Chapter One
We all know that our time on this earth will be brief; it seems that in the blink of an eye we are here today, gone tomorrow. Most of us tend to banish any thoughts of our own death to the back-burner, and this ostrich like denial works well until we are faced with the bitter final reality. Even then, we resist, thinking, this can’t be happening to me – NOT NOW! – there must be at least one more card to play. Sadly, we all reach a point where time runs out. And, regardless of the circumstances, no one ever beats the clock.
My wife Carol and I were part of the baby boom generation and in our late seventies we found ourselves on the cusp of a longevity revolution. Thanks to medical advances, retirement was no longer considered just a late-stage disappearing act. We had both left the workplace quite some years earlier, but were still healthy and fit and continued to enjoy a physically active lifestyle.
To us, age was just a number; we didn’t obsess too much over getting older. We believed that you are only as old as you feel. And apparently having inherited good genes, even in our advanced years we were considering new dreams to add to our bucket list. We looked forward to an extended life span, the grateful beneficiaries of an unanticipated time-affluence.
Our lives continued along this sunny path until one day Carol received bad news from her doctor. He had been investigating her recent weight loss and a decline in her usually high energy level. I later found out that my wife had been experiencing a variety of symptoms which she hadn’t shared with me, and was heedlessly slow in reporting to her doctor. Test results confirmed that she was suffering from pancreatic cancer. Undetected, it had metastasized through her lymph nodes and migrated to the major organs in her body.
The oncologist gently explained that Carol probably had just three to six months to live, and upon receiving this shocking news our well-ordered world collapsed. Gone were any thoughts of time-affluence and longevity; they were just buzz words with no meaning. Instead, we entered a spiritual sinkhole of fear and grief. At the time of Carol’s death – an abbreviated two months later – we still hadn’t reached the stage of accepting what was happening.
Neither of us subscribed to my late father’s often repeated assertion that when you’re gone, you’re gone. He was a non-believer who thought that death was a quiet, inevitable void with no hope for a life hereafter. Carol and I rejected this pseudo philosophy and prayed fervently, hoping for divine intervention. But it didn’t happen. The end came quickly, and when the funeral director handed over a box containing Carol’s ashes, I walked away feeling completely gutted. I thought desperately, what the hell do I do now?
Chapter Two
A light rain was falling when I pulled my SUV into the driveway of our garden-style condo and activated the remote to the garage door. I killed the engine and sat there for a moment, trying to summon the energy to get out of the vehicle. I finally entered the mud room and stood in the hush of the late afternoon gloom. Flicking on the light I observed familiar surroundings, but could only think of Carol’s absence. Tears sprung to my eyes when I looked down at the box of ashes in my hands. Suddenly I felt an intense stab of grief that almost staggered me. I let out a sob and collapsed into a kitchen chair. A few moments later I was pulled from my anguish when a wet nose nuzzled my hand.
It was Jack, our Springer Spaniel who (as far as I knew) was unaware of the dramatic change in our circumstances. He had been left alone for several hours and was now reminding me of his urgent need to pee. I took his leash off the hook and we proceeded on a walk up the street. This routine activity briefly diverted my mood and I called out, “Good boy,” and gave him an affectionate rub behind the ears. Back in the kitchen I noticed the blinking message light on our land line. This obsolete piece of technology was a throwback to the past that neither Carol nor I had wanted to part with. Sighing with mental fatigue, I pushed the play button.
There were several messages from friends and neighbors all expressing their condolences and offering support. Included were a couple of dinner invitations, but all of these people had had a closer relationship with Carol than with me. And honestly, the last thing I wanted to do right now (or ever) was to share my feelings with any of them. Instead, I turned to my friend Jack. No, no… not the dog! It was from a bottle of Jack Daniels Tennessee Whisky that I sought comfort. I poured a generous three finger shot over a lump of ice and carried the glass into the den; my four-legged friend padded closely behind. As I sipped the drink I thought about the events of the past few days. I had muddled through this heart-breaking experience on autopilot, barely functioning.
Carol’s condition had deteriorated more rapidly than expected and a week earlier we had moved her to a hospice for comfort care. Up to that point neither of us had accepted the finality of her situation, nor had we discussed any end-of-life arrangements. In her final days Carol was under the influence of heavy-duty pain meds, but she would surface intermittently with some clarity of mind. During these moments she expressed more concern about my welfare than for her own impending death. She also urged me to take good care of Jack. Her final wish was for privacy and discretion; there was to be no formal funeral or visitation. Carol asked that her body be cremated and the ashes interred in the family plot at the local cemetery.
Our son, Wade W. Daniels, Jr., had retired early from the financial services industry after making a huge profit from selling shares when his firm was acquired by Merrill Lynch. Prior to that he had been a special forces trooper serving with the British Special Air Service. He now ran a small boutique adventure travel company, operating under the banner of High Adventure Inc. At last report, Wade was leading a group of corporate executives on a trek along the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. He was currently out of cellphone reach; we had last talked about eight days earlier. Since then, Carol’s condition had taken a rapid turn for the worse and Wade was unaware of her sudden passing. I was hoping to reach him the next day when his party reached the town of Aguas Calientes in Peru. I wasn’t looking forward to making that call. I knew that Wade would be terribly distressed by the sad news.
I poured another drink and absently massaged Jack’s neck. He gave a contented groan, seemingly unaware of Carol’s absence. Me? I was in a deep funk thinking about the massive change that was occurring in my life. After 55 years of marriage, I was suddenly alone and couldn’t quite get my mind around the implications. What should I do? I didn’t have a clue! At the moment everything seemed so sad and hopeless. I had always known that death was part of life’s cycle, but the previous loss of loved ones had never affected me in this way. I tried to remember the names and faces of the cast-of-characters who were now absent from the minor drama that was my life. There were so many! I thought grimly, if you live long enough you eventually lose everyone.
Chapter Three
Three months later… I was settling into the boring reality that was my new life. Some friends, sensing my drift towards solitude, had given me unsolicited advice such as meet with a professional grief therapist, do some volunteer work, sell the condo, check out retirement homes, or go on an extended cruise. My son Wade, Jr., was also concerned, but he was soon off on another trip. All of the free advice offered was no doubt well intended, but I quietly ignored it.
