Diego had waited two years for this day. It wouldn’t be long now. The speech was almost over and the candidate would be coming out soon. He lit another cigarette and thought back to that evening two years ago when he had helped Bill Martin and Martinez steal the two bags of heroin and then had nearly died when Jesus tried to blow him out of the water. Jesus was dead, and Martinez would be dead in a few minutes. Bill Martin would be next. Then he would go back and finish the job on the golfer.
The memory was etched into his mind and replayed again and again Diego could still see that stick of dynamite tumbling through the air and hearing Jesus yelling something about a gift. He tries to move, but reacts slowly, first thinking it is a sparkler or firecracker. That split second had almost gotten him killed.
Dive, dive, dive, he thinks, as he finally recognizes the danger. He tries to get as far underwater as possible, but everything in his dream is happening in slow motion. His arms and legs are heavy and don’t respond to his brain’s commands. Still, he had almost made it. Diego was probably at a depth of three feet when the TNT exploded. At two feet he would have been dead; at six feet, the water would have dispersed the explosion enough to leave him with only minor injuries. That was the last thing he remembered for several weeks.
The island was uninhabited, but several fishermen built a small hut for shelter and occasionally spent the night. Two were there that night and heard the boat approach and saw the explosion. They raced to the beach and found a body floating in shallow water among a score of dead fish. The boat was gone. The men dragged the limp body onto the beach, thinking he was already dead. They were half right. Diego was more dead than alive, and for the next few weeks his life hung by a slender thread, but he refused to die. The men did what they could, which wasn’t much, but enough for someone with Diego’s will to live. Revenge was a strong motive. For three months Diego lived on fish and rainwater, plus some fruit and vegetables the fishermen occasionally brought. He finally left the small island and started his recuperation, but it would be a long time before he was strong enough to carry out the plan for revenge that had kept him alive.
Jesus knew he was going to die, but had begged for mercy. When that didn’t work, he begged for a quick death. His prayers were not answered. They would find many of the same scars and broken bones on Jesus’ body, that Diego had lived with for all these years. Diego had been impotent since the explosion; so was Jesus when he died.
Diego smiled as he enjoyed the memory of Jesus’ pain and suffering. It was only justice. Before he died, Jesus had confirmed what his suspicions. It was Martinez and his campaign director that ordered his death. Jesus had also volunteered the identity and told him where to find the other man in the boat. “He is playing in a golf tournament right now. If you move fast, you can catch him before he finishes.” Jesus was kind enough to provide directions and even suggested a spot along the 18th fairway where Diego could set up an ambush. Those were the last words that Jesus spoke. Diego was in a hurry – he had another job to do.
Diego had found the golf course and waited in the woods lining the 18th fairway. Jesus had been correct; the woods were dense and provided good cover and a perfect view of the 18th tee. It was too bad that he didn’t have more time to plan, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity. He estimated the distance to be only 180 yards, well within the range of his old, 1990’s vintage, Remington model 700P hunting rifle. He had killed many deer and even birds at much longer distances. He didn’t have a scope, but at 180 yards, he couldn’t miss.
Diego found a log to prop the rifle and settled down to wait. He could hear the gallery on the 17th green and knew it wouldn’t be long. Diego had a smile on his face as he thought of Jesus begging for forgiveness, when he was startled by the approaching golf cart. Why was anyone driving the wrong way, from green to tee? He slid behind the log and waited for the cart to pass, not failing to notice the DEA patch on Chris’ jacket. He watched the DEA agent stop and talk to the two golfers who were standing at the foot of the bridge leading to the 18th tee. Diego thought briefly about postponing his assassination attempt, but decided to go ahead as planned. He would just need to move quickly after the shots. He studied the map and mentally planned his escape route as he waited for the golfers to cross the bridge. They began to move. It was time.
Diego realized he had a second problem. Which one was Buzz Peters? From 180 yards, the golfers looked the same. No matter, he would kill them both.
He focused on the first man and slowly squeezed the trigger and fired. The man stumbled and Diego fired two more shots in rapid succession before switching his focus to the second golfer and squeezing the trigger three more times. He paused and assessed the damage. Both men were down, but it was impossible to tell whether they were dead. No matter, it was time to go.
Diego slid the gun into the golf bag and walked out of the woods onto the ninth fairway with the golf bag slung over his shoulder. The fairway was open so he dropped a ball and hit seven iron to the vacant green. There was a lot of turmoil around the clubhouse, but no one paid attention to the lone golfer finishing up the front nine. Nobody noticed that the man walked past the green and to the parking lot, leaving his ball on the green, ten feet from the hole. A real golfer could not have resisted the temptation to finish the hole. Diego was not a golfer – he had just been lucky.
Diego had time to think as he headed downtown for his next appointment. He hoped he had killed the two men, but couldn’t be sure. It didn’t bother him; Diego would be back if Buzz was still alive. Martinez was his first priority.
Martinez was coming out of the building now; the same man he had met several years ago when Martinez was just an Assistant D.A.
“Diego, this is Joe Martinez. I need a favor.”
“Of course, Mr. Martinez, it’s been a long time.” Diego knew this moment would come sooner or later. Three years ago Diego had been arrested in Miami for possession of ten kilos of heroin, more enough to classify him as a distributor. Diego was looking at 5-10 years. Rather than prosecute, Martinez had offered to drop the charges in return for future favors. It was time to repay his debt.
“I need your help, Diego, and I’m willing to make it worth your while. My sources tell me you are still in the same business, working for Montoya.”
“Si.”
“We can help each other. I’ll have my man. Jesus, contact you and work out the details.”
That was the beginning. The offer was $2M and a new identity in return for information on how Romano was getting his drugs into Florida. Jesus and Diego were old friends. The plan seemed to be perfect. It would appear that Diego was blown up with Juan and his boat and Romano would have no reason to look for him. The DEA would get the drug bust and nobody would know that a couple bags of heroin had been swiped. The plan worked perfectly until Martinez had decided to double-cross him. Now it was time for payback.
Something was wrong. The Feds were on alert and shutting down traffic. Martinez came out of the building and State Troopers surrounded him and escorted him to the waiting limo. Diego wondered how they knew about him. It had to be the other guy in the boat, Buzz. He was still alive and apparently had talked. But why would he tell, unless … Diego would go back for him tonight.
Martinez was safely in his car and protected by two bodyguards and cars in front and back. The future Governor of Florida was probably thinking how safe he was when the limo driver turned the ignition key and the limo blew 20 feet into the air and exploded into little pieces.
Diego thought it was a fitting way for Joe Martinez to die.
Chapter 4
The Party gets Smaller