Thomas Perry - The Informant

They seemed not to dislike her, but they weren't volunteering any personal thoughts or observations about anything. It was as though they were pretending that they had no thoughts or opinions that hadn't come from a manual.

The three waited their turn to get off the plane, inching forward in single file like the rest of the passengers. Then they rode the escalators down to get their luggage. Manoletti was the first to get his suitcase, so he went out of the baggage area, by prearrangement, to get an early place in the cab line. When Elizabeth stepped out with Irwin, Manoletti already had the cab waiting with its trunk and back door open.

At the hotel they went to their respective rooms without much consultation. Elizabeth had learned many years ago to open a suitcase immediately and hang up anything that could hang. As soon as she had her suitcase up on the folding rack, she called home and left the kids a message. "I wanted to let you guys know I'm on the ground in Chicago and I'm in my hotel, the Hyatt. When you two get home, if you feel like calling me, please do. I have my phone on. And here's the hotel number." She read it off the sticker on the telephone, then hung up. She turned on the television set and found a news program. She half listened for a weather report.

"…savage attack at the home of Joseph Castiglione, in which two men and a woman were killed by shotgun blasts. This was followed by-"

She dialed the number of Irwin's BlackBerry with her left hand. "Turn on your TV," she said.

"We've got it on," he said. She could hear the voice of a different newscaster in the background.

"We've got to meet about this. Call me in a few minutes."

Elizabeth dialed the number of her office and Geoffrey answered, "Justice Department, Organized Crime."

"Geoff, it's me. There's something about Joseph Castiglione on the news. Did something happen while we were in the air?"

"We're trying to sort it out. Two of the Castiglione brothers are dead-Joe and Paul. There are also four men described as Castiglione associates dead at a motel south of Chicago."

"I can't believe it," she said. "What does he think he's doing?"

Geoffrey ignored the question. "Special Agent Holman from the FBI called on your personal line when you were still on the plane. I gave him your cell number. I hope that's okay."

"Of course. I thought he already had it. He hasn't called me yet. Do you have IDs for the bodies?"

"They haven't been released, but the FBI had them, and they e-mailed the list to you."

"Is there a Vincent Pugliese?"

"No. The names all sound like stops on an Italian train schedule, but he wasn't one of them."

"Good work, Geoff. I've got Holman's number on my phone, so I'll try to get back to him."

"I'll be here for a while, and I'll relay whatever comes in to you."

"Thanks. If nothing hits by seven, go home. The next shift can take over. Just tell them I'm here and I'm interested."

"I'll do that."

"Got to go." She hung up and took the call that was coming in.

"Waring."

"Hi, Elizabeth. This is John Holman. I hope I didn't interrupt your dinner or anything. If so, I can-" His voice sounded different. It was openly friendly, as though she had passed some very big test.

"No, you're not interrupting. I'm in Chicago right now, and I expect dinner isn't any time soon."

"How did you get word so fast?"

"The short, honest answer is that it was a coincidence. I was flying here looking into something else, and this seems to have happened while we were in the air. I just got to the airport Hyatt and turned on the TV."

"Our people there are on it, of course, and I'll let them know you're in town. If you want anything, just call the Chicago office. Or stop by. It's on West Roosevelt. They'll know who you are. I'm flying in this evening. When you get this figured out, give me a call."

"That's flattering, but I don't expect it will be me who figures this out."

"We'll see. I'll call when I'm there."

She sat for a second, staring at her phone. This was the way Justice and the FBI were supposed to work, but sometimes didn't. She suspected that the difference wasn't a change in the institutional mentalities. It was just a matter of proving to someone on the other team that you could be trusted.

There was a loud knock on the door of her room. She got up and went to the peephole to look out. She could see Irwin and Manoletti, so she opened the door. "Come on in."

The two came inside, and she pointed to the two chairs at the small table near the window. They sat, and she turned the desk chair to face them. "Lots of news, and it's got to make for lots of changes. You know what I wanted to accomplish here. As of right now, things look a lot more difficult."

"We seem to have arrived at the beginning of a war," Manoletti said. "If he's as wily as you think he is, he won't want to be anywhere near that."

"I don't think that's what it is," she said. "It's not what I would have predicted he'd do, but I think this is still him."

"You do?" said Irwin.

"I think the reason he came to Chicago was the personal ad from Vincent Pugliese, the Castiglione underboss. It was a trap, and that made him angry, so he decided to hurt the Castigliones, to make an example of them."

"With all due respect, ma'am…" Irwin looked uncomfortable.

"Go ahead," she said.

"Well, it's four men in a motel, a man in Joseph Castiglione's house, Castiglione himself. That's six. Paul Castiglione makes seven. These are not pushovers either. They're all made guys who have never done anything for a living in their lives that wasn't criminal."

"You got a list of the names?"

"Morris did, from the Chicago police," he said.

Manoletti said, "And if those guys were all bunched up like that, in groups, they were expecting something. At first glance, it doesn't look like one man."

"That they were expecting? Or who did it?"

"Either," said Irwin. "Too many armed wiseguys to turn into bodies."

"What do you think might have happened?"

Irwin said, "The thing about being in a real-world gunfight is that while you're shooting one man, his four friends have time to shoot you. So unless the guys on the other side are unarmed or unconscious, the score ends at one to one. For that reason alone, I would guess this was a squad of four or five shooters moving quickly and knowing exactly where they were going, how to get in, and where their targets would be."

"And to me, that says Vincent Pugliese," said Manoletti. "I think the personal ad was for real. I don't see this as the Butcher's Boy, after twenty years, deciding to live up to his name and scare the crap out of the whole Cosa Nostra. It sounds like he and Pugliese getting together and deciding to get rid of the three little Caesars and their palace guards in one night. If they succeed, Vincent Pugliese is the sole boss of the Castiglione organization."

"What's in it for the Butcher's Boy?"

"You've been thinking that there was a contract for him because he killed Frank Tosca, and the old men didn't like it. Maybe as head of the Castiglione family, Pugliese has enough power to protect his favorite killer if he wants."

"Maybe you're right," she said. "When I asked Morris to assign you to this trip, the situation wasn't as fluid and unpredictable as it is now. I had the impression that he was alone and friendless, and that he might be ready to cooperate with the Justice Department. You were going to stand by while I raised the possibility."

"There's another wrinkle," Manoletti said. "We just got a text message from Morris. The FBI has this from here on. Irwin and I are ordered home."

"When?"

"Tonight," Manoletti said. He handed his BlackBerry to Elizabeth. She looked at the message and handed it back.