I had always heard that it was wise to defer important decisions for at least a year after experiencing a life-altering event; that it was best to wait until your emotions subsided. I pondered this wisdom – in the company of my friends Jack Daniels and Jack the dog – and eventually an interesting idea began to take form. I figured it was something that I should probably act upon fairly quickly, as the reflection in the bathroom mirror reminded me constantly that I was about to turn 80… and the clock was ticking.
If you had asked my wife about me, she would have said that she knew my every thought. Even to the extent of often completing my sentences. But she would be wrong. I don’t think you ever really KNOW another person. In my case, all that she ever saw was the tip of the iceberg. Even after 55 years of marriage, there was no way that she was privy to my deepest thoughts and feelings. I think she would have been surprised by the cards I didn’t show. One example of this was my deep-seated desire to just pack it in… and hit the road.
I had always dreamed of taking an extended motor trip with no specified return date. My vision was to circumnavigate the USA and take in the sights in a leisurely fashion. Earlier today I had picked up a road map at the local CAA office, and now with the map unfolded across the kitchen table I began to consider the possibilities. I circled my Montreal location which was the starting point. The big question was whether to drive south towards the Carolinas… and then swing towards the west coast, or alternatively go counter-clockwise from Montreal to British Columbia and then south to California. I decided the best way to resolve the question was to flip a coin. Carolina was the winner.
Although my method of selecting a route was rather casual, there were other matters to consider that would require more attention to detail. My first call was to a company which specialized in and was aptly named Downsizing Solutions. A few days later a rep came to see me and we discussed what I had in mind. I explained that I wanted her company to stage and sell the condo and arrange for the disposition of the contents. Meanwhile, I would rent a small storage unit to retain a few family heirlooms and photographs. All other furniture, collectibles, clothing, jewelry, clothing and personal possessions were to be sold, donated or consigned to the dumpster.
Next, I visited my lawyer and had my will updated. I also signed a power of attorney authorizing him to act on my behalf during my anticipated absence. This would include retrieving mail from my new post office box and dealing with any outstanding matters in conjunction with my accountant, private banker and financial advisor. Finally, I traded in my recent model Toyota RAV4 and purchased a beautiful new Porsche Cayenne Turbo SUV. The vehicle was a little expensive, but I figured a little extravagance was in order at this stage of the game.
On the day of departure, I packed up the SUV and assisted Jack into his doggy hammock in the back seat. I felt an incredible sense of excitement as I pulled out of the driveway. Bob Seger was singing Katmandu [sic] as I turned onto Autoroute 35 and headed south towards the U.S. border.
Chapter Four
Wade Daniels was leading a group of corporate oil men on a climb up to Camp #1 on Mount Aconcagua in Western Argentina. The camp was perched at an altitude of 16,249 feet, above the Plaza de Mulas Base Camp. The objective this day was to ferry supplies to the higher camp, and then return to base camp to spend the night. This followed the standard acclimatization protocol of ‘climb high and sleep low.’ Standing at a lofty 22,841 feet above sea level, Aconcagua is the highest mountain in the Americas, and one of a small group of mountains that were on every serious climber’s wish list. It is a difficult and potentially dangerous climb, but it does not require an undue amount of technical expertise.
Daniels had been hired by a major U.S. oil company to work with a group of fast-tracking middle managers on a team building exercise. Initially he had led them on an orientation week in the rugged Canadian Rockies to familiarize them with the tents, food, gear and equipment. Now they were in Argentina on Aconcagua. He knew (as did the corporate leaders back in Houston) that there was only a small chance that any of them would summit the mountain. The real objective was to get detailed feedback from Wade on each man’s mental toughness and leadership potential.
Wade was stretched out in his sleeping bag reading a paperback by the light of his headlamp. Suddenly, there was an unexpected chirp from his satellite phone. It was the base camp manager calling with a warning about a bad weather front that was rapidly moving in. The forecast called for high winds and blizzard conditions. His recommendation was to abort the climb and descend to a lower elevation. Before signing off, he also informed Wade that an urgent call had been received from a Monsieur Coté in Montreal. Apparently, the lawyer had called to report that Wade’s father had gone missing.
Three days later Wade and his charges boarded a bus in Mendoza for a transfer to the airport. Their adventure on Aconcagua had been cut short, but overall, it had been a good experience and Wade had made sufficient observations to complete his report for the bosses back in Houston. Gazing out the bus window, his thoughts were a million miles away. He replayed his conversation with Michel Coté over again in his mind. The lawyer had called to report that Mr. Daniels, Sr., hadn’t called in for two consecutive weeks. The arrangement was for him to check-in every Friday to confirm that everything was okay. Up until now, he had unfailingly complied with this schedule over his six-month absence. Coté considered the lapse in communication as being uncharacteristic and worrisome.
Wade had tried to reach his father on his cellphone, but all he got was a recorded message stating that the number you have reached is no longer in service. The lawyer said that when he last spoken to Mr. Daniels, he had left Key West and was crossing Alligator Alley on route to Tampa. Wade had last talked with his father about three weeks earlier. At that time the old boy was in good spirits and told him he was staying at a nice B&B in Key West. They had talked about the possibility of meeting up in California in the next few months. Wade wondered, where the hell is he? His father was 80 years of age, alone in a foreign country… and now he had gone off the grid and his bloody cellphone was out of service!
When Wade had received the call about his mother’s death he felt a deep sense of loss, and also guilt for being largely absent from his parent’s lives over the past few years. Most of his time was spent either leading adventure trips, or fishing at his cottage on Webber Island in the Georgian Bay Archipelago. Still a bachelor at 54 years of age, he led a mostly solitary existence, self-medicating with Scotch whisky to mellow out the effects of post-traumatic stress. His closest friend was Charlie Burton, a former fellow officer in the Canadian Airborne Regiment.
Chapter Five
Charles Burton was just entering the Mont Royal Club in Montreal when his cellphone gave off an annoying trill. Stepping back outside, he frowned, noting that the incoming call had no caller ID. He hesitated for a moment before curiosity compelled him to answer.
“Burton here.”
“Charlie, it’s Wade.”
“Hey pal, it’s good to hear your voice! How the hell are you?”
“Actually, I’ve got a bit of problem and wonder if you can help me?”
Wade then explained the mystery surrounding his father’s disappearance and asked Burton if he could somehow look into it. Captain Charles Burton was the former intelligence officer of the Airborne Regiment, and now the principal of Burton Investigations. In truth, it was really just himself and his secretary Maggie; and the business was more of a preoccupation than a financial necessity. He didn’t consider himself a typical private detective, but rather the purveyor of discreet inquiries.
