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Pat Martinelli had taken up refuge in a local hotel. He exited the building and quickly climbed into a waiting car. His second in command looked at him and spoke, "Are you sure this meeting is a good idea? After all, they pushed you into returning to the States, aren't we giving them the impression that they can push us around here?"
"Well, that's what they may think and we will leave them with that impression for awhile, but I think they are in for a rude awakening. Although, I am sure that most of members have no knowledge of what is happening. I am sure that the members involved are going to find out the hard way, that when they mess with my nephew, they mess with me. Besides what better way to spend an evening," Martinelli coldly replied.
The car they were riding in came to a halt in an alleyway adjacent to a side doorway. They exited the car and entered the building. An elevator ride brought them to the top the floor of the massive structure. The hallway was lined with mafia type henchmen, all of whom acknowledged their entrance respectfully. Two of them opened a set of large double doors to allow them passage into a central meeting room.
As they entered the meeting room, the hushed conversations faded. They made their way around the table, Martinelli shaking hands and giving hugs to a few old comrades. Once everyone made their way to their seats, Martinelli addressed the members.
"Thank you for allowing me to address you; I have come back to the US to take care of a family matter. My nephew, who I have I recently become acquainted with, the promising attorney, has disappeared."
Murmurs were heard throughout the room.
"I am asking my friends, members of this brotherhood, to assist me to locate my nephew. I ask for your assistance, as I am enjoying my retirement," Martinelli allowed the masked threat to hang in the air.
One of the senior members spoke up immediately, "I am offering, Mr. Martinelli, my assistance with this problem."
Several other members murmured their agreement.
"Thank you my friends, I appreciate your help in this matter. I would like to return to my new residence as soon as possible; I am enjoying my retirement, but I cannot in good conscience do so until my nephew has been found. I wanted to assure you in person that the oath that I took as a young man is my soul, my life, but . . . if any harm should befall my nephew or any member of my family then I shall be forced to return from retirement, and I will not rest until blood answers for blood . . . Gentlemen, I thank you for your time, I won't keep you any longer," Martinelli added as he rose from the table.
Again, as Martinelli made his way from the room, most members rose to offer their respect and assistance to the former mob boss.
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Hardcastle was awake long before his alarm was set to ring at six am. He dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast. He was in the kitchen, sipping on his coffee, when the doorbell rang.
Glancing at his watch, he approached the door. That idiot, wet behind the ears Officer Wilcox is here darn early for an eight am pickup.
Opening the door expecting to yell at Wilcox, the judge was surprised to see Agent Morris, from the FBI, standing on his doorstep.
"Judge Hardcastle, I apologize for the early intrusion, but I really need to speak with you. It's in reference the disappearance of Mr. McCormick," Morris began.
"Sure, come on in, do you have any news?" as he led the way into the den.
"Actually, no, but I did get a tip that Patsy Martinelli is back in town. I wanted to run it by you. Do you think that he's the one who has McCormick?" he asked.
"No . . . after all he's McCormick's client; why would he kidnap him? That makes no sense," Hardcastle quickly added, acting more than a little confused with the question.
He gave a slight nod as an acknowledgment. "Has he tried to make any contact with you at all?" Morris inquired, watching the judge intently.
"Who? McCormick?"
"No, Patsy Martinelli."
"Agent Morris, you have to understand that even if he did, I would be obligated by attorney/client privilege, to not divulge that information to you," the judge replied evenly.
"Even if this criminal . . . this wanted mobster, might be responsible for Mr. McCormick's disappearance? . . . And besides, as you said, he is Mr. McCormick's client, not yours."
"McCormick and I are law partners; this means everyone who is employed by our law firm cannot divulge any information about a client of the firm, and, Agent Morris, you already know that, I am quite sure. Now, we have already discussed this subject as far as I can. But, I can tell you, that I do not think Mr. Martinelli had anything to do with McCormick's disappearance," Hardcastle finished gruffly, but sincerely.
