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THE BRADFORD LEGACY

BRIAN BLASHFIELD

Copyright © 2019 by Brian Blashfield.

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-7960-7093-4 eBook 978-1-7960-7092-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 11/27/2019

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

“The Bradford Trust Legacy” is a story of human, social and political evolution of one person. Carter Bradford is the personification of greed, arrogance, and narcissism played against a background of war, murder and revenge.

Oliver Covington Bradford

The “colonization” of India by the East India Company, from approximately 1757 until 1858, provided 22 year old Oliver Covington Bradford, Carter Bradford’s great-great-great grandfather with a commercial education. Oliver Bradford, through influential family connections, ed the British East India Company in 1792 as a Logistics and Shipping Manager responsible for transporting the wealth of the Sub Continent to the British Isles. Young Bradford’s relatives were early stock holders in the East India Company. In the mid 1600’s Oliver’s Father, very wisely, bought the Company stock at 245 Pounds Sterling per share. By 1677 the shares were worth more than 500 Pounds. On the surface the East India Company traded in textiles and tea. Behind the public image of a successful company importing finished textiles, Chinese porcelain, silk and wonderful tea to England, was the vastly more profitable trade in opium. East India Company supplied the opium to its licensed “country traders” to carry it to China where it was sold for silver and gold to smugglers who brought the illegal product ashore. Addictive drugs always find a market and those who supply and feed the addiction reap the profits. Oliver Covington Bradford learned well during his experience in India. When he returned home, in 1818 at age 48, he met and married Elizabeth Hardwicke Fleming. Oliver arrived in England a very wealthy man. The decades of his service in India provided his father, Carlyle Bradford III, with priceless information that guided him to lucrative investments and more wealth. Not once, as Oliver watched the opium ships sail for China, did he give any thought to what the cargo would do to those who used the deadly product. Oliver landed in England just months before his father’s death. The senior Bradford owned several successful businesses including the Bradford Carriage

Manufacturing Works created, to a large extent, by the earnings produced from the investment guidance supplied by Oliver. In his will Carlyle Bradford III left Oliver everything he owned along with a cruel letter written at the height of the pain he suffered from a brain tumor. In the letter, Carlyle onished his two other sons, Creighton and Samuel, as failures more interested in idleness, women and drink then going into the world and seeking their fortunes like their younger brother. Each son received a small bag of silver coins that added up in value to no more than one Pound Sterling. When the brothers turned to Oliver for help, he responded by selling the family home and having them evicted. Seventeen years later at age 65, when most men of wealth would be considering retirement, Oliver sold the Carriage Manufacturing Works and, along with several trunk loads of designs and manufacturing ideas, he moved to America. Oliver envisioned a ripe market for the designs he developed but did not on to the new owner of the carriage works back in England. His wife Elizabeth and 19 year old son, William, arrived in Boston a year later. Oliver’s younger son, Isaac, at an impressionable age of 15, was shipped off to a boarding school just north of London. Father and son would not see each other again until Isaac reached adulthood.

Isaac Bradford

In 1842 Oliver’s younger son, Isaac, arrived in America with his wife, Sarah Worthington South Bradford. She was the daughter of Lord Michael South. Lord South, a hero of many British victories over rebellious Indians, resentful over British taxation and the pillaging of their economy, was well known to Oliver. South could not be more pleased with Isaac’s choice of his daughter. Elizabeth had a bit of a “horse face” and her father was deeply concerned about her marriage prospects. Oliver died just short of a year of Isaac’s arrival in Boston and in, so doing, made room for him at the Bradford Carriage Works of Boston and New York. Over the many years of separation Oliver became little more than a name to Isaac. Try as he might Isaac couldn’t feel anything when his father died. His mother and the family lawyer planned the funeral and handled the estate. Isaac’s

brother, William who suffered from bad health and remained frail, received a pension and a small cottage with a single servant. Isaac inherited everything else. Oliver’s bequest did not temper Isaac’s resentment for his father for leaving him behind in England. With Oliver gone, Isaac wasted no time in overhauling the Bradford Carriage Works to cull out those who used Oliver’s failing health and William’s lack of the energy to take advantage of the firm and do as little as possible. Those remaining got the message and bought into Isaac’s revolutionary ideas in product design and marketing. When Civil War came, Isaac was ready with new designs for gun carriages, supply wagons as well as completely new ambulance vehicles.

Hiram Bradford

In 1855 Isaac and Sarah became the parents of Hiram Bradford. Early on Isaac could see that his son was exceptional. Hiram proved to be a fast learner and by the age of 10 started working in the family business from the bottom up. Hiram read everything he could get his hands on about the Civil War and placed high value on the need to make the government a customer. By the time Hiram graduated from nearby Harvard University and formally ed the Company as a Vice President, he was already considering a collateral career in politics in order to go where the fountain of money originated. Not until 1908 and Isaac’s death could Hiram put his plan into action. In the years directly following the end of the Civil War Isaac began diversifying from carriage and wagon manufacturing into real estate and finance. Later under Hiram’s leadership new ideas and business concepts were added to Isaac’s wise decisions. Long before Isaac’s death Hiram was able to persuade his father to move their assets into a Trust, and thus the Bradford Trust was born. Along with the Bradford Trust’s new business model came tax lawyers and well trained financial specialists who could create ways to shield much of the company’s cash flow from taxation. Later in life Hiram capitalized on this knowledge and build a massive off shore “nest egg.” In more ways than one,

Hiram proved to be his father’s son. Hiram woke up one day and realized he lacked a son and heir. At 56 years of age Hiram went to work on what he named, in the privacy of his own thoughts, “The Wife Project.” In 1912 he met and married Beatrice Waring McConnell, the daughter of a very rich and prominent businessman. Miss McConnell did not come into the marriage empty handed. In a strange parallel to his own father’s choice of wives, Miss McConnell’s father suffered great concern about his daughter’s ability to find a husband. Beatrice was considered, by most, at best to be a “handsome woman” and hardly a head turner. By design Hiram avoided a union with an “annoying” wife who lived to shop and found it necessary to be in constant Social motion. Beatrice proved perfect. Their son James was born in 1913 and was a year later followed by his, sister, May. Hiram goals were met and he was done with having children.

James Waring Bradford

James Waring Bradford proved to be a corporate all-star. He graduated at the top of his class at Harvard and became the Chief Executive Officer of the Bradford Trust at the age of 23. At first long time Trust executives smiled behind his back and questioned Hiram’s judgment but, all those who survived James’ reign, quickly learned that he was a serious businessman and not someone to be trifled with. Within a few short years James turned the Bradford Trust from a well respected but little known, privately held investment group to a corporate powerhouse with interests in banks, insurance companies, automobile dealerships, real estate holdings and shipping services with offices in the United States, England, and Belgium. James lived for the business and had little personal time. Unexpectedly, as if hit by the bolt of lightning, he met and later married Alice Noble Davis. James and Alice were the parents of Carter born in 1937 and Jonah who followed two years later. In spite of James dedication to the Trust he and Alice enjoyed every minute of their time together until shortly after Jonah’s birth when something terrible

happened to Alice’s mind. Her erratic mood shifts changed Alice from a fun loving, warm and wonderful woman into someone to be avoided. By 1944 James had no choice but to have her institutionalized. James found it necessary to leave the raising of his two young sons to others. Years earlier, when Hiram was elected to Congress, his parents moved to Washington D.C. Hiram visited the office regularly but expressed no interest in spending time with his grandsons. Alice was in no condition to help out. Beatrice Bradford’s parents were long gone so no great grandparents were there to help. Aunt May never officially returned home from college. She married a classmate and moved to Los Angeles. She never wrote and rarely called except to determine the amount of her dividend check from the Trust.

Carter Bradford

With the absence of love and family supervision, Carter became increasingly unruly until James had no choice but to send him off to a military school. Strangely, Carter’s exile was a lot like his grandfather Isaac’s years back in England. Alone and angry, Carter developed a strong resentment towards his younger brother Jonah for getting to stay home and towards his father for sending him away. Carter’s isolation and anger would prove to be a driving force in his behavior for the rest of his life. In order to get, what he called an “early release” from military school, Carter adopted behavioral patterns he used over and over. He presented a cheerful and enthusiastic attitude every time James came to visit and waited patiently until the last minute before James’ departure before causing his tears to flow. By Carter’s senior year in high school the strategy worked and James brought him home. Carter never forgot how well lying and giving a false impression worked. The very foundation of Carter’s approach to the world was formed during his childhood. The story of Carter Bradford is the story of a life devoted to self-love and an inability to feel comion or empathy for any other human being. Carter was the classic inner directed man. His gravitation to politics came as no surprise to those who knew him, like his grandfather Hiram Bradford and many others.

Carter quickly understood the value of working from the inside of the government to achieve personal wealth and power. His life is worthy of study as it is road map to corruption.

CHAPTER 1

On the day Carter Bradford was officially sworn in as the Congressional Representative for his District, the Republican House Minority Leader, an old school politician from Indiana, invited him to come to his office for a meeting and a brief orientation. Carter turned on his best smile, shook the Leader’s hand and said he would see him in the morning. The following morning Carter sat, for almost 30 minutes, in the Leader’s reception room waiting to see him as others walked in and out. Each minute increased Carter’s anger. “Who the hell does this old man think he is?” thought Carter. Just as he decided to get up and leave, the secretary motioned for him to go into the Leader’s office. The Minority Leader Representative, Charles Hallack, was a professional politician and knew his way around the House. Even before Carter arrived in Washington, Hallack made phone calls to his s in New York and was fully briefed on the young smart ass who just planted himself before him. With the barest level of cordiality the Minority Leader outlined Carter’s duty to the Party. Most of what Hallack covered related to fundraising. New were expected to dive into the job of refilling the Party’s war chest for the next election. Hallack knew, from his calls to political friends, that Carter would never lift a finger to raise money. He would always have unlimited financial backup when it came time for his own reelection and could care less about the Party. Hallack did not reach his position in Party leadership by banging his head against brick walls. He went right at Carter with a tone that basically matched Carter’s demeanor. “Look Carter, I’m not going to waste my time trying to get you to call donors in the boiler room across from Lafayette Park. Just make a few calls to the really big ones that you and your family are close with. Get us a few million and then everyone will be happy. When you get back to your office, take a look at the House committees on the organizational chart and see what might best suit you. Some of them are political dead ends and others get a lot of play on TV and in the newspapers. But, be careful. Keep in mind what happened to old Joe

McCarthy back in the 1950’s. He got himself too popular and then all of a sudden became shit on a stick.” Carter couldn’t help but to actually like this old guy. He sat up in his chair, leaned forward and allowed himself to be interested. Hallack caught Carter’s every gesture. He paused for a second and asked: “What are you doing here and what do you expect to get out of it? You are a rich, good looking young man who has it all going for himself. There must be something burning in you to cause you to run for election and spend the time it takes to be an even half assed Congressman?” “Why hell yes, Mr. Minority Leader, I want to be the President.” Hallack looked at Carter for a few seconds and thought of Kennedy. Maybe the Congress was going to become a place where wealthy families send their sons. He finally said: “Well then son, let’s get to it.” He reached into his drawer, laid a chart of the House Committees on his desk turned towards Carter and said: “Carter, in my opinion Appropriations and Armed Forces are the best places to get noticed. One hands out the money and the other the patriotism. I can make it happen if you agree. And, as you will soon learn, Washington is a place founded upon compromises and promises. Someday I will want something from you. It might be a vote on a bill that you disagree with or a job in the Trust network of companies for one of our big donors’ kids, or a simple favor. Is it a deal?” Carter stood, took the Leader’s hand, shook it and said: “I already like the way this place works. I think you and I are going to get along beautifully.” Being elected to Congress, at such a young age, blew Carter’s already overblown self image completely out of proportion. It didn’t help when he heard some political TV pundits predict that “Carter Bradford may represent a new wave of young, rich politicians who would change the world”. One thing the speaker said struck Carter as an important clue to his success:

“Look at some of our most recent presidents: Truman served in WWI, Eisenhower and Kennedy in WWII. Voters like war heroes.” Once he completed the move into the previous congressman’s office, Carter decided to evaluate Barry Levine’s staff. In his mind there was no reason to reinvent the wheel. The people Levine was happy with might be an asset. Carter immediately realized that he had no idea how to approach judging the staff. Of the total, seven staffers already quit saving him those decisions. The first person Carter talked with was his Chief of Staff Jeremy Kline. At 51 Kline looked quite young for an old hand. In the notes former Congressman Levine left about the staff, he praised Kline as being well versed in how the House functioned and what would and would not work. Carter wasted no time and came right to the point, “Jeremy, I don’t have a clue as to who on this staff is a keeper and who should be shown the door. Moreover, I have no idea of what to look for when hiring replacements for those who left and what to do with those who decide to stay.” Kline felt the butterflies of happiness in his stomach. He was deeply concerned that a big businessman, like Bradford was supposed to be, would show up with a huge axe and begin chopping off heads including his own. Kline liked his job. He was respected and made just under $50,000 a year plus a ton of really nice benefits. He responded, “Congressman, as your Chief of Staff, I am here to help you with all istrative and personnel decisions so you can be free to do your job.” Carter immediately liked what Kline had to say except he had no idea what his own “job” was. For now he decided to let Kline run the show. In time he would figure out how to proceed. “Jeremy, I’m counting on you. The Leader gave me a list of current staff assigned to me and their salaries. He explained that I have some latitude in redistributing compensation. Do you agree?” Kline was a bit nervous as to where this was going. He had no choice but to respond, “Yes sir. It is up to you to evaluate a given position and its worth based on its importance to your vision. Every Congressman has a list of those he needs to repay for helping him get elected and for projects that he intends to fight for and those that are important to his District. Congressman Levine was a “big

picture” guy and left the running of the office to me and Sarah Grimes, the Office Manager.” “Good, then I have what I want. The first change I will make is in the position of Executive Personal Assistant. That salary will be elevated from $21,000 to $60,000. The current employee will be terminated or, if in your judgment Mark Fowler is a keeper, he will be placed somewhere else, at a few bucks more, to make him feel good about the change. The Executive Personal Assistant position will be filled by a Mr. Phillip Kewley.” Just as Kline was absorbing his employer’s decision to make him the second highest paid member of the staff, Carter started laughing at Kline’s obvious discomfort and said: “Oh, did I neglect to mention that your position seems to be underpaid for the weight of responsibility that I intend to drop in your lap? So let’s just make an adjustment to say $70,000, okay?” None of the salaries were coming out of Carter’s pocket and he didn’t care about the raises. If they had to drop a couple of staff , so be it. Just before Carter shooed Kline out of his office, he told him to order a television set to be mounted on his office wall, and totally shocked Kline by saying, “One more thing Jeremy, starting this Friday and every Friday forward, I want you or one of your staff to order a lunch buffet from whatever deli or restaurant the staff likes. Tell the manager, of the place you pick, to me and I will establish the method of payment. For the record, I am paying for this out of my own pocket.” Jeremy Kline thanked Carter on behalf of the entire staff even before making the announcement. Carter was learning and picked up a lot from the Minority Leader’s comments about favors and causing others to be indebted to you. The cost of the “buffets” did not concern Carter. He already had a place to stick the expense and be reimbursed by the Trust. The next call he made was to his father. James answered: “Good day, Congressman, what can a lowly constituent do for you?” “Well dad, this is how you can help me. I need Phillip as my Executive Assistant here in Washington. Can you spare him from the Office?”

“I don’t see any problem son, let me get with Jonah and call you back.” “Great Dad, just so Phillip knows this job will pay $60,000 a year. Phillip Kewley’s father had been Hiram’s ant until he and his wife, were murdered in 1947. Mrs. Kewley had one living relative. Her mother, Josephine, resided in a state facility for those suffering from dementia. Mr. Kewley’s only brother was serving a long term sentence in Federal prison for tax fraud. From a practical standpoint the 10 year old Phillip Kewley was an orphan without extended family. Just as the judge assigned to the case was nearing a decision where to place Phillip, three prominent Manhattan attorneys stepped forward and asked to be heard. The spokesman of the group presented a document, signed by Mrs. Josephine Spellman, waiving her custodial rights as young Phillip’s only living relative and granting full custody to James and Alice Bradford. The brief prepared by Bradford’s attorneys neglected to mention Mrs. Spellman’s dementia, Mr. Kewley’s brother’s prison sentence, or that Mrs. Alice Bradford was currently institutionalized. The judge looked over at Phillip, seated by a County Social Worker, and said: “Young man, you have just hit the jackpot.” Once the order was signed Phillip Kewley got his first ride in a Cadillac limo. It would not be his last. The Bradford mansion in Manhattan was huge. It was built by one of the “robber barons” of the previous century and dominated a major portion of a city block. Phillip was escorted upstairs by a housekeeper to a room directly across from Carter’s suite. Fifteen minutes later he was served a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, potato chips, a Coca Cola and a promise of ice cream dish for dessert. That day Phillip became the brother Carter Bradford never felt he had. Carter and his natural brother, Jonah, were simply not compatible but not for Jonah’s lack of trying. Whatever the reason Carter simply did not like Jonah and was cruel to him from the time they were children until their father had enough and shipped Carter off to military school. Phillip was another story. Carter treated him like his little buddy even though they were almost the same age. Those who encountered the two assumed, before they knew, that Carter and Phillip were brothers and very close. Carter’s positive reaction to Phillip pleased and, quite frankly, surprised his father. Phillip was a quiet boy. He was obviously still in shock from the loss of his parents and then from having to adjust to new surroundings. James Bradford did his best to step into a father’s role for Phillip. He raised him much like his own boys. They attended the same schools. When

Carter was away in military school, Phillip and Jonah became close and eventually graduated together from a private high school. Phillip could have followed Jonah to Harvard but chose to Carter in Ohio for college and graduated a year behind him with a degree in Business Law and Finance. The closeness between Carter and Phillip remained in spite of the two year separation. James took note of Phillip’s gentle behavior and hoped that his manner would one day rub off on Carter. He was greatly intrigued by Carter’s kindness and concern for Phillip as, unfortunately, such feelings toward the other of the Bradford family were much out of character for Carter. Upon graduation Phillip was offered a position with the Trust’s Finance Department and to assist Jonah with the Foundation. In spite of his happiness and satisfaction in working at the Trust, Phillip was thrilled when Carter called and told him about the job in Washington. Unlike Carter, Phillip did not worship money or seek to use it as a tool to manipulate. He was excited to be working in a job where he believed he could help Carter and serve his country at the same time. One of the few things Phillip was able to hang on to from his parents was a photo of his father and mother taken just after the war. In the photo his father was still wearing an Army officer’s uniform. While Phillip didn’t know what all the ribbons above his father’s left jacket pocket meant, he knew there were a lot of them and it made him proud.

CHAPTER 2

Congressman Carter Bradford was quite pleased with himself. In just 3 days his office was running smoothly thanks to Jeremy Kline and Phillip Kewley. Carter was able to convince his father and brother to continue to loan him Jeannie Alcott, a Public Relations expert and a terrific writer, who helped him with his campaign. During the late afternoon and evening of the day before the scheduled meeting with Jeannie, Carter did something he had never done before; he actually read a book from cover to cover. In Carter’s short time in Washington he was able to see President Kennedy up close on two different occasions. Even as impossible as it was for Carter to imagine anyone else being better looking or more intelligent than he saw himself, Kennedy really got to him. Carter sent the office receptionist out to purchase Kennedy’s Pulitzer Prize winning book “Profiles in Courage” written by JFK in 1957. After lunch he went straight to his apartment with the book under his arm. Once he started reading, he continued until past midnight and surprised himself by finishing the entire book. When he turned the last page and stood up to stretch, after spending hours sitting in the same position, he could feel a rush in every inch of his entire 6’ 3” body. Carter was tired but excited. Even if it were a fruit of someone else’s labor, a book would be an impressive element to add to his campaign to, one day, become President. Carter found it easy to rationalize that if it was his idea he should enjoy the credit. He would pay Jeannie Alcott to write a book for him and would capitalize on it just like Kennedy did with his own. The next day Carter slept late. When he roused up he called his office and told the receptionist he had an early meeting with a campaign donor just in case one of the Leadership vultures called. He then rolled over and went back to sleep. About 3 PM, as he showered, his first thoughts were of the Kennedy book. He decided that, in addition to the book, he needed to figure out how to get into a uniform for a short period of time, off into a hot area like Vietnam, but not risk getting himself killed. On the way to his office Carter suddenly ed his mother’s cousin, Carl,

the Navy iral. Once at his desk he placed a call to the Pentagon and asked to speak to iral Carl Benson, a member of the staff for the t Chiefs of Staff. Uncle Carl was someone he ed well as he was growing up. Carter was always impressed with his uniform and all the colorful decorations Carl had earned. Carter’s call went right through and within seconds he heard the voice of iral Benson. “Well it is sure good to hear from you Carter. I noticed your name on the Appropriations and the Armed Forces committees and have it on my calendar to call you to extend an invitation to have a look at the Pentagon.” Carter smiled to himself and silently thanked Leader Hallack for his advice and for the always special benefits of being born into a rich family. “You have read my mind, iral. I am most anxious to get briefed on what you guys need so I can be an effective asset on the committees. I know these Democrats will starve you to death without some good Republican strength on the other side of the committee.” The iral sighed and said, “Music to my ears, son. Is it possible to get you over here next week, for a lunch, so we can spend a while going over old times and maybe I can fill in some of the blanks on military budgets and the real reasons we ask for certain appropriations ?” Carter looked at the small calendar on his night stand. He didn’t want to wait a whole week. So in typical Carter style he lied to see if he could manipulate the meeting date. “Would love to iral, but next week is packed. However, I do have this Thursday open for lunch and a few hours in the afternoon. What do you say to that?” “We have a date, Congressman. I will send a car to meet you at 11:30, if that works.” “Done sir, see you on Thursday.”

iral Carl Benson was an old hand at politics and was not going to let a partisan asset on the two top committees, slip through his fingers. He did wonder at how Carter had managed to over Congressmen with far more seniority waiting their turn to get on these two high profile committees? Once Carter finished his call to Benson he immediately ushered in Jeannie Alcott. “Has Jonah or my father advised you that they have agreed to let you stay with me for a bit longer?” Jeanie Alcott was well versed on the episodes and adventures of Carter Bradford from her co-workers at the Trust. From the moment she reported to him, at his campaign headquarters and throughout the campaign and the election, she quietly measured Carter against his father and brother. In Jeannie’s opinion, James and Jonah were the kind of men one expected to see in charge of a massive, financial empire. Carter, on the other hand, was a complete wild card. Fabulously rich, yet he didn’t contribute a minute to the work of any of the Bradford entities that produced his wealth. Whatever he was trusted with, in the past, he usually screwed up. Yet, when the profits were distributed, he received his share. The only financial difference between Carter, his father and brother was that Carter did not receive a corporate salary. James drew the line at that. Jeannie decided to keep her answers at the minimum until she figured Carter out. “Yes sir. They gave me a choice but I offered to stay here as long as you need me.” Jeannie’s answer went right to Carter’s ego, made him happy and allowed him to, somehow, twist Jeannie’s decision and confirm her as yet another woman who worshipped him and lived to be near him. Carter smiled and said, “Good, this is what I want you to do. First take the copy of Kennedy’s book on my desk and read it. Then using all that biographical information, you have on the Bradford’s, put together an outline of a book based on me with all that Bradford Yankee can do spirit. Include the rest of the bullshit the of my capitalist class sell the rest of the world to defend the fact that they have more money than they need and will kill to protect. Come up with some catchy titles

like Kennedy did and make me into “The Man of the Future, Youngest in Congress”, “A New Breed of Business and Political Warriors Determined to Make America Great for Everyone”, and throw in whatever else you can come up with”. By now Jeannie was waiting for the catch but Carter went on: “Oh, and I added $25,000 per year to your salary. This additional sum has nothing to do with the Trust. Your Trust salary will be paid the same way as always. The extra cash will come in a form of monthly payments from a perfectly legitimate source of mine. You will be paid by cashier’s check. If you do a good job and if the book is published, your name will mine as an author and we will split whatever profit that thing brings. What do you say Miss Alcott?” Before Jeannie answered, Carter chuckled to himself. Jeannie’s checks would come from the Hiram Cyprus . He guessed that she would deposit them in her bank , and when tax time came she would do what most people do and just leave that income off her return. Carter assumed it was what most people would do because he would do just that. Carter was surprised when “little mousy Miss Alcott” reacted with such enthusiasm. “Jesus H. Christ!! Mr. Bradford, are you serious? Of course I want to do this. I have dreamed, all my life, about writing a book and you are handing me the time and opportunity to do just that.” Jeannie and Carter went over a few logistics, with regard to submitting Jeannie’s work in progress for Carter’s review, and an estimate of how long the project should take. After Jeannie left his office Carter sat back totally satisfied that his plan was underway. Next step was to get Cousin Carl to go along with what Carter wanted, and he would be on his way. The previous day Carter put in a call to Mr. Stone the family fixer and man of mystery. He had a job for Stone. Ordinarily Carter would have stayed inside and made whoever was coming to meet with him to wait, but he didn’t want Stone in the office. When the elevator doors opened he could see Stone coming up the steps to the main lobby where Carter expected his ride to the Pentagon to appear. Carter walked past Stone without acknowledging him and went outside. A minute later,

after some others ed by, Stone appeared beside him. Carter handed him a slim envelope and said, “A woman I have working for me, as a researcher, needs to be vetted. She is on loan from the Trust. I once heard her say what a great guy Jonah is and need to know if she is just impressed or if they are fucking. She is working on something for me that, for now, I don’t want shared with Dad or Jonah. I know the level of your loyalty to my Dad and the Trust and I assure you that what I am doing will bring no harm to either. Give me as much as you can and put someone on her for a couple of weeks. Let me know the cost and I will make the arrangements through the usual source on the island.” Carter was referring to Cyprus where banks were little more than conduits to enormous sums of money for people with reasons to keep their s secret. Carter kept the millions accumulated from the huge cash gifts his grandfather, Hiram, gave him for his birthdays and other special days. Occasionally, Hiram Bradford shared with Carter that he put something in “their” for a “rainy day.” Carter was a t owner on several s with Hiram. Once he was older and enjoyed a better understanding of taxes and money, in general, he began speculating whether the s were really established for a “rainy day” or as a back door for Hiram if he had to leave the country in a hurry. During the Prohibition Hiram piled up large amounts of cash he simply could not hide. Considering the source of this windfall the last thing he wanted to, or for that matter could do, was pay taxes on it. When Carter was born in 1937, five years after the “Repeal”, Hiram took his one and only sea cruise to the east Mediterranean on a specially chartered ocean vessel. It took four strong men plus, Stone’s father Joseph, to load several heavy cases on the ship. During the voyage armed men were guarding the cases at all times. Upon arrival in Cyprus a van, escorted by armed bank guards and Joseph Stone’s men, delivered the cases to the bank. After conferring with the bank president and establishing deposit and withdrawal procedures, Hiram took a train to Greece and another one to Paris where he visited the recently opened Bradford Trust office. From Paris Hiram boarded an Imperial Airline plane to Southampton, England. He needed to get back to the USA, as quickly as possible, and decided to board a flight from London to New York. In doing so Hiram became one of the earliest transatlantic air travelers. He never revealed, to those he shared his story with, that by fortifying himself with many glasses of superb single malt Scotch whisky he was drunk getting on the plane and during

most of the flight. With the exception of when he drank and ate on board, he did little on the trip except sleep. The trip was a great adventure but, he was terrified of flying. The massive amount of cash, securely resting in Cyprus and collecting interest, made Hiram a very happy man. Years later, as part of their secret “rainy day” partnership, Hiram gave Carter the numbers and deposit arrangements to hide. Even as young as he was Carter kept the secret and said nothing to anyone. He did not have any idea just how much money was in the s until he ed the bank after Hiram died. The millions were now his and his alone.

CHAPTER 3

Carter Bradford had never seen the Pentagon other than in a news film or on television. The massive size of the building stunned him and made him glad that the iral sent a Navy Petty Officer to pick him up and escort him through the right entrance. As the story goes, one day, General Dwight D. Eisenhower got lost in the 1,500,000 square foot building when as the Chief of Staff of the t Chiefs he decided to take a walk after lunch. Carter’s, thoroughly efficient escort delivered the Congressman to the iral’s door and assured him that he would be waiting, when the meeting ended, to take him back to the Congressional Office Building. iral Benson stood, just inside the door to his private office, with a big smile and a hardy handshake. “Good God, Carter, you look like a poster for what a Congressman should look like. The nation is yearning to see some young fellows in the House and even in the Senate. The current bunch makes the place resemble an old age home. Come on Cousin, let’s have some lunch and talk.” The iral’s office was spacious and included a private dining room away from the reception area and iral’s private secretary. The bathroom was large enough for a family of four. Benson was resplendent, in his Navy blue uniform adorned with a row of campaign ribbons that extended from the top of his left jacket pocket almost to the golden shoulder boards of a Three Star iral’s rank. iral Benson and Carter took seats at the table and were served a terrific seafood salad. Benson watched as his cousin tasted the shrimp and crab, in a delicious mayonnaise based dressing, and waited for a reaction. He got it. “Musso and Frank’s, Hollywood California!” Benson leaned back in his chair and roared in laughter. After he recovered, he said: “I spoke with your father, a few years ago, just after you were terrorizing the female population of LA with a few of your sidekicks. He just paid some bills

from Musso and Frank’s, and they were all for seafood salads.” “I have to tell you iral, those salads are the best hangover cure I know of. Plus, like this one, they taste great. How the hell did your steward come up with this recipe?” “Well, when I asked him if he knew how to make it, he told me that his cousin worked at the restaurant and gave him the recipe.” Carter and the iral talked of the old times. Benson asked about his mother and her continued hospitalization. Since Carter couldn’t when he last saw Alice, he simply lied and gave Benson the impression that he visited her regularly. He told the iral that Alice was no different and could never live on her own again. After an awkward silence Carter decided to get to the real reason for his visit. “iral, I need your help. I am not in Congress to be a Congressman or to even work my way up to the Senate. I want to be President. In order to do that, I need to pack my resume with as much good stuff as I can. Most of what I need can be managed with my own resources, but there is one big hole that has to be filled. It’s spending some time in uniform. Since I don’t intend to resign my seat to enlist, I am looking for a creative way to get what I need without enlisting. I imagine you have already noticed that Washington is rubbing off on me. I am, here asking a favor, totally prepared to return a favor when you need one.” Benson said nothing for a few minutes, tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. He finally smiled and said, “In a minute you are going to realize how opportune your timing is today. I am certain you know that we are supplying military advisors to South Vietnam. Kennedy is trying to decide whether to heat this thing up or, quite frankly, to get the hell out and let the chips fall where they may. This very morning I sat in on a high level meeting regarding a plan to train Navy Amphibious Assault Teams to insert Special Ops men into Vietnam. Kennedy can decide what to do once he knows what’s going on. I might be able to convince my fellow staff to agree, to send you to Vietnam, as a Congressional Observer to the Armed Services Committee. We can commission you as a Reserve Lieutenant and dispatch you for a week or two. When you come back, our Public Relations

people will find a way to make a big deal out of it.” Carter was already envisioning the headlines: “Brave new Congressmen Hits the Ground Running and Volunteers for a Dangerous Mission to Vietnam.” Without hesitation Carter said, “I’m in, iral. I know you can pull it off. I also know you are approaching retirement, so maybe you need to consider another career as a consultant for military affairs with the Trust. Having a Navy pension plus a big salary just for sharing your expertise, once in a while, with our investment people can make you very financially secure.” The deal was struck and all the iral had to do was pull the right strings. Soon Carter would need a tailor to fit him out with a custom Naval Officer’s uniform. But first, he needed to sit down with Phillip and find out what the iral was talking about with regard to Vietnam and exactly where it is located.

CHAPTER 4

Before Carter Bradford decided to sweeten up his resume with some “combat experience” the President of the United States and his closest advisors were spending more and more time concentrating on Vietnam. President Kennedy’s experience with war, as a Navy officer in WWII, educated him on the realities of combat. The last thing he wanted for his istration and the American people was another Korean type war where victory was elusive and little, if anything, was achieved and the loss of lives horrendous. To that end he sought the advice of a small group of men he respected. To Kennedy’s credit he did not see himself as the one with all the answers and believed in seeking advice from recognized experts to solve questions that came before him. The questions in his mind, on this day, were whether to go all out to defeat Ho Chi Min and the North, seek some kind of negotiated settlement that both parties could live with or withdraw the US military advisers and the troops already there. Kennedy was strongly attracted to the idea that the Vietnamese should decide for themselves. On this exceptionally bitter cold January morning, less than a week before the President would face Congress with the annual “State of the Union” address, John Kennedy assembled four men in the Oval Office. The four arranged themselves on the two facing couches and adjusted their coffee cups and note pads on the table between them. Probably by accident Robert Kennedy sat, on one couch, near Robert McNamara while McGeorge Bundy and General Maxwell Taylor sat opposite them on the other. With noticeable discomfort, President Kennedy took his usual seat in the rocking chair at the end of the coffee table facing the group. His brother Bobby watched as he shifted himself around to get the best possible position to relieve the chronic pain in his back. The President noticed his brother’s concern, gave him an appreciative look and nodded as if to say, “I’m Ok.“ The subject was Vietnam. The assembled group included Kennedy’s key advisers who were men he knew and trusted for a long time: McGeorge Bundy, National Security Advisor; General Maxwell Taylor, Chairman of the t Chiefs of Staff; Robert McNamara, Secretary of Defense and Robert Kennedy, Attorney General. The President called the meeting to hear from all sides about

the growing concern the t Chiefs were having with political unrest in Vietnam. Bobby Kennedy was well known as the President’s closest confidant and was widely acknowledged as a fierce anti-Communist. But, in spite of his strong opinions on Communism, Bobby was not completely sold on the currently popular “Domino Theory”. This theory warned of the spread of Mao’s brand of Communism and predicted that if uncontained, it would eventually absorb all of Indochina and the neighboring countries would fall like dominos. The theory assumed that the next target would be India. The more militant of the Kennedy’s istration were convinced that South Vietnam was going to fall soon. The Diem regime was notoriously corrupt and stayed in power only because of the US . Bobby Kennedy’s discomfort with the Domino Theory came from his research into the life and writings of Ho Chi Min. Bobby began to see Ho as a practical leader of a people long oppressed by French Colonial Governments followed by a brutal Japanese occupation. The Vietnamese were barely surviving in an agrarian society and were not organized to meet the needs of a growing population. Ho’s people were not the working class masses infected by Communism in Russia nor were they like the people of China under Mao. They lacked education, a national infrastructure, industry and just about everything a nation needs to prosper. Ho recognized this and his approach was to first solve the primary problems of creating a Vietnamese government and to prepare its people to govern themselves. John Kennedy listened closely to advice offered by President Eisenhower at their last meeting on Inauguration Day in 1960. To most “Ike” was revered more as a great military strategist than as a dynamic president. His eight years ed in relative calm with possible exception of the beginning of Civil Rights movement, in the South, and the uncertain end of the Korean conflict by truce. Ike counseled JFK to walk very carefully around the Vietnam issue. He reminded the new President of General MacArthur’s warnings about engaging in a land war in Asia. The recent Korean War was still fresh in the minds of the military as they watched in horror as the Chinese, literally, sent thousands of ill equipped troops running to their deaths into American machine guns. The mindless slaughter of Chinese troops completely turned the tide in Korea and reversed Allied victories. The result was a truce ending the hostilities and for all intents and purposes doing nothing else. The Korean nightmare was not over; it was merely put on hold. If anything was learned, it was that this conflict brought home the warnings of MacArthur and soured the American people to the idea of yet

another Asian war. Nonetheless, Bundy and Taylor ed a maximum effort to stop the North Vietnamese from invading the South. They believed that our overwhelming air power could destroy Ho’s ability to produce arms his troops needed and supply lines necessary to them. They were convinced that Ho would back down and instead concentrate on developing his Communist state in the North. And, of course, there was always the threat of America’s nuclear power. McNamara offered a less aggressive approach. The so called “Graduated Pressure Theory” that called for measured build up of opposition, over a period of time, to evaluate the determination of the North. As Ho moved, the US would take counter measures and check mate him. President Kennedy listened carefully to the presentation and promised to take each into consideration. He ended the meeting with a guarantee of a prompt review of the collective opinions and a definitive decision. As the four men stood up to leave, the President signaled General Taylor to remain behind. Kennedy had a wealth of respect for Taylor. The General was a true hero to JFK. During WWII Taylor jumped with the men of the 101st Airborne over Normandy and was the first American General to set foot in Nazi occupied Europe. As a combat experienced naval officer Kennedy put a lot of stock in Taylor’s opinion but was concerned that the General was possibly committed to a major involvement. Once the General returned to his seat on the couch, across from the President’s brother, John Kennedy asked: “General, I find myself caught between two approaches to the same problem. The Attorney General and the Secretary of Defense are proposing a more cautious approach to Vietnam than you and Bundy. I think I am looking for a better perspective than I have been getting on the situation over there before I decide what to do. Maybe you can bridge the gap for me and come up with a solution.” Taylor leaned forward and took a sip of his now tepid coffee and said: “Thank you, Mr. President, for giving me the opportunity to fill in a few blanks for you and the Attorney General. With all due respect, the t Chiefs of Staff are prepared for what may well result in a full scale war in Vietnam. We collectively believe that preparation is our principal task. As a result of the

intelligence we are receiving from the region, we know that the North Vietnamese are making deep probes into the South and organizing insurgency groups we have identified as military units called the Viet Cong. These folks, mostly farmers by day and military units by night, are charged with disrupting the local authorities and intimidating the population. Our sources tell us that arms caches with Chinese and Russian weapons, along with ample stores of ammunition, have been uncovered in small villages across the region. We have sent in several Special Operations Groups, accompanied by Vietnamese nationals, trained in the USA. To date, of the ten groups sent in only four have made it out. The usual method of insertion is by air drop. As a former paratrooper I can understand the danger associated with jumping into the unknown and in Vietnam, unlike during WWII, everything is unknown. So we decided to take a different approach. We are currently training a group, at the Coronado UDT base in California, in case we try to come in by water.” Kennedy was very impressed with the General’s proactive approach to the situation. He commented: “General, it sounds like you and the Chiefs are on top of this, so please keep me up to speed. For now let’s take McNamara’s “Graduated Pressure” approach and see if we can get a handle on what we are up against before we commit to a larger effort.” The General was usually not happy with “half a loaf”, but he suspected that the President was at least willing to consider a military solution and he and his colleagues, heading America’s armed forces simply needed to be patient. After General Taylor left the Oval, the President turned to his brother and asked: “What do you think, Bobby?” The Attorney General thought for a few seconds and responded: “I am always wary of the military types. The more toys they get for war, the more they are anxious to use them. I honestly believe that Ho Chi Min is a guy we can deal with if we can only find a way to reach out to him without having some new Republican McCarthy-like loon accusing us of treason.”