After Burton had left the service, Lieutenant Wade Daniels stayed on and eventually was recruited into the JTF2 special forces branch of the Canadian military. He was later seconded to the British Special Air Service. His military service ended when he was wounded by a Taliban sniper in a fire fight in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. Burton hadn’t seen action during his days in the military, and often humorously implied that the only fighting he did was in the bars on Boulevard Saint-Laurent in Montreal. Subsequently though, he had been in a number of ‘hot’ situations, most recently in Germany where he had shot and killed the fiendish Baron Friedrich von Galen during a rescue mission. The memory of harrowing experiences like that didn’t keep him awake at night. It was an unpredictable and hostile world, and the credo instilled during his time in the Airborne was to live and let die.
After his luncheon Burton walked the short distance along Rue Peal to his office. He discussed a few administrative matters with Maggie, and then asked her to arrange a call with Michel Coté’s office. The busy lawyer came right on the line and greeted Burton with enthusiasm. The two men were old friends and had worked together on a number of important cases. Burton explained that their mutual friend Wade had asked him to look into the disappearance of his father. Coté quickly summarized the situation regarding Mr. Daniels Sr., and expressed concern for his client’s well-being. One of the services he provided for the man was to track his credit card purchases. The last item recorded was a gasoline purchase two weeks ago in Tampa, Florida. After that, the card had remained inactive. This was unusual because for the previous six months there had been a history of daily transactions. This irregularity, combined with his failure to stay in touch, was cause for serious concern.
Burton suggested that they meet to review every known detail about Mr. Daniels’ disappearance. Coté immediately agreed. The following morning Burton got off the elevator on the 42nd floor of 1000 Rue De la Gauchetière and walked along the well-appointed hallway until coming to an oak door with polished brass letters depicting M. Coté - Avocat. He entered and was greeted by Coté’s attractive young secretary, Madam Poirier.
“Bonjour, Monsieur!’
Burton responded in a deep baritone which always set the young woman’s heart a flutter. At 6-foot-3 inches in height he was imposing in his usual attire of dark suit, blue dress shirt, no tie. On his left lapel he wore a small silver pin with parachute wings over the inscription Airborne. With a barely restrained smile the secretary led him into the inner sanctum.
Coté rose from his desk and extended his hand and embraced Burton in a friendly man hug. They had a long history of working co-operatively together and had a high regard for one another. Michel Coté was a highly successful lawyer with offices in both Toronto and Montreal. He was Parisienne in origin, but was perfectly fluent in both French and English. Oxford educated and a brilliant practitioner of the law, his personal connections extended to the highest levels of business and government. Burton considered his friend to be a true example of a modern Renaissance man.
Burton was aware that Coté had taken on Mr. Daniels as a client… primarily because he was the father of their mutual friend Wade. He usually didn’t practice retail law, and tended to focus more on corporate mergers and acquisitions. But he took his responsibility for Mr. Daniels seriously and was extremely concerned about his client’s well-being. He explained that since yesterday there had been a chilling new development. It now appeared as if his client might be the victim of a heinous crime.
Chapter Six
I had heard horror stories about Canadians being hassled at the US border, due to strained relations between the two countries. But I simply showed my passport to the Customs Agent, answered a few questions and was waived through without a hitch. I then activated my Waze GPS and set the destination for a small town along the route I planned to follow. In the past, Carol and I had travelled numerous times to Florida. These were always marathon driving events, barreling straight through to vacation destinations like Clearwater or Fort Myers Beach. I figured that on this trip I would only drive until I got tired. In any event, I would pull in frequently at rest centers and dog parks to accommodate Jack. My plan was to avoid the big cities like New York and Boston; instead, I wanted to visit more out of the way places like Nantucket, the Outer Banks, Tybee Island and Key West.
The Porsche was a delight to drive and I listened to the oldies on my Spotify play list as we cruised along. I had found that Best Western Hotels were consistent in quality with good amenities, and would pull into one each afternoon around four o’clock. Jack was a good traveler and soon adapted to our daily routine. Looking after him not only gave me something to do, but it also helped to make up for the unhappy reality that I was alone on this adventure. I had already determined that experiences not shared with another person were only half the fun. Don’t get me wrong, Jack was a good companion, but the conversation was strictly a one-way-street. I was also missing Carol like crazy, although my friend Jack Daniels did provide some comfort. It’s funny how my spirits would rise at the mere sound of ice cubes dropping into a glass. I sipped my drink and tried not to think about the past, or the future. I wanted my head to be totally in the present.
We spent a few weeks in and around South Carolina and Georgia and then continued on to St. Augustine, Florida. For a change of pace, I took a suite at the Old Powder House Inn in the historic downtown district. It was so pleasant there that we settled in for a week-long stay. As had been agreed to beforehand, I made my check-in call to Michel Coté’s office every Friday. Everything seemed to be in order at that end, although apparently my financial advisor had called Coté with some investment recommendations. I had left firm instructions that I was not to be contacted under any circumstances; that my lawyer had full discretion over my affairs. I had a fairly sizeable investment portfolio, which was deployed in a conservative manner for the long term. The long term might not be so long at my age, but I was really investing with my son’s time horizon in mind. Wade was well healed in his own right, and I couldn’t imagine what he would eventually do with all this money.
We eventually meandered down to South Florida, and stayed for several weeks at a nice hotel on Miami Beach. From there we travelled further south on U.S. Route 101 through the chain of islands to Key West. Jutting into the Strait of Florida, Key West was just 94 miles from the coast of Cuba. It is a small island community with a spicy blend of Caribbean influences, and I loved the quirky free-spirited vibe of the people there. I decided to stick around for a while, and checked into a dog-friendly B&B close to the downtown hub of Duval Street. The next two months quickly passed; then one day for a diversion I put Jack into a dog kennel, and bought a ticket for the ferry sailing to the Dry Tortugas. The sea was a little choppy that morning, as I boarded the Yankee Freedom for the 70-mile cruise to Fort Jefferson. About half an hour later I thought I was going to lose my breakfast.
After taking a precautionary stance at the leeward rail, I noticed an attractive woman next to me who also seemed to be suffering from a case of mal de mar. I remembered seeing her earlier when our departure was delayed as she hurried up the gangplank. After a few minutes she looked my way, and we commiserated with each other about our delicate stomachs. Eventually we both regained our sea legs and returned to the seating area up top. The woman - her name was Monica - offered to get me a cup of tea, and afterwards we sat together looking out over the sparkling water. Monica was probably about sixty, but she was one of those well-preserved-women who looked younger than their actual age. The two of us seemed to connect right away, and since we were both alone, we hung out together for the balance of the day.
