Page 15 of The List
As would he, since that had been exactly what he’d done. “Thanks for the info, Doris. I’ll see you in the trenches.”
4:48 P.M.
J ON SHIFTED THE TRANSMISSION OUT OF OVERDRIVE AND PUMPED the gas.
The SUV popped into gear and handled the tight curve, steadily climbing the steep road.
He looked ahead at the A-frame perched indiscreetly on the side of a craggy incline.
Redwood and cedar sanded smooth, stained dark, the oblong walls indistinguishable from the surrounding dense pines.
There were neighbors, but none close, with each lot spanning at least two acres and carrying a high price tag for both the privacy and the view.
The elevations north of Atlanta were not really mountains, more part of the Appalachian foothills.
Many were inaccessible, but the A-frame sat on the side of one of the more populated inclines, the road leading up curbed, paved, and well lit, winding its way through an enveloping canopy of maple and sycamore, passing driveways that led both up and down to expensive homes.
Title to the house officially lay in a nondescript corporation created first in Alabama, then purchased by a Texas company that was wholly owned by a Tennessee corporation, itself owned, through surrogates, by Southern Republic Pulp and Paper Company.
The trail was intentionally complicated and difficult to follow, particularly if full access to all relevant documentation was not available, which it wasn’t.
The house was not used officially by any of the corporate entities in its chain of title.
Occasionally, it provided a place of privacy for Hamilton Lee and Larry Hughes and their mistresses.
But mainly the Priority program used it—though not regularly or predictably, no place had that distinction—as one of several locations where De Florio could discuss face-to-face with his associates their specialized business.
He rolled up to the paved drive and stopped.
In his briefcase he found the remote control.
The iron gate swept back on command. Like all the company’s secured locations the A-frame was fenced, alarmed, and routinely patrolled by a private home security firm.
He wound his way down the drive toward the house and parked in front, but intentionally left the gate open.
Guests were expected.
And even before he climbed out of the vehicle, a ruby Chevy Blazer motored through the gate and parked beside him.
He grabbed his briefcase and locked the car, then pressed the controller closing the gate. Using his key, he opened the front door and walked inside.
Three men from the other car silently followed.
All wore dark suits, nothing flashy or trendy, just traditional blue, charcoal, and gray, white shirts, matching ties, and black leather shoes.
He rigidly applied a dress code to all associates and also conducted meetings in a precise manner.
Two of the other men fully understood. The remaining man was attending his first gathering.
The two who understood were Milo Richey and Frank Barnard.
He’d personally recruited both after a recommendation from several long-standing criminal contacts.
Richey was twenty-nine, Barnard thirty. Nothing about either stereotyped them with their profession.
No scars or readily identifiable marks. No beards, mustaches, or fancy hairstyles.
No flashy jewelry, earrings, or gold chains.
A watch was required, but it need only be accurate, not expensive.
Just plain faces, on plain heads, attached to plain bodies with personalities to match.
All difficult for any witness to later recall.
Both Barnard and Richey were professionals, thoroughly schooled in the techniques of murder for profit.
Richey had worked as a payroll killer for a south Florida drug cartel, Barnard a freelancer used by a variety of West Coast organizations.
Both came highly recommended, his offer of steady employment and good pay a powerful inducement.
The new man was Victor Jacks. Earlier, he’d specifically instructed Barnard to bring Jacks along.
He was recruited three weeks ago, the Priority program expanding to the point that, simply to keep up, additional help was needed.
Jacks was older than the other two but possessed a similar plain appearance and nothing personality.
He was also experienced, previously working for a Chicago organized crime family.
But just as with Milo Richey and Frank Barnard, the lure of regular work and steady pay finally enticed him to make a trip to middle Georgia.
Rule required that all associates be single with no dependents.
Less complication and less chance of a breach in security.
It also made them instantly available without the need for explanation.
Girlfriends were tolerated. Anything steady or serious discouraged.
One-night stands were much more common and preferred.
Though he maintained a public presence within Southern Republic, no one, including the board, knew anything of his associates’ identities. It was better that way. He exclusively hired and fired them, solely responsible for their actions, both good and bad.
“Gentlemen, have a seat. If you’d like anything to drink, the bar is over there.”
He gestured across the great room.
Overhead, the ceiling pitched to a point, a second-floor loft bedroom overlooking downstairs. The south wall was all plate glass that opened onto a cedar deck. Beyond the railing loomed the hazy skyline of Atlanta twenty miles to the south, illuminated from the west by the evening sun.
He switched on a couple of lamps.
No one accepted his offer of a drink. Instead, the three men situated themselves on the sofa and chairs.
He slipped off his coat and loosened his tie.
He carried no weapon. Guns were forbidden.
Another Rule imposed on both himself and his associates.
Rarely were they used in processing, the presence of one only drawing unnecessary attention.
He settled into one of the cushioned chairs, extracted the manila folders from his briefcase, and tossed them on the coffee table.
“We have three new Priorities. I’ll allocate those in a minute.
Did all of you get acquainted on the way up? ”
They nodded.
“Victor will be joining us as a new associate. I’ve already oriented him generally on our operating procedures, but I wanted to add some further instruction by revisiting the mistake made earlier this month.”
He stared at Richey.
“Milo, please review the facts surrounding what happened with Priority Number 3 from May’s list.”
5:05 P.M.
B RENT’S FIRST DAY ON THE JOB WAS DRAWING TO AN END.
Both at the DA’s office and as a private practitioner, rarely had the day ended at five.
Long hours were not only necessary, but also expected.
The same seemed to be true here. There were a lot of people and departments for only two lawyers to service.
But as Martha had noted, the company also contracted with several outside firms, who assisted on the more time-consuming endeavors.
