“Get in,” the man grunted.
Tommy had one option. As he opened the door, he got a good look at the man. There was an unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth and a smug grin on his face.
Tommy dropped into the passenger seat, shut the door, then wheeled and snatched the gun from the man’s hand. He aimed the gun directly at the man’s chest and pulled the trigger. A sliver of a yellow flame popped out of the top of the gun. He held the gun still while the man leaned over the flame and sucked his cigar to life.
“Joey Tess,” Tommy said. “Always with the toys.”
Joe Tessamano held the freshly lit cigar between his left index and middle fingers and reached over to give Tommy a bear hug. “Been too long, Tommy.”
Tommy patted Joe’s back and pulled away to see him smiling, his bright white teeth gleaming against his tanned face. “The fuck are you doing out here?”
“I’m living down in Scottsdale now,” Joe said, taking a quick drag on the cigar to keep it going. “A couple of hours drive.”
“Hey, how’s Kenny doing?”
Joe rolled down his window and blew out a stream of smoke into the mountain air. He paused for a moment and Tommy braced for the bad news. Joe’s son had been strung out on heroin for years. When Joe came to Tommy for help, Tommy put the word out on the street: any dealer who sold to Kenny would pay dearly. Tommy had cachet back then. He never had to say things twice.
Now Joe looked over at Tommy with a sparkle in his eye. “He’s doing great.”
“Really?”
“He’s a veterinarian over in San Diego. Got a wife and 3-year-old daughter.” Joe fished around the inside of his jacket with his free hand and came out with a photo of a young girl in a pink dress holding a giant lollipop in one hand and a ‘Happy Birthday’ balloon in the other.
Tommy grabbed the picture. “Aw, she’s not spoiled at all, is she?”
Joe chuckled, taking the picture back and stuffing it into his pocket. “She’s the love of my life.” He looked over at Tommy with a sentimental smile. “Hey, Tommy, listen … uh, thanks.”
“For what?”
Joe cocked his head slightly at Tommy’s charade of ignorance.
Tommy waved the back of his hand at him. “Yeah, of course, Joey. I’m glad he made it. I’m happy for you.”
Joe pointed his cigar at Tommy. “‘You know what I always liked about you? You never took an order without asking why. Cap would tell you to scare someone, or break a bone and you’d always look at him and ask why. No one ever asked Mr. C. why about anything except you. And the beautiful way you’d spin it when he gave you that dark glare. ‘But Mr. Capelli, should someone ask me why I’m doing something and all I do is shrug, well pretty soon they’re going to fill their head with their own ideas and maybe it’s not the right ones. Maybe they guess wrong about your motivation, then maybe they start talking behind your back, start making their own plans.”
“Then,” Joe added, “You’d give him that classic Tommy look with your eyebrows raised and say, ‘I’ve gotta have your back, Boss.’”
Tommy grinned. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ve never been very good at taking orders, have I?”
Joe’s face grew somber as he puffed on his cigar, the ashes glowing orange in the afternoon shadows. He reached into his jacket again, only this time he came out with a folded manila envelope and handed it to Tommy.
Tommy opened the envelope and saw the stack of hundreds held together with a rubber band. On top of the money was a photo. Tommy pulled out the picture and held it by the window to catch a ray of sun. It was a surveillance shot, grainy because it was taken from a distance and then blown up to give a better view of the target. And Tommy knew that’s exactly who this was, too-a target. His mouth curled into ugly scowl as he recognized the woman in the photo. Julie Bracco.
He looked over at Joe Tess and said, “Tell me everything.”
• • •
Hestin Jirdeer sat in his car across the street from the Gila County sheriff’s office, pulled the binoculars down and pursed his lips. He didn’t trust the assassin he’d hired to kill the FBI agent’s wife and now understood why. Even from a hundred yards he could see the man hugging the FBI agent’s cousin in his car. The same gangster who’d helped the FBI capture the KSF’s supreme leader. They were obviously very friendly and the assassin was certainly helping the FBI himself. Jirdeer dreaded even making the call he needed to make, but decided to do it quick, before too much time had passed. Their plans were dependent on timing. He dialed his cell phone.
“Yes,” came the deep voice.
“Sarock,” Jirdeer’s breath became short in his chest. “They have Semir.”
Barzani grumbled something Jirdeer didn’t quite understand.
Jirdeer decided to go forward with all the bad news. “Also, the assassin is working with the FBI. He was a plant.”
The silence was too long for Jirdeer’s nerves to handle. He watched the two men exit the assassin’s car and head into the sheriff’s office.
“Sarock?” Jirdeer said. “It is better we know now rather than later.” Giving his leader a positive method of considering the information.
Temir Barzani didn’t seem willing to accept the setback. Jirdeer could hear heavy breathing and that was all. He gripped his steering wheel tight, his arm muscles aching with anticipation.
Finally, Barzani barked, “Get that squad over there right now. I want that woman dead.”
Jirdeer wasn’t sure where he wanted the hired team of soldiers to go. The sheriff’s office? Was he to order a shootout? He thought about the consequences of having the conversation linger and decided the shorter they spoke, the better for Jirdeer’s standing.
“Yes, Sarock,” was all he said.
Temir Barzani slammed his cell phone down on the kitchen table and shouted, “Shik poot.” Two soldiers stood by windows with their automatic weapons tight to their chests. They stood more rigid now, darting their eyes around the perimeter of the cabin. Even though there were plenty of surveillance cameras, they were the last line of defense for their leader.
“Mano,” Barzani called out.
A soldier peeked in from the next room. “Yes, Sarock.”
Barzani pointed to the floor next to him. “Come here.”
Mano Surtek scurried around the oak table and stood next to Barzani. He looked up at him with fear in his eyes.
“Mano,” Barzani said, seething. “How long have we been on this mission?”
“One hundred and forty-three days?” Mano answered, seeming to grope for the correct response.
Barzani could see his security team watching from the corners of their eyes. He grabbed Mano around the throat and squeezed hard until he felt the soldier’s larynx cracking between his fingers. “At what point in the plan was Semir to be captured by the FBI?”
Mano tried to answer, shaking his head and pleading with watery eyes. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Barzani shoved him down, driving him to his hands and knees. Mano gasped for air while rubbing his neck.
Barzani had understood the value of a small inner circle. He wasn’t about to make the same mistakes his predecessor had made by spreading hundreds of soldiers throughout the United States, leaving loose ends for the FBI to capture and garner information.
Barzani leaned over and spoke softly into his soldier’s ear. “Do you know how much our people are relying on us to accomplish our goals?”
Mano nodded as drool dripped from his lips onto the wood floor.
Barzani whispered, “Our people in Kurdistan are being slaughtered while we make feeble attempts to rid our homeland of these American meddlers. We need them to understand the trauma our families are enduring. All we ask for is fairness. Our passion will carry us to victory. Do you understand this?”