After returning to the ferry terminal in Key West, I gave Monica a lift to her accommodation at the Perry Hotel & Marina. We agreed to meet for a drink later at Sloppy Joe’s Bar. In the meantime, I retrieved Jack from the kennel and we returned to our B&B. After I had freshened up, Jack and I walked uptown to Sloppy Joe’s on Duval Street. It was the cocktail hour and the place was slammed. I scanned the crowd looking for Monica, but didn’t see her. I felt a brief stab of disappointment, but then I thought, ‘get real,’ she probably had much better things to do. I found an open stool at the bar and ordered a Jack on the rocks. A few minutes later, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I turned around and there she was. With a friendly smile, Monica leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.
Chapter Seven
The financial advisor had finally called Michel Coté to report that Mr. Daniels’ investment portfolio had been unwound and the proceeds e-transferred to his bank. Daniels had issued instructions via WhatsApp, and in spite of his advisor urging caution, he still insisted on selling out. All of the necessary authorizations had been obtained, including a digital signature; there was even an audio recording of Daniels giving verbal instructions. Still, out of an abundance of caution the company’s compliance department had raised a red flag. There was something about the rushed nature of the transaction that didn’t seem quite right. It did not correspond with the client’s history or stated objectives… and the amount in question was almost ten million dollars.
The compliance investigation had taken two weeks to complete and no irregularities were found. It was only then that the financial advisor called Michel Coté to get his perspective on their mutual client’s intentions. The two men had talked previously, as Coté was the designated decision-maker during Daniels’ absence. Coté was shocked to learn that the entire investment portfolio had been cashed out. He expressed frustration over not being appraised of this sooner. He immediately called his client’s private banker and was informed that the entire ten million, plus the proceeds from the sale of the condo had been wired to a numbered account in Belize.
~ ~ ~
Michel Coté summed up the situation for Charles Burton. It was the unexplained lapse in communication that had first set off alarm bells; and then the discontinued use of the credit card… and the cellphone that was inexplicably no longer in service. Finally, the stunning news about Daniels’ investment portfolio. The collective weight of these anomalies suggested that something was terribly wrong; that it wasn’t just a series of coincidences.
Burton asked the lawyer,
“Was there anything about Mr. Daniels manner when he last called in to suggest that something wasn’t quite right?”
“Not at all. He spoke with Madam Poirier, and they had their usual pleasant exchange.”
“How about the credit card, any unusual activity in the last few months?”
“I reviewed the statements, and nothing jumps out.”
“Have you had a chance to contact the people at his last known overnight accommodation?”
“No, not yet. I was just beginning to truly appreciate the seriousness of the situation when you called yesterday. It was after our conversation that I received the shocking news from the bank. And now, I am very concerned for Mr. Daniels physical well-being. I know him to be a very cautious and conservative man. These actions with his portfolio and offshore accounts are totally out of character. I mean, his recent purchase of a Porsche SUV is probably the most unscripted thing he’s ever done in his life. Charles, this is very serious. I would like to engage you to begin an immediate investigation into his disappearance.”
The two men then talked at length about an action plan. Burton said that he would begin by filing a Missing Person Report with both the Montreal and Tampa police departments. Coté agreed to call his friend, the Minister of Foreign Affairs to ask her to have the Canadian Ambassador in Washington and the Canadian Consulate General in Miami to use their influence to initiate a police investigation. Burton would also attempt to retrace Daniels steps since the moment he crossed the border into the U.S. And he would bring his friend the computer ‘Geek’ on board to assist in the hunt.
Before leaving the lawyer’s office, Burton had a brief word with Madam Poirier. She told him that her weekly calls from Mr. Daniels had been light and pleasant. He seemed to be happy and claimed that all was well. She recalled that he mentioned something about meeting a nice lady during his stay in Key West. Hmm, thought Burton, as he filed this tidbit away for further consideration.
Chapter Eight
I stepped out of the shower humming the Sinatra song ‘The Second Time Around,’ and paused when I caught my reflection in the mirror. For a moment I was aghast. I wondered what Carol would think if she knew what was going on? Then I shook my head and thought, don’t go there! It had all begun that night at Sloppy Joe’s. Monica and I had moved from the bar to a corner table where we talked for hours. When we left, she offered to give me a ride home in her fancy Mercedes sports coupe. She had no problem with Jack jumping up onto her buttery leather seats… she said she absolutely adored dogs. This sentiment reinforced the positive feelings that I had already developed for her. By the time she dropped us off, we had already made plans to meet the following day.
Over the next few weeks our relationship evolved from friendly to affectionate, and then into a full-blown romance. When she invited me up to her suite at The Perry Hotel, I was as giddy as a teenager. We drank some champagne and then she guided me into the bedroom. Oh my God! The sex was unbelievable! I thought that ship had sailed for me, but somehow the years slipped away and I felt like a young man again. She seemed to be really into it as well. In the past when something seemed too good to be true, I would often say, “I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night.” But with Monica, there was never a moment of doubt. Hey, maybe I was thinking with the wrong head. But this lovely woman had managed to push away all of my sadness and loneliness, and replaced it with exciting possibilities.
Monica told me that she was a recent widow; that her deceased husband was a retired defense contractor and they had lived in Washington, D.C. She had two children; a son in California and a daughter who lived in New York City. She was financially secure, as evidenced by her classy Mercedes, exquisite jewelry and the fact that she had a suite at the most expensive hotel in Key West. As we poured our souls out to each other, she shared that - like me – she was embarked on a late life odyssey of self-discovery. Her ultimate destination was the West Coast where she planned to visit her son. On the way she planned to see a lawyer in Tampa, to sign papers regarding the disposition of a vacation property. As our romance continued to blossom, we eventually decided to travel together. Monica put her car into long-term parking, and on a bright sunny morning we set out in the Porsche across Alligator Alley towards Tampa.