"And you still haven't received a ransom demand or any contact from the kidnappers?" Morris asked.
"No, I haven't heard anything, Agent Morris, if I had, I would keep you and the local police apprised of this information immediately," Milt responded truthfully.
"You are aware that the FBI has taken over jurisdiction of this case, and the local police are only assisting us? I wouldn't want anyone to get confused over who should be kept up to date on any, and all, pertinent information in this case. We feel that the kidnapping has something to do with Pat Martinelli. Maybe some under boss thought that McCormick had some information that could help them gain a better foothold in the scheme of things."
"I do understand that the FBI is now in charge of the case, Agent Morris. And you will be the first person I call," he added trying not to grit his teeth. Not! "As to Pat Martinelli's involvement, I just can't see that McCormick would have any information that someone else would want, or what they could possibly gain by it. Please keep in contact and let me know of anything you turn up. Thank you for your time, in coming to see me in person," Hardcastle returned politely as he led the way to the door.
Hardcastle sat down to await Officer Wilcox, after showing Agent Morris out.
It sounds like the FBI hasn't figured out McCormick's connection to Pat Martinelli yet. But, they may be right about why McCormick was kidnapped. It definitely has something to do with a power struggle within the mafia. I just hope that McCormick doesn't become a casualty of the war. I hope Martinelli can pull this one off, or we may never see McCormick again.
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Pat knew his vague threats to the brotherhood would get the ball rolling, so to speak. His friends would be trying to dig up information, and his enemies would be scrambling to conceal it. The problem was simply that he was not sure who all the enemies were amongst his brotherhood friends.
He reluctantly picked up the telephone and dialed Milton Hardcastle. He had never before trusted someone from law enforcement. But he knew that Hardcastle had Mark's best interest at heart.
"Hardcastle," came the curt greeting.
"Hey, Judge, this is Andy, you know, down at the pool shop, I just wanted to let you know that I got that piece in you ordered for the pool filter. I knew you were waiting on it, so I figured I'd call bright and early," Pat said, slyly changing his voice.
Hardcastle hesitated, thinking that it didn't sound like Andy, and then he realized that Martinelli had made a comment to him about using the same pool supply company. At the time, he remembered thinking that the comment was funny, and out of context.
"Oh yeah, Andy, sure I'll be right down, if you're in the shop now," Hardcastle quickly added.
"Yep, I'll be waiting for you," Martinelli replied.
Martinelli kicked back in the pool shop's office and waited for Hardcastle's arrival.
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Mark kept up his cooperative captive act; they had quickly fallen into a comfortable routine. Twice, within the past week, they had allowed Mark to go outside for a brief period. Mark had spent the time scouting, by eye, the surrounding area in an attempt to figure out the best route of escape.
One evening following dinner, Harry and Tom rushed into the room. Vince followed carrying the chain and cuff. Mark silently watched them approached, with a look of disgust pasted on his face. Vince bent down and snapped the cuff fast to Mark's ankle and fastened the other end to the wall.
"Okay, now what did I do?" Mark smirked.
"Don't ask a lot of questions, just go along," Vince responded briskly.
Motioning to Harry and Tom, he ordered, "Keep him quiet and under control, understand?" They nodded their response, as he quickly exited the room.
Mark ignored them, slumped against the back wall and began shuffling a deck of cards, then laying out a game of solitaire. While seeming to play the game, he listened carefully; he again could hear the crunch of gravel under the weight of vehicle tires on the road out front.
So we are getting visitors again; I need to stay on my toes. Could this be my way out of here, or could they be planning to get rid of me? Stay on your toes, Mark, stay on your toes.
In the central room of the cabin, the mafia types were instructing Vince that McCormick was to be kept safe and alive, no harm was to befall him at any cost. They continued that if anything happened to Mark, they would be held responsible, and they all would pay the ultimate price. This project had become increasingly more difficult to escape from, with their skins intact. Vince assured them, repetitively, that Mark was safe and would be kept in that condition.