CHAPTER 5

A total of fifty sailors from across the 7th Fleet were on Temporally Assigned Duty (TAD) and ordered to the Underwater Demolition Team (UDT) training base at Coronado, California. The assignees were undergoing training with small arms, light demolition devices, from grenades to timed charges, and hand to hand combat. In the overall training very little attention was given to actual underwater operations. This group was not to be prepared as “frogmen”. The focus of their training was on small boat handling and the skills necessary to defend themselves in tight areas of operation. Each boat was to carry a set of tanks and breathing apparatus just in case of a casualty to the boat that required underwater attention. As soon as the buses full of trainees unloaded and the sailors laid eyes on the craft they would be working with, they unanimously dismissed them as junk left over from WWII. The first phase of training was purely physical. The US Marine Corp NCO’s in charge of training were responsible to reduce the initial group from 50 down to 25 creating five teams of five . The makeup of the teams included five Boatswain Mates as “Boat Captains”; five Diesel Engineers to maintain the engines; five Machinist’s Mates with shooting skills to help the boat engineers stand ready to assume command of the boat if the boat captains were wounded or killed, and to act as a defensive force if necessary; five Seamen with shooting skills to man the lines forward, act as look outs and assist in the off loading of personnel and equipment; five Seamen additionally trained in First Aid and provided with an expanded First Aid kit capable of handling more difficult procedures and relieve severe pain. On the first day the candidates were assembled in a large training room and shown a film. The film demonstrated, from start to finish, the training of the British Special Air Services, the famous “SAS.” The Brits were shown on endless marches carrying full field packs that included weapons and virtually everything a soldier would need for an extended time in the field without resupply. Since the SAS was considered the elite of all the British armed forces, there was no end to British soldiers hoping to their ranks. Of those who volunteered, only 10% were accepted. Of those who entered the training, fewer

than 15% completed the program. The US sailors watching this film hoped, to the man, that the training they were facing would be nothing like what they were watching. As one man put it, “Those guys are crazy, man.” At the end of the film the lights on came to reveal a ramrod straight African American, Marine Gunnery Sergeant standing before them. One look at him erased all hopes of an easy time. The Sergeant strode to a lectern carried in, by two sailors, and positioned in dead center at the front of the group. After what seemed like an hour, but was actually less than 30 seconds, the Sergeant swept the group with his eyes and said in a baritone voice filled with authority, “I am Gunnery Sergeant George Napoleon Washington. I assume all of you have gone to a movie sometime in your lives where one of the characters was a Brit. I also assume that you heard this actor speak in that “fairyfied” way those guys talk over there. So, now you know that men who talk like that, drink tea instead of hot black coffee and eat little cookies they call biscuits, when they are not biscuits at all, are the same guys you just watched kicking some serious ass in the film. I don’t know about you ladies, but the idea that those guys can do all the stuff you just witnessed is fucking embarrassing. We are Americans and don’t talk like girls so, over the next few weeks I and my able assistants are going to generously share the benefits of our collective experience and prove that Americans are the meanest sons of bitches in the world. And when we go to our next assignment, we will be laughing at those girl-talking SAS pussies and prove just what bad asses we have become.” The room was dead silent. Every man could hear the breathing of the man beside him, Washington’s boots hitting the concrete floor, and the sound of the base outside the walls of the training room. Those who stifled a laugh when the Sergeant gave his name were damn glad they did not laugh out loud and immediately got on the wrong side of this one mean fucking dude. Not one man moved as the Sergeant continued his circuit around the seated sailors. He slowly walked, up and down the aisles between the groups of chairs and carefully examined the raw material before him. Sergeant Washington was Marine from his beyond regulation haircut, leaving hairless “sidewalls” and little evidence of hair under the pure white uniform hat, to his mirror finished shoes. The creases in his shirt sleeves, down the front of his blue uniform pants, looked sharp enough to cut meat. After silently spending more than 10 long minutes circling the sailors the Sergeant finally spoke:

“If not for all the paperwork, I would send you ladies back where you came from and order up a new batch from the galley crew, the brig, Sky Pilot’s staff or wherever you came from. You see, I am used to training Marines and not sailors who spent most of their time sitting on their asses. To help me I have two other Sergeants. They are not nearly as nice as I am, so you need to behave. They will divide this sad group into two squads of 25 men each. As trainees crash and burn and they will, they will be sent back to their original commands once they have healed and can function to some degree. Once we are down to 25, or five teams of five each, these men will go on to greater glory and victory over our nation’s enemies. You are now dismissed for chow and will form up again in either “A” or “B” Team depending upon what letter you draw from the helmet by the door. You will dress in the shorts and t-shirts and wear the nice, brand new lace-up boon Dockers placed on the bunk, with your name on it, located where you dropped off your sea bags this morning. When you form up in front of this very building, you will have the pleasure of meeting the two sergeants who will escort you on a lovely tour of this exotic Pacific island. You may want to this walkabout as a nature tour. DISMISSED !” The first few days of the training schedule, very quickly, reduced the original 50 sailors to 47. The first three men to go dropped off soon after Sergeant Washington’s island nature walk turned out to be a six hour combination run of “walk and crawl” exercise. Sergeants Billings and O’Reilly did everything the men did as if to say “we can do anything you can do and do it even longer.” The training was non-stop. Week one and the weekend that followed melted together into a long stream of physical fitness exercises, hours at the range firing yet to be released M16 prototype rifle, .45 caliber semi automatic pistols, with both hands, and the beginnings of hand-to-hand self-defense drills. The weapons training was for everyone and not just those team who would be directly responsible for defending the boats. At the end of the second week four more trainees were cut. Two had infected blisters on the heels of their feet from not keeping their socks tightly in place and allowing every step they took to rub their skin raw until it bled. To their credit two of the men requested to be kept on. Requests denied. There was no time for the healing process in the training schedule. One of the other sailors that were cut broke his leg from falling off an obstacle requiring him to vertically climb up a 50 foot ladder and then walk across another ladder spanning a 50 foot open space and back down the other side. The diagram the men were shown looked easy enough. Two 50 foot ladders installed, vertically, with a plank of the same length tying the two verticals to create a horizontal span. The diagram failed to show that each man was required

to carry a full field pack, a weapon and ammunition. Another drop out had a “death in his family” or maybe a sister or girlfriend who was one hell of an actress. By week three the drop outs brought the original group down to 35. The training in week four was devoted to boat handling and was principally directed at the Boatswain Mates. Fortunately not one Boatswain Mate left the group. After four days of gaining even more experience running landing craft, the “Boat Captains” were operating on pure instinct and muscle memory. Navy Boatswain Mates have always been the small boat drivers but, as they gained rank, they were less inclined to run the boats and more inclined to manage repairs and maintenance. To keep the men sharp, in the middle of a boat handling exercise, Sergeant Billings or O’Reilly would grab the megaphone used to direct the action and yell: “Rosen is dead, Sand take over and land the craft.” This order was repeated over and over until each of the boat crews had a new “Captain” as one of the crew took over the helm. The time grew closer to when the final five teams were to leave for the bus ride to Richmond, California and for their new home on the USS Shark. Sergeant Washington asked Billings and O’Reilly to make up the five teams out of the 35 men that will have “survived”. Before the Sergeants could make their selections, part of the decision was made for them as two more men suffered injuries and four more came down with some form of virus and had to be hospitalized. That left 25 to be selected out of 29. When the decisions were made and placed on his desk, Washington had to chuckle. The Sergeant and both of his instructors chose the same four men as a one of the teams: Rosen, Boatswain Mate 1st Class; Sand, Machinist Mate 3rd Class; Carson, Engineman 3rd Class; Renard, Machinist Mate 3rd Class. No fifth man was chosen by either Washington or his subordinates. The Sergeants narrowed the field down by skills on the rifle range. The Seaman or “Boat Hook” would be all the way forward and his ability to get off the first shot, with precision, would be essential. They went through the remaining names and picked the best shots. While the Sergeants were deliberating, David Rosen and Bobby Sand presented themselves and asked permission to speak. Sergeant Washington nodded his approval. Apparently Sand was elected as the spokesman and Rosen was there as the Senior Sailor and Boat Captain lending his . Sand stood at attention, to show the genuine respect he had for the Marines who had not only trained them but did it side by side with them. Sand said,

“The men of our crew respectfully request that Seaman Joseph Costa be assigned as our Boat Hook. Costa has proven himself to be a capable member of our team and someone we would be very comfortable with on the mission.” Washington looked at the other Sergeants and, as each nodded in the affirmative, he turned to Billings, the Marine in charge of assignments, and said: “Make it so Sergeant.” With a hardy “thank you” to each of the Sergeants, Sand and Rosen flew out the office door to find Joey Costa. After the two left, Washington opened his desk drawer and brought out a copy of the Chicago Tribune. Washington was born and raised on the south side of Chicago and had the newspaper sent to him wherever he was stationed. As a kid he delivered the paper and the same Circulation Manager from back then was still there. The paper was always sent free of charge. Washington waved his two subordinates closer, opened a recent issue of the Tribune and pointed at a front page story headlined, “Mob Boss Angelo Costa survives assassination attempt and avoids indictment for lack of evidence on a gambling charge. Washington traced his finger down and into the body of the article and stopped at the last sentence: “Insiders speculate on Costa’s successor if his rivals ever succeed to remove him. His only son, Joseph, is serving in the US Navy and it appears that he has no aspirations to the family business.”The best Billings could come up with was, “Well whaddaya know!”

CHAPTER 6

As Carter Bradford was crossing the Pacific, on his way to Honolulu and the US Naval Base at Pearl Harbor on a Pan American Flight 830, five Navy enlisted men were crossing the Pacific aboard the USS Shark LSD 52. Flying above the USS Shark, Congressman and now also a newly minted Navy Lieutenant, Carter Bradford was comfortably seated in the First Class section enjoying his third Martini and a very satisfying conversation with the stewardess. In order to avoid explaining anything else to the House Minority Leader, after the grilling he underwent from the Leader regarding the necessity of this “mission”, Bradford paid for the airfare out of his own pocket. Under no circumstances was he going to sit in coach with a “lesser class” of people or fly on MATS (Military Air Transportation System) on some cargo plane with seats. By the time Flight 830 began its final approach to the Islands Carter had already persuaded the Senior Cabin Stewardess, Miss Gloria Jackson of Los Angeles, to him at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel that very evening for dinner. Before she agreed, Gloria conferred with the pilot and was able to find out that the handsome young officer was not only a Navy officer but also a US Congressman. And to top it off and truly cinch the deal, he was a member of one of the richest families in America. Gloria was pleased that Bradford was not married even though she would have gone anyway. One of the coach stewardesses discovered a Life Magazine with photographs of the Bradford family in front to their Boston estate. In her mind’s eye, Gloria daydreamed of posing with the rich and famous as the mistress of Bradford “Manor.” Every chance they got, her co-workers whispered “ching, ching” as they ed her. Miss Gloria Jackson was ready. Maybe this would be the flight where she hit the jackpot. As he left the flight Carter confirmed his date for eight o’clock that evening. His orders required him to report to the USS Shark by 0800 on Monday, so there was plenty of time to dally with the stewardess. In the meantime he wanted to get to the hotel and spend some time on the beach.

The desk called Bradford’s room at 7:40 PM to announce Miss Jackson’s arrival. Carter smiled to himself, at her eagerness, as he instructed the desk clerk to direct her to the bar and advise her he would be along shortly. He was dressed in proper island apparel consisting of light weight slacks, a colorful, short sleeve shirt and slip-on canvas shoes. Earlier in the day, while Bradford was enjoying the beach, a hotel staff member was assigned to unpack his suitcases and put his clothes and other personal items away. It never occurred to Carter to do any of this himself. Ever since he could there was always someone doing things for him. Typically he stepped out of whatever he was wearing and simply let it drop to the floor. Before long it would disappear and later return, washed or dry cleaned, perfectly pressed and hung in his closet. Precisely at 8:15 Carter left the suite, took the elevator to the lobby level, and ed Gloria on the terrace ading the hotel bar. Without a hint of apology he simply said “Navy business”, and ordered drinks. The evening and the rest of the night went exactly as Carter planned. The two spent the next day sightseeing with visits to the Arizona at Pearl Harbor, lounging at the beach and riding around the island in a rented convertible. Early Sunday morning Gloria woke up long enough to hear Carter in the shower and later moving about the room. She didn’t know his schedule and had no idea that his things were already packed and waiting in the living room while she slept on and off in the bedroom. At one point he asked her if he could order breakfast for her from room service. She readily agreed and left the bed for the shower. While she dressed, she heard sounds coming from the living room alerting her to the arrival of breakfast. After one last look in the mirror Gloria left the bedroom and walked into the next room. She was greeted with a breakfast, beautifully set out on the balcony table, complete with a display of island flowers. It took a moment for her to realize that she was alone in the room and the breakfast was for one. On the table, leaning against the coffee carafe, was a note written on hotel stationary: “Gloria, great two days. Couldn’t have asked for better company but I must go… duty calls. Maybe I will catch you on the return flight to LA. CB”

CHAPTER 7

A very eager Lieutenant Junior Grade was waiting for Bradford when he stepped off the hotel elevator into the lobby. The young Lieutenant stood just outside the hotel’s front entrance. Under the hotel’s porte cochere Carter saw an idling standard Navy gray Chevrolet sedan with a Navy First Class Petty Officer, standing at parade rest, ready to open the rear enger door. While he expected special treatment, even Carter was impressed. When he stepped closer both officers came to attention and presented him with sharp salutes. Carter was a bit slow to react as his experience in uniform was less than a week old, but he recovered after a few seconds, returned the salutes and got into the car. His escort took the front seat alongside the driver and remained silent during the few minutes it took to get to the Officer’s Club. A brief note accompanied Carter’s typewritten orders instructing him to Commander Charles Dunne at the club for a briefing. When Carter arrived at the club dining room he could see that Commander Dunne was not alone at the table. He and another officer were seated well away from other diners. When he reached the table, both men stood and Dunne and introduced his guest as Commander Richard Hart, the Captain of the USS Shark. Commander Dunne could have posed for a Navy recruiting poster or starred in a war epic. He looked a lot like Cary Grant and gave the immediate impression of upper class bearing. Hart couldn’t have been more the opposite. He stood about five foot eight and could never be mistaken for an actor. His uniform was clean and pressed but not the work of a custom tailor. His tie was hastily knotted and left Carter under the impression that Hart could care less about the finer points of his wardrobe. Captain Hart’s handshake was firm and as he took Carter’s hand he looked him square in the eye. Bradford immediately decided that Hart was the real deal and not some rear echelon “Navy” politician. The rows of ribbons he wore confirmed Carter’s evaluation. When the waiter arrived Commander Dunne ordered a Scotch and water, Hart chose a black coffee and Carter made the decision to follow suit. He was wary of this old sea dog and wanted a perfectly clear head to deal with him. Dunne

opened the conversation, “Vice iral Benson asked me to meet with you and make sure we are all steaming on the same course. Captain Hart, as you know Lieutenant Bradford is also Congressman Bradford. According to the Chief of Naval Operations, Lieutenant Bradford has been tasked to the Shark not only by the Navy and Congress but more importantly by the President of the United States. Lt. Bradford will sail with you as an observer. He will take no active role in operations and will be under your direct command at all times.” All the time Dunne was speaking Carter could feel Hart’s eyes on him gauging his reaction to each word. Dunne continued: “Perhaps if you were to offer Mr. Bradford some background and a bit of history of the Shark and its mission, it will bring Mr. Bradford up to speed.” Hart slowly took a sip of his coffee and shifted his attention to Bradford. “What we are ordered to accomplish is on the surface quite routine. The Shark will lay off the beach near the mouth of the Mekong River system. We will launch small craft and basically ferry Special Ops teams up the main river and off into the interior and one of the many tributaries. The objective is to get these men safely to their jump off point and get out fast. We may be ordered to return and pick them up, but so far it is organized as a one way trip. Right now we have three Special Ops teams on board, ready to go, plus the boat crew. Two will go first. You will accompany team number three because that team is the smallest and space will not be a problem. Please understand these small boats are old WWII stuff, and not ocean liners, so we will be working with what we have. By the time you go, the boat crews should be operating at their best. Frankly I want the kinks knocked out before you do your observation and prepare your report.” Hart continued with his extensive knowledge of the background for this mission. By the time he finished, even Bradford felt some small degree of guilt. This whole observation thing was nothing more than “ticket punching” for him. He felt that he needed this experience to pump up his resume and whatever “report” he wrote would end up in a pile on some senior officer’s desk at the Pentagon. Hart went on to explain to Bradford that his superiors informed him of Robert Kennedy’s advice to the new President. Bobby counseled his brother to augment the intelligence coming from the CIA operatives, stationed in the area, with

military probes and determine the strength and determination of Ho Chi Minh and North Viet Nam. According to reports coming from the region several Teams of SOGs (Special Operation Groups) along with Vietnamese “pathfinders” were parachuted into areas with known insurgent activity. The teams simply disappeared. The plan urged by the Attorney General matched almost perfectly with what Commander Hart just outlined for Bradford. The USS Shark LSD 52 was tied up in Pearl Harbor, taking on fuel and final supplies in anticipation of sailing the following morning. Commander Hart spared Bradford the rest of the operational details as he could see no reason to brief him on the training aspect of the mission. He could tell that the politician was losing interest in the conversation. Commander Hart said his goodbyes, wished Bradford good luck, but before he could leave Bradford surprised him: “Captain, with your permission I would like to skip lunch and return to the Shark with you. I am very anxious to look the ship over and meet your officers.” Hart was mildly shocked. Bradford could have spent another night in Honolulu and report in time to cast off in the morning, but he chose to report early. All of Hart’s buddies at the Pentagon and throughout the Western Sea Frontier Command warned him about Bradford. Hart was told that Bradford was a real charmer but not to be trusted. His friends said “he is connected and not Navy, but a politician probably beefing up his credentials, and he is rumored to be making a run at the Presidency sometime in the future. Right now he is way too young but obviously a schemer. Both officers thanked Commander Dunne and made their way out of the club. Dunne was just as happy that Bradford chose to report early. He too had heard from his s to be careful of him. The last thing he wanted to do was to be stuck with Bradford for the whole evening. Bradford’s decision to report early threw Hart a curve ball. He let his guard down a little and told him a story to make Bradford feel a part of the crew. Hart was old Navy and knew firsthand the importance of the whole crew pulling in the same direction. The sea can be a lonely place and the guy next to you might be the one to save your butt. Once outside Hart turned to Bradford and said: “Throw your gear in the trunk of my car and dismiss that nervous JG and the driver. You can ride with me and we can grab lunch aboard the Shark in the Ward Room. It will give me a chance to introduce you to my officers and allow

you to settle in your stateroom. You will be bunking with Ensign Turner. Turner is brand new and very green. He has some rather protruding front teeth. I have heard the men call him “Bugs”, like Bugs Bunny. On his first day he ventured down to the engine room. The Petty Officer in charge sent this Polish-American sailor, Benny Kowalski, down into the bilges under the deck plates. Apparently Kowalski is capable of making near perfect duck quacks. Turner heard him and kept telling the guys down there about it. Of course they all acted very concerned but when they accompanied Turner to where the quacks were coming from, the “duck” was quiet. One day Turner showed up with a bunch of slices of bread and told the men they should feed the duck and then cracked up. From that day forward ‘Bugs’ was in with the guys”. For the first time in his life Bradford actually felt what it was to experience how men gained true acceptance. It was a shame that his father and those preceding him had, in essence, hardwired his DNA to be a selfish man and probably a sociopath on some level. In his own way he understood that Captain Hart was giving him advice on how to get along at sea. Before sailing for Hawaii, the USS Shark was “re-born” from a year long complete renovation in Richmond, California. During that time the Shark’s crew had been housed on a barge tied directly across the pier from the ship in the Kaiser Shipyard. It was a tough year. The Crewmen spent most of their time in direct proximity to the massive overhaul and knew more about their ship than any other crew. They were trained for their jobs while the equipment they would be using was being assembled and installed in front of them. Of the total ship’s company all were in Richmond except the special boat crews. They arrived just before the ship left the Bay Area. The ship’s crewmen got a look at the boats these special teams would be using as they were lifted by cranes from trailers pulled by semi trucks and deposited on the floor of the well deck. Their opinion of these boats was the same as of the men who would be using them. To a man they were declared as “mothball fleet” junk. The “Swift” boats and other well designed craft used on the rivers and canals of Vietnam came much later. “Davey Boats” Rosen, Boatswain Mate 1st Class and his crew were stuck with WWII leftovers. The sailors of the regular ship’s company lived for “scuttlebutt” or as some referred to it the “latest word”. Although the Special Ops teams said nothing, the crewmen knew that the Navy was up to something, but arriving in Pearl purged their minds off anything but beer and hula girls. What the crew knew of the islands mostly came from movies. The reality of Honolulu’s “Hotel Street” and its bars and tattoo parlors

was duplicated in Norfolk, Virginia, San Diego, California or any other Navy port. Most liberties consisted of locating some civilian food and barhopping. The Captain ordered “Cindarella Liberty” so all hands were expected to be on board no later than midnight. At 0600, the following morning, many hung over sailors set the sea detail, cast off and pointed the Shark towards the South China Sea. That first evening at sea a movie was shown on what the crew called the “spud deck”. It was a narrow deck overlooking the open well deck where the movie screen was strung. Huge bags of potatoes were stored on this deck and during the movies they doubled as seating. David Rosen lingered behind the rest of his boat crew, after the movie ended, and solemnly watched the wake foaming up off the Shark’s stern. Rosen had been in the Navy long enough to know that this voyage was more than routine. No matter how many times he heard that this mission was a “piece of cake” and his crew would be like engers on an ocean liner, he still had a bad feeling about the whole thing. At dinner in the Officer’s Ward Room, Lt. Carter Bradford felt more than a little awkward having his first meal at sea with real Navy officers who were trained and ready to serve their nation without question. Earlier that day Bradford didn’t know how to take the warmth of the welcome he enjoyed as the Shark’s Executive Officer introduce him around and gave him a tour of the ship. Carter Bradford could never be a regular guy, but for the short while he was pretending to be one, he really enjoyed it.

CHAPTER 8

Lieutenant JG Wells, the Shark’s Deck Officer, stopped by the ship’s armory to have a word with 1st Class Gunner’s Mate Alvin Hunter. Hunter was in charge of the Shark’s six man gunnery team. As Wells walked up Hunter stood and moved from the hatch into the armory to allow Wells to enter. “Tell me Hunter, how are the guys doing with the rifle and pistol practice?” “Well sir, Sand is a natural. He has a lot of practice. Rosen is good and so is the kid from Louisiana. Carson is more interested in how the weapons work then how to use them. He taught me a few things and I have been doing this for 12 years. Costa, the Italian from Chicago, is a good shot, has little if no use for rifles but loves the handguns. A Marine Recon Unit they are not but, if they have to defend themselves, they will do a good job.”“Good work Hunter. Let’s hope they’ll never have to use your training except to keep from blowing off one of their toes.” From the armory Wells went topside to the compartment where the boat crew berthed. He was in luck and did not have to send out anyone to find a missing sailor. They were all there playing cards or reading. Once he had their attention, Wells outlined the next day’s mission: “At 0300 the ship will be ballasted down and ready to launch. You will be taking the two Special Ops guys, a bunch of communication gear and a Vietnamese national, up one of the rivers close to the mouth of the Mekong. In a minute I will go over the way you go in and the way you come out. We have very good maps and the Vietnamese guy comes from this area and speaks good English. On the other two missions we have included Vietnamese who speak good English. The guy on this mission is a little more of a challenge, but if you talk slowly and listen to him carefully you should have no problem. Luckily all three of these guys were raised in this delta and grew up on the water. They have family here and will be able to melt into the landscape once we get them in. The Special Ops guys may or may not need extraction. But since they are snake eaters, they can live off the land if necessary. The last group, of the three, is the largest and Lt. Bradford will be with you as observer. He will not be armed and whatever you

do don’t let him go ashore. If we lose him, it will be hell to pay. He is some kind of big deal, back in the world, and so it is important that he come back without a scratch.” Wells looked at each man to make sure they got the message. Once he was sure they were all on the same page he continued: “In a few minutes we are all going down to the armory to draw the weapons we need for tomorrow. They will be stored right here, on your table so when we suit up in the morning, there will be no last minute hitches. You guys know who gets what, and from here we will go down into the well deck and board the craft. Our engers will us there. I know that it must seem strange that you have been isolated from them, and the ship’s crew, but that is what our orders require. Whatever you do, do not leave the weapons and ammo unattended. One of you must be here at all times. Right now I need Rosen and Sand so we can go over the maps and chart the course for the AM. You get in, out and back here to the mother ship in time for a late breakfast. The cook has orders to pack coffee and sandwiches on board, just before you leave, so you won’t go hungry during the time it takes to get there and back.” Wells pulled Rosen and Sand over to the table and unrolled the charts. Rosen had been previously briefed on them, by the Shark’s navigator, and Sand had been over them with Rosen several times. The route would take the men about 1000 yards up the river, into a much smaller tributary for 300 to 400 yards and then into the shelter of some foliage that hung over the water. The idea was to quickly off load the men and equipment and shove off. The chart indicated plenty of room to turn around to go back with no problem. Bobby Sand was an early riser by nature so that tendency, along with the excitement of his first mission aboard the Shark, woke him up at 0145. He was ready to go. By 0230 the rest of the men were all up and dressed with their weapons in hand. They left the compartment together and walked, single file, past Captain Hart who was standing on the wing wall observing the preparations to launch the small craft The Special Ops team and their Vietnamese pathfinder followed the boat crew, silently, down the wing wall ladder to the bottom of the well deck and boarded the boat. Soon the sea gate opened, filling the well deck with water, and lifted the boat off the blocks it was resting on. Once the boat gained draft Rosen nodded to Carson. They fired up the diesel engines and started easing the craft aft and out into the sea. Joey Costa came back to Davy

and asked, “This is a really cool way to launch small boats, but how does it actually work?” Since the boat crew was not part of the ship’s company they lacked any real experience with Landing Ships Dock (LSD’S). Davey pulled Joey closer and over the engine noise he said: “There are huge tanks that the M Division guys pump full of seawater to basically sink the aft section of the ship so that gate down there at the stern can be opened, and we can simply fire up our engines and go out. Once we are gone they reverse the process, pump out the water and the ship trims up to its normal level and it’s ready to go.” Joey just laughed and said, “That is so cool”. It took the boat more than 35 minutes to reach the mouth of the Mekong. As they entered the river, everyone tensed up and looked around at each other for moral . None of the crew had ever been in “Indian Country” before. Only the Special Ops guys and their guide knew what was out there. To make things easy, Nhan Duong, the Vietnamese guy gave himself the name “Bob” so the sailors had an easy way to address him. “Bob” stayed all the way forward in the boat and stood next to Joey Costa. Every so often “Bob” would say “big fish” and point into the Mekong. Joey had no idea what he was talking about. Only days later, talking to another Vietnamese who spoke perfect English, did the crew find out what Bob meant. Apparently the Mekong River and its many tributaries grew huge fresh water fish. There were catfish and similar species that grew to the size of a Dolphin. After several minutes Bob raised his right hand and formed a fist. David Rosen eased back on the throttles, and the bow slipped down a bit making visibility for the team much better. It was still dark and quiet except for the noise made by the boat’s engines. The rumbling of the diesels in the near silence was unnerving. How did the enemy not hear them? A few minutes ed and then Bob shot his arm out to the right. Rosen started a wide slow turn to starboard and then Bob put his two arms straight up, indicating that they were in the channel, and Rosen needed to go straight ahead. By then every member of the boat crew, along with the Special Ops guys, stared into the slowly lifting darkness, hoping to see a

shore line free of the enemy. After a few more minutes Bob finally dropped his arms to his sides and waved his hands that it was time to stop. Rosen brought the throttles back to idle and let the craft coast to a stop, rather than reverse the engines and make a whole lot of noise. Suddenly, out of the darkness, a sampan appeared with a short, thin young guy steering it with a long pole. He wore a toothy grin. Bob announced: “He my cousin. You call him Batman. We all leave now, Batman will take us; you go back to Shark. Ok?” The Special Ops guys slid over the boat gunwales and into the sampan, then turned around and reached out for their weapons and the gear they needed. As Bob and Batman leaned forward to push off, everyone could see that Bob’s cousin was wearing a T-shirt with the Batman logo on the front. Part I of the Mission accomplished. Once the crew was back aboard the Shark they all felt the adrenaline rush that seemed to come when nervousness or fear left. Frankie Renard, of Louisiana’s Bayou Country probably said it best when he observed: “We were lucky. We cannot let our guard down. According to what Davey Boats and Wells were looking at on the charts, our next little boat ride is a lot further up in there and back.” The next morning the crew woke up to a ship underway. By midday they watched as the Shark drew close to the USS Bon Homme Richard CVA 31, an aircraft carrier. Bobby Sand looked aft and noticed crew standing by the helicopter deck. Soon the reason was clear. A chopper lifted off the carrier’s deck and headed towards the Shark. As the helicopter started its decent, Bobby saw one of the Vietnamese guys to start making his way aft. Once the helicopter landed, it discharged two more Vietnamese and a French Army officer. The new arrivals quickly grabbed their gear and cleared the landing deck as the helicopter lifted off and returned to the carrier. The Frenchman and the Vietnamese formed a little huddle, talked for a short while and, then left the area all the while speaking Vietnamese. The Shark made a smooth turn to port and headed back to the coast of Vietnam as the three new arrivals headed forward toward the bridge.

CHAPTER 9

David “Davey Boats” Rosen’s team was finally briefed with regard to the sudden side trip to the Bon Homme Richard and the airlift of the Vietnamese and the French officers. The Vietnamese men chosen for Missions II and III were natives of villages not far from the drop-off points for each mission. They were born and raised in the region with family and friends still living there. A few of the Intelligence Officers were concerned that the Viet Cong knew of these men’s absences and might suspect them of working with the Americans. Documents were created explaining their reason for being in Saigon. Their local handlers helped produce records and graduation certificates from schools training them to be better and more productive rice farmers. To insure they would not slip up, they actually attended some classes and were supplied books and pamphlets on farming. That left an explanation for the Frenchman. Lieutenant Rene Picard was born in Saigon in 1931 and raised in Vietnam. In January of 1940 his parents, officials with the French Colonial Government, sent him to England to escape a possible Japanese invasion of Indochina and the nearly certain German occupation of . His mother followed Picard when it was certain the Japanese would conquer the region. His father waited too long and was arrested and interned by the Japanese Military Government. At the end of WWII the French government inherited tons of military hardware left behind as the Germans retreated and later when the allies left. The determination remained to reclaim Vietnam as a French colony. This military equipment was theirs for the taking to supply the military force returning to Indochina. As it turned out, the Japanese created a problem for the French and their dreams of restoring their colonial empire. During their occupation the Japanese may have been brutal masters but were also very ingenious in their approach to other ways of governing. They gave the Vietnamese bureaucrats, who previously worked for the French, extraordinary latitude to continue in their roles of

running the basic services of the national government. When the Japanese were finally driven out, the Vietnamese government was not interested in surrendering its newly acquired authority to run the bureaucracy of their own country, back to the French or anyone else. A national rebellion, to stop the French, started and resulted in a civil war that lasted almost 10 years and ended in 1954 with a North Vietnamese victory. After the victory over the French, two Vietnamese governments emerged. In the South the Diem brothers formed a government to counter Ho Chi Minh’s northern Communist regime. America’s of the corruption that flowed from the Diem government, in Saigon, created a multitude of problems for the people of Vietnam. With the Diems controlling the South, following the French and Japanese colonialists, the Vietnamese found themselves with a new yoke of dictatorship. With the of “provocateurs” sent by Ho Chi Min and local resistance developed within the Vietnamese population, the Diems were faced with widespread acts of defiance. Buddhist Priests began setting themselves on fire as a horrified world watched the events on television. Lt. Picard’s hope, for what he considered to be his country, was encouraged by the American military advisors slowly arriving to President Diem. Picard wanted to do all he could to help clear the way to ultimately reclaiming his family’s holdings and social position. His return to Vietnam, in 1945 as a 14 year old boy, provided him plenty of time to reacquaint himself with the land and its people. Picard considered Vietnam his true home and birth right, so he volunteered to go “to ground” in a region he was intimately familiar with and to assist the Special Operations teams in gathering intelligence for the Americans. Most of Lt. Picard’s fellow officers in thought he was insane to take such risks, but there were still many Senior French officials, all the way up to General DeGaulle, who continued to dream of another time and of French colonial power in Indochina. Others simply never got past their defeat by the North Vietnamese and craved revenge. With Lt. Bradford on board the Shark the last stateroom was occupied. Lt. Picard was perfectly happy to bunk in the boat crew space with enlisted sailors. It might get a little crowded with Lt. Bradford aboard on the final run but they would manage. Picard’s English was much better than his able Vietnamese. With the exception of Francois “Frankie” Renard, Picard was considered as an asset to Mission III. Renard was superstitious by nature. He did not like last minute changes to what he considered a good plan that had so far worked but, he was in

no position to object. What he didn’t know was that “Davey Boats” had the same reservations. At 0300 Mission II got underway. The team shoved off from the Shark and made its way up the Mekong guided by the charts Rosen and Sand virtually memorized and the “home grown” knowledge of their Vietnamese engers. To simplify communication, Davey Rosen helped the Vietnamese choose American names. One of the boys was twenty and his partner eighteen. They agreed that the older one would be the “navigator” in chief and respond to “Kenny”. The younger boy would stand by to help if needed. He was christened “Kevin”. Kenny and Kevin ed Joey Costa at the bow and took their positions while staring into the darkness of the river. By 0400 the air was thick with suffocating heat and near 100% humidity. All Americans on board felt the sweat run down their chests and backs and into every crevasse of their bodies. As sweat dries it leaves a residue of salt. When the sailors returned to the ship every man immediately headed for the showers to wash away the salt film and stop the development of “prickly heat”; a condition where the dried salt and sweat combined and caused terrible itching. Sailors in these climates often woke themselves up, in the night, scratching so fiercely they bled. It was not surprising to see men with thin streams of blood and scratch marks around their arm pits and groin areas as they rolled out of their racks in the morning. Kenny and Kevin smiled to themselves at the overdressed Americans. The boys had long since shed their pants and shirts and were as cool as one could be barefoot and in their Navy issue boxers. Soon they would feel the fresh water of the Mekong River and rinse off all the sweat. The second drop off took 30 minutes more on the main river than the first mission. Rosen was getting a little nervous until Kenny finally raised his right arm and formed a fist. Rosen brought the boat to an idle and waited for the next signal. Just as the boat came to a coasting stop, Kenny’s arm shot out to the left and Rosen slowly moved the throttles ahead and commenced a port turn. After a very short distance Kenny’s arms went straight up. In reaction Rosen eased back on the throttles and let the craft slowly come to dead in the water. All hands searched the gloom for movement. The only sound the men heard was the idling engines and their own breathing. Ten minutes ed, and then 20, without any sign of a shore party. The first sun driven heat of the day was beginning to penetrate the fading darkness of the night and slowly light up the horizon as

another day developed. Kenny and Kevin held a whispered conversation that caused Renard to open the holster flap on his sidearm and place his hand on the grip of his .45. After a few minutes Kenny came aft to the console and said to Rosen, “Kevin swim shore. Get people come out. Maybe they scare. Ok?” Rosen called Sand up on the console and quietly asked his advice. “What do you think Bobby? Sand paused and then responded, “Davey we are in this deep and our only other choice is to abort. My feeling is we let the kid go and keep a real close eye on Kenny to make sure he doesn’t go over the side. Tell the guys to get ready.” Rosen called Joey Costa back. “Joey, we are going to let Kevin swim to shore. Your job is to watch Kenny. If he makes a move to go over the side, stop him any way you have to.” Costa just nodded and returned up front. He put his arm around Kenny as if they were old pals. Rosen motioned for Kevin to quietly go into the channel by holding his finger up across his lips and tipping his head towards the water. Kevin broke out into a big smile and silently slipped into the water making less sound than a surfacing fish. The boy was raised on the Mekong and was probably half fish anyway. According to the intelligence they were provided with, the village was less than a few hundred yards away from the tributary, so Kevin should be back fairly soon. The boat went totally quiet except the engines idling. Rosen and Carson didn’t want to chance shutting them down and risking a problem if they had to move away fast. About fifteen minutes later a large sampan with a grinning Kevin in the bow eased up alongside the boat. Every man on board went from tense to relaxed in a split second. Two Special Ops guys, Kenny and the gear they needed were quickly offloaded and the sampan pushed away. Just before leaving for shore, Kevin leaned over the gunwale and told Bobby Sand that he hoped to see America some day.

“Bobby, you show me big canyon, ok?” “You mean the Grand Canyon?” Bobby answered. “That one bigger, yes. Ok, we go grand canyon.” Kevin was nodding until he was out of sight in foliage that hung over the channel. Bobby regretted that he didn’t have anything to write on to give Kevin his address back in the world. The return trip to Shark was uneventful. The team relaxed and became somewhat convinced that the next mission would go just as smooth.

CHAPTER 10

Every member of the boat crew enjoyed a full day of playing cards, reading, writing letters and sleeping. The team was well rested and more than ready to get the last mission behind them and find out what the next assignment would be. One thing they all knew for sure, their lack of shipboard duties would change as soon as the missions were completed. If they ended up assigned to the Shark, as regular crew, they would become part of the ship’s routine. That meant standing watches, performing the duties dictated by what each of their individual job descriptions called for and, leaving their “luxurious” shipboard accommodations originally prepared for a larger number of boat crews. The bunks in their new “homes” would be part of the much smaller space allotted each sailor in the typical berthing compartments. As the official enlisted leader, Davey “Boats” Rosen caught all the questions about future assignments from the men as if he had some secret channel of communication to Washington and the Chief of Naval Operations iral George W. Anderson. iral Anderson assumed command of naval operations in 1961 following the retirement of the great iral Arleigh Burke. Neither Old “31 Knot Burke” nor Anderson were very likely to give Davey a call soon, but the questions came anyway. What Rosen didn’t know was that iral Anderson was paying very close attention to the operations of the Shark in order to prepare for a report to the Secretary of the Navy and possibly even to President Kennedy himself. Anderson was keenly aware of the President’s WWII service and his affection for small craft operations. So far the reports were good and he looked forward to the end of this phase of operations in the next day or so. Rosen and Sand privately speculated that if their last mission went as smoothly as the first two, the Navy might have more in store for them. Neither man shared these conversations with Renard, Carson or Costa. Getting “scuttlebutt” started can be dangerous as one never knows where it is going end up. At the usual 0300 “bewitching hour” the boat crew and their engers were all up, ready and waiting on the Shark’s wing wall for the signal to board the small craft. With the addition of the observer, Lt. Bradford, Lt. Picard, the two

Vietnamese “pathfinders” and the two special operations guys the boat was more crowded than usual. Once everyone was aboard and the boat was clear of the Shark, Davey slowed down to cut the engine noise for a brief meeting. Rosen waved everyone close and said, “Since we have more than the usual number on board, we need to organize our positions for the weight of the craft to be well distributed. To make communication easier, our Vietnamese shipmates agreed to be called “Jim” and “Dick.” Jim is the tall one at 5’1 and Dick shorter at 5’ even. They will be forward by Joey. They know this river and adding 4 more eyes to Joey’s two will increase our ability to see what’s out there. If there is anything to say it will come from Joey only. Frankie and Bobby will be amidships, Bobby on the starboard side and Frankie to port. Joseph Carson and I will be aft. , to avoid any confusion, Joseph is always Joseph and never Joe or Joey. Joseph will be standing by the engine hatch cover. If he needs to lift the hatch cover, move fast and get out of the way.” As Davey was speaking it occurred to Bobby and Frankie that this would be a new experience. Davey never held any meetings or reviews of the mission after the boat was underway. All the planning and assignments were handled onboard the Shark. Most of what Davey said they already knew. Bobby had the feeling that Davey was going somewhere with this change in routine. Davey continued once there were no questions, “I have to point out that Lt. Picard is looking good in his US Marine “camo” gear. This lovely ensemble will become essential while tramping around in the bush and with a quick sponging will turn into evening wear suitable for the finest Paris cocktail party.” Everyone laughed except Jim and Dick. The joke was lost on them. Seeing their shipmates laughing prompted them to chuckle, look at each other and shrug. Davey continued, “Mr. Picard and Lt. Bradford need to remain in the center of the craft near the two Ops guys. Once we are tied up, all hands will pitch helping to offload the gear, weapons, ammo, etc. time is of the essence. Every minute we are ashore, we are vulnerable. Our mission calls for us to tie up alongside a sampan and not beach the boat. We will form a line to hand our cargo and weapons from the boat and over the sampan to shore. Once we reach our objective, I must ask Lt. Bradford for his help by moving to a position tight against the port side of the craft and stay out of the way of the men doing the

unloading”. Davey stopped for a moment to see if anyone had questions. With none asked he continued, “As everyone knows Mr. Bradford is here to observe, and the last thing we want to happen is for him to end up in the water where he will be unable to fully appreciate our unloading skills and the speed with which we shove off to get back to the Shark and hot chow.” Another laugh broke out from the crew and the “engers”. Only Jim and Dick were, once again, a bit behind on the language translation. Lt. Picard said something to them and they cut loose with a belated and awkward laugh. Davey pressed on with “Since Mr. Bradford will be unarmed and not leaving the boat, I am asg Frankie as his personal body guard. And we all know how much Frankie likes manual labor. This time he will be relieved of the unloading task and will focus his attention on making sure that Lt. Bradford keeps his head down and on his shoulders, if we get hit. The last two leisurely cruises we took up the Mekong were without incident and I expect the same this time, but am always ready. Make sure your weapons are fully loaded with the safeties on until you should find it necessary to shoot. Does anyone have questions?” At the mention of Frankie watching Bradford, Frankie shot Bobby a look and both nodded understanding Rosen’s concern with what and how Bradford might react. Later, Rosen would say he had a gut instinct about Bradford and simply didn’t trust the man to do what he was told. With no one speaking up, Davey nodded to Joseph Carson, opened the throttles up and got underway to the mouth of the Mekong. Jim having appointed himself this mission’s navigator, stood next to Davey until they entered the Mekong River. Jim was the oldest, at 20, and lived in the nearby village all his life. One day he leaped at the chance to a group, recruited by the American military advisors, to leave Vietnam for Hawaii and what turned out to be special training in small arms and some very new and portable communication gear. Once on the main river, Jim watched Joseph monitor the gauges and listen to the engine. Joseph noticed this interest and patiently explained what he was doing. Jim appeared grateful for the attention. Any observer could see that the two young men were becoming friends. As the boat neared the objective, Jim moved

forward and ed Dick. Both Jim and Dick stood with their knees slightly bent and moved well with the pitch and roll of the boat. The travel time from the mouth of the Mekong to the tributary, where Jim lived, took more than an hour. Finally Jim’s right hand shot up with his fist clenched. Same as before, Davey cut back the throttles and let the boat coast to a near stop before Jim’s arm shot out to the right, directing Davey down a much smaller channel than they had experienced on the previous missions. To the crew’s relief they only traveled a short distance and Jim dropped his arms signaling that the drop off spot had been reached. This time Dick slipped into the shallow water and, without being ordered, pulled on a line Joey Costa tossed to him. With Davey moving the throttles back to reduce the boat speed to slow, Dick was able to easily bring the boat up alongside the sampan, the crew was looking for, in the slowly developing light. Without being prompted those assigned to “catch” moved swiftly from the boat to the sampan. Joe Costa was first off along with Lt. Picard directly behind him. Together they secured the boat to the sampan and then stepped ashore well into the heavy foliage to act as sentries. Bobby followed and started moving the cargo off the beach to dry land. Joseph Carson remained stationed on the beach side of the sampan moving materials from the hands of those carrying it off the boat to a small incline and into Bobby’s and Picard’s hands. Jim, Dick and the two Special Ops guys trailed each other across the sampan and onto the beach with the last of the cargo. Once on shore they formed a single file and walked into the jungle where Bobby had stacked everything. Within a few minutes the only crew left on the boat were Davey, Frankie and his “ward” Lt. Bradford. To be safe Frankie had leaned two M16’s and four 20 round magazines up against the gunwale, on the starboard side, next to the sampan. Those remaining aboard could hear Bobby, Joey Costa, Joseph Carson, Lt. Picard, the Ops guys along with Jim and Dick breaking through the heavy foliage along the shore. It was Jim’s and Dick’s job to go into the village and recruit a working party to haul all the gear in and hide it. The Special Ops guys had already removed their gear, weapons, ammo and rations. Their part of the mission completed they gave a silent salute to Davey and Bradford and literally disappeared into the jungle. The plan called for the crew ashore to haul the cargo in the direction of the village with Jim and Dick leading. As the sound of their activity faded, Davey assumed they were near the village and hoped they would be back soon so he could shove off and get back to the Shark. Suddenly the darkness was filled with the sound of automatic weapons fire. Davey signaled Frankie to get across the sampan and try to find out what the hell was happening. As soon as Frankie disappeared into the bush, Davey reached for a long pole that had been left on the sampan and pushed the boat a

little further off the shore. He was about to tell Lt. Bradford to man the forward line until Joey returned. To his horror Bradford grabbed one of the weapons and three magazines and bolted out off the boat across the sampan and disappeared into the dark. Davey was unable to follow Bradford or yell at him to stop and give away their position. He had to remain onboard to defend the boat or they would have no way to get out of this mess. Meanwhile Bobby Sand was in the middle of a fire fight in the village. Sand, Costa and Carson along with the two Vietnamese had just finished carrying the cargo from the boat to a place Jim directed them to when all hell broke loose from the jungle surrounding the village. It was impossible to determine with any certainty where it was coming from, but Sand estimated they were being fired upon by no more than two of the enemy shooting wildly with Soviet AK47’s. Sand was fairly certain that these shooters were not well trained. So far only Joseph Carson had been hit and fortunately his wound was a through and through round that hit the fatty part of his upper right arm. It hurt like hell and bled, but Bobby was able to wrap the wound tightly using Joseph’s T-shirt while Joey kept the enemy busy with bursts from his M16. The villagers who didn’t disappear into the bush were hiding around what must have been the largest hut in the village. Old men, women and several small children clung together in a group. None of the male villagers were anywhere to be seen. At first Bobby thought they were armed, but as the light of the day increased he realized that they had only hand tools and rake-like implements in their hands. Bobby was relieved when the Special Ops guys silently and smoothly made their way to a position on the far side of the village flanking the direction the firing was originating from. Bobby assumed they were working their way around the enemy hoping to get a target. Jim and Dick had armed themselves and ed the villagers along with Lt. Picard. Picard trailed the main group, by several yards, protecting their withdrawal. Bobby guessed the boys and Picard were trying to calm down these very frightened people and keep them from showing themselves. Dick seemed to be having some success. He had formed a group of men and moved them into the dense cover. Somehow one of the Viet Cong, who had been shooting at them, let loose a burst and stitched a line in the ground not far from where Bobby, Joey and Joseph were hidden behind a stack of equipment they carried from the boat. Joey moved closer to the big hooch the villagers had been hiding behind to see if he could find the sniper. Joey had no more than started his visual search when he heard a gaggle of loud voices, speaking in Vietnamese, coming from the jungle and automatic weapon firing bursts from the direction of the boat. Whoever was shooting was hitting

the villagers. Old men, women and children were running in every direction. As the runners broke free of the cover of the jungle and the snipers opened up on full auto cutting more people down. The hooch was in Joey’s way and he had no choice but to leave cover to stop the shooter from killing even more innocents. Joey worked his way around the hooch on the ground, in a prone position, cradling his rifle in the crooks of his elbows. At one point he heard the distinctive sound of a fresh magazine being slammed into place and couldn’t wait anymore. He raised himself far enough to see in the direction of the metallic sound and yelled out, “Aw Shit!!” He could clearly see Lt. Bradford, safe from the sniper fire, blasting away at the villagers from behind a tree. The noise of Bradford’s and the snipers weapons, made worse by the screaming of terrified people, was deafening so Joey couldn’t yell at him to stop. He did the only thing he could and fired a burst from his own rifle right at the tree Bradford was standing next to and watched as the rounds ripped at the bark less than a foot away from Bradford’s head. It worked. The next thing he saw was Bradford’s back as he ran into the jungle headed in the direction of the boat. At first Bobby feared that all the gunfire was coming from where he believed Joey was and feared that Joey may have been hit. Bobby couldn’t know or even imagine that it was Bradford killing the villagers from the edge of the jungle. It was Joey’s bravery, by showing himself that saved what was left of the original group of Vietnamese who followed orders and hid within the trees. And although they panicked and broke cover, because the firing came from two directions, they couldn’t be blamed for being reckless and revealing themselves to the enemy. Luckily, the VC couldn’t see them from where Jim had led them. It was Bradford’s reckless firing at defenseless people that caused death and injuries. It was all on Bradford. A burst of gunfire, from the direction of where the original VC shots had come, caused everyone to hit the ground. After a few minutes they heard the Special Ops guys yelling: “We are clear and approaching. Do not shoot, repeat do not shoot.” As the two got closer, Bobby could see that they were dragging two VC in their black “pajamas” by their shirt collars, across the open area at center of the circle of hooches that made up the village. Both VC were dead. The Ops guys pulled Bobby aside. The older one said: “We saw what that fucking idiot did. I know this breaks security but, my name is Frank Delaney and my partner is Jerry Green. We talked it over. If the shit hits the fan and flies in your direction, Col. Max Fletcher at Camp Pendleton

and tell him what happened here today.” Bobby checked his pockets and finally came up with a ballpoint pen. Using the inside cover of a first aid kit he wrote the names down. He said: “Thanks a million, Bradford is some big shot and could cause trouble.” After shaking hands Delaney and Green melted back into the jungle. Without a word Lt. Carter Bradford came out of the jungle, walked past the group and approached the people he had shot laying on the ground before him. Bobby turned and followed him. Before he could do anything Bradford let loose yet another burst and killed two old men and a young very pregnant woman. Those he murdered never knew that Bradford had been the one shooting at them. Seeing this madness Bobby lost it. He ran up and with his M16 hit Bradford on the side of his head knocking him unconscious. Joseph came over to where Bradford was laying and took a length of fishing line, he found on the ground, and tied Bradford’s hands behind his back. Bobby and Joey dug through the cargo, hauled up from the boat, looking for medical supplies. They found three first aid kits and put Joseph in charge. After doing a fast triage, in order to first tend to those bleeding badly, Joseph along with one of the villagers started dressing wounds. He had to stop frequently to wipe the sweat and tears from flowing from his face. At one point he looked over at Bradford’s inert body and seriously considered killing him. Joey found Dick dead along with three old men, five women, and four small children. One little boy covered in blood had crawled through the bodies, found what Bobby surmised was his mother and died in her arms. The dying mother looked up at Bobby with a mixture of pure hated and confusion in her eyes. Jim was nowhere to be found. As Bobby turned around to help Joseph up, he looked at Joey. Joey stood with his rifle pointed at Bradford and said: “You know we need to kill this motherfucker or this will fall right on top of us.” For a split second Bobby seriously considered doing what Joey said, but he couldn’t. Bradford may be an asshole but Bobby couldn’t bring himself to kill. He knew what he saw but wanted to believe that somehow this officer had lost his bearings in the fire fight and did something that would dawn on him later and would never be able to forgive himself. Bobby waved Joey off and said,

“Joey, we have to get out of here before more of those bastards show up. The Ops guys are on their own just like they planned to be anyway. You help Joseph and I will see if I can find Picard and Jim. I’ll deal with Bradford and get back to the boat as fast as I can.” Joey said nothing. He moved over to where Joseph was treating wounds and started helping as many people as he could. Finally they saw Bobby coming through the center of the village carrying the leather wallet of Lt. Picard. He had found Picard, in a small creek, dead from a head wound. From what Bobby could tell, based upon where Picard was laying, it had to be Bradford who killed him. Bobby knew they had to go and was able to get Bradford on his feet. Dazed as he was from the rifle butt to the head, Bradford was still able to walk. Bobby scooped up the M16 from the ground and the weapon Bradford had been using. As Bobby secured his grip on the rifles, he ed how Lt. Wells, just before they shoved off, once again onished the crew to make sure it did not lose any of the rifles. Wells had explained that the M16’s were a prototype being developed to replace the older rifles. Back at Coronado Sgt. Washington was more graphic: “This weapon is designed to fire more effectively and use ammunition that will drop your enemies and they won’t get up. If you accidentally shoot one of your crew in the gut, call a sky Pilot and not a Medic. The bullets from these beauties will turn their insides into a milkshake.” He pointed Bradford in the direction of the boat. All the while Bobby was doing what he could to get them out safely, Bradford was screaming, “All of you will pay for this. You are going to find out just who you’re fucking with! I promise you, I will destroy you! You are all making a big mistake over this bunch of gooks.” As he spoke Bradford was waving his arms. He had somehow removed the fish line from his wrists. Bobby took one more look at the wounded Vietnamese and the dead bodies. He turned and hit Bradford square on the face knocking out his front teeth and breaking his nose. Bradford landed flat on his back. Bobby leaned down, spit in his face and said, “Just fuck you, asshole! Find your own way back.”