~ ~ ~
After lunching at the club, Burton walked to his residence at Le Cartier and retrieved his Range Rover from the parking garage. He then made his way out of the downtown area and drove to the Porsch dealership on Chemin de la Côte-de Liesse in Saint-Laurent. There he met with the general manager… a Monsieur Dumond. They had talked earlier by phone and Dumond had gathered the information that Burton requested. He explained that Mr. Daniels’ Cayenne SUV had a built in Carfinder application which revealed the vehicle’s location with pinpoint accuracy. It also recorded the precise routing of the vehicle – like a trail of breadcrumbs - since the day it left the dealer’s lot. All of this information was permanently stored in the cloud and was available for retrieval. The app showed that Mr. Daniels’ SUV was currently located in a Tampa, Florida parking garage where it had sat for the past two weeks.
Burton called his friend Wade to update him on what he had learned from the Porsche dealer. He also asked him for some personal information on his father that was required to file the Missing Person Report. He would let Maggie deal with the bureaucratic rigmarole of actually filing the reports. Meanwhile, he called Orson Babbage – aka the Geek – and put him on retainer. This young man, who looked about 15 years old, was a basement dwelling technophile with an IQ that was off the charts. He was an expert hacker and very adept at taking deep dives into the dark web. His involvement in a recent case had been critical in achieving a successful outcome under life and death circumstances. Burton briefed him on the wire transfer to Belize and asked him to dig into it.
His next call was to the Missing Persons Unit of the Tampa Police Department. He alerted the Sergeant in charge that a Missing Person Report was forthcoming, and that the missing individual’s vehicle had been located in a long-term parking garage in the Westshore District near the airport. The harried cop wasn’t thrilled about receiving a call from a Montreal private investigator, but grudgingly responded by saying he would try to send a patrol car around to check it out. Burton then called Maggie and told her to file the Tampa Missing Person Report asap. He also reached out to Michel Coté and asked if he could use his connections to light a fire under the Tampa Police. Then with things temporarily in limbo, he decided to check out Mr. Daniels’ last known address in Key West.
The hostess of the B&B had nothing but praise for Mr. Daniels, noting that he had been a guest for almost three months and had left a few weeks earlier. They had bent the rules to allow the dog to stay, but it hadn’t caused any problems. Burton explained that the man was now a missing person and he pressed for more information. The hostess said the only thing that came to mind was that on couple of occasions a woman came by to pick him up driving a fancy sports car. When she teasingly commented on it to Mr. Daniels, he had smiled and said the woman was a friend who was staying at the nearby Perry Hotel & Marina. She added that he chatted with someone regularly on his cellphone, and recalled once overhearing something about a trip to Tampa.
Burton called the head of security at the Perry Hotel. When he tried to explain his reason for calling, the man just brushed him off. He said that any information regarding their guests was strictly confidential. When he abruptly ended the call, Burton knew it was a dead end. He called Orson Babbage and asked him if it was possible to tap into the hotel’s closed-circuit TV. The computer whiz said it would be…
“A piece of cake.”
Burton said. “I am looking for anything on a female guest who is driving an expensive sports car. This would be roughly two weeks ago and for the period immediately preceding that. Also see if there is any hotel footage showing Mr. Daniels driving his green Porsche SUV during the same period. I’ll send you his picture.”
“Don’t bother, I’ve got everything I need. Leave it with me.”
By the next morning, Burton was becoming impatient with the pace of the investigation. He thought that he might have to fly down to Florida to try to expedite things a bit. As he pondered this, his cellphone chirped with an incoming call. The call display indicated that it was the Tampa Police Department.
“Burton, here”
“Mr. Burton, this is Deputy Chief Oswald of the Tampa Police Department.
“Thank you for calling, Sir.”
“Apparently you have friends in high places. We were contacted by the Governor and instructed to give you our utmost cooperation. I understand that you are investigating the whereabouts of a missing Canadian citizen. We received the missing person report this morning.”
“Yes, his name is Wade Daniels and we are very concerned for his safety.”
“I’m afraid that I may have some bad news for you. We sent a patrol around to check out the address you gave to the Sergeant yesterday. We located the vehicle, a green Porsche SUV with Quebec license plates.”
“Yes?”
“The officers discovered there was a body in the back of the vehicle. It was an older Caucasian male, who had been brutally murdered. We have a forensic team on the scene as we speak. Mr. Burton, I’m going to need somebody to come down here to officially identify the remains.”
Chapter Nine
Charles Burton and Wade Daniels had been in the air for four hours and were about to make their port of entry landing at the Greenville-Spartanburg airport in South Carolina. Burton was at the controls and the two men conversed through headphones over the roar of the engine. Burton held a private pilot’s license and his hobby and great passion was flying a vintage Fieseler Fi 156 Storch aircraft. Today they flew in a high-performance turbocharged Cirrus SR22T G7. Burton had filed a digital IFR flight plan through foreflight and they had received a U.S. Preclearance before departing the Montréal-Saint-Hubert Longueuil Airport. They would land at Greenville-Spartanburg to refuel and have a coffee and sandwich in the base operator’s waiting lounge. They were more than half-way along a route taking them through the Piedmont flight corridor and then across the Jacksonville ARTCC boundary into Tampa, Florida, airspace.
Wade had taken the news about his father’s probable death in his usual stoic fashion. There was no definitive confirmation as yet that the body in the SUV was that of his father, but the writing was on the wall. Wade had experienced a lot of deaths in his time; most recently that of his mother. He knew intellectually that feelings of acute grief will dissolve on a time line you can’t feel while you’re inside them. But, right now the pain was very raw. He wondered, what the hell is going on here? Very clearly, his father’s death and the missing funds from his portfolio were connected. Somebody had fucked his father over very badly. He would see that, that somebody, whoever it was, would pay for it in spades. An intense anger was simmering inside of him as they landed at the Tampa International Airport.
Burton parked the Cirrus in a tie-down spot on the general aviation ramp, and went inside to make arrangements for refueling and storage. They caught a ride over to the rental car center and picked up a late model sedan which had been arranged in advance by Maggie. Burton then called Deputy Chief Oswald at the Tampa PD, to let him know they had arrived. He said they should come directly to Police Headquarters on Franklin Street and he would introduce them to Detective Lieutenant Dan Simmons, who was in charge of the murder investigation. Simmons would then accompany them to the Hillsborough County Medical Examiner Facility to identify the body. The Chief Forensic Pathologist would be on hand there to review his findings on the cause of death.
On the way to see the Pathologist, Burton reviewed the circumstances surrounding Mr. Daniels’ disappearance with Simmons. When he mentioned that funds had mysteriously been wired to Belize, the Lieutenant’s eyes widened.