After approximately a half hour, footsteps could be heard approaching the room. Mark kept playing his game, ignoring the entourage that entered the room.
"As I told you, he's fine," Vince exclaimed, his frustration visible. The mafia types scrutinized Mark, and then exited the room. Harry and Tom seemed to relax immediately. Vince followed them out of the room.
In the central room of the cabin, the mafia types again threatened Vince, with consequences, if they failed; on the other hand, they offered immeasurable benefits for their success. They quickly departed the cabin. Vince swallowed hard, and sighed deeply, knowing the burden that was placed on his shoulders.
Vince again entered the room, signaling to Harry and Tom that they could exit. Mark began to balk, pointing to the cuff and chain attached to his ankle, but Vince held up his hand to stop Mark, and shook his head indicating that he did not want to even hear the complaint. Then he left the room.
What just happened? What did I do wrong? Why have I just lost ground with these guys? Damn, I was progressing, now I'm back to square one. Am I ever gonna get out of here?
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A few days later, Mark saw his chance for an escape coming together. He had overheard his captors talking; Vince was leaving to go get supplies, thus making it sound like their ordeal here was far from over. Later, when Harry entered his room to remove his breakfast tray, Mark requested to get a shower. Harry stooped to unlock the cuff and Mark slugged him, knocking him unconscious. Stealing his socks and shoes, Mark slowly snuck out of the cabin. Once outside, he ran into the woods. Not knowing the actual direction of civilization, Mark prayed he was heading toward town.
Stumbling through the woods, Mark tripped several times, falling hard. Swearing constantly about Harry's shoes being too big, he continued, knowing that they will soon be chasing him.
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Vince returned to find Harry waiting at the cabin and Tom searching the perimeter woods, in an attempt to ascertain Mark's route of travel. Vince retrieved his backpack from the cabin, after giving his two sidekicks a thorough ass chewing, and the three headed into the woods. Vince quickly found Mark's trail without difficulty, and the chase began.
Several hours passed as the chase continued. Vince stopped and assessed the change in the terrain, he realized they were approaching the mountain. He instructed Harry and Tom to proceed in a northerly direction, while he circled around the ridge to the east.
Mark managed to maintain a fairly steady pace. He was startled several times, as wildlife scurried away from his path, alarmed by his presence. He stumbled to the top of a bank; below him a deer was drinking from a small stream. Mark realized how thirsty he had become. Nervously looking around him, he started down the muddy embankment, and quickly found himself sliding out of control to the bottom. The frightened deer bound into the woods silently. Mark made his way to the stream by crawling the rest of the distance.
On his hands and knees, Mark leaned forward to take a drink, when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking. He heaved a huge sigh and dropped his head forward in defeat; remaining frozen in place, he waited as he heard footsteps approach behind him.
As he approached, Vince watched Mark for any sign of resistance. He stopped behind him and ordered, "Bring your hands up on top of your head and interlock your fingers."
Slowly, Mark complied, while shifting his weight back onto his knees. He glanced over, as he heard Harry and Tom come out of the trees to his left.
"Cover him, and don't screw up again," Vince snapped, leaving the threat hanging in the air.
Harry and Tom both drew their guns and moved slightly away from one another, to cover Mark as they continued to approach.
Vince grabbed Mark's right wrist and twisted it behind his back and tied it with a rope he had pulled from his backpack, the other wrist followed, then a noose was slipped over Mark head and tightened. Vince jerked on the rope to indicate to Mark, for him to rise to his feet. Mark regretfully realized the other end of the rope was in Vince's grip.
Another jerk on the rope told Mark to move out.
Slowly, the four men made their way back through the woods toward the cabin. After walking an hour or so, Tom asked Vince to stop for a breather. Vince frowned, but directed Mark to stop by a tree, which he slowly slid down to a seated position.