Joey helped Joseph Carson who was exhausted and crying. He kept repeating over and over, “Why did he do it? These were innocent people… kids, old folks. Why did he do it, Joey?” Just as Bobby made it back to the boat Bradford as crawling across the sampan and aboard. Davey waved furiously for Bobby to hurry up. As Sand reached the gunwale, Joey Costa grabbed him and pulled him in and down. No sooner than Bobby hit the deck, he heard the distinctive sound of an AK47 firing a burst and hitting the boat. He rose up, turned towards the beach and emptied a full magazine into the bush. As he turned around he saw Joey being hit in the upper body and thrown off the boat by the impact. While exposed untying the craft from the sampan, Joey had been an easy target as Davey was backing the boat out and away from the beach. Without a second thought Bobby went over the side and into the tepid muddy water after Joey. He couldn’t see a thing in the nearly yellow colored river, so he used his hands until he found one of Joey’s arms. Bobby was able to get Joey’s head above the water and yelled at him to breathe. Next thing he knew Frankie had ed him. Between the two they were able to get Joey close enough to the boat for Davey to grab his shirt and hold him, while Bobby and Frankie pulled themselves aboard. Now standing on a solid surface they pulled Joey up over the gunwale allowing Davey to get them out of there. Luckily whoever was shooting at them must have run out of ammunition because the shooting stopped. Bobby sat down at the bottom of the boat exhausted and heart sick over what he had just witnessed. He ed his grandfather’s talking about the cruelty of war. When Bobby was a boy, the old veteran once told him to beware of people who never had to concern themselves with being negatively affected by war. He told young Bobby that these people could be evil and that he must always be careful when around them. Bobby couldn’t get out of his mind the face of the mother Bradford had shot or the old men, women and the innocent little kids the bastard had murdered. He was truly disturbed by the look on Bradford’s face. Bradford was smirking as if the carnage he had caused meant nothing. Bobby still couldn’t believe what he saw. At that moment he knew that it would be the eyes of the dying mother, cradling her blood drenched child that would haunt him forever. She and her baby would live in his mind for the rest of his life. Bobby Sand looked across the deck of the boat and watched Bradford’s expression for any sign of remorse. Evil was all he saw.

As Davey moved the boat into the middle of the channel, everyone on board heard an anguished voice from the trees and bushes along the bank: “You lie, you kill, you fuckers, no good. We will kill all you. I wrong, I make big mistake, make you friend. Die American dogs.” It was Jim.

CHAPTER 11

Late on the second day at sea the ship’s company working topside heard the aircraft long before it reached the Shark’s helicopter deck. In the distance they could see the task force with the aircraft carrier, Bon Homme Richard, at its center. As sailors will, they ed the word and soon there was a fair number of Shark’s crew topside. Rosen and Sand plus all of the ship’s officers were loitering along the port and starboard wing walls. Everyone knew something was up and finally it was spread through the ranks that Captain Hart was leaving the ship. Suddenly the growly voice of “Regular Navy” Roy Nelson, Boatswain Mate 1st Class could be heard bellowing: “Make a hole, make a hole!” Nelson shouted to make way for Captain Hart. Nelson got his nickname when it was discovered that he ed the Navy at 16 years old using his brother’s birth certificate and probably forging his mother’s signature on the enlistment papers. And, of course, his two initials, “R and N”. It was rumored that Nelson recently claimed that he was really only 12 years old when he ed up, and so instead of 40 he was actually only 36. Those who knew him best understood that Nelson came from abject poverty and at 16, or 12, as he now claimed, there was no way his frail mother could have taken care of his three sisters and two brothers. His father had been killed in a rail road accident and the check for $50.00 his employers sent to the funeral, accompanied by flowers, in no way could feed and house the family. The Navy was his home and he was afraid to leave it. For the first several years he sent most of his pay home and even now he still sent something every month. As Captain Hart moved among the men, to reach the helicopter deck, he shook hands with the lined up sailors and stopped when he came to Rosen and Sand. Hart leaned forward drawing the two close to him and said, “Watch yourself boys. You are going to be told that your memory is bad, and it will not be real smart to try to fight it”. Hart shook both men’s hands and strode to the aircraft. As the helicopter lifted

off the deck the ship’s speaker system clicked on with: “Commander Hart, departing; stand by for a message from the bridge.” To a man they looked quizzically at each other. Every ship’s protocol was that when a Captain - regardless of rank – left, the message would be “Shark departing.” When Hart left he was identified by his rank, Commander, and not as the Captain. Once the helicopter was airborne and the sound of it blades faded, the ship’s system clicked on again and now Ltjg. Wells’ voice was heard: “Commander Hart has departed for the Bon Homme Richard and new duties. Taking over the Shark as Captain is Lt. Commander Marin. Lt. Davis, the Engineering Officer will assume the duty as Executive Officer. The system clicked off. Within minutes Ltjg. Wells was in the crew compartment. He gathered Rosen, Sand, Carson and Renard around the common area table and explained what was in store for them: “In two hours the helicopter will return and all of you will be airlifted to the carrier. So, get your gear together and stand by, aft by the ladder, to the helo deck in 90 minutes.” Rosen was the first to speak: “With your permission sir, what is going on?” “Boats, I really have not been briefed and I am just ing on what our new Captain ordered. I will personally miss you guys and I have to say it has been an honor to serve with you. You completed your missions and delivered the goods. Since I wasn’t with you, I will reserve any comment on the behavior of Lt. Bradford but my advice to you is to steer clear of him.” With that said Wells shook hands with everyone and left. Right on time the Boeing CH-46A “Sea Knight” helicopter hovered briefly and then landed. No one was there to bid the boat crew goodbye, so once the aircraft’s crewman signaled them, they just made their way up the ladder to the flight deck and climbed on board. The flight to the Bon Homme Richard was

less than 20 minutes. Once aboard the carrier Rosen and crew were escorted to one of the pilot “ready rooms.” After several minutes they were ed by a Lt. Forest who identified himself as the ship’s legal officer. This got everyone’s attention and the thought simultaneously crossed four minds that they were in some kind of trouble. Lt. Forest positioned himself in the front of the room and said, “We are headed for Pearl Harbor. When we get there you will be interviewed about the missions you completed for an after action report. As I am sure you , you signed the Official Secrets Act and are bound by it to keep secret whatever transpired during these missions before you deployed and since. You are reminded that you are not to discuss the missions with anyone and I would further advise you that it might be a good idea to simply stay off the subject even among yourselves. You will be assigned a compartment for your use until we reach Pearl and then you will be billeted on the base. If there are no questions the seaman standing by outside will take you where you are going and show you how to reach the mess hall and anything else you may need.” Forest looked around and then just nodded and left. The Seaman escort did his job and left them in an empty compartment ordinarily used as a space for new of the ship’s company to use while they are introduced to the ship and receive their final assignments. Rosen asked about Joey Costa but the guy said he didn’t know anything about him except that he had been flown in and may have been sent to Pearl. The voyage to Pearl Harbor was uneventful and once there a gray Navy enger vehicle was standing by, at the bottom of the gangway, to drive the crew to the base. When they reached their destination, everyone dropped off their gear at an office building and was met by a 3rd Class Yeoman who put each man in a separate office. The offices were identical and furnished with a table and three chairs. Two chairs on one side and one on the other. The Yeoman was quick to pull out the single chairs and direct the men to them. They were offered and accepted coffee. Rosen was the first interviewed. Within a few minutes of the Yeoman dropping off a cup of coffee, two men entered the room and introduced themselves. One was a Lt. Commander named Todd and the other Mr. Wilson.

Right away Rosen had the feeling that Wilson was not the guy’s name but said nothing. His first question once they were seated was: “How is Joseph Costa?” The Officer looked perplexed as if the last thing he expected to discuss was Costa’s condition: “I understand your concern, Rosen. The information I have is that Seaman Costa was treated on the Bon Homme Richard and arrived here at the same time that you did. He has been transferred to the base hospital and is doing well” “With all due respect, Commander” Rosen said, “Why weren’t we allowed to see our shipmate during the voyage or even advised as to his condition? I asked the guy who was assigned to get us settled, about Joey, and he said that he was told that Costa was already flown here to the hospital.” Rosen could see that the Officer was getting angry and at one point the guy calling himself Wilson put a hand on Todd’s arm, looked at Rosen and said: “We will find out for you but first we need to finish our business here.” Rosen figured he had pushed as far as he could, so he sat back and waited for whatever was going to happen. As it turned out Todd was just there as “window dressing”. Wilson was the real person in charge. Once the crewmen were re-united, at chow that evening, they discussed the questions they were asked and the threats made if secrecy was violated. The interviews were all essentially the same. They were told to keep their mouths shut about the mess Bradford made of the mission. Everyone asked about Joey and they all got the same answer. Most of the questions were about where each man was during the third mission and what they saw. “Wilson” was obviously a trained interrogator and didn’t once get ruffled when Rosen and, later, Sand were ionate about how Bradford had basically murdered the Vietnamese civilians. Without raising his voice Wilson reminded Sand that he had struck a naval officer and could face serious charges. Sand’s temper flared up and he challenged Wilson to get the whole thing out in the open and see how it worked out for Bradford. Of course Sand was naive and didn’t have a clue as to what he was up against.

The men were ordered to return to the same building by 0900 the next day. In the meantime they were onished to not speak to anyone, including their shipmates, of what had transpired. Of course it was a wasted effort on Wilson’s part. When Carson mentioned it, Rosen and Sand said “fuck ‘em” at the same time.

CHAPTER 12

Rosen’s crew was billeted to a small building with private rooms that had private baths. A large space at the end of the main corridor held a main room large enough for a table capable of seating eight. This common area room came with a refrigerator fully stocked with snacks, bottles of Coke, and cans of Planter’s peanuts. The cabinets above the kitchen sink held dishes, coffee cups, glasses, packages of paper napkins, rolls of paper towels that fit a dispenser secured to the bulkhead and generic Navy coffee. A coffee maker sat on the counter top. Bobby gathered everyone around him and with a straight face said: “The iral took me aside and is making all of us officers. That is why we are being taught to live like the upper crust with all these gee dunks and private rooms.” The boys all cracked up. What they didn’t yet know was that every word they spoke was being recorded and heard in a building next door. It had taken the sailors less than five minutes to figure out that this was not an enlisted billet but a BOQ (Bachelor Officer’s Quarters), and looking around at the buildings nearby, it was certain that this one was set aside for more senior officers. What they didn’t know right then, was that two days before while they were at sea, two nondescript men driving a small Van with Honolulu Electric painted on the side, spent several hours wiring the entire building for audio. The feed from the building made its way to another building next door where two naval officers were stationed along with a 1st Class Yeoman with a high security clearance and exceptional stenographic skills. What these Navy intelligence officers (ONI) did not know was the skill level of one Joseph Carson, Engineman 3rd Class. Carson had been raised on a failing farm in Nebraska with his widowed mother, two uncles, who were not real skilled farmers, their wives and three small children. The Carson family barely survived the Great Depression and while employed as travelling repairmen were slowly working their way out of poverty and hunger. Jonas and Carl Carson were natural mechanics, and as soon as Joseph was old enough they took him along on jobs. Joseph proved to have the quickest of the three minds.

He could quickly analyze a problem and had no reluctance whatsoever to tackle a repair of even the most sophisticated equipment of the period. As time went on he became interested in electronics. He tore apart old radios and other devices to learn how they worked. Joseph’s uncles saved a few dollars out of every job and ordered subscriptions to magazines, related to electronics and mechanics, for the boy. Joseph also devoured books on engineering and science he was able to get from the county library. So, within fifteen minutes of the crewmen dropping their sea bags in their new home, Joseph pulled Davey outside and, after checking around to make sure no one was near, he said: “The whole place is wired for sound. Someone is listening to us, so we better get to the guys and make sure they keep their mouths shut in there. Whatever we are caught up in is huge and if we are not careful, we could find ourselves in a lot of trouble.” Joseph’s skills were developed early and so just after graduating from high school he reluctantly left the family farm. His uncle’s kids were growing up and it was difficult to feed and clothe a growing family. What they did not need was another mouth to feed. Joseph said his goodbyes and made his way to Omaha where he found a job as a repairman at Hurwitz Appliances. The owner, Jacob Hurwitz, was a kind man and a terrific judge of character. When he found out that Joseph was staying in the attic of an old house in a very bad neighborhood, he offered him a studio apartment he owned in a building within walking distance of his store. Jacob was a wily, old guy who had survived the Holocaust in Poland and worked like a dog to start his own business. His generosity toward Joseph was, to a degree, self serving. Almost immediately Joseph proved himself to be the finest all around repairman working for him. The customers loved him and he worked quickly and efficiently. As with everyone, his age, he duly ed for the draft. When Vietnam started appearing more frequently in the news, Joseph knew he would be called. The idea of the Army didn’t suit him at all. He decided to enlist in the Navy before the draft notice showed up. The only complication was Jacob’s 18 year old daughter. Sarah’s teenage eyes popped out when Joseph started working for her father. He was unlike any of the city boys Sarah went to school with. He was tall, lean and muscled from the work on the farm. His physique added to a sharply handsome face was a package Sarah could not resist. At first Joseph purposely kept his distance, even though he was keenly aware of Sarah’s interest, and was more than a little attracted to this dark eyed beauty. Finally one secret trip to the movies and several discreet meetings, away from the store and from the Hurwitz home, and love blossomed between the two.

While Sarah was upset and could not understand Joseph’s decision to enlist, she told him in no uncertain that she would be there when he came home and that he had to write her every day. Joseph and Sarah kept their promises about writing as best they could. Sarah was in college and Joseph was not always where he could depend on mail service. Very often Sarah would get a stack of letters, all at once, that she read in date order. Joseph did the same at his end. Though young and graced with raging hormones, Joseph was totally faithful. He spent his off duty hours virtually inhaling technical manuals and books on everything from basic electronics and to nuclear weapons. This was the man the ONI thought they could bug. One by one Davey Rosen took Bobby and Frankie aside and told them what Joseph had discovered. They all agreed to never talk about anything, in the building or in the interview rooms, that could be used against them. At 0800 the next morning they reported as ordered and gathered in a large, main room. Two men in civilian suits finally showed up after spending several minutes in another room nearby listening in to what was being said. Bobby Sand was in a playful mood and began asking his mates if they belonged to a church like the ones on TV. “Have you guys ever checked out the cool hair and great looking wives these TV Preachers have? As soon as I get out of the Navy I am going to go to preacher school and get myself on TV.” The guys caught on immediately. Frankie waved silently for attention and said “Where I come from, on the bayou, my house is completely surrounded by swampland. As you Yankees know the swamp is full of gators, snakes and all kinds of creatures. One evening, after supper, my ole aunt Renee went out the back door. When she didn’t come back, my Momma decided she better go fetch her “cuz” aunt Renee is a bit off in the head. Momma looked all over and finally found Aunt Renee sitting on a tree, the hurricane knocked down, looking into the swamp. She pointed into the swamp and told Momma to look because there was Jesus himself standing on top of the water preaching away to all kinds of gators, water snakes and big ole fish all watching and listening with their heads just above the water. Momma said that from then on aunt Renee just kinda floated around and smiled at nothing.” Davey and Joseph kept their hands over their mouths to keep from busting out laughing. The two Ensigns and the 1st Class

Yeoman recording all of this in the next building looked at each other and tried to decide whether it was bullshit or if these guys were for real. “Well let me tell you,” Davey started once he had everyone’s attention. “My aunt Linda was convinced that Moses lived in the building next door to her building in Brooklyn. Every morning she would see this man with shoulder length white hair wearing a long, white robe standing on a balcony facing the sun. Aunt Linda would get up every morning just to watch him come out and stand there and then go back inside not to be seen for the rest of the day. After she told this to my dad, a few times, he finally went over to the building where Moses was seen and looked at the list of tenants. Moses was seen on the 9th floor. Dad’s cousin Murray lived on the 8th floor. Dad figured Murray might know Moses and could snap aunt Linda out of her hallucination with some simple explanation why this guy would look to the heavens and dress like Moses. So, between my dad and his cousin Murray the mystery of Moses’ “morning prayers” was very quickly solved. As it turned out, Moses was a spaced out hippie from a family with enough money to keep him in an apartment with a steady supply of pot. Most days Moses just got high and watched cartoons. At night he would go out and roam the neighborhood. Everyone said he was basically harmless but a couple of days before Dad talked to Murray, the neighbors on the 8th floor caught Moses pissing off his balcony and down onto an old lady’s flower pots below on the 8th floor. Apparently he was doing it every morning. All Moses would say was, “If you can’t smoke a plant, then piss on it.” Fighting back laughter, Bobby, Davey and Frankie turned around and looked at Joseph. For the most part Joseph was a serious guy. He enjoyed a healthy sense of humor but was typically not the comedian his shipmates were. Joseph left the room and quickly returned, prepared for the circumstances, with a box about the size of cigar box. He held up a sign saying “Keep on bullshitting about nothing”. He opened the box and revealed some type of door bell buzzer-like looking thing with wires connected to flashlight batteries. He then handed each man a script. Along with the script he handed each man a short note describing what the buzzer would do. His plan was simple. He, or anyone, could say something outrageous and then as an explanation was forthcoming, he would press the

button and block out what the “listeners” would hear. The device would emit a signal that sounded like static into the listening equipment the Navy installed to hear their conversations. So, all the snoopers would hear, for a short time, was static and then more of Joseph’s script. After each time Joseph pressed the button, they were to become very excited and say things like, “Does the Navy know about that? Can someone that high up actually be your father? What are you going to tell the President when you meet him?” and, “Of all those who interviewed us he is the last one I would suspect as liking boys.” The first one they did was: “A guy came to me in the mess hall and, all very secret like, told me some really strange stuff about what is going on here. I’ll give you an example he said: “They….” STATIC/STATIC/STATIC Then: “What if the Navy finds that out? These poor guys will be toast.” The charade went off without a hitch. All four sailors ran outside as quickly as they could to laugh until their stomachs hurt. For the first time in his life Joseph Carson was the center of attention for creating something funny. His shipmates gave him a round of applause. After about 20 minutes of listening the two Ensigns decided that they were in too deep to be involved in what they thought they heard was being said. After helping the Yeoman edit his notes and swearing him to secrecy, they set about editing the tapes and deleting comments they didn’t know what to do with. With that done they alerted the ONI officers that the boat crew said little and suggested they should talk with the guys. When all were present, the Intelligence officers introduced themselves as Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Conroy. They explained that the men would receive new orders that day, but first they wanted to make sure they understood how important it was to keep the missions secret. It was soon clear that Mitchell was the main man. He took center stage in the room with a scowl on his face and said: “I remind each of you of your signatures on the Official Secrets Act. This document has been sent to Washington, DC and is part of your permanent

record. So there is no misunderstanding it means that every aspect of the missions and the discussions you have had since are secret and not to be shared under any circumstances with anyone including but not limited to friends, family , future wives and future children or anyone else. If any of you does not understand what I just said, feel free to speak up. This is the very last time you will be warned.” No one spoke. Bobby raised his hand. Mitchell looked surprised but said: “Yes, Sand, do you have a question?” “No sir. I have to go to the head. I want to be able to concentrate on your every word but having to piss is distracting me.” Bobby loved to screw with authority and he knew that Mitchell had no choice. “Go ahead Sand” Mitchell nodded at Conroy who followed Sand out into the corridor towards the head. “Gee, thanks Mr. Conroy, but I know where it is.” “That’s ok Sand. I have to go, too.” After standing at the urinal for a long time, pretending to pee, Bobby finally flushed and went to the sink. He carefully washed his hands and made a major project out of drying them, using several paper towels, then turned to Conroy and said with a perfectly straight face: “My mother always told me to wash my hands well as that could protect me from polio” Once back in his seat with Conroy standing just behind Mitchell, Mitchell continued: “Your new orders are here in this stack of manila envelopes. Your names are on the front. I realize that you will want to share your new destinations with your mates, but I strongly advise against it and suggest that you exchange your goodbyes tonight and go your separate ways tomorrow. Staying out of with each other will be a very wise decision. If one of you should do something stupid, it’s best that an innocent party not be in with that man to avoid finding himself under suspicion. You came into the Navy separately and will eventually be separated and sent to different duty stations

anyway. So let’s just be safe and smart.” Mitchell motioned for the men to come over to him and said: “Come up here and take your orders. Go on back to your quarters and look them over. You will be on MATS flights leaving from Hickham Field starting at 0700. Transportation will be provided in front of the building where you are staying. The individual times are written on the envelope. Be in front as assigned and ready to go.” Without another word Mitchell and Conroy left the room. Each man picked up his envelope and left. Once outside Rosen worked his way in between Sand and Frankie with Carson just behind. In a low but audible voice he said: “When we get back, follow the script I gave you. Try to act normal. This is not Hollywood but still try not to sound like you are reading. So far your acting has been award winning.” Once inside, they all gathered in the common room with their scripts in hand and began silently reading the instructions. “Take a sheet of paper and write down as many ways you can be reached once you are out of the Navy: home addresses, telephone numbers, family names…. anything. Include your service number and date of enlistment in case one of us needs a records search. Now, show time. Each turned to the script. Bobby: “That guy Mitchell really scared me. This sounds serious. I don’t know what they are after but I, for one, have nothing to say about this whole cluster fuck.” Davey: “Right you are. Let’s just agree to let this thing alone. All it can bring is problems.” Frankie: “I’m in.” Joseph: “Me too.” After the “performance”, the “cast” went out the door and off to the mess hall with their envelopes tucked under their arms. The ONI monitors, standing by the building, gave each other a “thumbs up.” Mitchell went to the

Base Headquarters and located a secure line to the Pentagon. After several minutes of static and waiting to connect with the Senior Officer he was trying to reach, the iral finally got on the phone: “Well?” “I have an excellent report, sir. In the morning the personnel I spoke with will be scattered to the four winds. Our communication with them went very well. They were sternly warned and anxious to be good sailors. You may tell the interested party that his name did not come up.” Mitchell felt no need to bring up Sand’s outburst on the ship. Since neither ONI investigator ever heard the crazy stuff the Ensigns erased, that part of the snooping never came up. “Well done Commander. We will be looking forward to reviewing your full report along with all the tapes you made. Catch the next flight out stateside and expedite your arrival in DC.” With that iral Benson hung up and placed a call to the Office of Congressman Carter Bradford. The Congressman was not available just then. He was actually in a special room, at the Pentagon, receiving the Purple Heart for the wound to his head and the Navy Cross for bravery in the face of the enemy. The Cross was accompanied by a heroic summation of his courage for swinging into action to save a very important mission ordered by President Kennedy himself. The President’s schedule was very busy so a formal presentation had to wait. The iral had to develop an explanation as to why Kennedy had issued the orders in the first place. As of the current date the President was unaware of the real developments that took place.

CHAPTER 13

The new Mrs. Carter Bradford was the former Mrs. Helene Stansfield Groves of upstate New York and Manhattan. Helene was the widow of, Dr. Clifton Groves, a prominent and very rich Manhattan cardiologist. While alive, Dr. Groves enjoyed a thriving practice and, to help matters along, he was the heir to an impressive fortune left by his parents. Grove met an untimely death in 1975 while demonstrating his snow skiing skills in front of a group of his wife’s much younger friends. The doctor slid off the slope directly into a large unforgiving tree. The doctor’s widow profited richly. Prior to his death she did nothing more than read pop magazines and watch day time soap operas. This form of entertainment taught her what could happen if a will did not on all the wealth to a surviving spouse. She well prepared for the future not allowing any room for mistakes. Her control of the hapless Dr. Groves was complete. She managed to talk him into g a will leaving her everything. Helene Stansfield Groves waited impatiently for two months while keeping herself busy shopping for wonderful new clothes, in basic black, she wore over shoes that would make any experienced stripper drool with envy. The “black widow’s” mantra was “a widow should immediately be on the road to recovery”. ing the 60 day grief mark prompted Helene to quit yearning for the excitement of city life in Manhattan. She packed up and left the “farm” and headed to the Big Apple. As part of Dr. Groves’ estate she inherited a spacious apartment in Sutton Place. So, off she went accompanied by two servants and several trunks of “hunting clothes.” Helene was blessed with a voluptuous body. She had the kind of shape made to wear clothes perfectly. When she walked into a room, she knew that every man’s eyes were immediately glued to her. Unfortunately Helene sorely lacked a well educated mind to go with it. Considering the lineage she claimed and her marriage to an extremely intelligent man, this intellectual shortcoming puzzled those who met her. When asked about her education, she repeated what her late husband drilled into her brain. Doctor Clifton Groves created a tale about a

military father and several moves around the country interrupting Helene’s dream of becoming a doctor like her husband. Most who met Helene considered her to be a pleasant enough woman with a bit of an edge when questioned about personal matters. Helene’s choice of Manhattan, as a location to find a new husband, was right on target. Within days of her move to Sutton Place she became a new addition to the guest list of Manhattan society’s party circuit. It was at one of these events that Helene zeroed in on Carter Bradford. Coincidentally, Carter was in the market for a wife to augment his personal resume. Helene intrigued him. Helene was not only knock out gorgeous, but also free of children and rich enough to fit his social standing. Carter decided to make his move after spending a delightful evening experiencing the beauty of Helene’s wonderfully large breasts which were merely one year old and “installed” by the Eastern Seaboard’s most prominent plastic surgeon. Carter decided, on the spot, that he must check them out without the dress she wore that somehow defied gravity. While the dress added to the mystery of how low her breasts might “fall” when freed of its , it later turned out that they were as beautiful as any female connoisseur could desire with less than a quarter of an inch of uned drop. Like many who preceded him, Carter was puzzled over Helene’s intellectual shortcomings. He definitely needed more information. His concern was her ability to bear normal children. Carter wanted a son to carry on the Trust, so it was important that here be no birth defects or mental instability in her background. On the surface she was perfect: young, beautiful and easy to manipulate. After their third date Carter instructed Mr. Stone to obtain as much information as he could put together. To help, Carter conducted several careful searches around Helene’s Manhattan’s apartment, while she was busy shopping. Carter often stopped by using the excuse of wanting to watch a game on TV, away from the Bradford Trust office where he continued as Board Chairman in spite of his political post. It never occurred to Carter that his Congressional office was not an extension of his role at the Trust. He frequently offered classified information, to the Trust Investment Group that would affect the stock market. In Helene’s absence Carter looked through her personal papers and anything else he could find. Fortunately, Helene did not bother with organization and kept her private information in a pile on a desk in her apartment. Carter ran copies of everything he felt would be helpful to Mr. Stone in sorting out Helene Stanfield

Groves. Making the task even easier for Mr. Stone, Helene could not let go of a few clues to her former life. These clues opened several doors. He stumbled onto a box filled with odds and ends including a driver’s license and a birth certificate that did not appear to have anything to do with Helene but looked very suspicious to Stone. Oddly, there were more documents in a business envelope marked “Southern Beauty”. These finds provided Stone’s network of sources plenty to work with. True to his reputation for a prompt response, Stone’s report was delivered to Carter in just a few days. Within minutes after Carter took the report into his Manhattan Constituent Center’s satellite office, one of his aides rushed in thinking that he was choking on something. Actually Carter was laughing uncontrollably. He waved the young women off and continued reading the story of Candy Lynn Jones of Marsh Valley, Alabama. According to Stone’s investigation Candy Lynn was legally married to Earl Bob Jones, a repairman at Tire City in Mobile. She and Earl resided in a rented single-wide, one bedroom mobile home in the Pine Creek Home Village, a community of 813 Alabamians, four miles outside Marsh Valley. In 1973 Candy Lynn signed up to sell women’s cosmetics for a company called “Southern Beauty” based in Miami, Florida. To become a “Southern Beauty Make Up Artist and Cosmetic Analyst “, Southern Beauty required each of their associates to remit an application fee of $500.00 in advance and, if accepted as a student, travel to its corporate headquarters in Miami. Students who were “accepted” were required to bring a $1500.00 “tuition fee” to begin advanced training. The provided address was located in a strip shopping center in South Miami. Candy’s husband Earl could not get the time off to drive his wife to Florida and, in any event, he doubted his old Chevy pickup would make it down and back. To come up with an application and tuition fee, motel cost and Candy’s round trip bus fare, Earl was forced to sell his semi automatic rifle collection. Candy packed her best clothes and set off for Florida on a Greyhound bus after promising Earl she would return a full-fledged “Makeup Artist and Cosmetic Analyst” and earn a fortune just like the spokeswomen on TV said she would. The day Earl dropped Candy off at the Greyhound station was the last day he saw or heard of his wife. Of course, the Southern Beauty University of Beauty and Cosmetic Analysis was a scam and even Candy Lynn recognized it when she arrived at the strip mall in Miami to find 10 other women milling around the locked front door with “Southern Beauty” logo painted on the glass. Just as

Candy Lynn was looking for a ride back to the bus station, a large new Mercedes pulled up and a well dressed man in his late thirties stepped out. He introduced himself as Tony Marco and claimed to be the owner of the shopping center and a gentlemen’s club a few blocks down the road. Marco said he might have jobs for a few of those waiting. Without hesitation Candy Lynn separated herself from the pack, “When can I start?” she asked. Marco took a long look and saw Candy’s natural beauty and the “body of death.” He knew immediately that Candy would sell. He opened his car door for Candy Lynn and two other girls. Marco failed to mention that until the Miami Police Fraud squad came calling, he was also the former owner of Southern Beauty, and that he was forced to send his beauty “faculty” on an unplanned trip to the Bahamas until a new scam he was putting together could be in business. Candy Lynn Jones became Diane Desiree before the sun set on that first day. “Diane” found herself in a large room, just off a dressing room, being trained by one of Marco’s managers, Jolene Frye, on how to work the stripper pole. Candy, now Desiree, took to the pole like she was born to work it. Jolene recited the rules: “You have to wear a thong. You cannot leave here with a guest. If you want to become a star and make lots of money you have to beat out each of those dumb shit dream girls and not befriend any of them. Every night one of the bouncers will walk you to a cab that will take you to a motel, down the street, that Marco owns. You will share a room with one girl, in separate beds of course. You’ll get your cut every night. Don’t be stupid. Many of the girls take their pay in drugs. Stay away from that shit, do good and maybe Marco will promote you to the VIP Room where you will do lap dances at between 50 and 100 bucks a pop depending on the sucker. Don’t worry about that right now. When the time comes Ole Jolene will show you how.” What Jolene didn’t know was that what Candy lacked in intellectual wherewithal, she more than made up for in being clever. In a few short weeks, in record time, the new girl Desiree was the highlight of the club’s VIP room. But, it wasn’t long and Desiree tired of rubbing herself on old fat guys and slapping away wandering hands. She threatened to quit. By then Candy was well aware of

Marco’s personal interest in her, so the threat worked. Rather than lose her, he promoted her to a bartender with a cut of the profits from the watered down booze and a piece of the action from the “B-girls” who worked the bar area pushing drinks. Behind Candy on the back bar, each “B girl” had a glass. Every time one of them talked a sucker into buying her a Vodka Collins (all Collins mix and no vodka) Candy would put a small plastic disc of her chosen color in the glass. At the end of the night each disc was worth a dollar or more depending upon what the guy spent. One night a group of Doctors, attending a medical conference in Miami, came in. A tall, sad looking man split off from the group and took a seat at the end of the bar. Candy strolled down to take his drink order, and instead of remaining behind the bar, she moved around the end and stood right next to him. She whipped out her best smile, leaned her boobs on the bar and asked him what he wanted. Candy’s antenna was up and she smelled money. This guy didn’t wear clothes well, but what he had on was very expensive. The large diamond set in what she guessed was a 24 carat gold signet ring, the Presidential Rolex on his wrist and no wedding band sealed the deal. Candy went on full attack. This could be the one who bought her way out of the club and off to something better than she ever had before. By 1973 Dr. Clifton Groves had endured three marriage engagements that ended up being cancelled by women who dumped him for being a colossal bore and geek. Groves was lonely beyond comprehension. With her well developed instincts, Candy Lynn Jones sniffed out Groves’ problem and decided that her next career move would be to become the wife of a doctor. She knew little about doctors, but the one in Marsh Valley owned a house and always drove a fancy car. Before the evening was over Candy set the trap and Dr. Clifton Groves, Manhattan Cardiologist, was hers. Within two weeks, and a couple of thousand from Doctor Groves, Candy bought a completely new identification with the help of her friend Jolene who was paid $500 for her trouble. Five weeks later and a quick trip to the Bahamas Candy Lynn Jones, aka Desiree, became Helene Stansfield Groves and began living in an upstate New York house she couldn’t believe. The name Helene Stansfield came from Candy’s collection of glossy magazines most people found in doctor’s and dentist’s offices. Candy disappeared and welcomed Helene, a 27 year old new wife and heiress of a forty nine year old nationally renowned Cardiologist and heart surgeon. Considering her background, Helene fell into her

role quite smoothly. What she lacked in education she more than compensated for in memory. Helene pored over every magazine, loaded with celebrity scandals, and even ventured into newspapers to learn about the world she landed in. She made television her school and incessantly watched anything that was useful; even news programs. In a remarkably short time Candy started to fade completely and Helene became the jet setter she pretended to be in her own mind. Her toughest challenge was her rural Alabama accent and lack of vocabulary. Dr. Groves solved that by hiring a speech therapist, a daughter of a man he saved from certain death with a transplant. She was forever indebted to Dr. Groves and promised to never share helping Helene with anyone. The therapist turned out to be brilliant. In a surprisingly short time she conquered the Alabama drawl and use of colloquialisms by instructing her pupil to read out loud from her magazines, and had Helene sounding like Helene should. Helene’s world of wealth really opened up when Clifton was courteous enough to die and get out of her way before he bored her to death. By then she was ready to have the time of her life. The new guy, Carter Bradford, was perfect. He was handsome, a real Congressman and the head of the Bradford Trust. She read everything she could find on the Trust and nearly fainted when she found out about the billions in assets. Helene decided it was time to be “moving on up.” Alex Stone was able to put his report together with the amazing amount of facts. He talked to mob acquaintances in New York and Miami, got information from Tony Marco and even approached some of the girls still employed by Tony. Jolene Frye claimed she had not seen nor heard from Candy since she dropped off the face of the earth. In truth Jolene didn’t know or care where Candy went. She made a good score when Candy dropped the $500 in her hand and, in doing so, helped Jolene bail her son out of jail. Some good ole boys in the Hillbilly Mafia of bootleggers, moonshiners and meth cookers around Mobile were able to fill Stone in on Candy’s life there. They were “cautioned” not to let on anything to Earl. Carter’s discoveries in Helene’s apartment provided more leads. He was very happy with the result. Candy aka Helene was perfect. If she got in the way, he would drop the dime on her with Earl who, from all the reports was suffering from a combination of heartache, from losing his wife, and very basic ignorance driven Hillbilly anger. Helene and Carter’s wedding was the social highlight of Crestview Country Club’s 1976 calendar. Even the who played golf and socialized with Dr. Groves didn’t bat an eye at his widow’s choice of venue for the wedding and

reception. It made the club a ton of money and added the Chairman of the Bradford Trust and a serving Congressman to the hip rolls. The club magazine ran a three page full color article on Carter, on his long career in Congress and his “leadership” of the Trust. When all the bills were paid, the Club Controller very happily calculated that the affair netted the club over $75,000 in pure profit. And, as a very profitable surprise the day after the nuptials, more than 100 applications for full hip, from politicians all over New York State and Washington, D.C., were submitted. The new aimed to get on the Bradford bandwagon in case he ran for President. Most of these hip fees were paid for by corporations these politicians ed through legislation. The legislators were well advised by lobbyists on what their corporate sponsors favored and voted against anything that caused them any financial discomfort regardless of the impact on average Americans or the nation at large. The Club Controller was getting her first taste of the raw power of the Trust and politics working together.