“What you’re describing is very similar to another unsolved cold case on our books. An elderly man of some means was reported missing. Later his body was found inside his vehicle in a long-term parking garage. The family reported that a sizeable amount of money had recently been withdrawn from his bank account and was missing.”
“When was this?”
“It was several months ago and, so far, there are no leads. There is another similarity to your situation, but I’ll let the Forensic Pathologist explain.”
On that ominous note they fell into an uncomfortable silence. Then Wade asked,
“Was there any ID on the body that would confirm for sure that it’s my dad?”
“No, there was no wallet. But it has been confirmed that the vehicle was registered to your father. Also, I understand that the picture you provided for the missing person report matches the appearance of the victim.”
“What about my dad’s dog, Jack. Has he been found?”
“Sorry, I have nothing on that.”
A few minutes later they arrived at their destination and were ushered into the office of the Chief Forensic Pathologist. Dr. Vipan Samagh greeted them with a sympathetic smile and a friendly handshake. After a brief discussion about formalities, the Pathologist said,
“Gentlemen, please follow me into the identification room. But, before we enter, let me warn you that you may find the condition of the body somewhat disturbing.”
They entered a well-lit room where a shrouded body lay on a stainless-steel viewing table. After they gathered around, the Pathologist gently pulled back the sheet to uncover the face of the deceased. Wade gasped as he recognized the now withered features of his father. His mouth was twisted in an absurd rictus smile and there was a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.
Dr. Samagh asked Wade if he could verify the identity of the body?
In a halting voice he responded,
“Yes, this is my father.”
Samagh then told them to brace themselves.
“I’m afraid this gets worse.”
When he pulled the sheet fully away from the body, Wade cried out...
“Christ Almighty!”
…before them was the desiccated corpse of Daniels, Sr., which had decomposed for two weeks in the back of his vehicle.
The Pathologist pointed to ligature marks on both wrists and ankles. The deep abrasions suggested that the deceased had struggled mightily before finally being executed. There were several patches of scorched flesh, possibly inflicted by a butane cigarette lighter. The poor man had been tortured mercilessly.
Chapter Ten
Maja Dobrzynski - aka Monica Detweiler – was stretched out naked on a lounger on her terrace at the Continuum Tower in Miami Beach, Florida. The building was located in an ultra-coveted ‘South of Fifth’ neighborhood, and her spacious penthouse suite offered stunning views of both Biscayne Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. It was surrounded by a 12-acre botanical sanctuary, with direct access to the sands of the famous South Beach. Maja was working on her tan, as she did each afternoon when the sun was in decline. Maintaining a perfect appearance was extremely important for her, and she spent a great deal of time working out at the gym or visiting salons for manicures, pedicures, hair and skin care treatments.
To say that Maja lived by her wits would be an understatement. She was a sociopathic grifter with a long history of using the honeypot scam to prey upon unsuspecting men. Her latest score was with an older man named Wade Daniels. She had spotted him when he was walking his dog on South Beach. After he had appeared there on consecutive days, she followed him back to the Loews Hotel Miami Beach. She thought, the guy must have money to be staying there. But also important, he seemed to be on his own. She had been ready to make an approach, when he stopped coming to the beach. She went to the Loews Hotel and asked the desk clerk if the older man with the dog was still a guest. The clerk hesitated, but then offered that Mr. Daniels had checked out the previous day and left for Key West.
Maja drove down to Key West and checked into the Perry Hotel & Marina. It didn’t take her long to pick up Daniels’ trail. One day she followed him on board the ferry that was going to the Dry Tortugas. During the cruise she made her approach and when they returned to Key West, she asked for a ride back to her hotel. He suggested that they meet later that evening for a drink at Sloppy Joe’s. He had taken the bait and the hook was in his mouth. All she had to do was reel him in. It was so easy! He quickly became obsessed with her, and over the next few weeks she spun lies about herself while finding out everything there was to know about him. The old fool even told her about his finances. It had been easy to convince him to travel with her on a romantic odyssey to the West Coast. The first (and last) stop would be Tampa, where she would deliver him into the hands of her partner Salvatore DiMio.
~ ~ ~
Detective Lieutenant Simmons again pointed out the similarities between Mr. Daniels’ murder and the one in the other previously unsolved case. It was the sameness of the method of torture that now seemed to connect the two murders. He said that his Homicide Squad would pursue the matter as a top-priority, beginning with an analysis of the forensic materials gathered from the victim’s SUV. He suggested that Wade Jr., make arrangements to return his father’s remains to Canada, and that he would keep him informed of any developments. With that he handed both Burton and Daniels a card with his contact information. Wade looked at Charlie Burton and rolled his eyes, and later when they were alone, he said…
“This well-meaning prick will probably bury the investigation along with the other cold case.”
“I agree, he’s probably already up to his ass working on other cases.”
“Ok. So, let’s not mention the possible involvement of a woman. We can work on this ourselves.”
Providentially, Babbage called just as they were pulling away from Police Headquarters. He had worked his magic and managed to identify the woman in the sports car. She had been staying at the Perry Hotel & Marina, and had been registered under the name of Monica Detweiler. The car was an expensive top of the line Mercedes-AMG GT Coupe. So far, he had nothing solid on the woman, but was following up on the license plate registration. He also had a contact at the FBI secretly running the woman’s picture through a facial recognition program. The good news was that he had obtained CCTV footage of Mr. Daniels picking up the woman in his SUV on the day they had both checked out of their respective accommodations. From there the Porsche Carfinder app showed that the vehicle had traveled directly to Tampa, Florida.
He also reported on his efforts to track the wire transfer from Mr. Daniels’ bank in Canada to an off shore account in Belize. Apparently, the transfer had been approved by Daniels and the funds were deposited to the Caye International Bank in his name. From there the funds had been transferred through a dizzying chain of intermediary darknet user sites, and as yet he hadn’t determined the end location. He was using a number of digital tracking techniques, and his computer was tapped into the backdoor of a mainframe that was also crunching the data. He expected to have a result very soon.
Chapter Eleven
Burton and Daniels checked into adjoining rooms at the Tampa Hilton, just a few blocks from Police Headquarters. Burton went to his room to make a few calls, while Wade took the car and drove across town to the Humane Society. He had a hunch about the whereabouts of his father’s dog Jack, and wanted to at least check out the possibility. He explained the situation to a volunteer at the front desk who smiled and said she might have some good news. A few minutes later the Operations Manager introduced herself and explained that a woman, with little explanation, had hurriedly dropped the dog off a few weeks ago. They had scanned the microchip implanted in the animal’s body and attempted to reach the owner through the Pet Recovery Data Base, but without success.