The coming contract negotiations would definitely require longer days.
Today had been all about organizing. Not much else. Martha and the others had already left for the day, the secretarial space down the hall quiet. The general counsel himself had been gone since midafternoon for an off-site meeting. So he was alone.
Time to be nosy.
Earlier, Martha had showed him around the company’s virtual world.
The general counsel’s office had full access to all personnel, medical, and retirement records, information needed in order to do the job.
So he found the main search engine and typed in PETER BATES .
The screen lit with Bates’ employment application, performance reviews, and various medical claims, then ended with a termination of employment and pension account.
He decided to check the medical claims and learned that Bates had incurred some substantial psychiatric bills.
He scanned a few of the reports and saw a consistent diagnosis of clinical depression, compounded by bipolar disorder.
Bates had been prescribed, and was taking up to the time of his death, a strong regimen of antidepressants.
Which certainly explained the sullenness.
He clicked on PENSION .
The record that appeared noted the date of death. Nearly four months ago. Cause? Gunshot wound, suicide. A notation indicated that the company had specially extended health insurance coverage to the dependents, a wife and two children, for a period of two years, at no cost.
Extremely generous.
What he wanted was the contact information and he found it on the fourth page. A change of address form. Joan Bates now lived in Statesboro.
Not far away.
Good.
They needed to talk.
5:10 P.M.
J ON WAITED FOR AN EXPLANATION.
Milo Richey was openly uneasy. He should be. The associate had made a mistake, his first since joining the team two years ago.
“The file specified a substitution of medication as the sole criterion for death. I made the switch, upping the milligram dosage to a level that should have proven fatal.”
“But it didn’t,” De Florio said.
“I thought it more than adequate,” Richey said.
“And your source for making that determination?”
“I obtained the information on non-recommended doses from the pharmaceutical company’s website.”
“Why not verify death at the scene?”
“I assumed the dosage was more than sufficient to achieve the desired result.”
“Was anyone around? Any risk of detection?”
Richey shook his head. “The Priority was alone for the night. His wife was out. I broke in and made the switch earlier. He takes his meds at 7:00 P.M . every day. He should have been dead by 9:00.”
“Then why not take the time and be sure?”
“It was an error on my part.”
“That it was. For Victor’s benefit, being new here, I’ll finish the report. Last night I had Frank revisit Priority Number 3 from May’s list. Death was induced by toxic gas poisoning, which accomplished the processing.”
He rose and stepped across to the bar.
“Milo, I thought you understood the Rules under which we operate.”
“I do,” Richey said. “It’s my first mistake in two years.”
He poured himself a glass of mineral water, adding a couple of ice cubes from the refrigerator beneath. “Frank, for Victor’s benefit, please explain the proper procedure.”
Barnard turned to Jacks. “The file establishes the criterion for processing. If no criteria are established, then death is at our discretion. Of course, it has to be undetectable and raise no suspicions. That’s why we pre-work a Priority to learn lifestyle and habits.
A lot of the information we need can be found in company records, or in the records of companies under Southern Republic’s control.
We have access to a wide variety of bank, medical, and insurance records.
Most times, it’s the pre-work that will reveal the most appropriate method to be used for processing.
Usually, it’s a chemical inducement. We have plenty of agents that cause instant death and leave no residue.
Most generate biological failures. A derivative of acetomorphine is our most common compound.
It induces heart failure with no residue.
Berylanhydride does the same to kidneys.
Chlorohydrate to the lungs. And all of those metabolize away as they work.
“Accidental deaths are risky. But they’re used when necessary to be consistent with the processing criterion.
Mr. De Florio encourages variations. We don’t want to draw attention by establishing a pattern.
To ensure diversification, all processing decisions, including the actual means of death, have to be cleared prior to implementation.
Once processed, death must be verified and then promptly reported. ”
“Please repeat the last part,” he said.
“Death must be verified, then reported.”
“And why is that?” he asked.
“Because the risk of detection is increased beyond acceptable limits if more than one attempt at processing is needed.”
He drained the mineral water in one swallow, banging the glass on the marble bar top.
“Like here. The risk of detection at last night’s second encounter was great.
Frank had to get in and out of the convalescent center without being noticed.
Thankfully, the Priority was housed in a facility that we control.
” He paused. “At the first encounter we have the advantage of planning, surprise, and expertise. A second encounter, even though nothing may suggest foul play, narrows our area of operation and confines the field. It takes away options. In short, we lose the advantage.”
No one said anything.
“And there’s another point. In the case we’re discussing now, the Priority survived the first encounter and had to be treated medically, which adds to our cost since now those additional medical expenses will have to be paid by the company because of our mistake.
That’s unacceptable. This is a cost-savings program, not cost-generating.
The bottom line is clear. We have to get it right the first time, period. ”
“I understand, Mr. De Florio,” Richey said. “I assure you I won’t make that mistake again.”
De Florio reached down beneath the counter and gripped the pistol.
He brought up, aimed, and fired. The bullet passed right by Victor Jacks, who seemed momentarily startled.
A rivulet of blood instantly streamed from a hole in the left side of Milo Richey’s head.
The bullet exited out the right, splattering blood onto the sofa.
Richey’s head cocked to one side, the body settling into the cushion, eyes frozen wide in death.
“No, you won’t make that mistake again,” he said, lowering the sound-suppressed pistol and returning it under the bar.
No one moved. He assumed Frank Barnard had expected it and Jacks, as the rookie, was surely professional enough to understand.
He motioned to the coffee table.
“The top two files are yours, Frank, and the bottom is for Victor. It will be your debut. They’re self-explanatory. Please act immediately. And I don’t want to have this discussion again.”