CHAPTER 14

Ever since Carter married Helene and moved to upstate New York, he personally suffered no concern about the outcome of elections. His district was so gerrymandered by the rich Republicans its boundaries resembled a starfish. Being in this super safe district kept him safe from the backlash to “tricky Dick Nixon.” At the center of Carter’s Congressional District was Crestview, the most expensive Country Club in 45 of the 50 states. Each “leg” of the district, that was drawn as part of the “starfish” ran through suburban communities of multimillion dollar estates owned, almost exclusively, by rock hard Republicans. “Carter’s voters” made Ebenezer Scrooge look like Santa Claus. To the one they hated taxes, loved a military buildup, especially the huge expenditures that benefited arms manufacturers they invested in, and worshipped the stock market. None of their children ever fought in wars or served in any branch of service. They were far too precious to be “wasted” while the children of the poor, black, brown and blue collar workers were less valuable and always available. Carter’s new District was sort of a “package deal” he got in 1976 when at the age of 39 he finally married. Once again Alex Stone had proven himself to be worth every penny that flowed to him from the secret Carter’s grandfather Hiram set up in Cyprus. “Good old Hiram,” thought Carter as he heard about his popularity at the Club. Thinking of Hiram flooded Carter’s mind with other memories. Carter imagined Jonah and his father James sitting in their big offices and laughing about how they were the Trust and Carter was an outsider. There was a time when Carter worked very hard to get into his younger brother’s good graces. He hoped to neutralize Jonah and avoid his scrutiny. It almost worked, but as it turned out Jonah was too clever not to see right through Carter’s game. Jonah had become an obstacle to Carter’s Board Chairmanship by constantly questioning his proposals as unethical or unrealistic. Carter was not a man who gave up. He found a way to manipulate the succession. He set Stone loose to get his hands on any wills or other documents that would cut Carter out of the line of succession to head the Trust, in the event of his father’s death. He used the resources in James’ Lawyer’s office and at the

Trust. The documents were obtained, altered and locked securely back where they came from. Due to the “unfortunate” death of James’ principal lawyer, within just a few days of James’ own death, Jonah was named to become the CEO and to his shock, Carter was named as Board Chairman. Carter knew that Jonah would see through the scam, but he truly didn’t care. Jonah knew what Carter had done but could not prove it. The original documents that Stone acquired laid out a different plan. They told a story that infuriated Carter. When he first read them, Carter was beyond fury and promised himself that they all would pay. It was then that he decided Jonah was an an obstacle that would have to be eliminated. Essentially his father planned to completely cut him out of the Trust. Correspondence between James Bradford and his attorney disclosed a plan, in the making, to eliminate Carter’s role in the Trust and in the Beatrice Waring Bradford Foundation. Jonah was to become the Board Chairman. His son would inherit a large block of stock and was to follow his father in the line of succession as the Board Chairman. Carter would be granted a pension and ownership of the mansion in Manhattan that no one in the family really wanted. The place was falling apart and the only resident was Phillip when he was in New York. One last servant and a butler were all that was left of the staff. Carter would still get dividends from the Trust profits but would not enjoy the big bucks and the perks that go with running of a massive empire. Had it not been for Hiram’s secret in Cyprus, he would be living on a Congressional salary and pension. After James’ death it was Carter’s fast action to get the documents altered with Stone’s help, put him in the driver’s seat as Chairman of the Board. Jonah was openly suspicious but could do nothing about it as his father’s attorney, and principal witness to James’ wishes, was dead. Finally Carter could see no way other than using Alex Stone to solve the problem. It was a car accident. According to Stone’s plan, it happened while Jonah’s wife was in Europe. The accident left many questions unanswered, but lack of evidence prevented the authorities to build any kind of a case. Carter knew the police would be intimidated by the power of the Trust and would only push so hard.

CHAPTER 15

Committee Member Congressman Carter Bradford waited impatiently for the old Texas Congressman and Committee Chairman to gather his papers and stuff them in his briefcase. Carter was anxious to speak to, Phillip Kewley, his Chief of Staff. Phillip replaced Jeremy Kline when Jeremy decided to retire, after decades of service to the Congress, mostly due to a real concern over the direction his boss, Congressman Bradford, was taking. Kline, a veteran of many years of service to the Congress, stood silently by as Bradford bent every rule, ignored every protocol and showed little, if any, respect for anyone. Kline even went so far as to tell one of his closest confidants that he felt physically unclean working for and carrying out Bradford’s orders. But, with two kids finishing Graduate School and his wife’s failing health Kline hadn’t dared to rock the boat. He had needed his very generous salary that increased through the years, and even more the blue ribbon health insurance enjoyed by of Congress and its staff. Finally with his wife’s ing and the kids out of school working in good jobs, Kline had enough and tendered his resignation. Since his first day with Bradford, Kline was paid a couple of thousand more than Phillip Kewley. He was the public face of the office, but for all intents and purposes, except for the title, Kewley was the Chief of Staff. He ran the office and made policy decisions based upon what Bradford wanted to accomplish. He read and researched all proposed bills, then recapped each bill, in its entirety, and advised Bradford to vote “yes” or “no”. He always included a few reasons why the vote went the way it did. Bradford showed up when he absolutely could not avoid it. On some days Kline actually cringed when encountering staff serving other Representatives. He was embarrassed at the reputation Bradford had on the “Hill” and, by association, Kline’s reputation went from highly respected to someone to be avoided. When his last day finally came, both Kewley and Bradford were out in the District which meant that Bradford would be at his latest girlfriend’s apartment somewhere in Manhattan. Kewley’s agenda was never fully disclosed, but Kline knew that Kewley spent his days with his boyfriend. The office staff gave Kline a going away party and he was off to

Europe for a long awaited vacation with a lady friend. On the day Kline returned to the country, the Senior Senator from California called and offered him a job working as his Staff Consultant. Kline accepted without hesitation. When Bradford found out about Kline’s new position he made a point of running into the California Senator and said: “Just so you know, it took me a long time to figure out that Kline was not what I thought he was.” The wily young Senator from Los Angeles smiled and responded: “Why he is not what you wanted, is the reason I hired him” and then walked away. Still waiting for the Committee Room, Carter paced in the rear, behind the seats, and out of the view of the Congressman preparing to leave. He wanted to use this specific room because it served his purpose for secrecy. This room was the one used by the Armed Services Committee whose routinely discussed matters of national security. As a result, the FBI swept it for bugs every day. Finally, Carter thought, it looked like the old fart was getting ready to leave and then, just as he headed towards the door, some “idiot secretary” rushed in with a bundle of papers needing the Chairman’s signature. Seething, Carter continued pacing and waited. The secretary appeared to be going over every word with the Congressman, and Carter was stuck for more than 20 minutes before the two stood up and started towards the door. Carter could see Kewley standing just outside. Once the Committee Room was his to use, Kewley quickly placed a “NO ITTANCE” sign in front of the door and closed the door behind him. Carter could tell that Phillip was upset. Kewley opened with, “We have a problem Congressman. That small town newspaper reporter in your new upstate district has been nosing around again even after Mr. Stone spoke with her. She is a pain in the ass and cannot be bought off or shamed. Stone urged her to drop her coverage of your Vietnam experience. He told her you were sensitive because you won awards while others died. Apparently she dug up some old publicity stuff from the Pentagon Public Relations Office dating back to when you served. Back then the Pentagon wanted to do some kind of an in depth thing on you as “Warrior Legislator”. I haven’t forgotten what you have told me about your time in Vietnam and how those who did terrible things tried to blame you, so I can understand how the story could easily get out of hand and

come back to bite us. What do you want me to do?” Hearing Phillip’s words Carter felt such anger and hatred towards the reporter that it made him sick to his stomach. All these years later, when he was ready to make his move, this bitch brings it all up just to hurt him. In the 70’s he quietly put up with that fucking Nixon. He watched the Republican Party damn near harpooned after it screwed up the economy nearly as bad as back in 1929 during the Great Depression. “Call Stone, Phillip. Tell him to find a permanent solution to the bitch reporter on that pulp rag. You and I are on the way to doing great things. Stone is working on an in depth report digging into the entire Republican leadership and several Democrats. He will find out if they ever stepped out of bounds or spent a dime of campaign money on something other than allowed. We will get enough dirt and will own their when I go after old man Bush. I need to get to these guys so they will talk Bush out of running. We are a team Phillip. Once we get the big job, you will be the White House Chief of Staff and, as soon as everything is in place and you have a team of your own you can trust, I want you to pick an ambassadorship anywhere in the world you want. You deserve to be what your dad and mom would have wanted for you.” Carter knew exactly what buttons to push with Kewley. What he couldn’t know was the chill that ran down Phillip’s spine when he heard Carter order him to tell Stone to find a “permanent solution” to the reporter. Phillip knew exactly what that meant. “You know Phillip, it is a shame that Jonah died in that accident. We could have made him the Secretary of the Treasury. Think of it, three brothers in Washington just like the Kennedys.” He watched Philip closely to gauge his reaction to mentioning Jonah’s “accident”. Carter paused long enough for the moment to and for his comments to sink in and said: “When you go in today, look in my document safe. You will find a manila envelope with a note to meet Stone tomorrow. Just give him the envelope. You don’t want anyone to see you talking to him. He will be careful and you must be too.” “Of course, Congressman, I will handle it. Please be sure to give my regards to

your wife. You and Helene make a beautiful couple. I can see that she makes you happy. It has been my wish for my “brother” to find happiness.” Carter broke in and said with a noticeable degree of anger in his voice: “Phillip, listen to me. Helene is a fucking idiot and is not to be trusted with anything. Never confide in her and whatever she says to you, even the smallest thing, I want you to report to me. Helene is a prop. I want to run for President and need a wife who is not smart enough to get in the way. I trust two people in this world: you and Stone. Don’t ever forget it.” Carter slammed the phone down and decided right there that even Phillip may one day be an “obstacle” needed to be removed by Stone. Carter could sit back and envision himself in the White House with all the adoring staff fawning over him, but he did not see Helene in that picture. Maybe at some point she could become the victim of a tragic accident like that sniveling prick Jonah. Several weeks later a delicious Congresswoman Irene Gardner, a Republican from Arizona became a part of a collection of of Congress from both sides of the aisle, on some bullshit immigration bill. Carter didn’t fully understand the impact of the proposed legislation, but he did want to impress the Congresswoman. He ed the group primarily to check her out slyly but openly enough, to catch her attention.

CHAPTER 16

By 1991 Congressman Carter Bradford had been ed over for consideration, as a Republican Presidential candidate, four times since turning thirty-five and meeting the age requirement. The Party leadership always created an excuse. Carter was sick of their excuses, and he was not going to wait out Bush’s term and find out another candidate was “rubber stamped” as “next in line.” Carter continued to be re-elected to his seat in Congress because the District he represented was so Gerrymandered in favor of the GOP, “Bugs Bunny” could win if he swore to take care of the rich and help get rid of the social benefits that were keeping multi-millionaires from becoming billionaires because of income taxes. By 1991 Carter had served almost thirty years. For the most part Phillip Kewley was the “actual” Congressman, and Carter’s new, ambitious attitude was a welcome change. He declared 1993 as his year. At 56 years old he wasn’t about to let anyone steal the nomination from him. If he was pushed aside again for two and, if a Democrat got in for two , he would be 72. Even though Americans seemed determined to choose old white guys as their leaders, Carter wanted to be a young President. In less than a year the political drums would start beating over the 1993 election. The only name he didn’t know on the Democrats’ side was a “hick” young Governor from Arkansas who was making some election noise. Stone was looking into him. So far all Stone uncovered were strong rumors of a serious wandering eye for the ladies. Kennedy got away with it but times were slowly changing as the more extremist conservatives in the GOP spent sleepless nights over the civil rights laws and anti discrimination legislation like the Voting Rights Act. The Johnson era opened up traditionally closed doors to black voters in the South. More voters hitting the polls was the last thing Republicans wanted. Carter was forever comparing himself with President Bush and the President’s impressive resume. George H. W. Bush was recognized as a WWII hero fighter pilot, former head of the CIA, former Congressman and former envoy to China.

He claimed to be from GOP voter rich Texas where they grew right Wing Baptist Republicans like cattle. In fact, Bush was actually more a Northeasterner. Bradford knew there were those in the Party who saw Bush weakening, as a Right Winger, and beginning to be less opposed to programs that Democrats pushed like raising the minimum wage, universal health care and less spending on military hardware that even the military didn’t want. Bush went as far as making some careful but critical comments regarding big insurance companies where CEO’s were raking in millions in salaries and bonuses. Sick Americans were being cancelled; anyone who had any kind of previous treatment was denied coverage and too many ended up in bankruptcy. Even though the President promised “no new taxes”, he walked his promise back in the face of the government realities where revenue was needed to cover expenses and to reduce the national debt. Carter calculated that with a real dynamic campaign among the party leadership, greased with a lot of money, he might get Bush to retire and grab the nomination for himself. He was aware that with everything political it always came down to money. He knew that America’s “oligarchs” always decided on the basis of how things affected their wealth. Over the years Carter found little need to touch the millions of dollars old Hiram had piled up in Cyrus, unless he needed to get out of some mess with a woman and, of course, for his Bentley. He kept his treasure hidden in the upstate house, lest too many constituents might catch a glimpse of it. Stone was able to get a draft of an article written by the same reporter who was already digging into his time in Vietnam. The Bentley played a prominent role in the profile of Bradford’s wealth. The reporter and her insatiable interest in Carter had to be stopped. His first step was to use a little Hiram cash and make the paper’s publisher an offer “he couldn’t refuse.” Second, Carter expected Stone to permanently solve the reporter problem. Carter knew he could buy the paper and stop her from printing the article, but figured she would just take a job elsewhere and get it published. His neighbors, away from Washington D.C., spent similarly huge sums on vanity cars. They not only didn’t find fault with a rich Congressman but rather valued him as an ally who would protect their lifestyles. And, more than a few enjoyed the tax free perks of off shore bank s. Carter’s problem with the reporter was not a local one. He was thinking ahead to a national election where everything a candidate ever did was under the microscope. He had to keep a low economic profile and solve the problem of the former sailors who could easily torpedo him forever. In Carter’s personal situation the good news was that the crafty little bankers on that Mediterranean

Island knew how to make money. Much of what they loaned was to international arms dealers who financed the unending violence in Africa where it was not unusual for the military, in some poorly governed nation, to suddenly lead a revolt and appoint a figure head as “President for Life.” To keep the population under control these “new populist” leaders needed weapons and were eager to empty the treasury they now controlled, sell off natural resources or anything else of value to stay in power. At the end of this process the gun runners happily repaid the Cyprus bankers with exorbitant interest. The interest from these loans was parceled out, and the of the late Hiram Bradford and the very much alive Carter Bradford enjoyed a large part of this largess. The little money Carter used from the over the years for his campaigns or “special projects”, including several abortions and other less than attractive ventures requiring great discretion never reduced the principal from Hiram’s original balance and, in fact, the balance had grown by many millions over the decades. Even large payments to Alex Stone didn’t put a dent in the balance. War, death and destruction paid extremely well and never were out of fashion. Bradford’s time in Vietnam, however brief, in a way got him where he was but, it was also a dangerous “house of cards” that could be toppled if one of the guys on the fateful final mission ever spoke up after all these years. Carter never lost the fear that someday “old bills would come due.”

CHAPTER 17

Mr. Stone browsed through the book shelves of a store across from the Starbuck’s shop on Maryland Avenue. The coffee shop was convenient for government employees since it was an easy walk from the nation’s capitol and its massive buildings filled with bureaucrats who loved coffee breaks. Stone carefully examined the car traffic ing by on the Avenue as well as the shoppers moving in and out of the stores. Stone considered Starbucks a logistical problem, as a location for the meeting with Congressman Bradford’s man, Phillip Kewley. Starbuck’s customers tended to linger and someone performing surveillance could not go unnoticed for long periods of time. Kewley was expected to arrive at 2pm. The time was chosen assuming a slow period in the coffee shop after lunch and well before the evening rush at the work day’s end. Stone never met Kewley but would recognize him from the many times he had seen him walking behind the Congressman as Bradford left his office for the House of Representatives. As a rule, with a very good reason, Stone choose never to meet anyone, face to face. According to the brief call Stone received from Carter, Kewley was bringing the list of urgent “problems” Bradford needed solved. As he waited, Stone maintained his surveillance ritual and continued a careful visual survey of the entire block. He looked for parked cars with two occupants or pedestrians repeating the around the block circuit and loitering in front of Starbucks. In general he was looking for something that didn’t fit and could present a problem. As expected, Kewley entered the shop exactly at 2PM. He placed an order at the service counter and, once served, moved to the rear of the shop and sat down at an interior table away from the windows facing the street. Stone did not move from his observation post for a full ten minutes, after Kewley came inside the coffee shop, and continued watching for anyone following Kewley or taking an interest in him. When Stone was satisfied, he entered the shop, went directly to where Kewley was sitting and took a seat at the next table with his back to Kewely. The shop was about half full, at this time of day, so no one was sitting very close. After a final look around Stone turned slightly in his seat and asked Kewley:

“Are you finished with your Washington Post?” Upon hearing Mr. Stone’s voice coming from behind him and giving the prearranged signal, Kewley couldn’t help but start. For some reason his mouth didn’t want to work. Finally, he managed to get out, “Yes, sure, help yourself.” Kewley only knew of Stone by reputation. His boss had told him a few tidbits after drinking too many Scotches one night. Carter got excited talking about the legendary “fixer” for the Bradford family. Carter, his brother and only a tiny circle of intimates even knew of Stone’s existence. Stone and his “employees” were paid from an off shore , and their names or what they were paid never appeared on any of the Trust’s records or the personal s of the Bradford brothers. Some years ago Jonah told Carter that he would begin reducing his use of Stone and in the very near future discontinue all connections to him. Carter readily agreed, in keeping with his “new persona”, but took Stone aside to assure him that he had a plan whereby Stone would still have plenty to do. What Carter called the “Hiram ” was Carter’s secret from his brother. Stone’s compensation for Trust projects went directly into yet another off shore in the British Channel Islands. Of course no US taxes or any other charges were ever attached. Carter’s special projects, paid by the “Hiram ”, were handled similarly. An employee in the New York Trust office who discovered things about Stone, counseled Kewley to take great care if he had to be around Stone or any of his associates. Kewley ed the newspaper containing Carter’s instructions back to Stone without looking at him. By the time he looked up from his coffee, all he saw was Stone’s black suit coat and his “v” shaped back as he made his way out the front door. Kewley knew that Stone had to be in his late 50’s or early 60’s but, from what Kewley could see, he moved like a much younger man. Kewley had been instructed to remain in Starbucks for at least fifteen minutes before leaving. His nerves kept him there over twenty five minutes. The last thing he wanted was run into Stone out on the street. Before he got up to leave, Kewley opened his briefcase and shook a .5 mg Xanax tablet out of a prescription bottle and quickly swallowed it, chased by his now cold coffee. Within a few minutes Kewley felt calm enough to make his way outside and started the walk back to

the Rayburn Congressional Office Building. Exiting Starbuck’s Stone moved without hesitation between two parked cars and slid into the rear seat of a very plain black Ford sedan. He said nothing to the driver. He didn’t have to. The driver, Jason Benedict, was in his mid twenties, just over six feet tall with a body of earned muscles and not the result of body building in a gym. Benedict ed Stone shortly after completing a deployment to Indonesia with a mercenary group made up of former British Army veterans. The fighting was messy and in terrible conditions, but it paid well. Before ing Stone, Benedict was very close to g on with a British Petroleum as a member of their in house security team. One of Stone’s associates in London, on an errand for the Congressman, met him and recommended him to the Boss. Stone agreed to have a look. Benedict fit Stone’s preference for ex-military. Alex Stone’s father and grandfather built a huge network of people just like Benedict whose skills were from those capable of doing in depth research on almost any topic, from forensic ants to hard men with skill set that included martial arts and expertise with a wide array of weapons. All who made the final cut and were offered a contract were men and women, who long since shed any narrow definitions of right or legal, and saw their orders much like the ones given when they served in combat. To the one, Stone’s people were very physical and went at problems and never away from them. Stone charged Bradford heavily for the kind of services he provided. In turn he paid his people very well. While the Trust and separately Carter Bradford were Stone’s principal clients, he enjoyed a positive reputation among the rich and powerful around the globe as someone who could get the job done and asked few questions. Once the car was well under way Stone slid the bulky manila 8 ½” by 11” business envelope from between the sections of the Post. The envelope was previously unused, no names or any other marking appeared on it and the flap tightly closed with a string and taped. Stone ired neat. Unknown to Kewley, he had just received points for neatness. Stone silently chuckled as he imagined Kewley using latex gloves to handle the sheets inside. The first sheet listed five names and addresses. Only one name jumped out at him: Joseph Angelo Costa, Chicago, Il 60043. Stone was instructed to put this assignment “on hold” as other arrangements were being negotiated. Stone smiled to himself with the knowledge that the so called “feelers” originated from him. This job had the mob all over it and to stay clear of that jackpot Stone looked to subcontract the job to someone that had an interest similar to his client. An up-

and-coming crew, the Vivianos, was probing for an access to Chicago as a place to hang their flag. They were bucking the old system and risking backlash from the traditional families. Costa’s home address was the same as his parents. Angelo and Maria Costa owned a multimillion dollar mansion in the Lincoln Park area of Chicago for more than a decade. The Senior Costa was reputed to still be the top man for the Chicago mob. He and his son Joseph suffered a falling out in the early sixties and so at 18 years old the young Costa left home and ed the US Navy. After serving in Vietnam and being wounded, he was honorably discharged and returned to Chicago. From what Stone was able to learn, Joseph was slated to take his place near the top of the mob hierarchy and in line for a leadership role. Stone studied the remaining four names without reaction. Each person’s name was accompanied with a detailed biography complete with last known addresses, employment histories, Social Security numbers and credit card information. The last paragraph caused Stone to smile. Smiling was something he rarely did but he could tell that this one paragraph was authored by Carter Bradford himself. It said: “The neutralization of those persons listed above is essential and must be completed, as close to simultaneously as possible, and once accomplished must leave absolutely no trace. Where possible accidents will prove useful and even a simple disappearance can be a way to avoid detection. The budget for this operation will be generous and there will be a special bonus for the person in charge if ALL traces of this operation are eliminated. This page is to be destroyed after reading”. Stone knew this was his last job for Bradford. He would require his compensation to be wired directly into an in the Channel Islands, rerouted to the Caymans, and then forwarded into another he just created in Belize. At each destination he had personal guarantees, from individuals managing the wires, of complete confidentiality. All participants knew that they would enjoy enough cash, well above their bank salaries, to begin thinking about retirement. Since each person the banking chain met Mr. Stone face to face, no thought was given to anything but total loyalty. Soon after the arrangements were made, a Stone representative showed up unannounced at each of their homes to remind them that mistakes carried heavy penalties. Bradford’s demand that no trace be left behind required that Stone eliminate his entire team once the hits were completed. He further interpreted Bradford’s orders to include Phillip Kewley. Stone saw Kewley as a weak link. He knew of Kewley’s frequent late night visits to a gay club in Virginia called Caesars’.

Stone also knew that he was the last man in line who knew the entire story. He didn’t doubt for one second that Bradford already had drawn a circle around Stone’s name for elimination by an outsider. His best guess was that whatever Bradford planned would come from the Italians in New York. Alex Stone survived after 40 years working with his father and grandfather. He did it by always getting into the enemy’s head. Carter Bradford was way out of his league when dealing with him. Even the Italians, as clever and as ruthless as they could be, were no match for him. At the end of the day it would take someone far more intelligent than any of these people to get him. When this work was done he would collect his cash and disappear out of the country to a safe house he established over than 10 years ago. Stone truly hoped that Bradford got himself elected President. That possibility excited him. To have a man in the White House that was totally compromised by all the recorded conversations he had in his files and records of everything Bradford had ever done on the wrong side of the law, would be the golden goose that never quit giving.

CHAPTER 18

By 1991 Florida had served for decades as the principal destination for retirees leaving the cold winters of the Eastern seaboard and the Midwest states. In the late sixties and seventies the properties that most appealed to buyers were attractively priced as compared to the price of the homes they were selling “up North.” This difference in value greatly benefited retirees by supplying the cash to buy a new home mortgage free. The homes in Florida, though smaller in size, were more in line with reduced family sizes. Retiring couples enjoyed an addition of extra cash to their nest egg. To compensate for the changes in lifestyle, most new communities included amenities such as resort style pools, clubhouses, and an array of clubs to absorb the new found leisure time of their residents. Mobile home parks were a popular option for buyers who had not yet digested condominium ownership, as a replacement for the single family home they were leaving, or buyers who continued to own a home in the North. A few Country Clubs had sprung for the more affluent but planned communities, with a variety of housing options offering an array of activities in a maintenance free living environment, dominated the market. Granada Palms was such a community. The Spanish accented single family homes sold at just above the median price range and, therefore, attracted retirees who still wanted to enjoy the feel of single family living but with amenities these communities offered. The “Palms” architecture was humorously described as “Florida Modern.” Typically the homes were concrete block walls over a slab with a stucco exterior and a Spanish style tile roof. The builders rarely offered more than a very limited choice in light exterior colors. Because of the predominance of older buyers most of the homes were single story “ranch” style models. A few Builders included a two story plan to satisfy a small number of buyers who needed extra space. These two story homes were typically built with the master bedroom on the main floor and 2 or even 3 bedrooms and a bath upstairs. David and Linda Rosen were two-story-buyers with extra cash to persuade the builder to make necessary modifications to address some of their grandson’s special needs. David’s Navy pension was far short of what this level of living

required but, his wife’s parents were very successful car dealers and left Linda Rosen and her siblings a very respectable inheritance. The original, large master bedroom on the ground floor was revised into a two bedroom design with a “Jack-n-Jill” bathroom. This change was made to accommodate Rosen’s daughter and her six year old son. The boy was afflicted with a muscular disease and suffered great difficulty climbing stairs. The Rosen’s wanted to make sure their grandson, Howard, was as comfortable as possible. His mother, Rhoda Rosen Levy, choose the back bedroom leaving her son the bedroom with a view of the back yard. The boy’s room faced a lake from where Howard could see the wildlife and sit in the shade of an overhead patio deck just outside the sliding glass doors. Rhoda and Howard Jr. arrived from New York that morning. Rhoda’s husband, Howard, Sr., planned to follow his wife, once he finished up with pending business. The trip to Florida, with the usual airport congestion in New York and the arrival madness in Florida, with luggage and Howard’s wheel chair, took a toll on Levy’s energy, so they were off to bed at 9PM. The grandparents were excited to have their daughter and grandson with them. They planned a full schedule of fun activities for the next day. David and Linda were in bed by 10PM after watching the late news. David Rosen was not a heavy sleeper. He struggled getting to sleep for a while and finally drifted off about 1:00 am. At approximately 3:00 am Rosen felt a breeze from the French doors which led from the relocated second floor master bedroom to a sun deck built at the rear of the home, just above the patio off the original master bedroom. At 55 years old Rosen was beginning to suffer the need to get up at night to use the bathroom, as he ed most men of his age with prostrate issues. When he felt the need to get up, Rosen’s usual routine would be to lie still for a few seconds, until he was fully awake, and then swing his long legs off the bed and slide out and onto his feet. This night, as he gripped the edge of the mattress to pull himself up, the breeze from the patio door flooded his mind. Instead of a sliding glass door the builder provided, the Rosen’s had opted for a set of French doors with a simple door knob lock. Part of David ritual was to check and lock all doors before going to bed. A careful man like David Rosen did not make mistakes. He ed checking that lock before he turned in. It only took a few seconds for David “Davey Boats” Rosen, former Boatswain Mate First Class, to realize something was very wrong. The realization was confirmed when strong hands grabbed and held him while another pair covered

his mouth. Totally unable to move Rosen felt a needle prick in his arm. In spite of the nearly immediate effect of the drug, he was able to turn hoping to alert Linda. The last thing he saw was her lifeless eyes, and the last thing he said was: “That fucking Bradford.” The killers left through the French doors they unlocked previously using a special tool designed for that purpose. The pair quietly moved back down the outside stairway from the upper sun deck to the back yard. From there they worked their way around the side of the house, in the darkness, and entered the two car attached garage through a service door. Each man carried a five gallon can of gasoline. They quickly poured the liquid along the front and the interior walls of the garage. While one of them took the now empty cans down the street to a parked car, the other lit a long piece of dynamite fuse, silently left the garage and ed his partner in the car. It took less than 30 seconds for the fuse to burn to the end sending a flare of fire into the pooled gas. There was a loud whoosh and soon after, the walls were blazing. Inside the bedroom ading the garage Rhoda Levy, a very experienced and alert mother of a special needs child, heard the sound and smelled the gasoline. She bounded out of bed and went immediately into emergency mode running for Howard’s room. Without hesitation she grabbed the sleeping boy, up in her arms and half pulled, half dragged, Howard, Jr. through the sliding glass door and into the back yard. As Rhoda carried Howard she screamed for her parents to wake up and to alert them of the danger. Once her son was where she felt he was a safe distance away from the blazing house she started running back, as close to the fire as she dared, screaming for her parents. There was no response. Within a few minutes lights started coming on in nearby homes. Very shortly Rhoda could hear sirens. Nearby neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Green, ran to her side and helped her get Howard, Jr. to safety in their home. With her son comfortable, Rhoda ran around to the front of the blazing house, just as the fire trucks arrived, and began hooking their fire hoses up to the hydrants. Her hope that her parents escaped the fire diminished when she did not see them in the crowd gathering across the street. When the flames reached the second floor master bedroom the first wall they engulfed contained a photo. The photo was of a group of five US sailors standing in front of a WWII landing craft. They were all smiling and grouped around David Rosen. A narrow strip of paper was attached to the frame and on it was written: “Coronado Island, California 1962.” The morning his daughter and grandson arrived, David Rosen was watching an early morning show on television. The guest was Congressman Carter Bradford. The host was asking

the Congressman if he was a candidate for President. The topic was a Republican running against a Republican incumbent. Bradford seemed to be offering the opinion that with the Republican Convention starting next summer the door was still open. That very morning Rosen chuckled to himself that if he and the guys were to speak up, about Bradford, he would be done politically. Davey thought it might be fun to make a few calls and see what everyone else thought.

CHAPTER 19

Bobby Sand had not slept well. The arthritis in his right leg and foot kept him up nearly all night forcing him to sleep on his left side. Sleeping on that side was unnatural for him and, as a result, he kept waking up and turning only to feel pain return once he put some weight on his right side. Bobby’s doctor explained about why few men he treated had arthritis at only 47 years old. Bobby’s disease was hereditary and not something curable. His grandfather started feeling pain and having more restricted use of his limbs by age 50. Since Bobby’s father, Robert “Rob” Sand, had been killed on D Day on the Normandy Beaches, he didn’t have any useful health history on him. Bobby’s grandfather’s debilitating arthritis lead him to believe that it was hereditary. The previous week Bobby finally consented to follow the doctor’s suggestion to take some pain medication along with over the counter “medical cocktail” he now routinely used. Bobby knew he needed plenty of rest and keep active or he would suffer worse. His typical morning ritual started with him leaving his bed and hitting the treill, in the master bedroom, positioned in such a way that he could see out the ceiling height glass wall of his loft. Thirty minutes each day on the machine made him feel much better. Over the last few years he significantly increased the amount of floor space in his two-story home and added a number of upgrades during the renovation. The present home evolved from the original lake cottage his grandparents lived in after Pete Sand returned from WWI and married Annie Rooney. Bobby’s grandmother marveled at the changes. She especially liked the incredible kitchen with the latest stainless steel appliances and yards of beautiful granite countertops, accented by a white tile backsplash covering the walls, under the pure white cabinets. From where Bobby was exercising he could see, on his chest of drawers, Pete and Annie’s framed photos. Their love, for each other, that even came through on a photograph always made him happy. He spent years searching for a woman like Annie and the only one who came close kept slipping away. Bobby’s view out of the bedroom window allowed him to visually trace his land as it tapered off, down from the hillside location of his home, to a private lake. The centuries

old receding glacier formed a basin and the natural development created a depression in the land forming a 50 acre lake. The lake was surrounded by a circle of wooded hills. Their hillsides were densely covered by Michigan hardwoods and evergreens that Bobby replenished each year as some were cut to provide Christmas trees for family and friends. Most people raised in Michigan never truly felt “Spring fever” in March or April. The Michigan peninsula was surrounded by water and consequently weather changed quickly and spring could return to winter, without warning, until late April or even early May. Bobby knew every inch of what had been his grandfather’s land. He walked it with him every Sunday from the time he was 8 years old until the Sunday before he left for the Navy and, unknown to him at the time, for Vietnam. That last Sunday his grandfather was very quiet. Bobby could tell he was worried about him. Finally Pete Sand stopped on the crest of the hill overlooking the lake and said: “Bobby, all those Sundays we have spent out here target shooting and discussing the world, and what to expect from it, will now come into sharp focus. The reason I urged you to the Navy and avoid the Army and Marines was selfish on my part. I was ing my experiences and the loss of your Dad on D Day, and I was not respecting your choices. All I can do is hope you avoid the worst of what I fear those morons in Washington are getting us into in Southeast Asia. Whatever you do, if you somehow end up over there, please that the targets you shot at here were not armed and they couldn’t shoot back. In combat you must try to think like your enemy and kill him before he kills you.” Bobby smiled and put his arm around his grandfather and said, “According to Cousin Al, our family’s Navy man, I am making a great decision. The Vietnamese don’t have a Navy, so even if I ended up over there I will be at sea and not in the jungle.” What Bobby couldn’t know, at the time, was reality has a way of turning things around and differently than we plan. After Bobby was discharged in 1966 and came home, he immediately went to work for Sand Enterprises. His direct boss was Pete Sand’s General Manager and Company President Charlie Hawk. Charlie insisted that Bobby spend a year working “on the tools” alongside the men to establish himself. Over the years

Pete had sold off his Refuse Service and most of the farms to raise capital and focus on new projects that Charlie was promoting. Slowly and carefully Charlie Hawk developed profitable real estate investments along with a very successful residential and commercial building business that now formed the heart of Sand Enterprises. Pete Sand couldn’t have been more proud of Charlie than if he were his own son. Charlie served in WWII and instead of falling into the trap too many reservation Native Americans did, of poverty and alcoholism, Charlie worked hard for his education and gave Pete and Sand Enterprises 100% every day. Charlie’s devotion was re-paid several times over as Pete moved him through the ranks to the Presidency of the Company. Pete could not bring himself to sell the stockyard. The yard was the start of the Sand Family fortune and it was too close to his heart. His mother and Bobby’s great grandmother Colleen Sand died in 1964 at 92. Right up until her last year, Colleen insisted on being driven to the stockyard every morning by 7AM to be there when the Chicago train arrived and livestock was loaded. For 15 years before she died, Colleen lived with Pete and Annie Sand, across the road from Charlie and Theresa Hawk. The day after Bobby returned home in 1966, Pete asked him to come out to the house from where he was staying with his mother. When he arrived he found Pete in his favorite chair, in the kitchen at the table by the big “picture” window that overlooked the orchard. As he pulled in, Bobby noticed Charlie walking up the driveway. Once inside Charlie and Pete each had a coffee with a shot of Irish whiskey. “So Charlie”, Bobby said, “big chief like white man’s firewater?” “Bobby”, I’ve been drinking this stuff so long, with your Grandfather, I am an honorary Irish.” Pete slid the bottle over in front of Bobby but Bobby smiled and said: “No sir, I have work to do and the gentleman over there is my boss. He might not take kindly to me drinking on the job.” Pete became very quiet, turned to Charlie and asked, “Charlie, do you have a dollar bill?”

“Yes sir.” Not knowing what Pete was up to Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out a small roll of bills and peeled off a single. “Thank you”, Pete said. “Bobby I want you to sign this deed as a witness. Don’t worry about all the notary stuff, I have it handled.” Pete slid a deed over to Bobby and Bobby located the line with his name typed under it. A quick glance told him that Pete was deeding something to Charlie and Theresa Hawk for $1.00. After Bobby signed, Pete slid the deed over to Charlie and told him to pick it up. Charlie did as he was asked and didn’t even read what was before him. “Charlie,” Pete began, “You and Theresa have just become home owners. The deed is for the house you and I built and you have rented, all these years, for the exact same amount per month as you just paid for it. My lawyer will have it recorded and will send you a copy. The deed covers the house and the ten acres of land we just had surveyed. Now before you start arguing, I want you to get across the road with this news before Theresa leaves for her job at the hospital”. Charlie stood up to his full 6 foot 2 inches and with his black eyes cast down he said: “I don’t know what I could possibly have done in my life to deserve a friend like you. As for this deed, I am stunned. You cleared the way for my kids to get a good education and went to war with the entire Catholic establishment when they were going to over Theresa to be the Charge Nurse, in the ER at St. Mary’s, because she is an Indian. All I can do is say thank you on behalf of my family. I know you well enough not to argue, so once again I am going to take your advice and go home and tell my wife.” Charlie reached across and shook Pete’s hand and then turned to Bobby:

“I have a responsibility to you and your grandfather to teach you everything I can about the business, and when the time comes you will be able to take over. So, don’t be hanging about here. Get your ass down to the stockyard. There is a whole fence that needs mending and the contractor is coming today about the roof on the old house.” Once Charlie had gone Pete turned to him and said: “You have anything to say about what I just did? You are the sole heir to everything your grandmother and I have and I just handed over about 50 to 60 thousand for a dollar.” “No sir. It belonged to you to do with as you see fit.” Pete nodded and said: “Son, that is the right answer. Now get off to your job as your boss told you.”

CHAPTER 20

Once Bobby’s thoughts returned to the present they were interrupted by the ringing of his phone. “Bobby Sand, can I help you?” Since it was his business line Bobby answered expecting a business caller. “Mr. Sand, my name is Rhoda Rosen Levy and I am calling from Florida. Do you me?” Bobby could hear the emotion in Rhoda’s voice and it immediately raised his concern level. “Yes, of course Rhoda, we met when you were in high school and I was in Florida looking for a place for my mother. What’s wrong, I can hear it in your voice. Is Davey and Linda all right?” Rhoda lost control at this point and started sobbing. “They are dead Bobby, both of them in a house fire early this morning. The fire investigators were a little too non-committal for me to believe that the fire was an accident. Dad gave me a package, years ago and insisted that I keep it near at all times in case anything strange happened to him. Fortunately I put it in my safety box at the First Union bank just down the road. Dad seemed so insistent that I send it to you. I was at the bank this morning when they opened. The first thing I saw was a card telling me to call Bobby Sand. The rest of the stuff is mostly newspaper clippings and written comments about some Congressman up in New York. I have no idea what a lot of it meant so I am going to FedEx the whole works to you.” Bobby and Rhoda talked for several minutes more, reflecting on her parents and agreeing to meet when Bobby came down to the funeral. Bobby then finished dressing and was almost ready to leave for the City where the new office was recently located on SW Capital Avenue.

Sand Enterprises had outgrown the previous offices and now with the building division going so well, even this new office was getting tight. It seemed to Bobby that each day Charlie gave him more responsibility. Over the years since his discharge, he had been able to squeeze in a degree in Business from Western Michigan University twenty two miles away. He attended year round but it still took more than 6 years to get the degree. Luckily Charlie was very ive and even adopted some of Bobby’s newly learned business knowledge to procedures at the company. With the death of his close friend on his mind, Bobby turned to his other close friend, Jewel his Pit Boxer mix. She was ready for her morning walk and breakfast. Fortunately Jewel was a patient animal and laid quietly by the bathroom door as Bobby showered and then dressed in what he called his “executive construction guy” clothes: starched white shirt, new and not faded jeans, leather lace up work boots and a baseball cap with SAND printed across the cap. Bobby prepared Jewel’s breakfast but left it on the countertop in the kitchen well above her reach. She turned her nose up for a quick sniff and then started to the rear door which led to the backyard. Bobby followed and reached up for Jewel’s leash that hung from a peg by the door. Bobby loved this dog from the day he laid eyes on her at the County Dog Pound. She was just a pup then but was already a brindle brown beauty with a pure white chest and big brown eyes. Bobby rarely actually attached the leash and carried it more out of habit than anything else. When Jewel finished her business, she always avoided going back into the house and wanted to play. Bobby would oblige her and when he was ready to go in, he would just shake the leash and Jewel knew play time was over. The dog could produce a fearsome look to some people, but it was the farthest thing from her nature. Jewel’s bark and growl was with the best of them, but once she had her master’s nod she became a friend. Bobby’s business associate’s 2 year old boy went for Jewel every time they visited. She would play with the little boy and when the boy tired it was beautiful to see this little guy curled up with a 65 pound dog, both sleeping. Little Christopher had a friend for life. Bobby gave Jewel a pat on the head and reached for the door. All of a sudden the dog moved between Bobby and the door. Her tail was nearly straight out and the fur behind her head was raised. Her rare growl was particularly fierce as Bobby stepped back and walked slowly around the first floor of his house. He stayed well back from the windows and checked in each direction. He was operating on pure instinct. In Vietnam he had learned to trust his gut. Jewel moved to the kitchen and pressed her nose against a dining area window that had been left open an inch or so. She was very busy sniffing the air. Better safe than sorry.

Bobby picked up the phone and called his best friend Nathan Hawk. Nathan still lived with his dad and mother, in the family home at the top of a hill, and had an unobstructed view of the entire area around Bobby’s house “Good Morning Kimosabe, what can Tonto do for you this fine day?” Nathan enjoyed a great sense of humor and Bobby was his favorite target. These two had been inseparable since age 4 and 5. Nathan was ready to the Navy with Bobby, until a very slight heart murmur was discovered by the Navy Doctor at Basic Training, and he was sent home. Bobby laughed as he always did when called Kimosabe the same way as Tonto addressed the Lone Ranger on the old radio program. “Listen Tonto, I need to ask you to use some of those special Indian creeping powers your dad always brags about and see if there is anyone lurking around my place. Jewel is revved up, and I trust her judgment.” “You got it Bobby.” Nathan quickly shifted from jokester to a serious friend. Grabbing the WWI field glasses given to him by Pete Sand, when he was about 12 and ed the Cub Scouts, Nathan eased out the side door and worked his way around the house to where he could see Bobby’s house but remain completely concealed by shrubbery. Nathan carefully swept the wooded area around the house and just as he was going to change position, a movement caught his eye. Focusing, he could see a figure suited head to toe in camouflage working his way across the hill line from tree to tree. Nathan returned to the house where Bobby had stayed on the line. “I see a guy about 100 yards north of your back door. He is hard to pick out as he is dressed in camo. I can’t see a weapon but the way he’s moving, he is not there to just say hello. I will come up from around the south end of the lake and maybe we can catch him between us. All I have right now is a 12 gauge but that should be enough with my Nine.” Bobby responded, “Don’t take any chances Nathan. He could be just some moron out hunting off season. But, a close friend of mine from Vietnam was just murdered in Florida so I am not taking any chances. I’ll slide out the patio door on the other side of the house. If he makes a move, let one go in the air.”