"Damn, I could really use a drink," Tom complained.
Vince pulled two bottles of water from his backpack and handed one to Tom. Indicating Harry, he stated, "You're gonna have to share."
Cracking the seal on his bottle, Vince took a swig. After Tom and Harry had taken several swallows of their bottle, Harry got up and approached Mark, who had been watching them intently, licking his dry lips in anticipation.
Vince looked up when he saw what Harry was about to do, he gruffly ordered, "No! . . . Only I give him water and food him anymore. He's gonna learn who's his boss and who he answers to."
Harry looked at Vince, glanced over at Mark, who had allowed his head to loll back against the tree. Harry slowly returned to sit on the log he previously occupied.
After a brief respite, "Time to go," Vince snapped, accentuating the order with a tug on Mark's rope. Pushing against tree, Mark attempted to stand, with his arms tied behind him, it made getting his legs under him very difficult, but he managed to stumble to a standing position after three or four tries. Vince shoved him from behind; Mark reluctantly continued his stumbling march up the trail.
Mark fell several times and was encouraged with a jerk of the rope to regain his footing. The increased jerking of the rope put more pressure on the noose around Mark's throat. Mark would begin to cough and gag, until Vince would eventually reach up and loosen the noose from behind. If Harry or Tom would move to assist, Vince would stop them from intervening. Harry at one pointed disgustedly muttered that he should just strangle Mark quickly and get it over with.
Another fall, and Mark had enough, "Okay, you win . . . I'll do whatever you want," Mark managed to croak out of his dry throat, as he knelt on the ground, too exhausted to rise, while he struggled to regain his breath. "Just tell me what the hell this is all about . . . why am I here?" he asked, too tired to even raise his head to look at Vince.
"First, I need your word that these stupid escape attempts are done and over with," Vince requested, observing his exhausted prisoner carefully.
"I need to know why this is all happening before . . . I can promise you anything," Mark coughed out, still on his knees. His mouth felt dry as cotton, and each breath was coming with more and more difficulty, as his throat was beginning to swell, from the combination of the rope continually digging into his neck and the lack of fluids.
After several minutes, and no response from Vince, Mark attempted to stand without success. Vince watched as Mark struggled to stand, but failed several times, finally he stopped to rest again, breathing heavily.
"I need your word, Mark," Vince insisted calmly.
Mark squeezed his eyes closed; concentrating hard, as he debated with himself, whether he should ask the question that had been on his mind from the beginning of this ordeal. "Does this have anything to do with Pat Martinelli?" he asked quietly.
"I knew you had it figured out," Vince smiled. Vince stooped down in front of Mark to catch his eye. "Yes, it seems someone wanted to put pressure on Mr. Martinelli, and they thought you might be of service. Our job was to be the go betweens, making sure that you stayed safe and alive. But this little stunt of yours, could have put you right into their hands and caused us a great deal of difficulty to explain. And more than likely a long ride into the countryside with no return, do you understand?"
Mark nodded his head, "But I don't see how any of this is helping me to get out of here."
"Mr. Martinelli is already negotiating your release, you just need to stay put, and cooperate a little while longer."
Mark shook his head and again attempted to rise. Vince caught his arm and assisted him to his feet, looking him in the eye, he insisted, "Mark, I need you to promise me that the stupid stunts are over with."
Mark starred at him for a moment and then slowly shook his head.
"Boy, they said you were stubborn . . . but you're also smart and you know that I can keep this up until I break you," Vince smiled slightly, letting the threat hang.
Mark knew he was right, he couldn't keep up his resistance, and he was already dehydrated. Vince just had to be patient and Mark would eventually be forced to comply. He knew that Vince realized that once he had given his word, he was much easier to control.
Vince starred at his captive, contemplating his next statement. "I can promise you that the three of us will protect you, you will be released, but the time table is out of my hands."
"And my uncle?" Mark asked, another coughing spell cutting off any further questions.