When Wade accompanied the woman to the kennels at the rear of the building, the excited dogs began barking in chorus. They stopped in front of a wire enclosure where a sad-eyed Jack stared out at them. It took a moment for the dog to make the connection, but when Wade said, “Hey, Jack!” … the dog jumped to his feet and began to twirl in circles of joy! When the door was opened, he practically jumped into Wade’s arms and enthusiastically licked his face. Wade had tears in his eyes as he held the squirming animal, the only remaining connection to his murdered father. He thought, if Jack could only talk, what a tale he could tell. He could disclose the identity of the woman who dropped him off, and clarify what her involvement was in his father’s death.
Wade returned to the Hilton with Jack after picking up supplies at The Modern Paws. The Concierge gave him a baleful look when they entered the lobby, but Wade just ignored him and led Jack towards the elevators. Burton smiled warmly when they entered through the door connecting their rooms, and complimented Wade on Jack’s rescue. He mentioned that he had spoken with Orson Babbage, and had some interesting news to share. First, he showed Wade a forty-second video clip that Babbage had extracted from the Perry Hotel CCTV footage. It showed an exuberant Daniels Sr., pulling up to the hotel in his SUV, where he is greeted by an extremely attractive woman. They embraced warmly and then he loaded her luggage into the vehicle.
The hacker’s research confirmed that the woman who went by the name of Monica Detweiler, was actually Maja Dobrzynski, a bunko artist with a rap sheet as long as your arm. Her specialty was scamming rich older men, and in the past, she had been charged with solicitation, extortion, blackmail and criminal conspiracy. She once served 18 months at the Federal Correction Facility in Tallahassee, and was rumored to be associated with a major Miami crime family. In any event, she appeared to be financially secure, and owned a penthouse apartment in the exclusive Continuum Tower on South Beach. Forensics could no doubt prove that she had been a passenger in Mr. Daniels’ Porsche if they were made aware of her identity, but Burton thought they should keep her involvement confidential for the time being.
During Wade’s absence, Burton had spoken again with Babbage. The tech wizard had been able to confirm that Maja Dobrzynski had returned to her residence in South Beach; he had somehow managed to penetrate the security system and had eyes on her as she sunbathed on the terrace of her penthouse. Burton figured they would soon have to pay her a visit. They would have to plan the approach carefully, to avoid detection and also not leave a forensic footprint for the police of follow; the cops wouldn’t be sympathetic of any vigilante action taken on their part. At this point, there was no clear evidence proving that Dobrzynski was involved in the murder. But her history suggested that it was likely she had set up a scam to victimize Mr. Daniels, thereby conspiring in his death. Once they confronted the woman and had her contained, they would squeeze hard for information. He wasn’t sure how far Wade would want to take things, but it might not be pretty.
Burton filed a flight plan for the short ninety-minute hop over to Miami-Opa Locka Airport. Technically a flight plan wasn’t required, but it was a busy airspace and it was an added safety feature to be in constant contact with ground control. The Cirrus was gassed up and ready to go when they arrived at the Tampa Airport. Burton did a walk around and then they loaded Jack into the rear seat of the aircraft. Having the dog along was an added complication, but Wade didn’t want to expose the confused animal to more separation anxiety at this point. Maggie was arranging for a vehicle to be available when they landed. She had also booked rooms for them at the Hilton Hotel, which was a just a few-minutes-walk from the Continuum Tower where Maja Dobrzynski resided. They decided to scope the place out for a few days and plan their approach carefully. They couldn’t just blunder in and make a mess of things. That wasn’t the Airborne way of doing business.
Chapter Twelve
After three days of surveillance the two men were becoming frustrated. During that time their subject hadn’t left the compound, and they hadn’t once laid actual eyes on her. Babbage continued to monitor her through the internal security system. He said she spent most of her time working out at the Sporting Club, which was a multi-story standalone building on the property grounds. She also did laps in the rooftop pool, and every afternoon, she spent an hour sunning on her terrace. At five o’clock she made a batch of martinis, and then promptly at six-thirty took the elevator down to dine at the Patio Restaurant… which was exclusively for the residents of the building. So far, they had found no vulnerabilities in the security system, other than the fact that the Geek had hacked in. The place was guarded like Fort Knox.
The security was a 24/7 multilayered system featuring a manned entry gatehouse, round-the-clock ground patrols and advanced digital surveillance with hundreds of IP-based wide angel cameras monitoring all entry points, access-controlled doors and common areas. It was staffed by professional security operators with a video wall as comprehensive as that at NASA mission control. The residents used restricted electronic key fobs for elevator use and to access their personal suites. There was no helicopter pad on the roof and no way to enter the building from the air undetected. The U.S. President probably wasn’t protected any better. Then on the fourth day, they discovered a chink in the armor. In a break with routine, their quarry left the compound to walk the beach. As they discretely followed along an adjacent pathway, they noticed that she was surreptitiously observing an older gentleman, who was also strolling along the beach.
A couple of days later they followed, as she tailed the same man to Loews Miami Beach Hotel. After a brief consultation, Wade left to go back to retrieve their car. Meanwhile, Burton entered the hotel and cast about looking to see where the woman had gone. He found her in the lobby bar, sitting at a table with the older gent. Burton sat at the bar and ordered a beer. He was continuing to surveil the couple when he received a text from Wade. He was parked out front. The couple had finished a second drink, when he approached the table. They looked up as he loomed over them holding his ID in his hand…
“Maja Dobrzynski, FBI, you’re under arrest as a suspect in the murder of Mr. Wade Daniels. You’ll have to come with me.”
The shocked woman stared up open mouthed, while the man half rose from his chair.
“What the hell is this?”
“What’s your association with this woman?”
“Why, I just met her!” he exclaimed.
“Then I suggest you leave, before I pull you in as a possible accessory to murder.”
The man rose from his chair, and with a confused look at the woman, who had introduced herself as Monica Detweiler, he turned and quickly left the bar.
“If you come with me quietly, I won’t put on the handcuffs.”
With that, he took her by the arm and directed her towards the door. They walked briskly through the lobby and out the revolving front door. The frightened woman started to resist and pleaded with him.
“I don’t know what this is all about! You’ve made a mistake! Let me call someone.”