Nathan moved quickly and was half way up the hillside, where Bobby’s house was located, but could not see the intruder. Just as he reached the crest of the hill, a man jumped up about 50 yards away and began running down the hill towards the road. Nathan ran after him and was soon ed by Bobby. Based upon his agility and speed, the intruder was obviously in good physical shape. He was gone before either Nathan or Bobby was able to stop him. Nathan tried to read the plate number as Bobby cut loose with .45 and emptied a standard seven round magazine into the truck’s enger side door and side . “Jesus Bobby, you could kill someone.” Nathan was looking at a Bobby he couldn’t seeing before. Bobby’s usual bright, cheerful, and open face had closed and he appeared to Nathan as someone in a different place altogether. “He was armed”, Bobby snapped. “As he jumped into the truck I saw a sniper rifle in his right hand and what hunter has a getaway truck standing by?” The tension hung in the air for only a few seconds and Bobby said: “Come on up Nathan. The least I can do, is give you a cup of coffee and some dried buffalo meat I keep on hand for warriors to chew on.” After Bobby put the coffee on, he turned on the Today Show and talked Nathan into a couple of eggs and some toast. As they were eating Bobby heard a voice, he had not heard in many decades, coming from the TV. He stuck his hand up to silence Nathan and went over and turned the volume up. The show had taken a break and was in commercial. What he had heard was a short “trailer” announcing the next segment. After about 90 seconds Bobby and Nathan heard the host, Frank McGee, introduce his guest: “Congressman Carter Bradford has stopped by to talk with us today. The Congressman is rumored to be on the verge of announcing a run for President. The pundits are eating this up. A challenge to George H.W. Bush, an incumbent, from another Republican is normally unheard of especially from someone like Congressman Bradford who is untested in the Presidential politics arena. Well

Congressman, are you in?” McGee finished. Bobby couldn’t help but be impressed seeing Bradford on TV after all these years. Bradford had actually developed aging “movie star” looks and seemed more composed than how Bobby ed him. The camera certainly liked him. Unlike Bush, Bradford’s hair was perfectly cut to match the fashion of the times: long but not too long, and certainly not the old guy standard semi white side walls. His teeth were perfect and he could produce a smile that was in the 1000 watt range. Whoever was advising him had the right touch. He was just enough of a departure from the stodgy old man look of most Republicans and he had adopted the easy mannerisms of the Kennedy’s right down to wearing a pair of suede shoes instead of businessman lace ups that every banker and lawyer wore. The guy reeked of charm. Bobby was stunned. He could still see him on that day in Vietnam, with his nose broken and teeth knocked out, cowering on the deck of the boat but still able to smirk. Bradford turned on the smile and said, “Well Frank, first of all thank you for inviting me. I didn’t know what to expect. My GOP friends in the House heard I was coming to your show and since they never run, they walked slowly over and warned me that the Today Show was a nest of wild eyed liberal Democrats”. Not only did McGee burst out laughing. but laughter from the cameramen and crew could be heard. Back in the offset darkness Phillip Kewley, Bradford’s Chief of Staff and “special assistant”, felt a wide smile fill his face. Perfect Carter, perfect”, Kewley said to himself. Up until that moment Kewley was so nervous, he actually came close to fainting. He worried that Carter was biting off far more than he could chew. Phillip had argued that Bradford should use his massive wealth and social position as the head of the Bradford Trust, to carefully build a resume of experience before he jumped into the Presidential race. The incumbent, Bush, had served as Vice President for the GOP “saint”, Ronald Regan for 8 years and had the political right to hold the office for another term if he could. Philip Kewley was the closest thing to a friend that Carter had. In a way Kewley was kind of a half brother by accident. Carter’s father, James Bradford, had adopted Phillip Kewley as a 10 year old boy when Carter was also 10. Phillip’s father, Robert, worked for the Trust as a “jack of all trades.” Robert Kewley had a law license but never really practiced law. He was hired by James to handle his more delicate

transactions. During Prohibition Carter’s grandfather, Hiram Bradford, was building the Trust into a financial powerhouse and became involved in a number of questionable business deals with underworld figures. A few of Hiram’s “partners” were arrested in 1957 at the famous Appalachian Mafia get together. James turned to Robert Kewley to untangle the Trust as quietly as possible. The senior Kewley was a master at his job and James held him in very high esteem. All was going quite well until Robert moved to sever relations with one of the more aggressive and uncivilized Mafia partners. When it didn’t go Marco “Boom Boom” Vitale’s way, he reacted as he often did. On Phillip Kewley’s tenth birthday his mother and father organized a party and hired a bus to take all the children to a small local theme park Robert had rented for the day. Fortunately Phillip chose to ride with the kids, from the party, and did not his parents in their new Cadillac Sedan de Ville. Seconds after Robert turned the ignition key, a huge bomb went off turning the Kewley’s into unrecognizable bits of matter. At 10, Phillip Kewley was an orphan. Without hesitation, James Bradford moved quickly, called his lawyers and adopted Phillip. From the very first day Phillip and Carter were close. Over the next few minutes of the Today Show segment, Bradford outlined an aggressive platform of social programs and, as all Republicans of the time were required, made a few strong statements relating to foreign policy and stressing the need to build up the nation’s defense against all things Communist. This gave McGee the perfect opening Kewley had hoped for but could not get Bradford to agree to include. Kewley wanted to get Bradford’s Navy Cross and Purple Heart mentioned to attract votes from veterans. “Congressman, you never seem to want to remind the American people that you served in combat in Vietnam and earned a Purple Heart and the Navy Cross.” At this point Bobby blurted out: “That motherfucker got medals for murder.” On TV Carter took on his regularly practiced look of deep thought and, to some, who didn’t know him, a look of sincere comion and said: “Vietnam was a tragedy that should have never happened. As we look back today not enough was done in the Democratic State Department to find a better way to keep the Vietnamese people free from Communism. We took until 1972 to reach a partial resolution.”

McGee leaned forward on his chair and asked, “Do think Vice President Bush has done a good job resolving any lingering issues with the Vietnamese people and restored our position of trust in the region?” “Well Frank, it is always easy to be a Monday morning quarterback, so I cannot fault Mr. Bush entirely for it taking so long to bring us to a better place. I can only say that if I am elected President I intend to avoid getting into these conflicts and if we are forced to fight then get it over with as soon as possible.” The segment closed out with McGee thanking Bradford and going to commercial Bobby sat quietly for a few moments. Nathan knew his friend well and kept his silence. Finally Bobby sat up straighter and said: “Hey Tonto, get yourself more coffee. Then it is, off to work I go. According to your dad, you are now teaching five days a week at the Community College in addition to your work for Sand Enterprises. I’m proud of you.” Nathan was teaching Native American history at a local community college and on a career path to senior management at Bobby’s firm. Nathan was quiet for a moment and then said, “Bobby, this creeper thing is bothering me but it doesn’t seem to bother you. What’s up? From your reaction to that guy on TV, does it have something to do with Vietnam and your friend’s murder?” “Nathan, this is something I cannot share with you right now. But, I do feel that I must ask you to keep your eye out for any more lurkers. You know as well as I do that calling that idiot Sheriff Crump is a complete waste of time. He still shits when Pete’s name is mentioned and now he has elevated his brain dead son to Chief Deputy hoping to line him up for the next election. Your dad is scheming with the Democrats to find some electable candidate to knock Crump and his son off their perches. Look, I really have to get going or the Big Chief will scalp me.” Once Nathan was gone Bobby slipped his Beretta nine into his back pocket, pet Jewel goodbye, jumped into his truck and was off. His first stop was a gas station and mini mart three miles away. A phone booth stood outside, off to one side of the door to the Men’s room. Bobby made his call using coins from the

bag he kept in the truck. The phone on the other end rang 4 times and clicked over to an answering machine. Bobby left the following message: “Bobby will call Frankie at 0700, June 5th at the place on the bayou” While Bobby was making his call a semi truck trailer was travelling at exactly the speed limit east on I-94 towards Detroit. A black Ford truck was inside the trailer. Inside the truck was the body of one Carlo Armenetti of Brooklyn, New York. Mr. Armenetti had suffered a bullet wound to the right side of his head. After Armenetti realized he was being stalked, by at least two guys, he made the decision to abort the mission. He ran down the hillside and managed to jump into the enger seat but, at exactly the wrong second. Just as he straightened up, a bullet crashed through the open window and into his brain. The driver of the truck floored the accelerator and made for a semi trailer two miles down the country road. A ramp was already in place allowing the driver to pull right into the trailer. Once inside the truck driver jumped out and helped the semi driver push the ramp back into the trailer and close the doors. Not a word was spoken until the truck was under way and the truck driver was hidden in the sleeper behind the driver’s head. The driver of the semi then said: “What about Carlo?” The truck driver responded, “He got unlucky. Once we are on I-94 we head for the Jackson exit. We are going to visit a farm there. A hole has already been dug to bury the truck. Carlo will be ing the truck.”

CHAPTER 21

Francoise “Frankie” Renard picked up the phone in the back office of the bait shop. He knew who was calling by looking at his watch. The group’s had called him late the previous night and told him to expect the call. He knows that if Bobby Sand said he was going to call at 0700 in your time zone, you could depend upon it. “This is Frankie, and to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” “You already know, Frenchman,” Bobby answered. “I’ve got bad news. Davey Boats is down. So is Linda. Supposedly their house burned down. Rhoda and the boy were staying with them but got out safely.” Frankie sat down as tears started forming in his eyes. “Oh no, is it what I think? Yesterday’s TV announcement by that miserable prick got me going. He has to be worried and what we know.” Bobby continued My thoughts exactly; the South Florida cops say Linda and Davey died in a fire that completely destroyed the place. The Fire Department is not saying much, but the news reports make it sound like the accident was caused by faulty electrical wiring. “No way, my friend. Did you ever know a guy more squared away than Davey?” “The only guy close to Davey in that department is Joseph. Davey was a dictator on the boats when it came to storing ammo, electrical stuff, gas and diesel.” Bobby agreed and filled Frankie in on the details of the attempt on his own life on the same day as Davey died. Frankie stayed quiet, let Bobby finish and then

spoke: “It must be as obvious to you as it is to me. When I saw Bradford on the Today Show and heard that bastard is chasing the “big job”, I figured he has to be thinking and is worried about which one of us might torpedo him.” “Me too Frankie,” Bobby responded and continued: “Bradford and that Trust thing he runs have billions. He can buy whatever he wants and life is cheap in some circles. As a matter of fact, I read where his brother, who was running the Trust before him, was recently killed in a car accident about two miles from where he had a weekend home. Supposedly he slid off the road, in an ice storm, and hit a tree. Rhoda, Davey’s daughter sent me a bunch of newspaper clippings by FedEx to get them in our hands as soon as possible. The reporters brought up a lot of good points. The weird part is, Bradford’s brother always had a driver and on this day his driver didn’t show up. According to the investigation, the driver got drunk in some Manhattan bar, the night before, and left with a hooker. The cops figured he ed out and failed to get up the whole next day. This guy has been with Bradford’s brother for 15 years and was not known to be a big drinker. To top it off, he is gay. The whole accident story is full of holes. The house the brother was driving to is a weekend place. The Bradford’s have a gigantic home in Manhattan and the brother’s family has an apartment 15 minutes from the office. The brother’s wife happened to be in Europe on a trip with their kids and couldn’t explain why her husband would want to drive out to the country and not grab a cab to their own place nearby. I smell a huge rat. Within hours of Bradford Brother’s death the papers and gossip columns were packed with stories about how broke up Bradford was and how much he loved his brother. According to some people who spoke off the record, these stories were paid for by Bradford and were all bullshit. The two barely tolerated each other. Frankie, there is some serious stuff going on and I think Carter Bradford is clearing the decks for his campaign. So, be careful and watch your back. Bradford has billions and he is a Congressman who has all kinds of power. But there is good news. Leave it to Davey. Apparently he made a video and signed an affidavit telling all that went down that day and naming Bradford as a murderer. His wife told their daughter to an attorney, in Delray Beach, if anything strange happened. She also gave Rhoda our number. That’s how I found out. Rhoda called and told

me about the fire. The package she sent me included a note about the video and the affidavit. She has an appointment with the attorney today, to go over the will, and will ask him for the video and the affidavit. I cautioned her to be careful. There is a neighbor who was a close friend of Davey’s. He is a Sheriff’s Deputy and has agreed to go with her to the lawyer’s office. Once she has the stuff, she is going to make copies and put the original in her safety deposit box.” “What’s our best move, Bobby? We can’t just wait until Bradford kills us all.” Bobby responded: “Right, we need a plan. Since all of us are scattered around the country and you know Bradford has the juice to find out exactly where we are, he has to have several teams working at once. The best I can come up with is “safety first”. I’ll call Joey and you call Joseph. We have to make sure they are on the same page with us and are watching their backs. Considering Joey’s situation he probably has the best protection, but I have a feeling that Bradford’s people are serious pros. I will use our system and hope they have no way to monitor it.” Before the team was split up in Vietnam in 1962 they arranged to run telephone calls through Frankie’s cousin in Virginia. Rose Marie Fountaine, a single lady in her 50’s who worked for the IRS in Washington, was their conduit. The system was simple. Each man had a corresponding phone number. Bobby’s phone was installed in one of his grandfather’s barn offices and was equipped with an answering machine. Frankie’s phone was in his cousin’s Jimmy’s bait shop. Davey had a separate line in his sister-in law’s real estate home office. Joseph in Omaha used one in his wife’s brother’s bakery. If any of the guys wanted to another shipmate, they would call Rose Marie and leave a message. She would in turn call the number and either talk directly with whoever was intended to get the call or leave a message to call at a particular hour on a certain day. The guys used their system sparingly as not to become a nuisance. Each Christmas they collected cash and sent it to Rose in a nice envelope. Over the years the team considered dropping the system, but they ed the day they were split up and the threats made to them. The system worked perfectly, until 10 days before Davey Rosen and his wife were murdered, when it was hacked by Stone’s people. Stone was assisted by an agent of the Federal government who had the misfortune to get caught on camera doing something that would not have boded well at the Wheeling First

Baptist Church, in West Virginia, where he was an Elder. The Fed did some tracking and provided Stone with phone numbers and locations for every member of the boat crew. Bobby finished with: “Frankie, you need to really watch your ass. They got Davey and tried to nail me. We need to check on Joseph and Joey. I have a feeling that anyone going after Costa had better be good.” Frankie said: “Bobby, you have been there. You know it is a small place so any stranger nosing around is going to get noticed. All I have to do is put the word out, and people will begin paying close attention. I am sure you my brother-inlaw is the Sheriff and my cousin Maurice is a Congressman. Add those guys to my crazy wife Angelique and her friends at church, and we have the best security system in the world backed up by three very unpleasant dogs at the house. In any event, I will start carrying my old .38, again. I think I will give Maurice a call and have him do some snooping in Congress.” “All good Frankie, but tell Maurice to be very careful. Whoever these guys are, they have eyes around Bradford.” “Oh Bobby, I almost forgot. My cousin Jean lives in Ft. Lauderdale and his sister-in-law works for Broward County Sheriff’s Office. I’ll give him a call and see if his wife or her sister has heard anything from the Delray cops. Cops like to talk especially if there is something sticky about a situation. Delray Beach, where Davey’s house was located, is a bit north of Ft. Lauderdale. Maybe one of the Lauderdale cops lives near there and buys his donuts at the same place as the local cops. Jean will think of something.” “How many cousins do you have, Frankie?” “I don’t know Mon Ami, I never counted.” Rayburn Office Building – Washington, DC “Are you kidding me, Phillip?” Our crack team cannot take out some hillbilly in the swamp down there on the fucking Bayou?” The team Stone had sent to “hit” Frankie found itself surrounded by the tightest,

homegrown security system it had ever encountered. No sooner they arrived in the Parrish, smiling Cajuns began asking questions about why they were there. The questions were carefully structured to appear like friendly “Southern hospitality” but were loaded with the need to know “Who are you?” and “What do you want here?” The of Stone’s team were experienced pros, well schooled in interrogation techniques. They knew they may not have yet been “made” as a danger to Renard, but rated being kept an eye on. Rather than split, they made the right decision and created a story about the alleged good fishing on the Bayou and asked who was the best to use as a guide. Since Jimmy and Frankie were without question the best, those they spoke with immediately recommended them and then called the Bait shop and let the boys know they had visitors. After two days of great fishing the “guests” departed after leaving a good tip and promised to return next year. Even though Phillip Kewley loved thinking of himself as Carter’s “brother”, he was careful to maintain a formal demeanor around Carter so that the staff or nosy reporters, who seemed to be everywhere, not catch on to their relationship and make something more out of it. He looked around and said: “Here is the situation, Congressman. This man, Renard, lives in a place where everyone knows everyone else. Stone sent in a recon team and two hitters. Within 10 minutes they had tails. Fortunately, the guys are real pros and can think. They didn’t just leave and raise suspicion. They actually hired fishing guides and spent two days catching fish and shooting the shit with the locals. No “hit” but great Intel. We now know a lot more about the area than we could ever have found out in traditional ways. The place is a closed society. Strangers stick out and are watched. My with Stone assures me that he can get it done, but he has to hire a hitter from a specialty group who is capable of blending in and is the best of the best. The cost is double: $200,000 plus $50,000 for expenses, all up front. The hit is guaranteed or all money back.” Carter did not care about the cost but didn’t like mistakes from people he paid. He looked down from his 6’3” height to Kewley’s 5’7” and said: “Guaranteed, huh? For $250,000, it better be fucking guaranteed. Do it, but tell whoever it is you talk to, to roll fast before all these guys go to ground. Are we still waiting for word from Chicago? “Yes, as I told you last night, we had to make some adjustments but the people

there are still in play.”

CHAPTER 22

Rosa Perez was born in San Juan, Puerto Rico the daughter of Maria and Luis Codero. Her family moved to New York in 1973, one year after Rosa was born. The Cordero’s settled in the Spanish Harlem and Louis reconnected his ties, from Puerto Rico, with the New York branch of the Martinez Crime Family. Luis Codero was soon a major figure in New York and as such a target for competitors. Mainly because he was a highly intelligent and a very clever man, Luis was able to survive at least three major gang wars and two attempts, on his life, in twenty two years. Even the Italians had taken a crack at him when his crew wandered into their turf. A semi civilized “sit down”, between the two crime families, solved the immediate problem but, the boss of the Italian family, Luis had stepped on, wasn’t convinced. Luis was very careful going forward. Even so, eventually New York became too “hot” for Codero, so he moved his operation to Miami. In June of his daughter’s 18th year the Codero family was excited about Rosa’s graduation from high school and acceptance at a prestigious School of Interior Design. Until Rosa, no member of the Codero family had ever graduated from college and Rosa was on her way to becoming one of the best in her field. To watch over him Luis had two body guards who both arrived on graduation day at the Codero Home to escort Luis and Maria to the ceremony. Jose and Juan Lopez, identical twins, arrived dressed in their very best suits, clean shaven and heavily doused with Jade East cologne. Their hair was a little too long and today it was, maybe a little, too well oiled and combed straight back. Maria Codero took one look at the twins, turned to Luis and said: “Papi, can we be without the twins today?” Rosa, standing just a few feet away and having heard her mother, turned to her Father and said, “No Papi, it is not worth it. They look fine.” Luis gave his daughter a kiss and walked her to the door. Outside at the curb, a gift from her father, a Lincoln stretch limo stood waiting to carry Rosa and her two best girlfriends to the graduation and later to the after parties. Looking at his beautiful daughter Luis said:

“No problem, go on; go with your friends. Your Mama and I will be in the front row cheering you on.” Ten minutes later Luis and Maria left without the Lopez brothers. Across the street Jorge Ruiz watched and then walked to the corner Bodega and made a phone call. One hour later Rosa had a dreadful feeling as she walked across the stage and saw the two empty seats where her mother and beloved “Papi” should be sitting. As she kept on walking towards the podium, she knew. As soon as the Dean handed her the diploma, she first walked and then ran out of the auditorium and straight to the waiting Limo. “Take me home Carlito, and hurry!!” The driver didn’t hesitate. This was the boss’s daughter. Less than a block from the auditorium where the graduation was being held, Rosa saw her father’s Cadillac and the police cars. There were cops everywhere and yellow tape blocked cars from approaching. Rosa was out of the limo, as soon as it stopped, and ran towards the lights. A Miami police officer approached and stopped her at the police tape. He did all he could to keep her from racing to the car with the bullet scored windshield. A detective walked up and put his hand on the shoulder of the officer holding Rosa. He took a close look at her and said to the officer: “I’ll stay with her. This young lady is Rosa Codero and the folks in the car are her parents.” When Rosa was taken home she called Aunt Theresa, her father’s sister, who worked for her father and knew who to call to get protection to the house. While two of them were escorting the body guards out, the Lopez brothers were desperately protesting that the Boss had made them stay behind. The men who led them out of the house said nothing. The very next day, still in grief filled shock, Rosa had one of her father’s men take her to a shooting range. She went through box after box of ammunition as her escort sat quietly and watched as she purged her anger. It was quickly evident that Rosa was a natural shooter with perfect sight and hand to eye coordination. The shooting range owner knew her family well and selected his best instructor to help her. He personally brought a selection of pistols for her to use. By night fall, finally exhausted, Rosa sat down on a bench and wept. The

men around her stood back and let her get it out. Finally after regaining composure, she loaded two pistols and placed them in her big hand bag. She offered to pay the owner but he simply put his hand up and opened his arms. Rosa fell into the tall Puerto Rican’s embrace and began sobbing again. Over the next several weeks Rosa arrived at the range early every day. She was allowed to shoot, in privacy, away from the rest of the customers and was provided boxes of ammunition and a selection of the finest weapons. In no time Rosa became ired by the range employees and pronounced a serious shooter. Over the next few weeks she worked herself up to .45’s and 9 mm semi automatics. Along with learning to shoot, Rosa spent hours developing strength in her hands and upper body at a nearby gym. She lost weight and gained muscle. When alone with her thoughts, Rosa dreamt of the day when she would confront her parents’ killers and get revenge. One evening, a few months after her parents’ murders, one of her Father’s closest associates came to the door. Her bodyguard let him in but stayed close as they walked from the front door to the office where Rosa was going through her Father’s files sorting out his estate. The visitor, Ricky Ponce, stood quietly by the door until Rosa noticed him. “Excuse me, Miss Codero but I have to talk with you if it is convenient.” Rosa nodded at her bodyguard who backed up several feet but did not leave entirely. Ponce moved closer to Rosa and quietly said: “We have the guys who killed your parents.” Ponce was forced to jerk back a few feet when Rosa flew out of the chair and planted herself in front of him with such speed that it startled him. “Where are they? “I want to see them for myself before you guys do anything. Give me a minute and then let’s go.” Ponce pleaded with her to abandon the idea, but she was determined. To cover his own butt he called his boss. Following a few minutes’ of whispered conversation, he was given permission to bring Rosa back with him. After a moment Rosa returned with her hand bag and sun glasses and was ready to go.

The destination was an industrial warehouse near the Miami International Airport. Once there, they entered a building with a front office and a door leading to a warehouse. Fernando Cruz, a man Rosa had never met before, was seated behind the desk. Rosa walked straight up to him and said: “Are you positive these are the guys who did this?” “Si Miss Codero, we are certain. They have itted it to us, and we will take care of it.” “Were they acting on behalf of their crew or are they paid assassins?” “They were paid by an old man, named Martinez, in San Juan. This thing goes back years. “ Cruz responded and then looked down and said: “I’m really sorry. Your father was a good man and I will miss him. Your Mother always treated us with kindness. It’s really better if you let us handle this.” Without a word Rosa strode across the terrazzo floor; her high heels clicking, on the hard surface, as if to express overwhelming anger. Suddenly she stopped, whirled around and said: “I want to know how they did it. And before you start with the bullshit that I don’t really want to know, put yourself in my place. I’m not going to cry or give a shit when they ask for forgiveness. I won’t even puke if you cut their heads off right now. Just tell me everything and save yourself a lot of trouble. So let’s have it all.” Cruz pointed at the chair opposite the desk. Rosa sat down. After a few seconds he said: “I truly do not know what went on in Puerto Rico. There is an old man, Martinez, who has been settling old scores before he dies. He hired these two after he talked to Miguel Madera. I am told that Madera went on and on about how your father deserted Martinez, how great he was doing in the USA and how he did not care to cut his friends, in Puerto Rico, in on the profits. Madera has

been trying to get a solid foothold in the South Florida market, for pot and coke, for 20 years. He was sick of the Mexicans and Central Americans cleaning up. He has been pushing Martinez’s buttons, hoping to get permission to hit your Dad, with a goal of moving into the Miami territory. The big boss is almost 85 and doesn’t act like he knows what’s what.” After saying nothing for a few minutes, Rosa took all this in. She finally stood up and asked Cruz: “How did these men manage to do this thing? Were any of Papi’s people hooked up with Madero?” “They kept a watch on your house. They knew about your graduation. When your parents left without the Lopez twins, Jorge Ruiz, the guy watching called Madero’s people. The shooters we caught were staying only a few minutes away in one of the guy’s sister’s house. So one of them, Gustavo, gets in the back of a pickup truck and lies down. The other one, Comacho, does the driving. They wait in a parking lot, on the way to your school, until they see your father’s Cadillac and then Comacho pulls out in front of him. Gustavo pops up and cuts loose with an AR-15 rigged for full auto.” Cruz watched Rosa closely for a reaction. There was nothing but controlled rage. “Jorge Ruiz worked for Papi. Where is he?” “He disappeared. We are sitting on his house. He has a wife and four kids. The guy must be nuts or needed money real bad. I have two guys in Puerto Rico watching the airport and everybody Ruiz knows down there. We will get him.” “So there is nothing left to squeeze from the assassins, right?” Cruz just shook his head. Rosa stood up, swept her big handbag off the desk and said: “I want to see this filth before I leave, so walk me in there.” Cruz was reluctant for all the wrong reasons. Gustavo Martin and Deigo Comacho were in bad shape. They were barely conscious and covered in blood. Cruz worried, in spite of what Rosa had told him that the sight of them would make her sick. He put his concerns aside and led the way as she followed. When

they cleared the door, Rosa pulled out a Berretta Bobcat from her bag. Before Cruz managed to say a word, she walked right up the two prisoners, made eye and said: “Rot in fucking hell” She fired twice into the foreheads of both men then turned to Cruz and said: “Now get me the other bastard. I want you to call me every day until you have him. Hector Perez has taken over and, as you should know he and I are engaged. Don’t pull any shit and don’t go around me. I want to know everything you are doing. If you need money come and see me. I know you will call Hector as soon as I leave here. That’s ok. He will tell you the same thing. Do you understand me?” “Si, Senorita Codero.” Cruz reached out for Rosa’s guns. “This must go away.” He took the pistols and, in front of Rosa, carefully wiped it clean. Many months later and for years to come, Rosa continued to replay the image in her mind. She couldn’t stop thinking of Hector. Their brief marriage ended by yet another killing by Madero. She also thought of her son Carlos born only 6 months after his father’s death. Since her parents’ murder Rosa had people keeping track of Madero in the hope he might visit Miami but, he never left the protection of his enclave in San Juan. Once again Rosa spoke the words, aloud to herself, that she had said any time she thought of Madero: “One day, you son of a bitch, I will kill you and everyone in your family.”

CHAPTER 23

Rosa Perez

Valentina Acosta brought the 3 year old Carlos Perez from the patio, for his snack, and for the last taped cartoon he got to watch before his bedtime at 7:30. Once Carlos was settled in his chair, in front of the TV and was totally transfixed by the colorful characters chasing each other across the screen, Valentina stepped outside onto the patio and lit up her first cigarette since that morning. From where she sat her eyes never left Carlos and if needed, she could be at his side in seconds. Valentina loved the little boy as if he were her own. She had cared for him since his birth. Carlos’ mother, Rosa Perez, a successful interior designer with customers all over the world, was demanding to work for due to her constant concern for Carlos’ safety and his general well being. Carlos occupied the center of her life and his happiness was of utmost importance. Valentina lived in Miami all her life and had close ties with the Cuban and Puerto Rican communities. She was well acquainted with Ms. Perez’s story and understood her employer’s thought process. Rosa Perez was often gone for weeks at a time but when she came home, she did everything she could to make up, to Carlos, for her absences. Another reason Valentina was treated like a member of the family and received a huge salary, was because in Mrs. Perez absence, Valentina took special pains to talk to Carlos about “Mamma” and count down the number of days until Mamma would be home. All this information came to Mrs. Perez from a “baby cam system” that would make the NSA blush. Combined with regular visits from Ms. Perez’s friends from Puerto Rico and the surveillance system, little was secret in the house or, for that matter, wherever Valentina went with Carlos. From out of the darkness, behind Valentina, she heard: “Valentina, I told you about smoking. Put the damn cigarette out and get back

inside.” Valentina sprung from the chair. She neither heard nor had seen Ms. Perez enter the patio from the pool deck. She had been caught smoking before, often when she thought she was safe and couldn’t be seen by her employer. This time she didn’t even hear the car in the driveway. After Valentina scurried away into the house, Rosa sat down in the now vacant chair and pulled out a prepaid phone from her big leather bag. When the party she called answered, Perez said: “Larry called me. Is he available?” A few minutes ed and Perez said: “This is a short notice. Did you adjust the price to reflect the time frame?” When she heard the answer, she continued: “I can be in that area by the 30th. I will need you to provide transport from the airport in Jacksonville to the place and back. I want the same tools as always. Send Eddie, the one with all the tattoos. He is a good driver and doesn’t talk all the time like that guy you sent me in Vegas. Make sure he has all the maps and photos and is driving a car that looks like the Catholic Church and not some car in a Cajun Mardi Gras parade. Tell him to call me and we will make the last minute arrangements to meet up in Jacksonville.” Rosa then stood up and walked out the back gate of her property, past two fenced rear yards, to a third one where she dropped the prepaid phone into a garbage can. The following morning, on Friday, a Federal Express package addressed to Rosa Perez Designs, Inc. arrived from Plumbing Art, Inc. Everything Rosa needed was inside. In addition to a written narrative prepared by the team of guys “Stone” sent earlier, there were maps and aerial photos of Renard Bayou and Jimmy’s Bait Shop. Candid shots of Jimmy Jackson and Frankie Renard were included along with a hand drawn sketch of the shop’s layout. From what Rosa read, Jimmy rented out aluminum boats, motors and fishing tackle. He was equipped to supply bait for every type of fish running in the adjacent waters. Three local fishing guides were on call if a customer wanted that kind of an experience. The interior of the shop was a simple affair. Most of the activity took place outside on the “patio” where picnic tables were arranged so those seated

could talk to each other. A long counter, just inside the front and only door, dominated the interior. The surface of the counter served as a display area for various types of fishing accessories, cheap sunglasses, insect repellent and sun lotion. On the end furthest from the front Jimmy kept his old time cash . He still used the same machine his father bought new in 1942. A beverage refrigerator and ice machine took up most of the wall behind the counter. The wall separated the shop area from a small office. Jimmy was licensed to sell beer and wine but only beer was available. For the most part the shop’s regulars were not wine connoisseurs. The narrative provided to Rosa identified the principal target as Francoise Renard. The writer speculated that Renard has some kind of an unofficial business relationship with Jackson, not recorded in public records or in Renard’s tax returns. Getting in and out were the two main problems identified by the writer. The road from the highway is narrow because of the water on either side. It takes about 15 minutes, driving time, from Jimmy’s to Interstate 10. Jimmy Jackson lives directly across the road from the Bait Shop in a single story house. He is married and has a daughter living in the house with him. Renard lives further down the same road in a similar house. He is married with one daughter living at home. The business does not run on a set schedule. Jimmy or Renard usually open just before 7 AM but will get there earlier if necessary. Otherwise, the door could be locked until as late as 9 AM. The business is managed informally. Regulars routinely walk behind the counter to fill up their coolers with ice and beer and leave the cash under a stapler next to the . Jackson’s wife, Claudine, makes fresh sandwiches each morning and most are sold, before the day’s end, to fishermen or to casual visitors who consume them and drink beer at the picnic tables under the awning that runs alongside the building. While there is no perfect time, most fishermen have come and gone by no later than 7 AM to take advantage of the cooler part of the day. “Casuals” typically show up after 4 PM. Best guess, they are workers who have finished a shift somewhere. The writer of the report noted a recent change in the general behavior in the bait shop. In the last few days Renard has been paying more attention to arrivals then before. He has been carrying a pistol, at the small of his back, covered by a Tshirt. Jackson has been storing a handgun of unknown type, under a towel on the shelf, just below the counter by the cash . Rosa carefully went over the maps and aerial photos. She did not like the uncertainty of the location and the unpredictability of the targets. She pulled out the photos of the two men, again.

Jimmy and Francoise could be brothers: both short in stature and wiry in appearance; both sporting summer tans and a couple of days’ growth of beard. In the photos Francoise is bare headed and Jimmy is wearing a New Orleans Saints cap. Rosa realized that if both of them are there when she makes her move, they will die together. At minimum at least Renard must be there. While she was reading the narrative Eddie, her driver, called and confirmed the pickup in Jacksonville. She was asked to wait by the column numbered 21 outside the arrival/baggage claim area. The columns were numbered so drivers picking up engers could easily locate their parties. Later that day, while Carlos was napping, Rosa packed a bag with a nun’s habit, a change of clothes and basic necessities. In addition she included a roll of duct tape, several large plastic lawn bags and a tightly sealed bottle containing a clear liquid. Everything else would be provided. She decided not to fly into New Orleans. Rosa considered the airport a “choke point” where someone running could get trapped. Instead, she insisted on driving from Jacksonville to the “job” and required a second car, standing by on the way out, to throw off cops or anyone who may have seen the getaway car. The first car was to be a basic black “church” like sedan; the second the complete opposite. She wanted something substantial like the largest Mercedes sedan. Rosa knew that getting away was always a much bigger challenge than getting to the job and finishing it. Eddie was to have her tools with him. She favored suppressed weapons and knew Eddie would supply two Beretta 21A suppressed .22 caliber semi automatics. Beretta 21A is unique. In addition to the magazine in the butt of the pistol, the suppressor tips up to receive a round. It allows a total capacity of 8 rounds. Rosa would only load 7 bullets because her experience taught her that the weapon fully loaded with 8 bullets made the load “tight” and created the potential for jamming. Along with the weapons and ammo Eddie would have two Kevlar vests and two pairs of flesh colored skin tight leather gloves. Rosa wanted her driver to be protected from leaving unnecessary finger prints, at the scene, even though it was unlikely he would even leave the car. He was her ticket out of the place but unforeseen conditions in the field always dictated extra precautions. At 7 AM the next day Rosa was on a flight from Miami to Jacksonville. She dressed for business in a beautifully tailored suit and, like the other business travelers seated around her, carried a leather briefcase and appeared to be absorbed by some important pile of memos. Once the plane landed, Rosa made her way into the terminal. She walked swiftly towards Baggage Claim. During

the flight a guy sitting next to her attempted to engage her in conversation. She wanted to make sure he didn’t follow her and, inadvertently, see her get into the car with Eddie. Rosa knew that men noticed her, but she always assumed that someone showing interest was the opposition. Once out of the terminal door from Baggage Claim, with her bag, she quickly found the column numbered 21 and stood behind it but visible to oncoming traffic. Within two minutes a black two year old Chevrolet sedan rolled up in front of her and she saw the grinning face of Eddie Gomez. Rosa held up one finger to signal for Eddie to wait. After one last look around to see if the man from the plane, or anyone else, was paying attention to her, she slid into the rear seat and Eddie swiftly moved into the flow of traffic out of the airport. The nearly 9 hour drive from Jacksonville to a rundown motel outside Baton Rouge was uneventful. The accommodations were six less than five star but did offer a bed with clean sheets, very thin laundered towels and a bar of soap the size of a Ritz cracker. The motel’s main attraction was that it preferred cash and had no interest in the make, model and plate number of the car. While Eddie went out for sandwiches and sodas Rosa unpacked her bag and removed her shampoo, soap and a package of latex gloves. After wiping down what little she had touched in the room, with a spray from a small bottle of Windex and a dry wash cloth, she put on a pair of the latex gloves and left one pair out for Eddie. Rosa’s plan was to hit the bait shop the next day. Alone in a strange motel room Rosa always had a moment when she needed to rationalize what she had done over the years and what she was here to do now. To resolve any ethical problems she had a ritual. Rosa would try to see current target as yet another one of the bastards who killed her parents. In her memory she re-lived her graduation day over and over again as she would for the rest of her life.

Frankie Renard

Frankie answered the phone on the first ring. It was Bobby. “Anything, Frankie?”

“No, but I’m concerned about Joseph. There was no answer at the house or the store. At first I tried to pretend that I was an old customer, but Sarah’s brother Jacob was already expecting calls from one of us and Sarah knew my voice. Jacob was nervous as hell. He said Joseph was missing and Sarah and the kids were with him and his wife. According to Jacob, Joseph left for a service call and never returned. The cops checked who supposedly called and the person with that address never heard of Joseph.” “This is bad, Frankie. Bobby said. He filled Frankie in on the latest new about Joey. “Davey is down, Joseph is missing, people are after Joe. You have to be careful.” “Not to worry Bobby. Day after tomorrow I’m going out fishing with some “hard” guys from New Orleans. They are willing to hang around the shop and stay at the house for a while until we figure out how to handle this. You be careful yourself. Call me if you have news on Joey. It is possible Joseph will reach out to you. That is if he can.” At 3PM the following day, Rosa and Eddie had the Bait Shop in sight. Eddie drove slowly so Rosa could get a visual with binoculars. She could see 85 year old Claude Renard, Frankie’s uncle, shuffling slowly down the road to the Bait Shop. As Rosa watched Claude work his way towards the shop, she took note of the empty parking lot and could not see anyone on the dock or at the picnic tables. She put away the binoculars and slipped on the flesh colored leather gloves Eddie provided. Eddie was already wearing gloves even though, if all turned out right, there would be no reason for him not to remain in the car. As they neared the Bait Shop Rosa signaled with her hand for Eddie to speed up a bit and said: “Cruise up to that old guy, but stay just behind him until we get close, then pull ahead so I can get out of the car and walk in with him. Turn the car around and watch out for any boats near the dock and cars coming down that road.” Eddie smiled to himself and thought: “Women. Always giving orders.” As they neared the Bait Shop Eddie moved the .45 to his lap. This allowed him to have the weapon in his hand quickly. Rosa slipped on a pair of dark, blue

tinted, Polaroid sun glasses and double rechecked her weapons to make sure nothing in her bag could snag them. She had attached the 2 holstered guns, to the inside of a big leather bag, with snaps to firmly hold them but also make them easy to remove. At the bottom of the otherwise empty bag she kept 4 loaded magazines, a can of mace and a 10-Inch stiletto in a sheath. None of these extra items had ever been used. After each “business trip” they were mailed to a P.O. Box ed to F. Castro. Castro’s box was located next to the one rented in her mother’s name. Eddie kidded Rosa about keeping this stuff, but Rosa always said, “It’s a ritual. The end on a successful job is marked by me putting that stuff in a box and sending it to Fidel. If I blow it at some point and the cops start digging, they will think I am a Cuban. Viva Havana!” As they drew closer Eddie said, “Don’t forget to leave the rear car door ajar. Good luck Senora Codero Perez.” They moved slightly ahead of the old man, who stopped to open the door for the “nun”. Earlier, after he hung up with Bobby, Frankie watched old Uncle Claude Renard, shuffle down the road leading to the Bait Shop. In the distance, behind Claude, Frankie could just about make out a dust cloud, flying up from the old road probably, Frankie thought, from a car full of late afternoon customers. “Here comes Claude,” Frankie called to Jimmy who was in his office. “You want to bet he is here to see if any of Claudine’s sandwiches are left over.” Jimmy came out to the counter chuckling. “Old Claude has his timing down perfectly. He knows we are closing and will give him whatever is left over.” Frankie straightened his back and handed Jimmy the .38 5-shot he was carrying since Bobby called him. “Here, put this damn thing under the counter by that relic you keep beneath the towel. In the morning I am going to get a clip-on holster. My back is rubbed raw from shoving it in my waist band. I don’t know how they do it in the movies.” Frankie walked to the door and turned the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, but left

the door ajar so Claude could walk in. As he looked up to see where Claude was, he watched an older model black sedan roll to a stop beside Claude and was surprised to see Claude rush over and open the right rear door. Once the enger cleared the car, Frankie could see why the old man was so polite. There was an old nun walking up to the Bait Shop beside Claude. Frankie couldn’t see the nun closely but from the way she walked all kind of hunched over, she resembled Sister Mary Theresa from the church in Baton Rouge. Frankie noticed her blue, tinted sunglasses and tried to if he had ever seen a nun in sunglasses. He turned to Jimmy and said, “You better get a few bucks out of the till. I have a feeling this nun is here on the Bayou collecting for something, and my Angelique probably sent her to us. “This is new collecting again on Sunday. Isn’t that double dipping? They will get the folks at Mass and now they are after us sinners on Saturday.” Frankie opened the door, all the way, so the two could enter. Before he could say a word his face was covered in warm blood from the exit wound on Claude’s forehead. A split second later the last thing Frankie felt was the shock of being shot between the eyes. Jimmy was pulling one dollar bills from the cash when he first heard the shots and processed the scene, before him, in his brain. Jimmy didn’t hesitate and moved to his left as the shooter pushed a staggering Claude forward into Frankie. Rosa then smoothly turned, brought a weapon up in her right hand and aimed it at him. Jimmy was able to get his hand on the old long barrel .38 Smith and Wesson still covered with a towel. But, because the front sight was tangled in the towel fabric Jimmy couldn’t aim. All he could do was pull the trigger once before he felt the shock of 2 hollow point .22 caliber bullets tear through his right eye. Jimmy died never knowing that he wounded his assailant. His bullet missed Rosa’s vest and hit her on the upper right side just below her armpit. Fortunately for Rosa it went right through. The problem was that before hitting her, it travelled from Jimmy’s .38 through the Formica counter forcing microscopic debris into the wound. Infection was a concern. Luckily the blood from the wound was being absorbed by the nun’s habit. Rosa quickly moved to cover the injured area with a piece of cloth she found on the counter. The only blood on the shop floor belonged to her victims. In spite of being hit, Rosa went around the counter and looked into the small office to make sure there were no witnesses. As instructed, she cleaned out the cash of more than $300.00

and stuffed several packages of cigarettes, along with Jimmy and Frankie’s guns, into her bag. Her client wanted the killing to look like a robbery gone bad. She then re-traced her every step and double checked for evidence. Before leaving she picked up all her brass and made sure the “CLOSED” sign was firmly in place. Jimmy dropped behind the counter, so hiding his body was no problem. She moved Claude and Frankie out of sight and away from the front door. The effort it took to move the bodies exhausted Rosa, but her regular work outs and a careful diet paid off and she got through it. Satisfied that she had cleaned up the scene, she walked over to the front door, set the simple lock and moved stiffly to the car. Rosa applied pressure to her wound and kept looking behind herself every few steps, as she walked, to make sure no blood had dropped to the ground. She slowly settled herself into the rear seat and pulled the door closed behind her. Eddie Gomez could tell by the way Rosa moved that she had been hit, but his first priority was to get them safely away from the scene. Periodically checking on Rosa in the rear view mirror, Eddie drove carefully away from the Bait Shop toward I-10 where they would get into another car. If a choreographer had watched the video tape of Rosa’s movements, he or she would have been tempted to say “bravo.” Rosa moved with the grace and skill of an experienced dancer. She shot Claude with her left hand and, just as he dropped low enough for his head to clear the next target, she shot Frankie. All the while she moved smoothly and quickly and was able to roll to her right and use both falling bodies as cover as she fired her second pistol with her right hand and killed Jimmy. Had Jimmy stood anywhere but directly in front of his .38 laying under the counter, he never would have had the time to fire a shot. As they drove away, Rosa eased out of the nun’s habit, rolled it in a ball and stuffed it into a plastic garbage bag to prevent any blood from staining the car seat. Feeling a slight chill from the shock of being shot, Rosa covered herself with a light blanket and opened a First Aid kit. She clenched her teeth as she applied a cotton ball soaked with alcohol to the wound. The sting made her cry out in pain. “How bad are you hit? Rosa sighed and said: “He put a nice crease in my side but nothing I can’t handle. The bullet went through so, at least, that is not a problem. After we switch cars, and head east, we will have to make an unscheduled stop at Gulf Shores, Alabama. Until we get

in the other car, I am going to sleep.” Approximately 45 minutes later Eddie pulled onto a side road and drove up close to a concrete block garage. A sign over the door read “Smokie’s Service.” An old gas pump stood next to a large overhead door. Eddie woke Rosa and slipped his .45 out from under a newspaper in the enger seat. He got out, walked up to the service door and knocked. Eddie kept his hand behind his back holding the pistol. Almost immediately, the overhead door raised up revealing the back of a large Mercedes sedan. Smokie turned out to be a lanky, stooped shouldered man in his late 50’s with a greasy ball cap on his head. He was wearing bib overalls but no shirt. Eddie handed him an envelope Rosa gave him earlier. Without a word Smokie walked back into the garage, pulled the Mercedes out and turned it facing the bottom of the driveway. Eddie and Smokie talked for a moment and Eddie handed over the keys to the getaway car. With Eddie’s help, Rosa gingerly, slid across the back seat of the Mercedes and stretched out. Eddie covered her with a blanket, got behind the wheel and tossed an envelope onto the dash. “Title, insurance card and all that thanks to Larry”, Eddie said to no one in particular as his enger was already asleep in the back seat. Rosa slept for more than an hour. As soon as she was awake she checked her wound and changed the dressing she got from the First Aid kit. The bleeding had stopped. From another bag she pulled out another large plastic lawn bag and a bottle of something that emitted a foul odor when cracked open. She gathered the habit and the bloody dressings and carefully packed them into a garbage bag and then poured a small amount of the liquid on top. She wiped all surfaces of both pistols and remaining ammunition, clean of prints and DNA, and packed them in another plastic bag followed by a dose of the same foul liquid. That completed, Rosa slowly and painfully slid out of the blanket and into slacks, a cotton blouse and a light wool sweater. After driving a little over an hour more on I-10 Rosa instructed Eddie to pull into a rest stop with a restaurant. Eddie headed for the service alley behind the first one he saw and parked the car near a dumpster, directly behind a cafeteria. After making sure that no one was around, Rosa gave Eddie the bag with the guns and he quickly shoved it down into the dumpster. They were back on the road in less than 5 minutes. Eddie asked,

“Rosa, what is with the gunk in the bottle that stinks so bad?” Rosa leaned forward from the back seat and said, “Dumpsters stink but this stuff stinks even worse. I have to believe that even dumpster divers posses some level of integrity and will not want to walk away smelling like this concoction and will avoid our contributions to the dumpster. Listen Eddie, wake me up when you see signs for Gulf Shores. I have a friend there, a nurse, who can fix me up. Drive carefully and don’t fall asleep. You did great today and I will see to it that Larry gives you a bonus. Don’t stop for anything but gas and don’t wander off. Fill the tank up and go.” “You got it, Rosa. This isn’t my first time out.” “I know Eddie. Let’s just not make it our last.” Late the following Friday evening Rosa, Valentina and Carlos enjoyed a fancy, Cuban dinner at Jorge Acosta’s Havana Restaurant in Miami. Carlos loved fried plantains with a scoop of ice cream topped with chocolate fudge. Waiters usually turned their noses up when asked for such an order, but Miami waiters knew the name Codero and Perez. To the one they found Carlos’ choice of deserts brilliant. Under her blouse Rosa’s nicely cleaned and sutured wound was wrapped with a bandage. She took a few pain pills to be able to enjoy a relaxed evening out with Carlos, whose bedtime was extended to 9PM in celebration of his mother’s successful business trip.

