

Tabby made a right turn and headed away from the airport. "And if someone else is there?"

"It shouldn't affect anyone on the other side of the desk, but we can take our time," I said. "We just trigger it when he's in there by himself for the added margin of safety. I'll tell you a rule that one of my teachers had told me. Indiscriminate killing only works to paralyze your enemy in the short term. Targeted eliminations though, they create long term effects."

Tabby thought about it, and nodded in understanding. "I learned something similar in business. If you just throw more money across the whole company that you need to turn around, all you end up doing is strengthening the things you want to get rid of along with the things you want to keep. So you end up with just a more expensive crippled company. But if you can target your changes, you can create a long term effect that reforms the company."

"I knew I hired the right person to run MJT," I said, leaning back and rubbing my eyes. "Now if you don't mind, I need to grab some sleep. Wake me up when we get back to the base?"

Tabby nodded. "You got it. Sophie told me to tell you she's going to take care of some stuff as Sophie Warbird today, to keep the public image up and everything. She's actually scheduled to meet with the mayor this afternoon."

"I remember," I mumbled, letting my eyes close. "If I have time, I'll crash the meeting. Marcus Smiley hasn't grabbed too many headlines in the past week or so."

I think Tabby said something in reply, but I was already mostly asleep, and didn't answer. The next thing I was aware of, Tabby was shaking my shoulder. I came awake instantly, a side effect of my training. I can turn it on and turn it off pretty much at the drop of a hat. "Hey, we're back. This is the place you wanted, right?"

I sat up and looked around, recognizing the small mobile home that I had about thirty minutes outside the city in the middle of some pretty crappy scrub land that developers hadn't touched yet. It was listed as a hunting cabin, and I usually stayed there about one week a year just to keep up appearances. Tabby had already parked the car under the tree around back, and I could see my SUV parked nearby. "Yeah, you found it again. Not bad, considering we came out here at midnight."

"I thought for sure you'd have woken up when I hit that pothole about a mile back, but you just slept like a baby. I didn't think a hitman would sleep so deeply."

I smirked and got out of the car. "You'd be surprised. But there was a simple reason I didn't wake up. I knew you were in control, and I trust you. Now, let's get back to Mount Zion and get ready for the day. You've got to go in and start handover of your accounts that aren't related to MJT, and I've got a meeting with the mayor to be late for."

"Good deal. You want to drive or sleep?"

"What time is it?"

"Seven thirty. I got caught in some roadwork coming out of the city. Morning rush hour is starting, so it's going to be an hour at least before we get back to Zion."

I yawned and ran my hand through my hair, and reached into my pocket to toss her the keys. "You drive. I can use another hour of sleep."

"
M
r. Smiley
, the Mayor is in a meeting right now," the flummoxed secretary said to me as I came in wearing what was perhaps the most obnoxious looking suit ever. A black suit jacket with red contrast stitching paired with a silk wine colored cravat and white shirt was bad enough, but the custom tailored red and black plaid suit pants put it over the top. I'd copied it from an Australian food critic and television personality, although I think I looked a lot better in it than he did.

"But of course, lovely girl!" I said in my boisterous and overly loud
Marcus Smiley voice
. "But what you forget is that the person the mayor is meeting with is my lovely fiancee and assistant."

"Well, her and and five other business leaders," the secretary countered, her eyes pointedly flickering towards the clock on the wall which declared I was thirty minutes late for the meeting. "His Honor...."

"Wouldn't dare think of having an assembly of local financial movers and shakers without the largest private investor over the past twelve months in the city, would he?" I replied, giving the secretary a disarming grin that I love to call my
Han Solo
and a bit of a basketball double fake to get around her.

Before she could say anything else I threw open the double doors to the conference room, causing two of the security guards near the podium to reach for their guns before they realized who I was.

"My friends, so sorry for the tardiness," I said, while the secretary fluttered behind me ineffectually. The Mayor, I had to give him credit, played it pretty cool, waving the guards and his secretary off. Sophie, who I had texted ten minutes before and was aware of my arrival, hid a small smile behind a polite hand while I made my way around the large round table and sat down. "My my, what a table. I think I'll sit here between Queen Guinevere and Sir Galahad, if you all don't mind."

"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Smiley," the Mayor replied. "And I have to love the subtlety of your suit for today. Are you going to a bagpipe concert after this?"

"You know how it is, Mr. Mayor. Being understated is my strong suit," I said, breaking the tension and letting things continue. "But please, continue. What did I miss?"

"The Mayor was discussing the recent news reports about increased tension on the streets and how it might affect community relations," Bill Franklin, the president of the largest bank in the city said. He was part of the old guard, and while I knew he personally was clean, I also knew that his bank served as one of the various filtering mediums for both the Confederation and Owen Lynch. Hell, I even had an account there under one of my alternate identities. "He's also concerned about recent economic shifts that might affect employment in the city. With an election coming up soon, he'd rather not have a poor economy being a distraction from the important social issues he wants to focus on."

"I see," I said, looking around at the other people seated at the table. They represented the apathetic monied interests that frustrated me, but couldn't fight against yet. I needed leverage, and my war with the Confederation and Owen Lynch was the tool I needed. "Well, please go on."

The Mayor continued, and I listened with half an ear as he droned on, while I scribbled a note on the legal pad that Sophie had out.
Anything of importance?

Not really. BTW, how was your nap?

Useful. Will tell you about it later.

OK.

I listened as the rest of the meeting went on, the other so-called financial and business leaders blathering on, using big words to basically say they didn't want to do anything other than cover their own asses. Finally, when I couldn't stand it any longer, I spoke up. "Mr. Mayor, no offense, but this meeting seems like a giant waste of time."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Smiley?" Francine Berkowitz, who represented one of the city's unions sputtered. I had cut her off in the middle of a long winded speech where basically she was saying the unions were going to play ball with the status quo, which I knew meant with either Owen Lynch or the Confederation, depending on which union she was talking about. "How dare you..."

"No Ms. Berkowitz, how dare you," I interjected, cutting her off for a second time. "Let's speak honestly for a moment. This city is on a razor's edge because the criminal elements that have controlled the streets for so long are at each other's throats. Just before coming here, I saw on the local news that a bomb just went off at an airport warehouse, killing one man at his desk. Instead of terrorism, the first idea out of the news reporter's mouth is that it was another strike on whoever is trying to control crime in this city, I didn't have a chance to listen to the theory before coming over here. The fact is that crime controls this town, and all of you have either ignored it, condoned it, or are actively working with it. As a result, while you may have lined your own pockets, the life blood of this city has been slowly choked off for far too long."