Gary Ponzo - A Touch of Deceit

Fisk made his way to the doorway and turned to FBI director Dutton. “I want you to give them everything. Even if it compromises our intelligence gathering devices. They need to know it all. The President has received a fax demanding the withdrawal of troops from Turkey, or the KSF threatened to blow up the White House. It sounds incredible, but we’re in no position to call their bluff. We have twenty-four hours to find Kharrazi and cut the head off of the snake.” He made a sweeping glance at everyone in the room. “Let’s get it done gentleman.”

For the first time all day, Nick’s headache went away.

Julie Bracco had just finished loading the dinner plates into the dishwasher when she heard the doorbell. It startled her. She looked up to see that it was nearly nine o’clock, then turned on her TV on the kitchen counter and switched to channel 777. The security system displayed the image of a man standing at her front door in a dark blue suit with his hands in his pockets. His face was down, trying to elude the brunt of the wind-strewn rain. She didn’t recognize the man, so she clicked a button on her remote and spoke into the tiny speaker at the bottom of the device. “Who is it?”

The man’s voice came back through the television. “Agent Ford, Ma’am.” He held up FBI credentials above his head and waved it with the nonchalant gesture of daily routine. “There’s been intelligence gathered that leads us to believe you are in danger. I’ve been instructed to escort you to a local safe house.”

Julie had never heard of the agent, but she knew there were several hundred inside the beltway that she wasn’t familiar with. She’d felt safer since Nick had installed extra security devices. There were twelve cameras, double-bolted locks and alarm triggers throughout the house. One push of a button and she would have help inside of three minutes. Nick never took chances when it came to her safety, and it was one of the many ways he showed her how much he loved her.

Still, it bothered her that she wasn’t told ahead of time about the move. She said, “Hang on a minute,” and dialed Nick’s secure phone.

The strange crowd that congregated in the abandoned warehouse was divided into four groups. Each FBI staff member took five Italian-Americans into a separate corner of the room and gave them detailed information about the KSF. Walt Jackson spoke about how to determine a KSF soldier by his gait, the way they didn’t make eye contact and how they all wore the same ten-dollar haircut style. He also gave them a declaration of immunity. He spoke of their need to flee the scene and not to be concerned about leaving evidence behind. The FBI would be the lead investigator in any domestic terrorist activity and whatever evidence remained would never resurface in any subsequent investigations.

Louis Dutton touted the significant advantage of working undercover. He explained the Bureau’s policies to the men and their responsibilities. Dutton also highlighted the expensive surveillance toys they had access to, which brought smiles to the faces of more than one gangster.

Appropriately, Matt discussed high tech weaponry. He demonstrated laser sights and new silencers that required a keen ear just to hear the shot fired. The silenced machine guns drew excited expressions as eager hands passed around the new weapons like starving pilgrims at Thanksgiving dinner.

Nick trained the men how to avoid the traps that were certain to be waiting for them. He updated them on the latest leads they had developed and passed out surveillance photos of the major players known to be on American soil. He was directing their attention toward the changing of facial hair, when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Nick held up a finger to the group and pushed a button on his phone, “Bracco.”

Julie sounded winded. “Nick, did you send over an agent to take me to a safe house?”

Nick squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry, Sweetie, I forgot to call you.” Nick didn’t want to worry her any more than he had to, but they had received intelligence warning him to protect his wife. “Julie, we’re just being extra cautious. Maybe for a day or two. Things are going to come to a head here pretty quick.”

“What’s the agent’s name?” Julie asked.

“Agent Ford,” Nick said. “William is his first name. He’s a rookie, but he’s a good man. He’ll take good care of you.”

Julie seemed satisfied and asked when she would see Nick again.

“I’ll make it to the safe house for breakfast,” he said. “I’ll bring some bagels and fresh coffee.”

Julie was quiet.

“Jule? Are you okay with this?”

“No, Nick, I’m not. But if you tell me this is almost over, I trust you.”

Nick hung up wondering how long his wife could put up with all the stress. He tried to remember the last quiet moment they had together without the threat of interruption. Nick sincerely felt he was the luckiest man on the planet to have found someone as compassionate and patient as Julie. He didn’t have time for these sentimental thoughts right now, yet there they were, hanging around the fringes of his mind like bees buzzing around honeysuckle.

Walt shouted, “Time,” signaling the groups to switch corners. The announcement snapped Nick back to his task-training gangsters to eliminate terrorists. The ultimate exterminators.

Julie packed an overnight bag while Agent Ford remained in the rain, pacing on the porch. She trusted no one, even if his credentials were valid, and Nick vouched for him, she wasn’t allowing any margin for error.

There was a knock on the door and the strained voice of Agent Ford came through the solid oak slab. “Mrs. Bracco. How much longer?”

“I’m just about packed,” she shouted from the bedroom.

Julie pulled a large suitcase on its casters across the tiled foyer to the front door. She set the alarm before quickly exiting the house. She locked the dead bolt behind her and hustled through the rain to Agent Ford’s sedan.

The FBI agent followed her to the car and opened up the back door for her. “Throw your stuff in here,” he said. “The trunk’s lock is jammed.”

Julie hesitated, sensitive to every deviation from the norm.

Agent Ford looked puzzled, his shoulders hunched over in the downpour. “What?” he asked.

“The trunk is jammed?” Julie asked, gripping the handle of her suitcase tighter than necessary.

Agent Ford opened his palms. “Mrs. Bracco, is there a reason you’re acting this way?” He showed her an embarrassed smile. “I could give you the phone number of my Kindergarten teacher, she’d vouch for me.”

Julie realized she was overdoing it. Too many years married to a cynical FBI agent. She managed a tight grin. “I’m sorry, Agent Ford. I’m a little tense, that’s all.”

She tossed her suitcase in the back seat and slid in beside it. Agent Ford shut the door and hurried into the driver’s seat. Pulling his hands over his scalp, he squeezed the moisture from his hair. Looking over his shoulder he said, “Ready?”

Julie nodded. She looked back at her home, getting smaller as the car drove away, and wondered what kind of world she occupied. Her own residence was no longer considered safe.

It was almost ten o’clock and Nick was working his last group of mobsters. They stood with their arms folded, taking in the information with nods and smiles. A hit man’s dream come true, Nick thought. The government was not only sanctioning their occupation, but they were actually getting targets to choose from.

The fax machine rang to life and Walt pulled out the first page. Everyone stopped to see his reaction. Walt scanned the sheet and looked up. “Ohio,” he said, leaving out the emotion. “They left a garbage can full of Semtex in front of an apartment building in Cleveland. No one noticed it. It killed twelve, including three kids.” Walt crumpled the paper into a tight ball and tossed it into the trash.