CHAPTER 24

Salvatore Cataldo and Vincent D’Ofrio were traveling together but sat several seats away from each other near the gate of a United Airlines early morning flight to Chicago. Once onboard they sat five rows apart. When they disembarked at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport, each proceeded to baggage claim / arrival terminal with Sal Cataldo leading the way. Vincent D’Ofrio, walking more than 50 feet behind his travelling companion, was checking for anyone showing any interest in Sal. Both men exited the terminal with their bags and waited on the curb separating the first and second traffic lanes. They kept a distance of about 25 feet from each other and were looking in opposite directions. Within 5 minutes a gray Buick sedan with dark tinted windows pulled up and Sal got in the back seat. The driver rolled forward and Vincent walked up to the car, opened the rear door and placed his bag on the seat next to Sal. After closing the car door Vincent took one more look around and slid into the front enger seat. After a 45 minute ride they arrived in a service alley and were escorted from the car and into the back door of “Franco’s Old Palermo Ristorante”. Once inside they were led down a short corridor, past the kitchen, and directed up an interior stairway to a second floor apartment. Their driver, a waiter at Old Palermo’s, handed Sal the door key and left without a word. A few minutes later the restaurant’s Maitre’d, tapped on the door of the apartment. Sal opened the door and was greeted by a smiling man in a tux who introduced himself as Leo and announced that dinner would be provided at 6PM. Before he left, Leo unlocked a closet door and pointed at a suitcase inside. After the Leo left, Sal placed the suitcase onto one of the beds. It contained four Glock 25 9-millimeter Parabellum pistols and as many fully loaded 15 round magazines. The weapons were packed next to Kevlar vests and dark blue uniforms with logos for “Roma Italian Specialties.” Vincent asked Sal: “I was wondering….” As soon as the words came out, Sal knew he was going to suffer through his partner’s usual bullshit. Vincent continued after he knew he had Sal’s attention, “Why do so many Italian restaurants call themselves “Old” something? Maybe

hungry people would prefer new food and not old food.” Sal just shook his head and grinned. He and Vincent spent the last 20 years working together; the last five for the newly formed Viviano Family. Their previous association, with a New York family, became very dangerous once the crime commission started turning against each other by making deals with the prosecutors to keep the “rats” out of jail. It was always the same. Vincent would come up with some way to lighten up the tension that develops when two relatively sane men set about murdering someone. Vincent and Sal served in infantry units in Vietnam and had lots of experience with killing. Regretfully too many young men became hardened to it and were able to rationalize their worst behavior. The Army “head doctors” who occasionally showed up at military “separation centers”, where the troops were processed for discharge, would spot those who showed obvious signs of depression or aggression and placed them on “medical hold” for further observation. Once the word got around that doctors were doing this, everyone became Mr. Happy Face and did everything possible to not attract negative attention that might result in a medical holdover. Sal and Vincent served their entire tour together and spent most of it covering each other’s backs. Their mental state was never determined but one thing was certain, neither man lay awake at night in anguish over killing enemy soldiers. Once back in Brooklyn and their old neighborhood, they reconnected with friends who were “soldiers” for crime families instead of Uncle Sam. There was well paid work for men of their skills. The trip to Chicago represented the highest fee they had ever been promised. Today they were hired to kill one of their own. At 5:30 PM they heard a soft knock on the door. Having already broken down all four of the weapons, inspecting the parts and the testing the actions Sal held one, fully loaded, behind his back and moved to open the door. Vincent sat in a chair, slightly off to one side, with a loaded and cocked Glock pointed at what would become the opening. Once in position, he nodded for Sal to open the door. Sal did just that and quickly backed away. A very nervous bus boy, 17 year old named Mario Caruso, appeared in the doorway with a heavy tray of appetizers and a bottle of Chianti along with two glasses. Mario was standing just over the threshold and shaking enough to make the glasses jingle. Sal smoothly snatched them from the tray and said, “Come on in Pisano and put the tray on the table. Is this it or is there more to

come?” The boy quickly regained his composure and said: “Oh no, sir. This is just the appetizer stuff and wine. The real meal will be up as soon as you ring the kitchen by pushing that button next to the phone over there by the TV. Anyway, if you need anything just ring it once. I will know it is you and will come up and see what you need. Please , just one ring. After 5:30 you can order dinner. This time ring the bell several times so the Chef knows you are ready. When your tray is ready, I will bring it up. Ok?” Sal reached in his pocket, pulled out a $50 bill and stuffed it in the kid’s shirt pocket. Mario thanked him and backed out the door. Once in the stairway he broke out in a big smile and patted his pocket where Sal placed the biggest tip he ever got. Later that evening, after a huge dinner, Sal and Vincent reread the package of information left for them in the room. It was a duplicate of the one they went over in New York. Vincent chuckled and asked his partner, “You gave the kid fifty for carrying a tray up the stairs?” “Vincent, think of it as an insurance . One day that kid might get a job to whack an old guy and show up at my house. Maybe I can remind him of the $50 tip and maybe he will cut me a break.” All Vincent could say was, “Uh Huh.” Following the plan laid out in the instructions, at 9 o’clock that evening, they drove the sedan provided by their hosts and parked it in the alley behind the restaurant, where they came in. It would be theirs to use and then leave It on the street where it would be reported stolen. Within a very short time and with the help of a hand drawn map showing the location of the Old Napoli Pizzeria, Sal and Vincent arrived at a parking lot of a shopping center directly across from the pizza shop. From their position they could see into the well lit Italian restaurant and waited for their target. The information they had, put Joey Costa arriving at about 9:30 PM and leaving his body guards in the pizzeria around 10 PM. Costa would then go up an exterior stairway to visit his girlfriend in her apartment on the second floor.

“How do you see it, Sal?” Vincent asked. Throughout their time in Vietnam and since, Sal was always the designated planner. Vincent trusted his judgment and only rarely objected to a decision Sal made. Sal took one more look across the street and said, “Let’s put you on the ground by that closed carpet store looking like a drunk having a little rest from a hard day of boozing. Here, take this paper bag and the empty wine bottle you can use as a prop. Once Costa es you, just get up, take a few steps and nail him as he turns to go up the stairs. I will be in the doorway near the pizzeria, to cover you, if his boys get nosy and decide to make sure he made it upstairs. The suppressors we got look good, so no one should be able to hear the shot. Even so, here are your ear plugs.” Sal handed Vincent two Winston cigarette filters torn from the cigarette pack he always carried. Neither man smoked but had become accustomed to using cigarette filters as ear plugs in Vietnam. It was a habit that turned into a ritual for Vincent. Both veterans suffered some level of hearing loss due to constant firing of weapons that rattled their ear drums until they lost some of their intended use. “Got it, Vincent. Once Costa is down have the car ready for us, in the alley between the buildings, so we can quickly get to the switch car, two blocks away, onto the Interstate and be on our way to the Detroit airport.” “Wait, Whoa, Whoa.” Vincent blurted out and caught Sal off guard one of the few times after all these years. “Do we get over time? All night shooting, long distance driving and stuff, with no breaks, is a violation of Local One of the Mobster’s Union.” Over a year in Vietnam with not one scratch, years of cleaning up messes for the Viviano’s and more than 25 years of dangerous ways to make a living prompted the long time partners to periodically discuss their employment. Buying a bar in the Florida Keys sounded much better than doing whatever the next job might be. Earlier over dinner they shook hands and agreed this would be the last job.

CHAPTER 25

Carter Bradford was totally full of himself, this beautiful summer day, as he pulled his Brooklands Bentley into the largest stall of his six car garage. Carter kept a Cadillac Deville sedan handy, as “his” car, if there were any photos to be taken. Although the Bentley was not new, it might not bode well with a few of his blue collar constituents. It was a 2008 classic model he purchased from an estate near his home for just under $600,000. As he drove off with the car he whispered to himself, “Thanks Grandpa Hiram and the Bank of Cyprus.” On his way home Carter was delighting himself with his most recent accomplishments. Alone in the plush interior of the motorized palace Carter felt safe to say, out loud to himself, what he had been scheming to accomplish for decades, “I am like a Commander in Chief of my own private army. My General is Kewley and he gives my orders to Stone, a Colonel, who leads my army of fixers.” Carter continued with this thought process without realizing that he was still speaking out loud. “Soon my army will silence that fucking reporter who thinks she can disobey me. And then heads will roll off all the insolent bastards, on the boat crew, who should have ed me in killing all the gooks and save us from killing them later when the war really got going. Next I have to make three more decisions. With Jonah gone, the Trust and the Foundation are mine. As to my idiot wife, now that she has produced two children, she has little value left and is expandable. In addition to getting old she is 40 pounds overweight. I may have to wait a while to get rid of my nephew James II, but his time will come. The last in line is Stone. He simply knows too much.” All of a sudden Carter realized he was sitting in his garage and talking to himself.

What Carter didn’t know was that Stone was way ahead of him. Soon after his meeting with Kewley, when he received the names and locations of the targets, Stone did his research and moved on the project. The “work” had already been assigned and his people were in place to hit Sand, Rosen and Renard almost immediately. Stone was waiting for a progress report. All that remained was to find Carson, in Nebraska, and wait for Viviano’s people to handle Costa. In upstate New York, at the Bradford Estate, Helene (Candy Lynn Jones) Stansfield Bradford rolled over in the king sized bed in her bedroom and broke wind. The release of gas woke her up. She lay still for a minute hoping that she could keep from getting up and going to the bathroom but, in the end, she had to go. Afterwards, as she crossed the gallery between her master bedroom and Carter’s identical one on the other side, she heard the automatic garage door close. She then ed that the butler had driven Carter in the Cadillac to pick up his new car. “Well,” Helene thought: “That should put the asshole in a good mood.” The Bradford’s son, twenty year old Carter, Jr. was a legacy student at Harvard and his eighteen year old sister Alice Beatrice Bradford was in her first year at Vassar. At the time she was born, Carter insisted on naming his daughter after his own mother and grandmother to convince himself that he was a loving member of the family, after all. Carter Jr.’s grades were not earth shattering, so it took a bit of maneuvering and emphasizing the Bradford Harvard legacy to make the university’s door open to Junior. Carter Sr. was willing to build a new library or whatever was necessary to get his son in. Back in 1973 Carter’s mother bribed an attendant, at the assisted living facility she lived in, to buy her some sleeping pills. Over several months she had bribed this and that one on the staff until she had a large collection of pills. After writing “Do not trust Carter, EVIL” on the wall of her bedroom, Alice Davis Bradford swallowed the entire pile of pills and died peacefully. Alice’s message never reached anyone as Carter was the first notified and managed to have the wall repainted, pay bribes in order to ensure silence, whisk Alice’s body off to a funeral home and arrange to bury her within 2 days of her death. Carter never visited his mother’s grave as long as he lived.

Carter, Jr. inherited his father’s good looks but his sister, Alice, must have been the unlucky recipient of some old Bradford genes from England and was stuck with a “horse face” ed on from her many grandmother’s. Helene (Candy Lynn) seemed to have contributed nothing. Carter had big plans for his son. He pushed him into the study of Finance and Business Law. In the back of his mind Carter saw his son at the head of the Trust pumping more and more wealth into his coffers. As Carter was being served his breakfast by the Bradford family cook, Stone’s people were well ahead of schedule but with mixed results. A semi truck and trailer was leaving Jackson, Michigan after burying a truck with Carlo Armenetti’s body in it. The truck was heading to Detroit Metro Airport and the driver and his enger to a flight back to New York. Another two man team was ed in separate rooms, in a Western Inn, less than six miles from Omaha’s Eppley Field airport. The local phone book was open to the Hurwitz Appliance commercial ad with the address and a small location map. Two men were scheduled to arrive at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, from New York, on June 7th. They were to be picked up by local ers of the Viviano family in New York. The Viviano Family had an interest in moving into Chicago and the Costa Family stood in its way. Carter used Mr. Stone to reach out to the Viviano’s, but once he had a name and details, he made a side deal with one of the principals to do him a favor, in the near future, in exchange for using his Congressional influence to begin an FBI investigation into the Costa Family. The following day Carter spoke with the FBI’s D.C. office and claimed that he had a confidential informant who told him that the Costa’s were working with the Russians to import and sell Russian made automatic weapons. The FBI was reluctant to go full blast until they knew who Carter was talking to and had more details. Not one to be patient, Carter cornered the Director at a Congressional Hearing on some other subject and cautioned him that if one of these weapons showed up at a mass murder and someone connected the dots and found out the FBI had neglected to follow a lead, it would be hell to pay. The Director began setting up an investigation team the following day.

CHAPTER 26

Just as Joey Costa swung open the door of the restaurant to go upstairs he heard Tony Mittico, the counterman, call his name. “Joey, some guy Bobby is on the phone and says it is urgent.” Joey smiled, turned back inside and picked up the phone, “What the hell is this? You are interrupting me on my pizza break.” A long running joke between Joey and Bobby was that Italians had to have several pizza breaks during the day. Bobby laughed and then quickly became serious and said, “We have a problem. Davey is down, we can’t find Joseph, and someone tried to put my lights out. I spoke with Frankie earlier and we agree that you are on the list and need to be careful.” “Damn Bobby, I should have been ahead of this as soon as I saw that asshole on TV talking about running for President. I live with this crap every day and should be more up to speed on the signs.” Bobby said: “Listen to me, shipmate, start covering your ass right now. Bradford is seriously rich and can hire the best. Make sure you have your best guys covering your back. Don’t do stuff you normally do for a while because you can bet that they have been tracking you and know every time you use the head.” “Thanks Bobby. I’ll get my guys going and see if they can flush out any villains. You take care of yourself and if you need anything, like uned stuff, let me know.” Joey put the phone down and waved his boys towards the back of the restaurant. Just as he started to speak his father’s long time driver and personal bodyguard Enzo Moretti came through the front in an obvious hurry. Enzo held his hand up

and said, “I need to talk to you right away, it’s important. Your father sent me to help Alberto and Leonardo protect you. He knows about the visits you make upstairs and worries that might be a weak point. So, before you get pissed and start yelling, you need to know that when I parked across the street I saw two guys get out of a car and cross the street. They separated and one went down to that abandoned carpet store and the other into a doorway to the left of the building as you walk out. They appeared to be wearing uniforms, but they are not cops. One of them was carrying what looked like a blanket or something.” Right then Joey recognized the value of Bobby’s call. “Thanks Enzo. I was just about to walk out there, so I’m glad you stopped me. Don’t hold it against Alberto and Leonardo. They wanted to go and I told them to wait inside.” Enzo leaned in toward Joey, so the counterman could not hear him, and said, “I suggest that Alberto and Leonardo go out the back door and work their way around the building to opposite corners. I will walk out the front with a pizza box in my hand, cross over to where my car is parked, wait until I see the corners covered and then pull my car around in front and park. As soon as I get close, these guys are going to be paying attention to what I am doing, and that will give Alberto and Leonardo a chance to close in from both sides. I’ll blow the horn twice and make them think I’m picking you up. When the boys hear the horn, it will be their signal to move and stick a gun in these guys’ backs. It has to be done without shots fired. The last thing we want, are the cops showing up. And, we need these guys alive, so we can find out who sent them.” “Enzo, where did you learn all this shit?” “Same as you Joey, in fucking Vietnam.” Everything went as planned. Sal Cataldo and Vincent D’Afrio were taken without a shot. Vincent offered some resistance and got a hard smack on the side of his head with Leonardo’s pistol and a ride in the trunk of Enzo’s car to Quality Cleaning Services warehouse, a Costa owned business. Upon arrival at the darkened warehouse, Enzo opened the big overhead door, drove his car in and closed the door behind him with the remote. The three Costa men led Sal to a

chair and tied him securely. Vincent had to be helped out of the trunk and soon ed his partner tied to another chair. Enzo then told Alberto and Leonardo to take his car and return to Joey. Leonardo asked, “What about you, Enzo?” Enzo said: “You guys can stay if you want to. I’m going to give ‘Doc’ a call and get him over here to have a conversation with these guys.” The instant the boys heard Enzo say he was calling “Doc”, they wasted no time getting on their way. What every Costa Family member knew was that when someone refused to talk, the boss would call Doc. Apparently his methods brought quick results. Just the mention of his name brought chills to the spines of otherwise very tough men. Doc’s greatest value was not getting people to talk; it was getting them to tell the absolute truth. Most tortured people will say anything to get the pain to stop. In this regard Doc was special. He not only used pain but also expressed fear of horrors, to the body, using the kind of details only a real physician could come up with. Doc also employed a wide variety of chemicals to get what he wanted. In all the years since Angelo Costa had found him, Doc never failed to deliver and tonight was no exception. Just after midnight Enzo called Joey and gave him a complete run down on the activities of Sal and Vincent since they arrived in Chicago. Joey wasted no time. 6 hours later the deal was in place: two employees of Franco’s Old Palermo Ristorante would never again show up for work, and the restaurant’s owner decided to retire and gift his business to the Costa family. Enzo was convinced that Doc had all he could get from the New Yorkers. He knew who their bosses were and why they wanted Joey out of the way. Bradford’s name never came up. That part of the plot was kept at the highest level of the Viviano’s pecking order. Along the way they heard the name Stone but didn’t have any way to connect it to the job they were given. Enzo discovered that Sal and Vincent had served in Vietnam, so once Doc was done with them he gave each of them a bottle of cold water and helped them drink it. Once their thirst was satisfied, Enzo shot them, from behind, in the back of their heads. The next morning, just before daylight, two fishermen arrived at their 40 foot Sport Fisherman cabin cruiser, tied up in a Lake Michigan marina. They had two other guys with them who helped carry two very heavy canvas bags from their cars and offloaded them onto the boat. Later that day the same boat

returned with less gear and no fish.

CHAPTER 27

Joey Costa was somewhat inexperienced in Mob politics. He didn’t realize how angry two senior “Captains” were about him moving up in the Mob hierarchy and ahead them. Carmine Nuncio and Peter Ferrari didn’t believe for one second that Joey’s elevation was temporary. He was a Costa and that said it all. While they were slugging it out with competitors, and even the independents, Joey was off somewhere playing sailor. So, when a representative of the same New York Family that made the earlier attempt to kill Angelo Costa approached them, with an invitation to talk, they accepted. A neutral location, in a public place, was chosen for the meeting. Nuncio and Ferrari drove around the South end of Lake Michigan, one Wednesday morning, heading towards South Haven, Michigan. They were followed by a second car occupied by two of their most trusted “soldiers.” As they drove, Nuncio was grumbling about what he and Ferrari were wearing, “How come we gotta wear these fucking Hawaiian shirts and shorts?” Peter Ferrari couldn’t help but laugh. Nuncio was a clothes horse and never went anywhere if he didn’t feel he looked good. Ferrari knew that the purpose of “dressing down” was to look like a bunch of guys having lunch and not gangsters plotting something. When they arrived at the restaurant chosen for the meeting their counterparts were waiting for them on an outdoor deck. The deck overlooked the South Haven River and was a popular spot for tourists. Chicago’s two “soldiers” and the two New York “soldiers” parked themselves at the bar where they could watch their bosses from a short distance but were not party to the conversation. Each of them was warned to behave and talk “nice” and not play “gangsters” as young associates tended to do. A movie maker would find the four, sitting in a row, hilarious. Cindy, the 22 year old bartender on duty was a college student on a school break and found the four men curious. She asked: “Are you guys here for a convention or something?” It was a normal question as most of the customers were couples and the four guys sitting on the outside deck seemed out of place.

Only the youngest Mario Fuchetti was able to come up with an answer: “No, we are all in the pizza business and accidently ran into each other.” Mario wanted to make certain that Cindy believed that they had just, unexpectedly, run into each other. Mario was the brightest of the bunch because he had a GED. His answer puzzled Cindy since one of the guys looked to be in his mid 50’s and mentioned that he was there with his parents. But, just like Tim the Assistant Manager had said, she should kept her curiosity to herself. Tim told her to be nice but not to ask stupid questions and blow a good tip. On the patio deck the New Yorkers, Charlie Leone and Joseph Benedetti, waved the waitress over. Once the lunch orders were taken and the waitress was out of the way, Benedetti wasted no time getting to the purpose of the meeting, “First of all, let’s get past the thing with Mr. Costa. As we always say: it’s just business and not personal. Maybe you guys can let bygones be gone since the other guys involved in this before never made it out of Chicago. Are we like, even, ok?” Benedetti looked at Nuncio and Ferrari who both shrugged. He continued: “Fact is, we are looking to expand our businesses but Mr. Costa is from a very old school and not a guy you can deal with if you are talking about change. He is like a fucking rock. So, we asked around. What came back are the names of two up and comers who are being held down and not given a shot at making some really serious money. That brings us to you two. There are some guys at the very top who see Angelo and Joey Costa as standing in the way of what we consider progress. And, I am not talking just about the other New York families. This goes much higher. We have some political connections that go all the way back to Prohibition. The YES or NO end of this thing is whether you two are willing to us. A YES will mean you guys are the bosses in Chicago and the expansion of business from New York will immediately spill over into your pockets. The immediate thing is what we are calling a g bonus, like in baseball or the NFL. If the Costa’s disappear from leadership, you two cash in for a job well done. This is for real. Our principals are prepared to pay each of you one million dollars which will be deposited in a Bank in, say Panama, with $100,000 up front for expenses to get the job done. Now I know I have said a lot and you guys need a few minutes to come up with an answer. If it is YES, the expense money will be handed to you, today, on your way out. If it’s a NO, we

will be disappointed but only ask that for your own safety you keep this conversation secret. If either Costa gets wind of it, your lives won’t be worth a penny. You will always have a spot with us if you keep your mouths shut.” Just as Benedetti finished, the lunch orders arrived and he dug into his pasta fagioli soup and mozzarella caprice. Nuncio and Ferrari excused themselves and walked a few yards down the boardwalk along the river. Peter Ferrari started: “What do you think Carmine?” Carmine Nuncio was several years older than Ferrari and a third generation mobster. He just smiled, turned to Ferrari and said: “Were you listening? That was not an offer. If we say NO, it will not just go away. Think about it. We will be lucky to make it back to Chicago. These guys are going to take out the Costa’s one way or another, so Angelo and Joey plus any of the guys who get in the way are history. They have reached deep into our people and have some damn good intel . They know how pissed we were when Joey was given the top spot. They know that if you were the one to get it, I could live with it and vice versa. From what Benedetti is saying, I hear the presence of some high up civilians. Giving each of us one mil and all this other money for a $100,000 job tells me that money is no object. This is probably good for us, but we need to keep our eyes wide open. Let’s tell them YES with a couple of conditions. You have to know that if we turn them down we had better be ready to shoot our way out of here.” Nuncio took no time at all and said, “YES. What the fuck? We are either going to be rich or screwed, and right now I feel we may be looking at the future of crime as a legitimate business. You got it Carmine? You do the talking and I will just look tough.” Nuncio chuckled and said: “Who cuts your hair? You look like one of them male chickens with a big bunch of hair sticking up in the back. You better make your tough look be real good or these Pisanos are going to burst out laughing.” Ferrari laughed at his friend and said:

“Just fuck you Carmine. Get your fat wop ass over there and get us the money.” Nuncio and Ferrari returned to the table and while Ferrari ate his burger, Nuncio reviewed the of the agreement with Benedetti. In the middle of speaking Nuncio turned to Charlie Leone and said: “You haven’t said shit during this whole thing, so you are either the boss or just muscle. I am going to assume that you are the boss and here to make sure Joseph handles this right.” Leone’s face never moved. The only sign of recognition was the slightest of smiles. Nuncio went on: “You have a deal under these two conditions: first, we know that you sent two guys to take Joey Costa out. Most of them are out there in that lake behind you. They were well prepared and for the most part good at their jobs but, my people were better. So as a result, Joey now knows that he is a target and every soldier he has is watching. When we get up to leave I want you two to do a performance in showing the goons at the bar that we just pinned your ears back. Then, when Peter and I get back, we will report that we braced you and warned you off. You agreed and you will make sure that a warning goes around New York: Hands off Chicago”. Nuncio paused and then continued, “In order for us to do what you want, we have to carefully pick our people and set this thing up so we don’t cause a fucking civil war and make a mess of all our business interests and end up getting the cops stirred up. We prefer it when the cops are busy shooting the blacks. We need to spread around some cash. We need at least $200,000. Plus the two mil split between Peter and me. Nuncio stopped talking, turned towards Leone and waited for a response. It came as a nod. Benedetti spoke up and said: “It will be in the bag when you leave.” Nuncio continued: “And this is a deal breaker. You must tell us who in our crew has been ratting on us to you. Before you answer, if we don’t get this item cleared up, we walk and make some phone calls to Joey. I assure you, this place will look like an Italian wedding reception before you can get far enough away to be safe.”

This time Leone spoke: “Two guys. Frank Carbone and Michael Minnelli. No one else.” Nuncio and Ferrari stood up, Leone and Benedetti reached across the table and after a few seconds with their hands hanging in the air Nuncio and Ferrari shook hands with them. Before anyone left the table, both Leone and Benedetti put up their hands in what appeared to be supplication and gave a brief bow of their heads. None of this was missed by the four guys at the bar. Once on the highway back to Chicago, with Nuncio at the wheel, Ferrari said: “Wanna take a look in the bag?” Nuncio immediately said, “Hell yes. Just open that thing carefully in case those assholes put a bomb in there.” “Well is the cash there?” Nuncio said with impatience in his voice. “Fuck yes.” Ferrari responded excited. “I have never seen this much in cash before, but they made it easy. This big bag is filled with wrapped packages marked $10,000 each. As soon as we get to a clean phone, I am going to call a few of the guys we can trust and make some arrangements. My bet is we can pull this off with only a 100 grand and you and I can pocket another 50k a piece. This is a great job. All we have to do is take out the Costa’s and then, if we are smart, disappear. My cousin lives in South America and knows places we can go to and become someone else for less than a grand.” Nuncio took all this in and said, “Once we get this thing done, let’s book one of them cruises to South America and once we hit a port where my cousin can pick us up, we go native.”

“Tell me Carmine,” Peter asked, “How did you know that those guys would have that much cash ready?” Nuncio smiled at his own luck and said: “You have to know these things Peter. We the older generation professionals are trained observers who have adapted to the modern day skills you young guys still don’t have.” “Knock that shit off Carmine. I know you were dumping guys in Lake Michigan when I was in high school, but now we are on the way to being very rich gentlemen. Please old great one, share your wisdom.” “Alright, alright. Listen and learn. When I guessed there were civilians involved, I figured government or surely somebody high up who has that kind of cash available. These guys did not want to go back to New York and tell some big shot that they couldn’t get the job done.“ Nuncio turned slightly and said: “Let’s us make a deal that the girls never hear about this. One slip of the tongue, one new piece of jewelry or one new car and we are going to those two guys in the lake. Besides my Carla and your Monica are getting up there and I don’t know about you, but Carla seems to be bitching about something all the time. With a million in the bank and a pocket full of walking around money, we can buy new models without raising a sweat. We pull this off and the sooner we disappear the better.”

CHAPTER 28

Maria Costa was up at 5 AM preparing a special dinner for her husband. Everyone, except for Carmine Nuncio, was asleep. Carmine took over for his men so they could have some time off to be with their families. Maria was preparing plenty of chicken Scarpariello so Carmine could Angelo for a dinner of Angelo’s favorite Neapolitan dish. First, Maria made a cup of espresso and warmed some homemade bread for her Angelo. He was stirring earlier and the doctor had already checked on him and left just before Carmine arrived. The pretty nurse must have left too because a male nurse, she had never met before, was sitting in Angelo’s makeshift bedroom. The room that now served as his hospital room was Angelo’s former den. Today it was loaded with all sorts of beeping equipment and tubes running in and out of her husband’s veins. Maria placed the tray with the bread and espresso on a table by the window. As she looked around she didn’t see either of the boys, Joey brought in, all dressed up like doctors in blue scrubs. When she turned towards her husband she immediately saw blood on his pillow. Before she could scream Carmine’s hand was over her mouth and nose. Seventy Five year old Maria Costa died quickly. In fact Carmine Nuncio was very tender as he lifted her tiny, light body up and carried her to the hall closet where he gently laid her on the floor and closed the door. He then walked back into the den, pulled up the blanket covering Angelo and shifted the pillow so the blood stain was concealed. Carmine knew that the day shift arrived at 6:30 AM. He had less than 45 minutes to get ready. He removed the latex gloves with Maria’s saliva on them, dropped them in the medical trash container with used needles and put on a fresh pair he got from the dispenser on the nurse’s desk. Peter Ferrari, Acting as the nurse had shot Angelo an hour earlier. With a nod from Carmine, Ferrari used the house phone and called the gate entry system. He spoke with a contrived Spanish accent and authorized the gate to send in All State Medical Supply truck when it arrived. Ten minutes later the truck pulled up in front of the house and two men got out dressed in white coveralls. Very efficiently they placed Angelo and Maria, along with all the blood stained bedding, into large trunks with wheels. Once the latches on the trunks were secured the men rolled them outside and loaded them into the truck. In less than five minutes they returned with another

larger trunk, pushed it into the living room and out of sight of the rest of the downstairs. Phase One of the plan completed, Carmine picked up the hand set for the internal communication system and pressed a button marked “Joey.” Carmine could hear the line buzzing in Joey and Gina Costa’s house located 50 yards behind his parent’s house. Ferrari heard Carmine say, “Really sorry, Joey but your father doesn’t look good and the doctor said that I should call you. No problem I’ll unlock the back door.” Nuncio and Ferrari walked down the main hall to the kitchen located in the back of the house overlooking a pool and an expanse of manicured lawn. From the windows wrapping around the dining area they could see Joey leaving his house, through the front door, and stopping to wave his wife back in. He ran across the lawn toward his parents’ house. Ferrari stepped behind the door with a silenced .22 in his hand. Carmine stood in the hall, across from the kitchen, waiting to guide Joey to his father’s side. As Joey came through the door, Carmine raised his hand causing Joey to stop. Ferrari stepped forward and shot Joey twice in the back of his head. Before Joey fell to the floor, Carmine had grabbed him and quickly wrapped his head in a towel he was holding. Ten minutes later Joey’s body was in the trunk and loaded on the truck. Carmine and Peter then set about cleaning the kitchen with bleach to remove blood spattered from Joey’s wound. At one point Peter looked up and saw Joey’s wife approaching the kitchen door. Quickly Carmine moved to the place behind the door from where Peter shot Joey. Peter opened the door to let Gina in and, as soon as she crossed the threshold, Carmine stepped forward and snapped her neck in a practiced move. Peter quickly located a blanket and wrapped it around Gina’s body. He then raced out the front door to stop the truck as it was just backing down the driveway. After making sure no neighbors were outside, Carmine threw Gina’s body over his shoulder then walked to the truck as fast as he could, handed it to one of the guys and closed the door. As he walked back Carmine had a very typical male chauvinist’s observation: “If that stupid bitch only did what her husband told her and stayed home, she’d still be alive.” With the kitchen cleaned and everything wiped down, Carmine and Peter were satisfied they did what they were paid to do. The Costa’s disappeared. Carmine and Peter left in one of the Costa’s cars through an “exit only” gate. The All State Medical Supply truck left through the main gate and headed for a farm in

rural Michigan. The following morning the Chicago Tribune headline was: “Mob Boss, Wife, Son and Daughter-in-Law Disappear.“ Bobby saw the news on television, at his house, and immediately called Frankie on a prepaid phone he had bought the day before in case his calls were being monitored. The phone at the Bait Shop was answered by a Detective Sergeant Louis Champlin of the Louisiana State Police Criminal Investigations Squad. Bobby instinctively knew his friend was gone without asking. He hung up and tried Joseph again. This time he reached Sarah Carson, Joseph’s wife. She knew Bobby’s name and had been told to trust him. Sarah explained how Joseph made her promise that if anything happened she was to leave their house and have one of the store’s Assistant Managers close it, for a few days, until Joseph was able to call her. So far she heard nothing from her husband. Bobby promised to help and told her he would call again. As he hung up the phone, Bobby experienced a terrible feeling of dread suspecting that he was the only one left.

CHAPTER 29

Two days ed without a word from Joseph since the Chicago Tribune coverage on June 15th of the disappearance of Joey, his wife Gina and his parents. Bobby seriously considered calling the FBI but couldn’t come up with what to say. He lacked any solid proof of Bradford’s guilt or even whether he was behind it. In Joey’s world it could be just a mob thing and the minute Bobby opened his mouth, the news media would swarm and his location would be revealed. Not to mention, Carter Bradford was the darling of the American Eagle television network, and they would turn on their entire slime machine to discredit him. The TV commentators on the AEN network were little more than a conspiracy theorists speaking through a televised supermarket tabloid that favored Carter Bradford because of the Trust and the possibility, however remote, that he would end up President. Every night one of their top two anchors launched fact deficient rants about how the nation needed Carter and used every shopworn fear, too many Americans subscribed to, as the subject matter of their “reporting.” Neither of these anchors or any of the rest of the “news team” had functioned as working reporters. None had walked in a Civil Rights march to get an interview or had the courage to leave the safety of the New York headquarters to report from a war zone. It was likely that all of the witnesses to Bradford’s murders, in Vietnam, were dead or missing except Bobby and hopefully Joseph. He couldn’t accuse a U.S. Congressman of war crimes without solid evidence. Bobby slid his legs off the bed, as quietly as he could, to keep from waking Marysia Stein, his Interior Designer and Marketing Director at Sand Building and Development. It was a year long struggle to even get her to agree to have lunch with him. Marysia fended him off arguing that as his employee she should not start a relationship with him even though it was clear they desperately wanted to be together. It was now Nathan Hawk who carried the title of Company President, but Bobby held the majority of the stock and was Chairman of the Board of Directors. Months before his grandfather, Pete Sand, died he discussed how the operation should run with Bobby and Nathan. Nathan’s father was the President until his death, and the position remained vacant until Pete insisted the boys make a

decision. The decision they made was the right one. The company continued to prosper and in recent weeks launched a new condominium development division. This concept targeted retirees who no longer wanted the responsibility of owning a home and did not want to move toFlorida. These potential buyers wanted to stay near their families and would endure the winter cold rather than enjoy the Florida sunshine. They were flexible on the home design and mostly cared about a life style that offered lawn maintenance, snow removal, security and a clubhouse with social events and recreation. The concept was slowly catching on and Bobby and Nathan were anxious to capitalize on it. Marysia traveled to Florida and visited condo and single family home communities with a variety of services and came back with lots of design and marketing ideas. As Bobby was leaving the bathroom, Jewel jumped off the bed and ran down the stairs to the rear door. Since she didn’t bark or growl but, instead, made dog crying noises when she wanted something, Bobby knew the caller was a friend and Jewel wanted to let him in. Glancing out the window Bobby saw Nathan’s truck parked in his driveway. He opened the door and kept right on going into the kitchen to start the coffee maker. “Early morning marketing meeting, Mr. Board Chairman?” Nathan said with a devilish grin on his face. “Or, did you buy Marysia’s Corvette from her?” “Neither, Mr. President,” Marysia said from halfway down the stairway to the master bedroom. She was wearing one of Bobby’s long sleeved white dress shirts and nothing else. To add to her embarrassment, her clothes and underwear were visible on the family room floor in front of the fireplace. “Oops, since I don’t think we have an employee manual forbidding whatever you are doing, I can only say how happy I am to see you two finally merging your hormones in private, instead of having to watch the frustration and all the pretending created as you work together. Can I have some of that coffee now? I need to have the attention of both of you for something important.” Once they were seated around the kitchen island, Nathan went right at why he was there.

“Bobby, something is going on and you are in the middle of it. I think we all need an explanation so we are not blindsided by it.” It was the “blindsided” comment that broke Bobby’s silence. The last thing he wanted was to have the office or any of his friends caught in the middle of a shootout. He asked Nathan and Marysia to bear with him as he was going to tell them a long difficult story and ask their advice. Over the next 60 minutes Bobby talked about the missions in Vietnam and the pact he and his shipmates made, and what had transpired recently. Bobby held nothing back and for once even Marysia, who was a question machine by nature, said nothing and listened. When he finished, it was Nathan who spoke first: “It looks like you are, in a way, stuck in a box and have to wait until Bradford’s next move. By now he may have eliminated all the witnesses to what he did and you are the only one left who can hurt him. He must be wondering what evidence you have, Other you are against a rich Congressman, and if you will have to be dealt with just like the others. But, from what you tell me about him, and the stuff that has come out since he announced his preliminary plans to run, he is used to getting his own way and has the money to make things happen.” Nathan went on: “I don’t have the military experience you do, but I have watched enough movies to know that we better take some precautions. With or without your permission, I am going to call some of my friends with the Native American VFW and hire some guys to secure this place and the office. Most of the younger non-vets are at least experienced hunters and can always use a few extra bucks. Over the years the Sand family has earned a great reputation for being a friend to the Tribe. Asking in the name of Pete Sand, Charlie and Theresa Hawk means something.” The best Bobby could come up with was: “Thanks Tonto.” The way the farm had been organized, back in the day when Pete owned the Refuse Service, his trucks came in through a gate, followed a dirt road down past what was now the Hawk home and continued in the direction of the deep valley where the trucks dumped and a heavy equipment guy covered the refuse with a big Caterpillar bulldozer. Two buildings were located on the road down. A fully

functioning large barn and a huge one story hog house, converted years before to a dry storage warehouse, sat close to the road. All evidence of hogs living there was gone. The Hawk home sat on an elevated knoll and was almost exactly on level with Bobby’s home. His house sat high up on the other side of a deep valley. The entire farm was surrounded with a dense forest. An unused gate house was still intact at the entrance and the electrically powered chain link fence gate still operated. By 10 AM the area around the gate house was a bee hive of activity. Twenty men from age 18 to 40 years old were standing in a circle with Bobby and Nathan at the center. Bobby opened the discussion with, “Nathan has envelopes for each of you. Each envelope has an employment agreement inside hiring you as security officers for this farm and all those who reside here. In a few minutes Norm Barber, the farmer down the road, will be here with his boys to install steel s on the inside walls of the gate house. I won’t bullshit you guys. There are some very bad people who may show up in the next few days who wish me serious harm. These guys will be pros and will not hesitate to shoot. I don’t need to tell you how useless Sheriff Crump is or that idiot son of his. I don’t have the proof I need to go after these guys legally, but I do have the right to protect my property and hire people to help me do it. If any one of you thinks this is something he would rather not be involved in, please go with my blessing. There will be no hard feelings.” The row of men standing around the circle parted, and a young woman stepped forward and said: “That would be ‘he or she’, and the answer is NO. My name is Carla Raven and I graduated from the University of Michigan, last year with a law degree, thanks to a Pete and Annie Sand scholarship. The Apache looking kid standing over there, with a silly grin on his face is my brother Ronnie. He is in his last year at MSU because of the same program and he works summers for the Sand Company to make ends meet. Everyone else here owes your family a lot and so let’s get ourselves a plan and stop whoever it is who dares screw with this family.” Nathan turned to Bobby and said: “You are the Captain on this thing, so what do we do?” Bobby knelt down and unfolded a “blue line” survey drawing of the parcel that covered the Hawk house, the Sand house, Bobby’s now vacant grandparents’

house across the road as well as the lake, the woods and all the outbuildings. He assigned positions for each man and talked Carla Raven into heading up the team’s communications from the attic dormer room, in Nathan Hawk’s house, where she had a 360 degree view of the farm. Moki Gray Deer stepped forward and volunteered to take a position in the barn loft where he could cover the gate with his Savage 300 rifle fitted with a Bushnell Scope. Moki was a man of very few words but said: “My rifle is sighted in for 300 yards and the distance from the barn loft to the gate is just under 300. You might recognize this weapon. Your grandfather gave it to me when I was hired by the Michigan Forest Service after college. He told me Charlie Hawk was ready to take it away from him after he thought your grandfather might part little Crump’s hair and make him shit his pants. Charlie worried where old Pete might decide to make the part.” Everyone including Bobby burst out laughing. They all ed Pete Sand and heard the story several times about Pete, Charlie and Crump in the orchard. Young Crump was preparing to kill a doe, out of season, near a salt lick Pete Sand put in the orchard next to their home. Bobby’s grandmother, Annie Sand, loved to watch the deer and Pete left plenty of apples in the orchard, each year, for the deer to eat with the new grass sprouts that popped through the snow in the spring. Pete simply didn’t take kindly to Crump killing that deer and hurting his wife’s feelings, so he had set up alongside his garage and was ready to give a boy a real scare. Fortunately Charlie Hawk, Nathan’s dad, saw what was going on from across the road and made it into the orchard before Pete’s lesson turned into a tragedy. As was Pete’s way he pretended to be angry with Charlie as Charlie patiently reminded Pete that his eyesight wasn’t as good as it used to be. Finally, Pete thanked Charlie and said, “You have saved me a lot of trouble. If I had shot him, it would have cost me a whole day getting a piece of equipment out here to bury him what with the ground frozen solid.” Bobby and Nathan distributed the rest of the men around the farm in places of concealment. Nathan handed out walkie talkies fitted with ear pieces, so everyone could stay in with Carla. Robert Falcon and Ronnie Raven were chosen for special assignments. Ronnie was given the keys to one of the two dump trucks on the farm. He was to park across the road in the trees and wait for a signal to pull out and block any vehicle that entered by the gate. Robert took the other truck and parked it down the road about 100 feet and in position to block from the other direction. Nathan insisted on taking the gate

house along with Bobby. It took no time at all for Norm Barber to line the front wall of the structure with thick steel sheets that could withstand anything up to a missile. Marysia Stein picked up lunches for everyone from a deli and volunteered to go down the farm road and watch for anything coming off the main road that looked suspicious. Bobby armed her with a .25 semi automatic his grandmother kept in the kitchen, for years, but never shot. Marysia took some impromptu practice and felt comfortable with shooting the weapon and loading the magazines. Bobby, knowing what “hot head” she could be, if her ability was challenged, very diplomatically suggested that she first call in anything she saw before she started blazing away. By noon the “troops” were at their posts. Carla reported that the communication system worked perfectly. At 12:45 PM Bobby’s regular cell phone rang. When he answered a deep accented voice said: “Are you the guy who feeds the chickens?” Bobby froze for a moment and said “Where’s Joey?” “Mr. Sand, my name is Enzo and I need to see you in person. The pizza man left instructions that I was to you personally if anything strange went down. Can we meet?” “Yes, of course, where are you?” “In a gas station near something called Bailey Park. If the map I have is right, I am about 10 minutes or so from your house. I have two guys with me and we are driving a dark blue Buick four door with Illinois plates.” “Ok. Listen Enzo, you stay on the road you are on until you a bowling alley. Take the next right turn and follow that road until you see a white and sandstone farm house by a little gate house. Stop at the gate house and please do not have any weapon in your hands. Get everyone out of the car and I will be there. Got it?” “We are on our way and will come out of the car with our hands empty.” Bobby got on the comm system and alerted everyone to watch for the Buick and to hold their fire. He explained that he would go out and meet whoever these

guys were. “If I hit the dirt, blast away.” The next 15 minutes went from high alert tension to Bobby shaking hands with Enzo Moretti, Alberto Conti and Leonardo Ricci. The group including Nathan and Marysia, who had arrived from her post, left the gate for Bobby’s grandparents’ house across the road. Carla remained behind to keep the communications system going. One of the boys took Bobby’s truck and went out to Marysia’s post to watch for the “enemy.” It took Enzo over an hour to cover all the events of the last two weeks. He made it clear that the possibility Joey and his family were still alive was remote. This whole charade was designed to convince the other , of the Costa family, that the Costa’s ratted them out and are now in “witness protection”. Enzo knew that was bullshit after witnessing firsthand the attempts on Joey’s life. He named Carmine Nuncio and Peter Ferrari as the ones behind the scheme and was sure they sold out to the Viviano Family in New York. Before he left Chicago, Enzo overheard Carmine and Peter planning to hit Sand. Apparently killing Bobby was important to someone very high up. Bobby was convinced he knew who that someone was and why he needed to have him silenced. Since Bobby’s grandparents’ home across the road was still vacant, he moved Enzo, Alberto and Leonardo into it. In spite of the serious nature of what they were involved in Bobby laughed out loud when he heard Leonardo turn from looking out the window and say to Enzo, “Those are real fucking Indians, just like in the movies. There is one guy that looks just like Geronimo.”