Wade stood by the open rear door of the car, and the woman now sensing that something was terribly wrong started to struggle. Burton squeezed her arm so tightly that she almost cried out in pain. Then he guided her into the back seat and got in beside her. They pulled away without having created any obvious disturbance.
Wade drove them to the Miami-Opa Locka Airport and pulled up as close as possible to the general aviation ramp, where the Cirrus was parked. Their destination was an abandoned airstrip about 36 miles west of Miami. It was a single runway on a narrow strip of land in the remote Cypress National Preserve. Minutes later, they lifted off and banked west towards the Everglades.
When they landed, it was clear that nature was rapidly reclaiming dominance over humanity’s intrusion. The runway was potholed and weeds were sprouting everywhere. They exited the airplane and led a struggling Maja to the edge of the swamp. The temperature was about a hundred degrees Fahrenheit and the humidity was off the charts. A water moccasin slithered away at their approach, and a congregation of alligators retreated into the murky waters from where they had been basking. By now the woman knew that her ride to this place was likely a one-way ticket. She cried and screamed and begged for her life. In the end she confessed everything about her complicity in Mr. Daniel’s death. She also told them the name of her co-conspirator, Salvatore DiMio. A little later, when the Cirrus lifted off the runway, there were just two people on board.
Chapter Thirteen
Orson Babbage had finally traced the wire transfer from the bank in Belize through its convoluted journey to the Swiss Bank UBS Group AG. Further investigation had determined that the owner of the numbered account was a U.S citizen by the name of Salvatore DiMio. He lived in Miami and was a big player in a local crime family. Burton asked Babbage to continue his investigation into the man.
Back at the hotel, Wade received a call from Detective Lieutenant Simmons informing him that forensics had matched the identity of a known offender with the DNA found in the Porsche. It was Maja Dobrzyski. Apparently, her genetic blueprint was on file with the Combined DNA Index System which was managed by the FBI, and had been accessed by the Tampa Police. Passive surveillance cameras had also recorded images of her in the passenger seat of the vehicle, around the time of the murder. She was now considered a prime suspect.
At this point the police had no reason the believe that Daniels and Burton had any connection to the woman, heaven forbid. But there were thousands of cameras out there, including those at the Loews Hotel and the airport. If the cops discovered any images of them with Maja, things could get very messy! They would have to deal with this DiMio fellow quickly, and return to Montreal before getting dragged into the investigation.
The tech wizard came through in his usual fashion with a complete work up on the killer. DiMio was an underboss in the Scalisi Crime Family who were involved in the usual underworld activities of extortion, illegal gambling, loan sharking and labor racketeering. More recently they had expanded into legal enterprises like waste management and trucking. This was DiMio’s domain, and as such he flew under the police radar and was able to rub shoulders with the Miami social elite. Unbeknownst to his Scalisi mob boss, DiMio was involved in a profitable side hustle of setting up well-to-do older men in honeypot scams with his partner Maja Dobrzyski. She would lead the besotted victims to Tampa - well away from Miami – where he would torture them and extort their money… before killing them. After their latest profitable endeavor, he was now back in Miami taking care of business.
~ ~ ~
Jack the dog looked on attentively as Burton and Daniels heatedly debated the slippery path they had embarked upon. Burton was feeling remorseful for the way they had dealt with Maja Dobrzynski. He was also having serious second thoughts about what they were planning for Salvatore DiMio. Wade, on the other hand was boiling with anger over the savage way his father had been murdered. He felt that it was a moral imperative to seek vengeance by punishing those responsible.
“Look Charlie, I appreciate everything you have done to help me, but if you’re not up for this, go ahead and fly back to Montreal. I can look after it myself.”
“Wade, you are my best friend and I’m not going to abandon you at this point. But there’s got to be a better way.”
“I won’t be happy until I put a bullet in that bastard’s head.”
“But don’t you see that what we are doing puts us on the same moral low ground as them?”
“That’s easy for you to say, it wasn’t your father who was tortured to death!”
“Look Wade, we’ve both killed people before. And I don’t lose any sleep over it. It was in self-defense, or in your case military operations. But this is different. And we’ve been down this road before. Look what happened in Somalia. The whole bloody Airborne was cashiered.” Let’s just think about it.”
“OK, I hear you! What do you suggest?”
~ ~ ~
The following day, Burton flew out once again to the abandoned airstrip in the Everglades. As he approached, he could see Maja waving frantically from the middle of the runway. After he landed, she ran up to the airplane screaming frantically. Every inch of her exposed skin had been bitten by insects; her once pretty face was swollen almost beyond recognition. She babbled and cried, and her body shook uncontrollably. The poor woman was undoubtedly dehydrated, and it seemed as if the horrors of the swamp had unraveled her mind. He gave her a bottle of water which she gulped down thirstily. Then he assisted her into the aircraft. On the flight back to Miami no conversation passed between them, and upon landing Burton put her in an Uber and sent her home. The geek would be making an anonymous call to the Tampa Police, to tip them off about her whereabouts.
Meanwhile, Wade had managed to arrange a meeting with the Scalisi crime boss. The man was a mock imitation of Brando’s Don Vito Corleone. He was poised and composed, at least until Wade showed him the video footage they had taken while interrogating Maja Dobrzynski. In the 90 second recording she confessed to her role in the murder of Mr. Daniels as well as two others previously. She said that Salvatore DiMio - of the Scalisi crime family – did the actual torturing and killing. She claimed that he was an important underboss in the Scalisi organization.
Wade and the ‘Godfather’ then talked at length. After much give and take, they came to an agreement.
~ ~ ~
Two shadows scaled the wall of the ocean front estate along Collins Avenue. DiMio lived alone in a Mediterranean style home that was secured by a locked gate and an ADT security system. It was 4 a.m., and in the dead of night there was little street traffic and no one was walking about. The only domestic employee - a houseboy cum butler – wouldn’t arrive until 6 a.m. Orson Babbage (by pre-arrangement) had hacked in and disabled the security system, including alarms, cameras and outside lights. The two men entered through the kitchen entrance and silently made their way up the main staircase to the master bedroom. They were both armed with Beretta 93 R machine pistols, held at the ready. Suddenly, the bedroom door was flung open and Salvatore DiMio emerged firing a Remington shotgun. One of the intruders was slightly wounded, but his companion peppered DiMio’s legs with 9mm bullets. Over the next half hour, they managed to extract critical banking information from the man, using very unpleasant methods. Their boss Mr. Scalisi would be very pleased with the results.
By Michael Barlett