CHAPTER 30

After all the people had breakfast and were back at their posts, Bobby and Nathan sat down with Enzo Moretti to discuss their next move. Enzo seemed conflicted about something and Bobby decided not to push him. At one point Bobby noticed Enzo watching Alberto and Leonardo having a great time eating breakfast with the Indians and asking all kinds of really stupid questions that came to their minds from movies they saw. To each, they were a curiosity. Not many Native Americans ever travelled to big cities like Chicago. They spent most of their lives doing their best to earn a living on local farms or in factories for the really lucky ones. They made a good living in the factories and were covered with health insurance and pensions. Sadly too few were able to become doctors, lawyers and engineers. College tuition was out of the reach of most. Scholarships created by individuals or special government programs were out there, but few in numbers. Drugs and alcohol ravaged Reservations and many Americans branded Native Americans as unreliable and not contributing to the greater society. Politicians rarely were any help because, as constituents, Indians were not able to make big campaign donations and suffered problems that needed federal funds. This brand suited politicians who were more interested in doing for those with money and were not terribly interested in the welfare of human beings. The Tribe looked upon the Chicago boys as a curiosity in their suits and leather shoes with pointed toes. By the middle of the first day Ronnie Raven and some of his friends were able to talk Leonardo and Alberto into jeans, light short sleeved shirts and boots. Since the men from the Reservation didn’t know how long they would be away, they brought plenty of clothes. When Enzo first saw his boys dressed up like real farm guys, he laughed until the tears ran down his face. But behind that laughter was a real concern as to what the future had in store for Leonardo and Alberto. Enzo loved the young men as much as if they were his own sons. He had grown up in the mob much like these two were on their way to doing. This business with the New York mob and politicians made him realize that this was going to get real bad. He knew there was a strong possibility that one or both of these young men would get hurt or killed. Listening to their laughter and watching them interact with other young men

caused Enzo to make a decision. “Bobby I have something, I believe you need, to wrap this fucking mess up. But I need something from you and Nathan.” “Talk to me Enzo. It is quite obvious that you have something on your mind.” “Joey gave me a box with your name on it. He said whatever is in it will give you proof that Bradford murdered those people. I have held it back until I was sure about you. Please, no offence but I have spent most of my life around people I could only half trust. Joey was different and when we are done here, I intend to go back to Chicago and kill every one of those sons a bitches who killed him. So, here is my deal, and I must have your word you will not get in my way doing what I must to set things right.” “Enzo, I loved Joey Costa as a friend who I served with and who saved my life and took bullets that had my name on them. If I give you my word, you may treat it as if I were pledging to Joey.” “Ok, here’s what I want. When this thing is handled, I want you to personally guarantee to take in Alberto and Leonardo. I want them educated and I want them to learn a useful skill or profession. I want them to live a decent and honest life, free from all the bullshit I have been through, as they will suffer if they are not given another direction soon.“ Just at that moment, as if planned, there was a roar of laughter coming from the front yard where Alberto, Leonardo and several of the young Indian boys were playing with a football and cracking jokes. Bobby reached across the table, took Enzo’s hand and said, “You have my word. I swear on the memory of Joey Costa, Frankie Renard and Davey Rosen. They will live with me as long as they want, and Nathan will give them jobs with the company and I will see to it that they are educated.” Nathan stood up and shook Enzo’s hand as well and said, “Enzo, you have my word as well.” Enzo excused himself and went out to his car. From the window Bobby and Nathan could see him remove a box from the trunk and walk back into the house. He put the Box on the dining room table in front of Bobby. Without

hesitation Bobby peeled the paper wrapping off and slit the tape, holding the cover closed, with a kitchen knife. On top was an envelope with “Bobby” written on it. It contained a letter: “Dear Bobby, If you are reading this instead of me handing it to you, I may be in trouble. You can trust Enzo. He has been with us since he was in high school. My Father loves him like son. What you find in the box is an old movie camera and two rolls of film. I didn’t fool with it because I didn’t want to screw it up. This film is supposed to be of our crew in that last village. Apparently there was one VC, hidden somewhere, filming the whole thing. Some guys we know in Chicago run a gay club in the D.C. area. They have the whole place wired for video and sound. The guy managing the operation is real good at catching big shots doing their thing and then, when he has them on video, he can squeeze cash out of them. One night a Vietnamese guy shows up and asks one of the doormen to point out the guy who works for Bradford. This doorman is smarter than the average goon and instead of taking him to Bradford’s guy, who was there by the way, he takes him to one of our guys and they have a talk. After a little persuasion the Vietnamese guy its he works at their Embassy in Washington and wants to see a guy named Kewley. Our guys know Kewley. He is a regular and they know he works for Bradford. They search the Vietnamese guy’s car and find the box you now have. This guy was going to give the film to Kewley and tell him that they have copies in Hanoi. My guess is they have proof of what Bradford did. Unfortunately the Vietnamese guy had an accident on the way home, so for all the Vietnamese know, he handed it over to Kewley. You got it now. I hope this all works out and we can share a drink or more as soon Bradford gets what is coming to him.” The letter was signed: “Your Shipmate, Pizza Man.” Bobby had to excuse himself so he could clear his eyes and regain composure. It was time to plan the next step. Two days ed with no one showing up from Chicago or New York. Enzo made some calls to people he knew could be trusted. No one in Chicago could figure out what happened to Enzo, Alberto and Leonardo. Fingers pointed in both directions. The Chicago people accused the New York guys of whacking them. The New York people denied everything. Nothing was moving. On the third day the sentry, watching the road leading to the farm, called Carla and reported a truck with Omaha Steaks written in big letters on the side. Carla called Bobby when the truck stopped at the gate and

asked him if he knew anything about it. Carla assumed that Bobby had ordered steaks to feed everyone. When Bobby denied it, Carla made sure Moki Gray Deer was looking down his Bushnell scope at the driver, then she slipped her Beretta out of the holster and calmly walked around to the driver’s side with the weapon in her hand, down by her side, and asked the driver his name. “Tell Bobby, it’s Joseph.” When Bobby heard what had been said, he flew out the door of his grandparents’ house and ran across the road to the truck. And, sure enough there was Joseph Carson standing there with a huge smile on his face. Bobby was talking even before he reached Joseph: “My God man, I have been worried about you. It’s bad. Everyone is gone except you and me. We are not totally sure about Joey but his man Enzo is here and he said to not hold out any hope. Talk to me, tell me what you have been doing and what you think we can do to get that bastard. And, boy do I have a surprise for you.” Finally, Bobby ran out of breath, stopped talking and just started laughing and hugging Joseph. For better part of an hour Bobby, Nathan, Enzo and Marysia listened while Joseph went over what he had been doing and explained that, at one point, Joey had faxed a map of where Bobby’s home and farm were in case Joseph decided to get there. Having run out of options Joseph took a chance and came directly to the farm. Just as the conversation started to slow down, they heard Bradford’s name on TV in the living room. Matt Lauer, the new guy on the NBC Today show, was saying: “It looks like Bradford is serious about challenging President Bush. On Sunday he has agreed to appear as a single ist, in Chicago on a special edition of NBC Chicago News, following the regularly scheduled ‘Meet the Press’ program. Congressman Bradford promises to answer questions from reporters representing the New York Times, Washington Post and, of course, the Chicago Tribune. The program will be broadcast nationally from NBC’s studios, in the Windy City, and the great Kirby Sanders our local NBC anchor will moderate.” Lauer went on, “Bradford’s challenge is a real departure from traditional political behavior. It is usually a political sin for a Republican to challenge an incumbent, especially one

of President Bush’s political statures. I guess we will all see who Congressman Carter Bradford really is and what he stands for after this exposure. And in other news…” Once the group heard what Lauer was saying, the wheels were turning and most noticeably those in Joseph Carson’s head. “I know you are cooking something up Joseph,” Bobby said. “Tell me Mr. Moretti, do you have any s in the Chicago’s NBC ?” Joseph asked, “I’m referring to people on the technical staff who handle the playing of video tape when a or anchor person wants to refer to a point. Like when they play something someone said to back up or refute what they are now saying.” “Let me make a couple of calls and I’m sure we can work something out. The Costa Family did a lot of favors, over the years, and Carmine and Peter are sitting on top of a bomb that could go off any minute. Once New York guys start showing up and giving orders either our guys will fall in place or the streets will run with blood. Give me a day.” Joseph nodded and asked Bobby, “Do you know of anyone who can work with this film and turn it into a video tape?” Before Bobby could answer Marysia Stein spoke up: “That’s my department, Joseph. I have a guy who is a genius and has the equipment I think you need. I can take you to him this morning. “Bobby jumped in and said: “Do it, but with a couple of conditions, you take Joseph’s Omaha Steaks truck and Enzo’s two boys to ride along in case there is any trouble.”

Thirty minutes later the four were off, but first Enzo had to track down Leonardo. He found him learning to ride one of Bobby’s saddle horses wearing a big cowboy hat the Tribe loaned him.

CHAPTER 31

The “Board of Directors” of the conspiracy to bring down Carter Bradford held its final planning meeting in Pete and Annie Sand’s dining room. Bobby sat at the head of the table and Joseph across from him. They were accompanied by Nathan Hawk, Enzo Moretti, Marysia Stein, Carla Raven, Alberto Conti and Ronnie Raven. All the assignments had been discussed and agreed to by the group. Bobby, Joseph, Enzo and Alberto would go to Chicago to help implement Joseph’s plan. As it turned out Alberto’s cousin Franco was in charge of the technical side of Chicago’s NBC television station’s programming and production. When the director called for a certain video it was Franco’s job to roll the correct one. Marysia along with Carla and the rest of the crew would stay behind, at the farm, in case any of the “enemy” showed up. As difficult a task as the group had ahead of it, with Bobby and Marysia’s relationship out in the open, the office entered into a more relaxed and productive mode. Marysia, back from her make belief “marketing conference”, was on the phone with an old college friend who ed NBC as a producer in Chicago. She was able to arrange for a visit to the control room and a tour of the set where Bradford would be interviewed. Even with Alberto’s cousin willing to help, Bobby wanted a sketch of the place in case something went wrong. On the night before the broadcast, with help of another one of Enzo’s “friends”, the group ed in the Drake Hotel under assumed names. Not having visited the city in several years, Bobby had forgotten how beautiful Chicago was nestled around the shores of Lake Michigan. He felt a surge of nostalgia as he ed the times his grandfather had taken him, as a very young man, on business trips. They stayed at the majestic old Drake and dined in the city’s finest restaurants. Bobby instinctively knew old Pete Sand would be proud of him for what he was doing to avenge his shipmates and remove an evil man from doing further harm to America. At 7:30 everyone left the hotel for “Chez Michel”, a recently opened dining destination established by an experienced restaurateur specializing in French food. Enzo approved “Chez Michel” because it was not a restaurant he was

likely to run into any of his associates. All his people hated French food. If a meal didn’t include pasta, it was not fit to be eaten. The dinner turned out to be terrific. Even Enzo was impressed. Back at the hotel, bying the bar and its temptations, everyone settled in for a good night’s sleep. By 8 AM of the following morning Alberto, Bobby, Joseph and Enzo were being escorted by Cousin Franco, through various departments of the NBC studio. Franco had read Bradford’s itinerary and was able to assure everyone that they would not run into the Congressman or his entourage. Once Bradford went on the set, the group would be able to watch his live interview from a private viewing room. Joseph handed Alberto the video tapes of Bradford and watched as Alberto walked out and down the hall with Franco towards the control room. Everyone took a seat, watched “News of the Day” and waited to segue to the next story. After the commercials ended anchorman, Kirby Sanders, appeared and introduced the participating newspaper reporters. Finally the camera turned to where Bradford was standing, behind a podium, with a stack of papers in front of him. Sanders made the announcement: “Congressman Carter Bradford is taking a giant step. He is on the verge of challenging incumbent President George H.W. Bush. Representative Bradford was elected as the youngest Congressman in modern history. On Election Day, at 25, he was barely old enough to be eligible to take his seat. Now, at the age of 54, he is taking on the biggest challenge of his career. The Congressman has a brief opening statement and then the interview will begin.” The camera moved into a close up of Bradford and he began his prepared remarks: “Thank you, Kirby and my thanks to the great City of Chicago and NBC for this opportunity to share my views with the nation. To start, I want it known that I have the greatest respect for President Bush, but I truly believe that the forgotten people of this nation have not been given the attention they deserve over the last three and now going on four years. As a nation we are investing too much on non-producers and foreign aid. We have miserably failed to reduce taxes on those who create the jobs that are needed by our country’s workers. Americans must look inward, after all these decades since World War II to take care of themselves. We have been extraordinarily generous to the people of the world who needed our help getting back on their feet. Look around and you will see German and Japanese cars and trucks on our streets and highways. We import

massive amounts of finished goods from Asia and much of our industrial base is beginning to yield world markets to new industrial powers. Our colleges and universities are filling with the world’s students who, then take their knowledge home, and become our competitors. Count the Asian names at the graduate schools of engineering and science like MIT and other fine learning establishments. As we spread our technical knowledge to other countries, America’s middle class jobs disappear. We raise taxes on the job creators to the unemployed. Making capitalists look like predators and destroy the profit motive is not the way to make our economy work. As most people know, the Bradford Trust literally employs thousands of American workers. What most people do not is that Trust Companies have a policy of giving priorities to our veterans. I am a combat veteran of Vietnam, and I understand the needs of military families once their active duty ends. Thank you for your attention. I am ready for your questions.” Over the next thirty minutes the reporters covered the economy, foreign policy, social benefits and most of the issues of the day. Carter lied about everything. His answers reflected, what he thought was important based on results of recent polls. Carter was addicted to poll numbers. At the beginning of the last 15 minutes of the interview the reporter from the Chicago Tribune asked Bradford to elaborate on his Vietnam service. The question had appeared on his notes and was circled in red. He assumed that it came from his editor when in fact it was the work of one of the show’s producers, friendly with Franco, who coincidentally knew a lot about Carter Bradford and couldn’t stand him. The producer was persuaded by Joseph that the Vietnam question would prompt real interest and be a highlight of the whole interview. The reporter opened with: “Congressman, please tell us about your experience in Vietnam and give America an idea of how you see the relationship between the United States and the Socialist Republic of Vietnam evolve during your istration.” Before Bradford could respond the television screen was filled with Joseph Carson speaking into a microphone while standing in front of the NBC building. “My name is Joseph Carson. I served with the Congressman, then Lieutenant Bradford, for nearly “one whole” month of his actual duty in uniform. I was part of a Navy Amphibious Assault Team assigned to missions in 4 Corp or to most people, who are familiar with a map of Vietnam, Mekong River area. What you will see is a video capturing Bradford’s “heroic” service as he, needlessly and

against his orders, murdered Vietnamese men, women and children.” Bradford was already moving away from the podium and was screaming at Kirby Sanders: “Shut this shit off. It’s all a lie by Democrats who are afraid that I will win. Stop it now or I will have your job, you black bastard.” The viewers could hear Bradford’s every word and their eyes were glued to a very explicit transfer of an old film to video tape. The effect was immediate. All of NBC’s phones rang and all other major networks, including PBS, interrupted their programming to follow the story happening in Chicago. The President of the United States was notified and the TV set in the West Wing was turned on to see the show. Phillip Kewley left the “green room” and caught the first elevator to the main floor. He then raced out the front door of the building and flagged down a ing cab. After telling the driver the name of his airline, Phillip sat back in the back seat and felt the warm tears cascade down his cheeks. He spent a lifetime believing, that in spite of some of his behavior, Carter was a good man deep down. At the worst time of his life, when his parents were murdered and a Judge was ready to turn him over to strangers, he was saved by James Bradford and warmly welcomed by Carter. But, seeing Carter smirk as he mercilessly shot innocent civilians, made him physically ill. When the cab stopped to let him out, at the departure section of the airport, he was barely able to pay the driver and get out before he threw up on the pavement. Back at NBC, where the Control Room didn’t hurry to shut down the broadcast, finally a “technical difficulties” notice appeared on the screen, but not before the entire tape had run. Reporters were racing off the set in search of phones. Kirby Sanders calmly walked off the set thinking: “Now I have truly seen everything.” Bradford was furious when he couldn’t find Phillip and had to book his own First Class flight back to Washington. His cab arrived at O’Hare Airport a few minutes after Kewley’s flight departed for New York. Phillip was headed to the Bradford mansion where he resided since he was a child of 10 years old. He had taken Carter’s suite of rooms when Carter moved out. Once he arrived at the mansion, Kewley stuffed his best clothes and personal items in several large suitcases and called the butler to carry them down

to the front door. With that finished, he called his friend Gordon. The two had been “together” for the last 15 years. As Carter’s Chief of Staff Phillip felt he needed to keep his relationship with Gordon a secret. Republicans didn’t deal well with gay people. As he thought about it on this day, he realized that Carter never once asked him if he was happy, did he have a girlfriend or even what he was doing, on any given day, except when Phillip was involved in something Carter wanted done. When Gordon answered, Phillip simply said: “For 15 years you have been bugging me to move in with you. Is the invitation still good? If it is, come here now and pick me up.” After listening for less than a minute, Phillip said: “I’ll be waiting outside and, thank you.” As Bradford waited in the First Class lounge, he felt that everyone was looking at him. Those who did recognize him chose to keep their thoughts to themselves. He did to call for his car to pick him up in Washington. Making calls was something he rarely did, as there were always others to do it for him. Upon arrival in Washington, his driver was waiting and delivered him to his Congressional office building. Walking down the long corridor Carter could hear the clamor before he could actually see where it was coming from. When he was closer to his office, he saw the television cameras and a huge group of reporters gathered in the hallway. Before he could turn around and leave one reporter spotted him and yelled: “There he is.” Bradford made the decision to do what he did best and simply lie his way out of any adverse situation. He stopped, dramatically, raised his hand and said: “I have a statement, but if you are going to start yelling out questions, get out of my way and allow me to go to my office, or I will have the Capitol Police remove you.” He ignored the few questions that were posed anyway, checked his tie then ran his hand through his hair to make sure it was not messed up, looked directly into the cameras and said: “Today NBC News conspired to destroy a candidate they oppose by playing a

fake tape and paying a former comrade of mine, who is hopelessly, mentally disturbed, and has my sincere sympathy to tell outrageous lies and play that doctored up tape obviously made by Liberals in Hollywood. Mr. Carson is a sad case, as everyone knows. All I can add is my concern for him and his family. What was buried in all those lies and fake reports is the fact that I was awarded the Navy Cross and the Purple Heart for my bravery in action. Those behind this pack of lies and fake news have tried to smear my reputation. Those who concocted this fake story neglected to consider that Senior Naval Officers and even the President of the United States, the beloved John F. Kennedy, sent me on this mission. Afterwards, based upon an intense review of my part in this action, they made the decision to award the medals. Do you honestly think that such citations can be granted without an investigation? I know that you and everyone know that these awards are not made without an intense review. Manufactured lies and fake reports all add up to fake news. Many people have already called for an investigation of this conspiracy. I have been advised that a real investigative journalist, Sam Kenny of the American Eagle Broadcast Network, is looking into the way this stunt was created. Many people are questioning this whole affair and would rather respect the judgment of President Kennedy than spend their time paying attention to a deranged man like Carson who has proven to be the enemy of the state. May God help him.” Bradford watched the eyes of each reporter. He knew from experience that journalists rarely accepted anything at face value and would be doing the checking. But he also knew that not one Senior Officer, at the Pentagon, would ever dare to it awarding these citations without an investigation. Certainly none of them would even confess to the cover up that followed. Bradford refused to answer any more questions and pushed his way through the crowd and into his office. As he walked past the various offices and cubicles, he discovered he was all alone which, he thought, was understandable considering the crowd gathered outside. As he opened the door to his private office, the first thing he saw was the wall behind his desk. Since he first arrived it had held his collection of framed magazine covers showing his face and glamorous photographs of himself with Hollywood stars and political crème de la crème. Today all of the photos and framed covers were torn from the wall and thrown in a pile on the floor in front of his desk. On the now blank wall someone had written: “JUST FUCK YOU MURDERER!”.

He was startled from his anger by the ringing of his private phone. “Hello, who is calling?” Carter asked. “Carter, this is Bob Wilson the Speaker’s aide calling. The Speaker would like to see you. Is now convenient?” The last thing Bradford wanted to do was anger the powerful Speaker of the House, so he said: “Of course, I will come right now. I was just planning to call him myself.” The meeting with the Speaker didn’t last long. Bradford repeated his lies about the NBC conspiracy, but it got him nowhere. The Speaker urged Bradford to resign and claim whatever he wanted as the reason. Even with a Republican majority, the House and Senate were demanding investigations. Things were moving at an extreme pace. The Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI) was reaching out to everyone it could connect to Bradford and his time in Vietnam. The ONI and FBI investigators along with police investigators were already digging into the deaths of Françoise Renard, David Rosen and the disappearance of Joseph Costa and his family. Bobby and Joseph Carson were invited to testify. Bradford refused to resign. Once back in his office he called American Eagle News and announced a forthcoming, exclusive interview with a television personality that, for years, repeatedly praised him and was a frequent guest at his home. The respondent, a “lesser light” at AEN immediately knew that Bradford was referring to the exclusive interviewer Sam Kenny, AEN’s most popular “journalist” whose dedicated audience took his every word as gospel. A number of Kenny’s relatives were hired as Bradford Trust employees. He, along with favored of the Senate, enjoyed complimentary hips in Bradford Trust owned golf resorts and clubs. The interview was scheduled to be televised from Bradford’s home in upstate New York. To Kenny’s dismay he wouldn’t be able to include Bradford’s wife Helene as she was visiting friends in Paris. Bradford knew that American Eagle News line up was “red meat” to basically ignorant and uninformed voters who loved him and drooled over conspiracy theories they looked for, under their beds, before retiring for the night. American Eagle’s Network hired a strange

variety of political hacks and cast offs from other major networks. The AEN’s programming leaned more towards conspiracy theories and political entertainment than hard news. Its commentators often seemed to be yelling at the camera. Their commentary was typically loaded with hyperbole and blatant half truths presented with such drama and synthetic patriotism that the average viewer was unable to isolate even the smallest kernel of truth from the rapidly spewed avalanche of words. At the very top of AEN’s pile of pretend journalists sat Sam Kenny, the regular house guest of Bradford and the eager recipient of top secret information no journalist or anyone who lacked a top secret security clearance should ever be allowed to hear. While Kenny never openly spoke of these secrets, he did benefit from information that affected the stock market and was able to make carefully crafted remarks on his program that made him appear to be an astute evaluator of a remarkable cross section of government policies. On more than one occasion Democrats, who served on committees with Bradford, were able to cast suspicion on Bradford and complain to the Chairman. Regretfully, they lacked enough direct evidence to force the issue and as a “journalist” Sam Kenny could easily deny what they alleged and claim Constitutional protection when he needed it. As a result of Kenny’s seemingly endless supply of “hot” information, he hosted his own prime time TV show and became the darling of the Far Right extremists. When Bradford crept into dangerous areas that could trigger an investigation, Kenny smoothly became more moderate. But his faithful viewers could see, beyond his on camera smile and calm manner, into what they believed were his true feelings. Kenny was, in a strange way, their secret leader. When Bradford made his announcement about running for President, America’s richest citizens were ecstatic and anxious to open their checkbooks to buy yet another election. They were ready for a President who would finally bring an end to many social benefits that forced them to pay more taxes that they considered fair. They believed that as “job creators” their income, no matter how high or illegal should be practically tax free. Later that evening, Bradford arrived in his upstate New York home and was embarrassed when he found the mess his wife had left behind. Helene was off to Los Angeles for some celebrity bullshit. Without a thought, she walked out the door leaving dirty dishes in the sink and open booze bottles. Everything she had carried, in the luggage she took to Paris, was scattered all over her bedroom floor. The place was filthy. To add injury to insult Helene had taken the Butler and his wife as her “entourage”, so there was no one left to care for the house or

for him to yell at. Bradford found a hastily written note stuck on the refrigerator door telling him to call “Magic Maid” service the Bradford’s used for clean ups beyond what their staff could do given the huge size of the house. This final “fuck you”, as he saw it, enraged Bradford. How could this stupid cow think she deserves an entourage of their household servants just to impress her idiot friends who spent most of their time shopping for more clothes than they could ever wear and having things done to their aging bodies from nail care to plastic surgery. If Helene (Candy Lynn Jones) Stansfield Bradford needed anything, it was to lose 50 pounds. Due to the lateness of the hour, Bradford had to leave a message on the “Magic Maid” answering machine asking for a call back to, schedule a whole house cleaning. Luckily one of Magic Maids oldest cleaners, a woman who had previously worked for nasty Mrs. Bradford arrived in the office just as Bradford’s message was completing. She replayed it and said to herself: “This time, without Mrs. Bradford around, it will be different.” According to the taped message, Mrs. Bradford was out of town and the maid could tell from the way Carter Bradford spoke that he was really pissed. His anger dominated his tone of voice. The maid wrote down the number Bradford left and erased the message from the machine. Since it was not too late she took a chance, called the number and when he answered she confirmed that he would be home the next morning to let her in. She set the appointment for 8 AM. All Bradford said, before he hung up was, “Don’t be late.” “Oh you can be sure I will be on time, Mr. Bradford.” Feeling real good the maid decided to visit the “Village Pub” after a quick stop at her studio apartment. She was very tired from a long day of cleaning up behind others but felt the happiest she had been in years. Her dreams may have come true. Before leaving her apartment, she touched up her makeup, put on her last remaining cocktail dress, and then went over to her night stand and removed the referral letter written by her local doctor to a renowned Oncologist in Albany, New York. As she went out the door she tore it in small pieces and dropped it

down the hallway garbage chute. The Village Pub was jumping and her faded beauty was still good enough to attract the attention of several guys in their early 60’s who hung out at the bar and were always good for a few drinks. Tonight one of them was going to get real lucky.

CHAPTER 32

The phone in Carter Bradford’s bedroom rang at exactly 8 AM. Bradford answered. The security guard asked permission to let in “Magic Maid” and Carter told the guard to let them in. He was anxious to get the house cleaned because Sam Kenny was coming for a big interview which now included Senator Ricardo Gomez who was the great-great-grandson of an original Mexican settler in Texas. The Gomez family were major philanthropists who helped fund hospitals, community centers and free clinics across the state. Privately Senator Gomez was not thrilled to be Carter Bradford’s running mate. His sources told him enough about the private side of Bradford to make him reconsider his agreement, strongly ed by elements of the Republican Party who wanted to get a Latino name on the ballot. Most agreed Bradford’s candidacy would go nowhere, but having Gomez on the ticket could effectively “break the ice” for future candidates. Having Senator Gomez, as Bradford’s running mate, would go a long way in getting the Texas conservative vote and the powerful Latino vote. Carter hated the idea of running with a Mexican, but it appeared as if the nation was changing so maybe he had to bend a little. Gomez was not his first choice as several other Senators openly voiced distaste for him. No one could quite explain why they didn’t like Gomez, except there was just “something” about him. Senator Gomez had everything going for him. He graduated with honors from an Ivy League University but beyond that accomplishment and ing his family’s auto dealership business, he didn’t seem to have done much else except run for one office or another in strong Republican and Latino Texas. Carter knew he had to bite the bullet and capitalize on Texas’ rapidly growing Latino population to win the White House. To himself and his very few confidants he said: “Let’s get their votes and hope they stay in Texas where they can be among their own kind.” Within 5 minutes speaking with the security guard, Bradford heard the front door bell ringing. When he opened the door he was greeted by a woman in a maid’s uniform holding a vacuum and a pail. She smiled brightly and entered the foyer

as Bradford stepped aside. “Are you it?” Bradford asked. “Oh no, there is a whole team on the way. I am here to get started with the vacuuming and bagging the trash.” Bradford barely nodded and walked away leaving the maid in the foyer. He went back into the bedroom for his glasses and newspaper. When he returned to the kitchen side of the house he was surprised to see the maid putting a hot cup of coffee on the kitchen café table. Before he could say anything the maid spoke up and said, “You look very tired, sir. At Magic Maids we keep very careful notes on all our customers, so I hope your coffee is how you like it.” Bradford was impressed. This woman’s comments were exactly what he expected from lesser people. As he sat down at the table he felt good that those who served him took such special pains to assure his comfort. He tasted the coffee and smiled his approval. It was just the way he liked it. He decided to give the maid a nice tip. Bradford sipped his coffee and began reading the Wall Street Journal article on the Costa investigation in Chicago. “Another one down,” he thought. “Maybe by the end of the week the rest would be out of the way.” In the background he could hear the vacuum noise in the main hall. Carter was relieved that the Journal seemed to be skeptical about the whole affair around the NBC special and mentioned the increasing use of technology to create false images. He made a mental note to call American Eagle Network’s mid morning news show where three of his most ardent reporter fans praised him every day as the leader the nation needed. Of course the millions, in Bradford Trust investment network, helped shape their thinking. In spite of its poor quality of journalism, American Eagle continued to have a very respectable

share of the TV market even though most of what they produced was little more than televised supermarket level tabloid material. AEN catered to viewers who wanted everything simplified and directed at what one astute observer called “popular knowledge”. He defined it as, “What many people believe to be true that has little or no basis in fact.” At one point Bradford turned to look down the lawn, toward the lake and realized that his vision was slightly blurred and he was feeling a bit strange. The whirring sound of the vacuum started making him feel as if he needed a nap. He decided to just put his head down and close his eyes for a few seconds. Ten minutes later the maid checked on him and made sure he would not fall out of the chair by tying a bathrobe belt around him and the chair. She then went out the front door, opened the trunk of her car, removed a suitcase and brought it into the kitchen. She placed the suitcase on the kitchen counter and opened it to reveal a blue uniform jacket and a matching shirt. A pin, shaped like golden wings, was attached to the jacket. Under the uniform and a pair of matching dark blue low heeled shoes, a Smith and Wesson five shot .38 was just visible. Next to the pistol was a pair of police quality handcuffs. Just as she was finishing her preparations, the phone rang. The maid answered with just a “hello” and not something formal like “Bradford residence.” The caller said, “Good morning, this is Senator Ricardo Gomez calling for Congressman Bradford.” Without hesitation the maid said, “Is this about the interview with Sam Kenny?” Gomez hesitated a few seconds and said, “Why yes, it is. I need directions to the Congressman’s home and to confirm the meeting time.” “Ok, listen up Poncho and listen good. This is Mrs. Helene Stansfield Bradford speaking. There will be no fucking interview in my home that includes some grease ball spick from Texas. The only reason you are being considered is because you can pull in a few votes from Texas. Yesterday my husband talked to a bunch of your spick friends down there and you may have dropped a few notches on the VP list. So don’t call here again. If we want anything including

mowing the lawn, we will have one of our people call you.” With that said the maid slammed down the phone, flopped on the family couch and laughed the hardest she had in years. She was sorry she would never know what Gomez did with that little chat. It took nearly an hour for Bradford to start waking up. He felt as if he were suffering from the world’s worst hangover, but he knew he had nothing to drink. As his eyes began to focus he decided he must be hallucinating. His hands were being held behind him somehow and there was an airline stewardess, across the table, who looked like a version of the maid who was vacuuming the hall. But he didn’t hear the vacuum anymore. As his sight improved, Bradford developed the feeling that he knew this airline stewardess /maid from somewhere. His tongue felt thick but finally he managed to say: “Who the fuck are you?” “Why Carter darling, you mean you forgot me after screwing me for two days in Hawaii and so nicely leaving me a prepaid breakfast? Here, let me help you.” The woman then pointed to the name tag on her uniform pocket uniform pocket and pinned it on the right side of the jacket just above the pocket. It read, “Gloria Jackson, Senior Cabin Stewardess.” By now Bradford’s brain was operating at full speed. He realized that his hands were handcuffed behind him and this psycho across from him was the stewardess he picked up on the flight to Hawaii all those years ago. He ed that he kind of liked her at the time, so he might have made some bullshit promises to her. How was he supposed to all that? The question was, “What did she want”? Probably money. Gloria leaned forward, smiled, then said: “I have been following your adventures for all these years and came to the conclusion that you never bothered to look back to see what damage you may have done along the way. Take me for example. When you made all that fuss over me on the flight and talked me into spending time with you, I actually thought you cared for me and we were not just ‘sport fucking.’ But in time, I came to realize what a shit you are and you don’t really care about anyone but yourself. Then, I saw your TV interview in Chicago. It made me sick. I have been planning to pay you a visit for more than a year now and that disgusting display of your cruelty moved me. Your life is just one long string of cruel acts. I

was an idiot for believing you and letting you use me the way you did. When I went back to work, I looked like a fool. My first mistake was confiding in one girl and everything came out. My coworkers, on every flight I was assigned to, taunted me for shacking up with ‘Mr. Big Money’ and ending up with a free breakfast. Instead of just laughing it off, I let it eat at me. I turned into a colossal bitch and reached a point where no one wanted to work with me. It was easy to start drinking and after a few years of soaking up booze, the airline finally had enough. Too many complaints from coworkers, too many sick days and an obvious breakdown in my appearance cost me my job. For years, I have just barely survived and then made up my mind that I would visit you like I am today. Just two old lovers reminiscing.” Bradford decided to keep his mouth shut. He was terrified thinking of what this woman was going to do. He hoped she would kill herself in front of him to make him feel bad. To Bradford’s horror, Gloria stood up, reached into the suitcase and pulled out a pistol. Bradford reacted immediately. He tried to move but couldn’t. Gloria had threaded the chain between the individual hand cuffs, through something in the back of the chair. Bradford did what he always did whenever faced with a situation he couldn’t get out of. He lied. “Look Gloria, this is really stupid. You have me all wrong. I am running for President to make things better for people. What you are doing could ruin all that. I believe you when you say you have had a hard life. I left you in Hawaii because I was on my way to Vietnam. There was a good chance I would die over there and the last thing I wanted to do was to start a meaningful relationship with a woman as gorgeous as you and then not be able to come back. What you saw on TV was all fake news. As we speak, NBC is sorting it all out. As a matter of fact they called me, late last night, to apologize and promise that soon there would be a public apology and a complete retraction. First, let me make this up to you. I am a very rich man. I can have a million dollars, in cash, here in less than two or three hours. You need a retirement, a nice home and a good healthcare plan. All that costs money and you deserve it. Let me help you. I owe you big time.” Gloria studied Bradford’s face for a few seconds and then said, “Jesus Bradford, you are really good at this bullshit. If I weren’t dying of cancer, I might have fallen for that line of crap. Let’s put it this way I’m dying of cancer and my last wish is to be a good Magic Maid and get rid of the dirt, so you have

to go. Have a nice flight, Congressman, I’ll be along shortly.” Gloria pulled the trigger shooting Bradford in the temple.

CHAPTER 33

Sam Kenny’s entire entourage of American Eagle TV news trucks, camera and soundmen and nervous producers were stopped in the visitor’s lane, at the security gate, at the entrance to Bradford’s community. The guard called Bradford’s number to get permission to let them in and all he got was the answering machine. Kenny was outraged and yelled at the guard: “Do you know who I am? I have an appointment with Congressman Bradford for an important live television interview and I demand access!” Carlton Brown, a ten year veteran of Empire Estates Security listened and when Kenny was done yelling, he calmly said: “Look Mr. Kenny, yes, I know who you are. More importantly I know who Congressman Bradford is and that I work for him and not you. So, get your people, trucks and equipment away from the gate, and park along the road. I will our roving patrol and have them go to Mr. Bradford’s home and ask him if he will be willing to grant you permission to enter. Right now you are blocking the gate and preventing other visitors from coming in. As soon as you move, I will make the call.” With that said Carlton Brown, decorated former First Sergeant with the 82nd Airborne crossed his arms across his chest and laser eyed the big TV star. Even an arrogant and unpleasant creep like Sam Kenny could see he was not going to get anywhere with this guy. He grudgingly had his drivers move the vehicles and people across the road and out of the way of the entrance lane. Twenty minutes later the roving patrol guard called in and told Carlton that there was a sign on Bradford’s front door that read: “COME ON IN SAM. I AM IN THE KITCHEN WITH A DEAR FRIEND TALKING OVER OLD TIMES.” Carlton, happy with the twenty minute delay he had suggested to his pal and roving patrol guard, Larry, signaled Kenny to drive in. As Kenny ed him, he

flashed a wide smile and silently mouthed: “Go fuck yourself.” Always the show off, when the TV crew was around, Kenny walked up to Bradford’s front door and made a production of tearing the note off, opening the door and calling out: “Carter, it’s Sam”. Leading the pack, Kenny marched down the center hallway leading to the kitchen and found himself at a crime scene he never forgot as long as he lived. Not unlike nearly all of the American Eagle “journalists”, Kenny never served in any branch of the armed forces or ventured into any combat zone as a reporter, so he had never seen a body dead from a bullet wound. Kenny did his reporting from his desk and phone. What he saw brought bile to his throat. Carter Bradford, with half of his head blown away, was sitting in a dinette chair with what appeared to be an airline stewardess sitting on his lap with a bullet hole in the side of her head. A pistol lay on the floor in front of them and there was no good way to tell who committed this act. A note was pinned to the woman’s jacket: “Last First Class flight to Hell.” Gloria’s last little joke was to wipe the gun clean and then press it into Carter’s hand to put his prints on it. Gloria was so close when she shot Carter that both of them had evidence of being the person who fired the gun. Gloria was sitting on Carter’s lap, with a feather light scarf in her hand, when she killed herself and made sure that only Bradford’s prints were on the gun. Gunshot residue covered them both. The detectives investigating the scene could not conclusively determine who was guilty. On the surface it looked like it was Bradford, so they cheerfully wrote in their report that Bradford was the murderer who then turned the gun on himself. The forensics people concurred. Bradford was well known, in the area, as a colossal prick and his demands on the police department were legendary. He made constant complaints about the lack of police protection for a man of his “importance”. This behavior provoked months of conspiracy theories. Millions of dollars was spent on Congressional investigations that lead nowhere. Right wing Congress were nervous that someone was out to get them and

demanded Secret Service protection. When the Democratic House Majority Leaders announced the cost of the investigation, the public outcry shut it down. The “Life of Carter Bradford” played across the nation including in Bill Bob’s Exxon Service in Mobile, Alabama. What the major networks did could have been called “fairly balanced” versions of Carter’s story but played down some of his worst moments. American Eagle went full blast with a conspiracy loaded theory ranging from a plot by the Democratic Party to intrigue at the Trust. When the Trust spread rumors that they might consider buying the American Eagle and turn it into a network devoted to revealing all lies and distortions, people like Sam Kenny had been producing, the owners of American Eagle suddenly changed their format. And, after a call from James Bradford II they fired Sam Kenny.

CHAPTER 34

Helene heard the ringing of the phone in her dream. No matter what she did it wouldn’t stop. She fought but could not shake off the drink induced sleep she was struggling with and losing. Finally the ringing stopped. Ten minutes later Helene was awakened by hard knocking at the door. “Shit!” she said and stepped out of bed and grabbed her dressing gown. When she opened the door the first stages of the sunset hit her eyes preventing her from seeing who was there. Once she heard the man speaking, she realized it was her butler with his wife, the housekeeper, standing beside him. As her brain slowly cleared she ed she had put them up down Sunset Boulevard in a less expensive hotel and rented a car for them. She knew now that it had been a good idea. These two had seen her at her worst and the last thing she needed was to have opened the door and have a Beverly Hills Hotel employee looking at her in her current condition. She was all red eyed with her hair flying every which way and her boobs falling out of her robe. The hotel desk had been informed to allow no one but her servants to come to her bungalow until Helene advised to the contrary. “Mrs. Bradford, we are very sorry to disturb you, but the hotel lobby is full of reporters and TV cameras. It is something about your husband and they want a comment from you.” Arthur Fletcher, Helene’s long time butler knew enough not to tell her about the murder. Over the years he and his wife learned that bad news is always and forever attached to the person delivering it. According to what the reporters said they had been hunting for Helene in Paris where she was supposed to be staying. Finally they tracked down one of her Los Angeles friends who told them she was at the Beverly Hills Hotel and that they assumed she knew what had happened to Carter. Helene’s head was in an entirely different place. Now that she was up and awake, the last thing she wanted to do was talk about her husband’s run for the

Presidency. Helene had little faith in his campaign, but the idea of being First Lady thrilled her. But, right then all Helene could think of is returning to a warm bed for another “go around” with the handsome Mexican valet who was currently hiding in the bathroom. A fast thinker, Helen instructed the Fletchers to tell the reporters that she has not been feeling well and needed one hour to get organized. “Buy them coffee or lunch or whatever they want, and arrange for them to wait for me in one of the hotel’s conference rooms.” The Fletchers were just as tired as Helene, if not more so. They had flown with her to Paris, then home and finally to California where she attended a friend’s party. Helene heard there was a chance that O.J. Simpson might show up. She wanted to have a close look at him. Shutting the door Helene called out: “Jose, come out from wherever you are. Mama wants to play again.” Luis Valdez heard Helene and smiled. She could call him Jose or whatever she wanted. She had already given him $500.00 for one night in bed with her. Not so bad, even if she was a bit fat. Maybe he could talk her out of more cash. Ninety minutes later Helene found out she was a widow. Her immediate impulse was to burst out laughing, but somehow she turned her emotional reaction from cracking up with joy to an award winning grief filled performance. The women reporters, in the crowd of journalists, were not even slightly fooled. The men were uncertain. They all caught the reaction on camera and within minutes Helene became “Breaking News” across the nation. Once she was loose of the press she returned to her bungalow and ordered a large seafood platter with French fries and a cold bottle of white wine. Her last act of the day, before dressing for the party, was to call a lawyer she had hired without Carter’s knowledge, and instruct him to get to work and sort out what she would get from the Trust, the Congress, and anywhere else. Empire State Building, New York James Bradford II addressed the Board regarding the death of Board Chairman Carter Bradford. The Trust bylaws directed the Board make the necessary changes as soon as a quorum could be assembled. Due to the importance of the agenda, the Board were all in attendance. James started the meeting with:

“My father was very careful in protecting the Trust from Carter the best way he could. I realize that it is not kind to speak ill of the dead, but as a firsthand witness to my uncle’s exploits, I have little to say in praise of him. I have always been and always will be skeptical about how my father died, but with Carter’s death I suppose we will never truly know if he died as the result of a suicide or something altogether different. There were too many loose ends and too much unexplained behavior surrounding the whole affair.“ James looked around the table reading the faces of his fellow Board . “We can all be proud of the magnificent growth of the Bradford Trust. The contributions to the Beatrice Waring Bradford Foundation are at an all time high. Thousands of grateful recipients of our grants and scholarships have helped worthy students become important of society. My great grandmother would be glowing with pride at what we have done. It is in that spirit I implore this Board to expand our charitable funding in medical research and spread our scholarship programs beyond the universities and make them available to qualified community college students. I am convinced that there is a pool of unknown talent out there that only money has kept from development. For this I need your blessing and votes.” James’ remarks were received with sincere applause and then he moved to the business at hand. Edward Sollner, Board Vice Chairman, rose and tapped his pen on the table. He said: “I move that we elect James Bradford II the Chairman of the Board of the Bradford Trust and that we grant him the authority to fund a research project to determine the effect of Bradford scholarships on community college students in several regions of the nation.” The motion was seconded and ed. James’ election was unanimously carried. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your . Let’s turn the Trust into something of even greater value to this country and remove the veil covering what too many people think is some mysterious monolith of money and power. As a Bradford, I want the Trust to be right up there with the great philanthropies of this nation. After accepting the personal congratulations of each Board member James left the building and was driven to a private club several blocks away. Upon arrival

he was met by the Club Manager, Stephen Hannah, who said: “Your guest is in the special conference room. May we get you anything for your meeting? I had the waiter leave a tray with coffee.” “No Stephen. That will be all. Please ask Martin to wait outside the door. I do not want to be disturbed. When my guest leaves, it will be by the rear door he came in through.” Former Parole Officer Larry Kramer rose from his seat as James entered the room. After a handshake, the two men seated themselves and Kramer slid a slim file folder across the table. “Here is where we are as of today. We have a good lead on where the guy went after Carter died. It is certain he is in Europe and we are working to pin down a location. The fact is, a lot of planning and preparation went into his disappearance. He set up several false paths, but one element of any plan that is most difficult to cover is the money. Our best estimate is that he has several million to hide and that takes powerful connections. Your Uncle was paying him through a bank in Cyprus. From there he moved the cash to various locations. The last one we found was in Belize. We were less than a week behind him, but have picked up a lead pointing at Rome. Either he smelled a rat or just didn’t get a good vibe with the banks in Belize. It is hard to beat the Caymans and Cyprus. Even the Swiss are starting to crack under the pressure put on them by the US government, and by the State of Israel, looking for s the Swiss conveniently forgot about that rightfully belong to people murdered by the Nazis. Now there are more traditional crooks that use Swiss banks to hide stolen money. As of this morning, we are down to either or Italy. As I said, our best lead is Italy and there is where we will go first.” James had a fleeting thought about the millions he now had control over in Cyprus due to a careful review of Carter’s papers. Luckily his wife was a dingbat, and had no idea about the . All James had to do is offer her ten million and she would be on her way. James looked over the file and at the few photos of Stone that Kramer had collected. His personal knowledge of Alex Stone was limited. All he knew about him came from Kramer and from the scraps of information from family .

Kramer’s services were not unlike those of Alex Stone. He provided the talent to eliminate people, who were a threat in one way or another, to those who could afford his “firm’s” services. Kramer had been a New York Parole Officer, for decades, and had a wealth of s among a variety of criminals who would, for the right price, do anything. Kramer routinely fulfilled contracts for organized crime families as well as big businessmen like Bradford. Ordinarily he did not deal directly with a client. James Bradford was an exception. He was a client with enormous potential for future business, so Larry Kramer broke his own rule but was thoroughly confident that James would never reveal their relationship. As to Stone, James’ father, Jonah Bradford, had never spoken to James of exactly what Stone did for the Trust. His education on Alex Stone came from his mother who had, over the years, compiled a file that tracked many of Stone’s projects for the Bradford family. After his mother’s death, James found the file locked away in her personal safe. Kramer’s investigation convinced James that Stone was behind his father’s death and James wanted him to pay for it. “Thank you Mr. Kramer. Keep at it. Is the funding I provided adequate?” “No problem Mr. Bradford. As I need more, I will advise you. I am leaving for Italy in the morning. My man there has a meeting set up with a guy who did some document work for Stone and he may be able to help us.” “I have a question, Mr. Kramer. Why would this man in Italy be willing to help? Doesn’t his very profession depend upon secrecy? If it gets around that he revealed a client’s identity, it could ruin his reputation or worse.” Kramer stood up, said nothing for several seconds, and then as he walked to the rear door of the room he turned and said, “That is an excellent question. This man is cooperating with us because he knows we will not give him up. As far as why he is doing this, quite honestly you do not want to know.” Kramer left without another word.

CHAPTER 35

Larry Kramer and his oldest friend and Navy buddy, Franco Ughetti, first met in the bar before going up to Larry’s room to discuss a major deal Larry had just closed. After a few more Scotches from the mini bar they were tingling with excitement over the prospect of working with the biggest yet. The Bradford Trust was second only to the CIA work they had done. Larry and Franco first met at Treasure Island, California the US Navy “Separations Center.” They were both being processed out of the Navy and back into civilian life. The pair grew up in Brooklyn, New York living within two blocks of each other yet they had never met before arriving at Treasure Island. Franco, a first generation Italian, attended a Catholic School while Larry, a Jew, went to Public Schools. In any event the two clicked as some human beings will and promised to get together back in Brooklyn. Franco’s scheduled discharge date was a few days ahead of Larry’s. He promised to meet Larry at JFK when he came in from California. And, good to his word, Franco was standing at the entrance to the airplane’s arrival gate when Larry’s plane landed. The two took a cab to Brooklyn and proceeded to get seriously drunk. After that first day Franco and Larry met at least once a month for dinner and attended New York Yankee games whenever they could. Larry had a couple of night jobs as he put himself through college and earned a Degree in Social Work and Criminology. Larry’s degree in Criminology was a great source of laughter for the two friends as Franco had followed in his father’s footsteps and became a low level soldier in the Viviano Crime Family. The Viviano’s were a small group of free lancers that had been without “family affiliation” until Frank Viviano decided to expand his little empire and needed bodies. Franco’s father was one of the first to and then along came Franco. Ironically, Larry’s first real job was with the New York Department of Corrections in the Parole Division. Because he was quickly recognized by upper management as a bright and enthusiastic employee, it wasn’t long before he was assigned as a Parole Officer and given a roster of ex convicts, on parole, ranging

from small time thieves and drug dealers to killers. Sprinkled in among of those he managed were three or four of various crime families. They fascinated Larry as he saw them as a serious cut above the typical criminal he dealt with on a daily basis. Most were a bit smarter and, to the one, they gave up nothing about their affiliations. One day, while looking down at the back street from his window, he noticed one of his charges, Angelo, exit a Cadillac limo and enter the building to keep his appointment. When Larry kidded him about this mode of transportation, Angelo launched into a long story as to how his cousin was a limo driver and had to the building anyway so he gave him a ride. After Angelo left, Larry went to the same window and watched the street. A few minutes ed and sure enough, the limo pulled up to pick up Angelo. The following week when Larry and Franco met for dinner Larry brought the incident up and made a comment that he found it peculiar that a guy like Angelo, who had just done 5 years in prison and worked as waiter in an Italian restaurant, would be driven around in a limo. Franco burst out laughing and said: “Look, forget I ever told this but that guy, whoever he is, did his time like a stand-up guy. You can bet that he is not waiting tables anywhere, although there is a guy on the payroll and a check is cut every payday. Parole officers like you expect parolees to get a job, so he sort of did. Just file that in your head and never go nosing around to check on it. The people who he actually works for have lots of juice and like things just the way they are. I want to be able to see you often, right here, and not at your new assignment so far upstate New York, your parolees will be bears. The guy you are talking about will be easy to handle. He will show up on time with all the right answers. Enjoy one less problem. Larry Kramer followed his friend’s advice. Over the next several years he learned a lot about crime and criminals and what made felons tick. By 1988 after over 12 years of serving as a Parole Officer, Larry finally felt comfortable enough to discuss a scheme he almost constantly had thought about, with his best friend Franco Ughgetti. Larry considered Franco the most informed person he could turn to on matters of crime and criminals. Franco had progressed with the Viviano Family to a leadership role and had a very good working relationship with all aspects of the Viviano’s operations. Most people, other than New Yorkers, and especially those who grew up and lived in Brooklyn, would find it hard to understand the relationship between criminals and everyday

citizens. It has never been a secret to the NYPD that certain neighborhoods enjoy an almost crime free environment because of the existence of neighbors who are of important crime families. Thieves and other crooks instinctively know to avoid those neighborhoods because being caught while causing trouble would result in a far worse level of punishment than anything the legal system could hand out. Among other things, it was this cultural phenomenon that allowed Larry to feel no guilt about associating with Franco. Larry Kramer was an avid reader and was especially fond of true crime articles, books and TV shows. After absorbing the details of what he read, saw on TV and heard from various sources, Larry came to a few basic conclusions. Most criminals were not overly bright or well trained and ended up getting caught, at some point in their careers. Skilled killers or “hit men” were more a Hollywood creation than true criminals. American criminal element made the job of eliminating the “enemy” or a bad “employee”, the job of low level associates who needed to “make their bones” in order to progress in the pecking order of the organization. It was this last category of criminal that intrigued Larry Kramer. After making pages of notes from his various areas of research, Larry drew up an outline of what he called “The Elimination Bureau”. When he read the finished product, for the first time, he burst out laughing at himself. There is “no way” Larry thought. He then took all this material, loaded it in a carton, taped it closed and shoved it in his closet under his hanging clothes where his wife Sheila wouldn’t bother with it. A week later Franco called and invited Larry to him in at Madison Square Garden for an evening of boxing and a late night dinner in Little Italy. Sheila was grateful Larry had something to do because she was off to a canasta party followed by a potluck meal with her girlfriends. Franco picked up Kramer in a car driven by a guy he introduced as his cousin Sal, and the two were driven to the Garden. Larry started for the main entrance when Franco grabbed his arm and pointed to a door marked “Private Employees Only.” Once inside, they were greeted by another of Franco’s cousins named Vincent. Vincent took them through a series of tunnels, ending on the main floor of the Garden, and escorted them to ring side seats. Larry was stunned. Within minutes he recognized famous actors, big name politicians, two former boxing champions and an array of well dressed people with familiar faces from TV. When he turned he could see that Franco was enjoying his amazement.

“Larry my friend, you are looking at the profit of crime. Other than some of the TV people and the Hollywood actors, several of the politicians and at least two high ranking of the Genovese and Bonnano Families are sitting within 10 feet of you. These are the aristocrats of crime. Their hands are never dirty. They have busloads of lawyers, ants and tax experts working their asses off to cover their tracks. I brought you so you can gain perspective when you compare most losers, you deal with, to the guys who give them their orders.” Larry spent the entire fight thinking about his scheme and how it might just work. Franco’s cousin Sal was waiting when the two left the Garden. He whisked them off to Little Italy to a restaurant Larry had never been to. Despite his ion for Italian food and his many visits to Little Italy, with Franco, he never knew that the place even existed. The restaurant was behind a storefront advertising Italian culture and guided tours of Rome and Florence. As far as he could tell, only three people were working in the small eatery. Franco introduced the owner, Giancarlo Menetti, and his son Anthony. Giancarlo acted as Maitre’ D and his son took their order. There was no menu, per se, only a handwritten sheet of paper with several appetizers, entrees, desserts and a short wine list. In addition to Franco and Larry there were six others seated around the room: a mature couple, two well dressed gentlemen sitting in a private corner and speaking quietly and two large, somewhat rough looking men, who shared a table by the front door. Franco and Larry’s table was also nicely positioned for privacy. Franco politely waved off the menu and said, in Italian, to Giancarlo: “Please, let Mama decide.” Giancarlo responded with a wide smile and a quick nod and off he went to the kitchen. “Franco,” Larry started, “I have an idea that has been bugging me for years and I want to run it by you. Please let me finish before you bust out laughing and have one of those gorillas over there drop me off at Bellevue, Ok?” “Have at it my friend. I am always interested in what swims through that mind of

yours.” Franco sat back in his chair, took a sip of an excellent Chianti, served by Anthony, and waited for Larry to speak. Larry took Franco through all the steps he had taken to develop his idea. As he spoke he did his best to read Franco’s thoughts. At one point when he discussed the typical incompetence of killers and the overwhelming number of them who are caught and convicted, Larry detected an involuntary nod made as if to express silent agreement. In the simplest Larry’s plan was to locate people who had committed murder or killed in one way or another and see where “the candidates” were in life and if they could be trusted as much as any criminal can be. Part two was to locate “clients” that could afford the price, for the specialized service, and had every reason to conceal their participation. Larry knew that his target “clients” would be found among politicians, high level corporate executives, famous actors and perhaps even of royal families. He also considered certain governmental agencies that might be inclined to subcontract a job. He even included crime figures. Larry suggested: “The disruption John Gotti had caused with the murder on a Manhattan street of mob boss, Paul Castellano, in December, 1985 could have been easily avoided by using a completely unrelated “button man”. All those watched by the FBI could have had a big party, on Long island, when Castellano was hit and ended up with the FBI surveillance as their alibi. Gotti must have been nearby and gloating. His crazy shit, with the suits and haircuts, and striding around for all to ire has given the mob headaches ever since. The Feds have a circle around Gotti’s name and he will lose in the end. Too much attention always causes problems.” Franco nodded in agreement and said: “At first glance this whacko thing of yours may not be too crazy, after all. Give me some time to think and we will talk again. Just make sure you are really ready to cross the street to our side. Now, let’s eat this beautiful Sicilian sausage soup. You are going to taste slowly simmered onions, celery, carrots and fennel seeds in a tomato broth. Nobody makes it better than Mama Menetti.” Once the soup plates were removed Giancarlo served two large platters of family style Eggplant Caponata and Veal Spedini. Franco ladled a portion of each onto the oversized plates the waiter placed in front of them. As he served Larry, he

explained the dishes: “My aunt used to make these dishes and did a wonderful job but, as I said, no one outshines Mama. The Spedini is made with very thin slices of veal wrapped with prosciutto. You will taste pine nuts and mozzarella. The final step is to simmer the works in a light sauce. The other dish is a particular favorite of mine. It is cubed eggplant, green olives, capers and Italian parsley gently simmered in a light coating of tomato paste. Dig in.” When the table was cleared, both men had an espresso and a small glass of Sambuca. Franco took a look around the room and noted that even at maximum occupancy this relatively small room was quiet. Others were conversing but not a word was heard. Great acoustics. “Larry, I think you are on to something. I am going to run it by a guy I trust and see what he thinks. You might take a good look at some of your parolees and see if you can isolate a couple who might be useful. I can have a guy, I know, make an approach to see if any of his men have potential. In the meantime we should both shoot honest holes in this idea and see if they are too big to make it work.” By 1991, three years after the Madison Square outing and dinner discussion, the idea Larry proposed to Franco had developed into an actual operation. Their first clients were low level Mafioso’s who had been identified as potential rats and needed to be dealt with. One of Larry’s parolees got the job and never knew that Larry was behind it. Several jobs of varying complexity came around and because the planning was done by Larry and Franco, and every conceivable problem was reviewed, the “work” went off perfectly. The meeting Larry had with James Bradford II was to be the first major leap up for Franco and Larry. One of Franco’s friends tipped him off that this really big shot was pissed off, big time, with Alex Stone. Stone was known to the Villiano’s as an occasional source of business, but they were never able to get inside his relationship with the big corporations Stone was reputed to work for.

CHAPTER 36

After two days of coverage of the death of Congressman Carter Bradford and all the speculation surrounding it, the group decided to have a meeting to determine what to do. Enzo, Bobby and Joseph were all in agreement that Carter Bradford was behind all the madness and with his death the threat to Bobby and Joseph from the New York mob was probably gone. Basically the gangsters had no interest in what had happened in Vietnam as it didn’t affect them in any way. The only thing left was the infighting between Carmine Nuncio, Peter Ferrari and Enzo and his people. Enzo spoke first: “Look, you guys are off the hook. It is up to me, and whoever is with me, to deal with the traitors in Chicago and the guys in New York. What we do to each other, in our chosen lives, is not something you need to get involved with. This will get very messy and the cops and Feds are going to be all over it. Already the Feds smell dissension in the ranks and are moving to capitalize on it.” Bobby and Nathan immediately started moving their heads side to side in the negative. Nathan spoke up: “When we needed your help you and you guys were there for us. You turned up with the box and saved the day here in Michigan. You got the job done in the TV station in Chicago and that was the key to crushing Bradford. It was a work of art. We owe you and could never get over it if we let you go it alone.” Joseph added, “Nathan speaks for all of us here. I don’t know a thing about mob politics, but it seems to me that the key to resolving this thing lies with the New Yorkers. If they can be neutralized all of this will go away.” Enzo started laughing and said, “Parli come uno noi. Certo che non si italiano?” Joseph Carson broke out in a wide smile. Bobby caught the look and said,

“I suppose now you speak Italian.” “As a matter of fact since I got here, I found an Italian English dictionary and a basic phrase book in your grandparents’ library. They must have saved it from a vacation. Enzo basically said that I speak like I am one of them and whether I am sure that I am not Italian.” Bobby chuckled and said, “Joseph you never cease to amaze me. So Enzo, what do we do?” Enzo stood and walked to the window overlooking the back yard and gazed out at the wide lawn in front of the house. Alberto and Leonardo were playing touch football with the boys from the Indian Reservation. He finally said: “Two conditions, my friends. First, you guys stand clear of anything that could get you killed or arrested. Two, Alberto and Leonardo stay here. I chose this life, as a teenager, following a father and a bunch of uncles. These boys lost their fathers as small boys, we took them in and one thing led to another. So far they have done nothing that could jam them up in a big way. Look out there. This may be the first time in their lives when they are enjoying themselves and are not spending their time looking over their shoulders for the opposition or the cops. I have plenty of people in Chicago who can do what I need done without their help. Please take them under your wing and see that they have a life away from us. The days of organized crime and the families are coming to an end. Today’s “rats” don’t wear pants; they are electronic and can penetrate every place we try to do business. No conversation anywhere or with anyone is truly safe. Do this for me, and I will be forever grateful.” Bobby stood and embraced Enzo. “Consider it done. Alberto and Leonardo look like perfect carpenter apprentices and future builders to me. What do say, Nathan?” “Done, Kimosabe.” Enzo nodded his appreciation and continued, “The guys in New York will be suspicious about anything we propose. They will think it is a trap. They will want to meet where they feel safe. In a way, we have

them. Carmine and Peter really screwed up by not having all the guys with them when they hit Joey and his family. This all started because the pot kept getting smaller. For the last couple of years Joey has been pissing off a lot of people with his moves to make us legitimate. You have to understand how the cash flows. The bosses have big life styles, so they slice off big pieces to cover their expenses. As the income gets smaller, because of the increasing pressure from the Feds, there is less cash falling to the bottom. Angelo refused to deal hard drugs and that is where the real money is. He turned a blind eye to the pot. Joey was hoping to get into legitimate businesses to continue staying away from hard drugs and to provide honest jobs for the guys and their families. The problem has always been greed and impatience. The rank and file is not made up of brain surgeons, so they have a hard time understanding anything but the old ways. Gambling profits are down because of the Indians and their fancy casinos. In short, the criminal business is suffering a recession.” With that Bobby started laughing and even Enzo ed in. “So what do we do Enzo?” Bobby asked. Enzo thought for a minute and said: “I’ll set up a meeting with the New York guys in a place out here in the country. On the way here I noticed the Bailey Park with baseball diamonds and open spaces. There is parking in the front and I saw picnic table. You can bet two things will happen as soon as I propose this location. They will demand time to decide, so they can send their people to scout the location. If they agree, it will be necessary to get everyone out of sight except you and me and my two boys. Of course having that Gray Deer guy somewhere with his rifle would be a good thing.” For the last three days Enzo, Bobby, Nathan and Joseph continued to lose to Marysia Stein at poker. “Where the hell did you learn to play poker?” Nathan asked. Marysia just smiled and said: “In the wild west of Poland. Actually, my math professor was a poker nut and used poker as a game of odds and human behavior to predict an outcome. I became fascinated with poker and begged to be part of the regular game. Finally

I wore down the regular players and they let me substitute when one of them couldn’t play. Later, a vacancy came when Dr. Danko, a philosophy professor, took a position at Oxford and I got his seat. As you Americans say, the rest is history.” Just then Enzo’s Refuse Service phone, he used to talk to Charlie Leone in New York, started ringing. Enzo answered and after a few minutes of conversing in Italian, hung up and said: “We are in.” Enzo filled in the rest of the details: “It’s done. Leone said he and that Benedetti guy have agreed to meet with me and my boys but, as I predicted, they also want Bobby to sit in. They don’t want any loose ends and they want to hear, first hand, that you agree to whatever we land on. We will be meeting at Bailey Park, outside just like we planned. Leone even demanded that the meeting be at one of the picnic tables by an empty baseball diamond. Since most of the diamonds are not being used early in the day, we set the meeting for 7 AM tomorrow. See, I warned you. They have had people scoping the place out. Leone and Beneditti never left the area and are nearby. You can bet they will have backup, but nothing will happen as long as their bosses are close by. My take is that these guys want to close the door on this thing for now, and hope we go to sleep long enough to give them a chance to regroup. They will be back, but that is tomorrow’s worry. Let’s talk to Mr. Gray Deer about what he thinks is a good place to cover us.”

CHAPTER 37

As the phone kept ringing in the kitchen Helene Candy Lynn Jones Groves Bradford laid stretched out on a chaise lounge, in the family room, watching an episode of “Days of Our Lives”. In many ways Helene saw her own life as a soap opera starting as she did: as a dirt poor sharecropper’s daughter on a small, rented farm in rural Alabama. The first home of her recollection was a one bedroom cabin where she, her two older sisters and younger brother slept on cots in what functioned as a living room, kitchen and dining room. The toilet, such as it was, sat 100 feet from the back door and could be smelled with every breeze. On her 15th birthday Candy Lynn snuck out in the middle of the night and ed Earl Bob Jones in his pickup truck. She left home forever. Earl Bob took Candy on a one hour drive to rural Mobile and showed her the singlewide mobile home he rented in Marsh Valley, Alabama. Compared to the cabin she was raised in, Candy Lynn saw the singlewide as a palace with indoor plumbing. Candy met Earl when he and his cousin, Randy, showed up at the County Fair and gave Candy and one of her sisters a ride on the Ferris Wheel. By late that evening Candy Lynn knew that Earl worked as a tire repairman with Tire City in Mobile and, according to Earl, there was a chance he would be chosen to be the next Assistant Manager. All this “success” sounded very exciting to Candy so when Earl, thinking Candy was 18 and not 15, suggested she him in Mobile, Candy made a life changing decision and jumped into Earl’s pickup at 3 AM and they were off to her new life. She never looked back. Helene Bradford backed into the kitchen, to answer the phone, while still trying to watch her program. Just as she got the receiver in her hand the program went to commercial. The Security Gate was on the line and wanted her permission to let a landscaper in. Helene’s hurried response was, “Sure send him in.” Helene seemed to hiring a landscaper and ordering some work to spruce up the “old barn” as she called her home. The Realtor she hired to sell it for her strongly suggested cleaning things up and trimming back some of the foliage that she had let go after Carter was killed. Helene wanted rid of this house and move back to Manhattan to start enjoying some of the settlement money she got from the Bradford Trust and from a big insurance pay out. She had trouble

sleeping thinking about all the boy-toys she could buy with all that cash. Maybe she might even look up her family and give them a few bucks. Anonymously, of course. The last thing she wanted was for the Jones clan to hang around her neck and expose her true “lineage.” Just as her TV show ended and she headed to the refrigerator for a cold bottle of white wine and appetizers, the cook prepared, she heard the door bell ring. Helene waited for someone to answer the bell until she ed the cook was food shopping and the maid and butler were working on a long list of errands. “Shit. This better be important” Helene said as she slammed the refrigerator door closed and headed for the front door. As soon as she opened it the very first thing she noticed was three large gobs of what appeared to be tobacco spit on her pure white Italian tiled front entry landing. Before she could react she heard: “Candy Lynn, you are as fat as an old hog. You need to get back home and lose that belly.” In a flash Earl Bob Jones grabbed Candy Lynn by the hair, covered her mouth with his large grease stained paw that smelled of gasoline, and dragged her across the lawn to his truck. The truck was a big upgrade from his pickup and was purchased especially for this long drive from Alabama to New York. As Earl tied his “wife” to a hook built into the wall of the truck, he told Candy about his friend Darrell swearing he saw Candy on TV when some big shot in New York was murdered. Earl went down to the Exxon station that night to sit with Darrell and watch the TV in the back of the station until Candy showed up again on the news. Sure enough Earl said, there was Candy Lynn right on the NBC Evening News crying away, with all that mascara running down her face, just like that Preacher woman, Tammy Faye Bakker, did when the government took away all her money. Earl always said that Candy Lynn and Tammy Faye looked enough alike to be sisters. On the TV Earl found out that Candy was now the widow of some guy named Bradford and lived in New York. From there it was easy to find her. The news people showed pictures of the house she was living in and named the town where it was located. Earl’s cousin Raymond’s son Ernest understood that computer stuff and was able to show Earl exactly where Candy was living and even printed him a map. Earl was so happy with the help he got from Earnest

that he brought out a clean paper bag, from his truck, and gave Earnest a brand new, never worn, baseball cap with NRA, NASCAR and EXXON patches sewn on it. After his dogs, the cap was Earl’s most prized possession. Now with the goal of getting Candy Lynn home, where he knew she would want to be, Earl was the happiest he had been in years. He had long ago convinced himself that Candy Lynn had been kidnapped and had her brain washed or whatever those secret people and aliens did once they got a good woman in their hands. He had read all about it at the Mini Mart in one of those newspapers they sold by the cash . Plus, American Eagle News did a whole story on TV about a woman who was captured by spacemen and had her brain rewired. Earl just knew he would fix Candy and get her back to the old Candy Lynn no matter how long it took. Once he had his “wife” secured with her mouth covered with duct tape and resting on pillows and covered with a blanket, he said: “Now if you are a good girl, maybe ole Earl will give you something nice to eat on the way home. And, just you wait until you see our new house. I got us a doublewide on our very own wooded acreage way outside of town. No neighbors, no phone, nothing to bother us. You can forget all this fancy living. I heard on TV down at the Exxon Station that they are running wires our way so we will have cable TV in a year or two. Right now we have an antenna and it works on both stations.” The new guy at the exit gate paid no attention as Earl ed by on his way out listening to “Sweet Home Alabama” on the CD player under the truck radio.

CHAPTER 38

Enzo and Bobby sat at the picnic table, with cups of coffee, while Alberto and Leonardo tossed a football to each other in the empty baseball diamond. The boys were still wearing their “farm guy” clothes with their shirt tails out to cover their weapons. Suddenly, Marysia Stein called from her post, 300 yards away on a side street across from the park, and radioed that a Cadillac followed by black Ford sedan had just turned off Capital Avenue, the main road, and was headed down an interior park road towards the meeting location. At the same time Carla Raven alerted Moki Gray Deer, from her position high up on the wall of an empty stadium, and told him to be ready. Moki had a perfect view of the picnic table from his position on the roof of a bar across the street from where Enzo and Bobby were sitting. From his perch he had already located two guys sitting in a parked car below him in the bar parking lot. The New York convoy parked on the street in front of the picnic area and two men stepped out and walked across the grass to the table. Bobby and Enzo stood up. Bobby didn’t know the protocol so when Enzo embraced the men, Bobby just stuck out his hand and shook hands with each one. After an hour of back and forth the deal was made just as Enzo had predicted. Charlie Leone turned to Bobby and said: “So, Mr. Sand are you all in on this agreement we have reached to end this mess? We want to leave here knowing that things end here and now.” Bobby looked directly at Leone and said, “With Bradford dead part of the problem solved itself. What goes on between you guys and Enzo is your business and it appears like you have come to an agreement. But, I want you to know that Joey Costa was more than a friend to me. We served together and saved each other’s butts more than once. His disappearance or whatever it was, hit me hard. If you know how to fix this and get Joey back, I would feel a whole lot better but, in any event, I want an end to this so the answer is YES. I am all in.” Charlie held Bobby’s eyes for a few seconds. He then nodded, turned around,

walked back down the lawn with Benedetti and got into the Cadillac. Bobby heard a noise and saw Alberto and Leonardo gesturing towards a maintenance building just beyond where they were sitting. Fearing they were up to no good Bobby motioned for Enzo to follow him. What they saw defied explanation. Leonardo was wearing a big cowboy hat and behind him Alberto was leading more than a dozen Indians along the Bailey Park road the NY mobsters’ Cadillac had to take to leave the area. The Indians were all dressed in traditional attire and were wearing a bizarre combination of war paint and feathers. Ronnie Raven had somehow found a Chief’s full head dress. He was standing at the end of the road with his arms crossed on his chest. He looked like a cigar store Indian complete with a quiver of arrows hanging from his shoulder. Once the Cadillac and the body guards’ cars ed slowly by, all those gathered broke out in laughter. Bobby could not imagine what the New York gangsters were thinking.

CHAPTER 39

Larry Kramer and Franco Ughgetti were driven from Fiumicino International Airport to a beautiful palazzo on a private street in Rome. The homes on either side were large and exceptionally private with walls and large hedges separating the neighbors. Kramer and Ughgetti were shown through the spacious entry foyer to a secluded patio in the rear. Their escorts left them. A few minutes later a servant wearing a traditional style black tuxedo appeared and placed a large platter of cheeses, various kinds of salami, olives and slices of bread on the table along with a stack of appetizer style plates, knives and forks. He was followed immediately by another servant, dressed exactly the same, bearing a tray with four long stemmed wine glasses and a bottle of red wine. After a respectful 15 minutes neither Larry nor Franco could resist the aroma of the salami and cheese. They both sampled the appetizers. After a few more minutes a very distinguished looking gentleman, in a beautifully tailored linen suit, arrived followed by two men. “I am Alberto Marino. Welcome to my home. The gentleman with me is Anthony Russo. Mr. Russo is my, shall we say, operations manager. We have a number of business interests here in Rome and elsewhere around the world. It has come to our attention that you have been employed to solve a problem here in Rome. One of our sources of information discovered that your employer is someone we have a great deal of respect for and would find it very useful to be of assistance to him with the idea that perhaps we may find a profitable t venture in the future. So, to that end, it will be our pleasure to assist you with the problem you have travelled so far to solve.” Both Larry and Franco took note that the third man, who came out with Mr. Marino, was not introduced. He placed himself in such a way as to have a clear shot at Marino’s guests, if the need arose. Since Mr. Marino spoke perfect English there was no need for Franco to translate. So, Larry said: “Thank you, Mr. Marino, for your gracious hospitality and your generous offer of assistance. We are sure that you know via our mutual friends here and in New York that a certain gentleman, now residing in Rome, has directly caused

significant personal pain to our employer and that this debt must be paid. Our employer is prepared to meet any reasonable, shall we say, business expense to get this assignment completed.” Marino looked in the direction of the man introduced as Mr. Russo and nodded. “The man you seek is now called Jeffery Conrad and lives in a rented villa here in Rome. In the last few weeks he has become romantically involved with a certain Sabrina Bianchi. Miss Bianchi and Mr. Conrad are scheduled to have dinner, this very evening, in a restaurant owned by another friend of ours. We have been advised of the budget amount, allocated to cover expenses related to the transaction and can assure a successful completion of the task. Miss Bianchi is a close associate of ours and we have complete confidence in her special skills. We have credible information that Mr. Conrad is planning to leave Rome soon; possibly as early as tonight. Miss Bianchi is a very persuasive woman of great beauty and is certain that Mr. Conrad is going to propose that she accompany him.” After a few moments Larry looked at both men and said: “Mr. Marino, Mr. Russo, it would seem that we should go forward with your plan. To that end I will my employer and ask him to proceed with payment. All I need are wiring instructions to the bank of your choice.” Russo reached into his suit jacket pocket, removed a slim envelope and said: “You will find all you need in the envelope.” Franco and Larry stood up and were followed by Marino and Russo. Hands were shaken. As if by magic, the escorts who had originally brought them here appeared again and led them back, through the house, to the street and their waiting car. Once the two were dropped off back at the airport Larry turned to Franco and said: “We just made $200,000 each and probably the best s we will ever have on both sides of the ocean. Let’s send Bradford the green light and fuck returning to New York. What do you say we hit Paris? I’ve always wanted to see all the museums and stay in one of the overpriced hotels. What do you say, sailor?”

Over the next 15 years Franco Ughgetti and Larry Kramer’s “business” prospered with assignments from corporate executives, government agencies, billionaires and of organized crime. They all found that outsourcing solutions to their internal problems proved more successful than the traditional “in house” methods. Even more appealing were the elements of precision and secrecy, surrounding the problem solving methods that kept more than one disenchanted thug or whistleblower in line. The driver dropped Alex Stone, now Jeffery Conrad, off in front of RISTORANTE CARLO, Mr. Conrad’s favorite place to dine in Rome. The Manager had readied a private dining room for 9 PM where the delightful Sabrina Bianchi would be ing him 30 minutes later. After living most of his adult life on alert, Mr. Conrad found Rome and his new name very relaxing. Tonight he was ready to ask Sabrina to him, at his final travel destination, and share with him a life made wonderful by millions and millions of dollars in cash and a portfolio of investments that continued to pile up significant returns. As Conrad poured himself a glass of Veranzano Chianti, from the rolling hills of Tuscany, he heard Carlo greet Sabrina personally and escort her to the privacy drape that closed off his dining room from the hallway and the rest of the busy restaurant. Conrad also heard a door close and ed that there was a door in the hallway that further separated this private space from the rest of the patrons. “Thank you Carlo” Conrad thought. As the drapes parted there she was, in all her exotic beauty, smiling widely and holding a silenced Beretta in her hand. “I will be skipping dinner Mr. Stone and, by the way, so will you.” Two nearly silent pops and Alex Stone aka Jeffery Conrad was no more. Within a minute of Sabrina’s departure two large men entered the dining room and carried Stone out the back door, into the rear of a baker’s van and drove off. Sabrina left by the front door and immediately stepped into the rear seat of a chauffeured Maserati. Mr. Russo was seated next to her. He extended a thick leather briefcase which she smoothly rested next to her Prada bag beside her on the seat. The car raced across Rome and pulled up to the front entrance to the Giuseppe Valadier designed, five star Hotel de Russie. As the valet opened the door for Sabrina she turned to Russo and said:

“Thank you. It has been a pleasure serving you and I hope we can do business in the future. Have a nice evening.” As Russo’s car pulled away, another car pulled up. Sabrina slid into the front seat and ed her lover of the last two years. They drove off together into the Roman night. Sabrina took no chances. Russo had reserved a suite for her but, Sabrina preferred not to be where someone, she had just killed for, could find her. As they drove Sabrina removed her long black, natural hair wig and removed the dark brown lenses from her blue eyes. Now a blond with stylish short hair, Karen Larsen of Gary, Indiana, graduate of the University of Chicago with a degree in foreign languages and European History, a former US Army Ranger and Operation Desert Storm combat veteran with a Bronze Star for bravery, thumbed through the $10,000 dollar packets of cash to make sure the briefcase actually held $200,000. Satisfied with her count Karen slid closer to the driver and relaxed. Next stop Indiana and her brother’s wedding. Back in New York with all things considered, James Bradford II was pleased with the way his overall plan worked out. He was free of Stone and all Stone knew. Before Stone even tasted the wine he poured at Carlo’s, his villa in Rome was being torn apart for documents or anything else that could be embarrassing to the Trust. Thanks to bank officials who valued the mutually profitable relationship with the Trust, the following day Stone’s safety deposit boxes in Rome and Geneva would be opened and inspected. In a way, James hated to it it to himself but he now understood what motivated Carter. He assured himself that he was above all that unless, of course, he needed to do something that could not be avoided to save the Trust. James reasoned that men like him, who had the enormous responsibility for something as massive as the Trust, had to be of a special caliber and not subject to the rules or emotions of much lesser men. That is just the way things are. With Kramer’s people, always available, he felt secure and insulated from the problems of the business world.

CHAPTER 40

The room was full. The ceremony could have been held in several other venues but Frankie Renard’s daughter, Renee, made it known that she had seen the Oval office on television and this is where her father’s medals should be awarded. The President agreed. Renee and her mother stood to one side of the President’s desk alongside Rhoda Rosen Levy and her son Howard and next to Carmela Costa and her nephew Anthony. Facing the group, the Secretary of the Navy read a statement apologizing for the delay in making these awards and then proceeded to pin the Navy Cross and the Purple Heart on each of the children. A series of photos were taken with the President and then the group was escorted out of the office for a meeting with the press and then off to a luncheon at the Pentagon. As Bobby Sand and Joseph Carson turned to follow the children out, the President spoke up and asked them to stay for a few minutes. President Bush wanted a firsthand report on what transpired those many years ago. As the Oval Office door closed, they noticed a man who had not attended the ceremony just being itted. For more than an hour Bobby and Joseph relived the missions and described Bradford’s behavior and what he had masterminded in recent months to silence the men. Bush was angry and disgusted and promised both men he would look into what transpired at the Pentagon. He then asked Bobby and Joseph to stand up from their seats on the couch and accept their Navy Crosses and Purple Hearts. The President explained that he felt it was the children’s day and apologized for making this presentation separate. Both men immediately agreed that Bush had done the right thing and thanked him for recognizing their shipmates. The last photo with President Bush was taken and the two started to leave the Oval Office but were asked to stay by the man who had ed the affair at the last minute. President Bush excused himself and left. The man motioned Bobby and Joseph back to sit on the couches in the center of the room. Once seated he said, “My name is Charles Mitchell. I work for the US government in foreign affairs. As you may know, the United States government is working to build a better relationship with the government of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. The terrible things Carter Bradford did have not yet penetrated these negotiations, in

spite of that television news show that revealed him as a murderer and the publicity following his death and the disappearance of his wife. To that end we want to do everything we can to put this unfortunate episode in the past. Therefore, we must ask that you gentlemen, as the last survivors of the boat crew, refrain from public interviews, writing books or articles or making public appearances. Because of the heroism that is reflected in the long overdue awards you received today, your government has faith in your cooperation. Now the hard part. You both signed documents which are part of your records requiring you to keep your missions in Vietnam secret upon penalty of imprisonment. In your case Mr. Sand, you are still guilty of striking an officer and subject to arrest. Please understand, I must present these cautions to keep both of you from making a serious mistake. The awards you received today will not be entered into your service records and all references to Vietnam and the missions have been removed. The parents of the children who were just here have received similar warnings. We simply cannot have this terrible tragedy raised and spend years apologizing for Bradford after allowing him to be a member of the Congress for most of his life. Please try to think of this as one more mission.” Mitchell then stood followed by Sand and Carson. There was no hand shaking only an awkward moment until Mitchell turned and left the office. Bobby and Joseph followed immediately. Bobby tended to be stoic but Joseph barely made it out of the Oval Office before the tears flowed. “Not a day goes by or a night that I don’t think of Joey, Frankie, Davey, our guide “Jim” and all those innocent Vietnamese that Bradford murdered. I can’t thank you enough for your work putting all this together and finally nailing that bastard.” Joseph said as he wiped the tears from his face. “Just a minute Joseph, I seem to a special newsman on NBC Chicago that not only figured out how to cream that prick but gave a performance worthy of Walter Cronkite.” Later that evening the whole group reunited at the hotel they were staying in courtesy of the Defense Department. Everyone enjoyed a wonderful dinner and had plenty of time to talk and to promise to keep in touch. Addresses and phone numbers were exchanged and finally as the evening wore down the children, with their medals proudly displayed on their chests, asked Bobby and Joseph if

they could ask some questions. Ironically Howard Levy, Davey’s grandson, had been elected to be the group’s spokesperson. A leader in the making just like Davey Rosen. Bobby and Joseph sanitized the facts about the missions and significantly enhanced Davey’s, Frankie’s and Joey’s heroism. By the end of the evening there were three young people who stood a bit taller. After a night cap in the hotel bar Bobby and Maryssa went to their room. No sooner had they closed the door and Bobby spun around and said: “I think we need to have a baby. I am only 48 and you are much younger. Why not?” Marysia gave him one of her penetrating looks and simply pointed to the ring finger on her left hand.