The Heart of an Assassin (8 page)

After conferring with her brother on how she
felt, Fabio was able to convince Felicia that even though they now
lived in a more secure environment unknown to the assassin, if Nick
Costello wanted to come after her, for any reason, there really
wasn’t much they could do about it. However, Nick had saved both of
their lives, so why would he come after them? This put Felicia at
ease somewhat, but not totally. Nick would find them if he so
wished.

The last twenty years had taken their toll on
Felicia. She made many enemies on that fateful day back in ’64. As
a result, there had been several attempts on her and her brother’s
lives. But now things had calmed down; with little threat from any
of the newly created families, it was time to walk away. So she
thought.

May
8, 1984 (New York City)

At thirty-seven years of age, John Connolly
was only five foot four, weighed 155 pounds, with thick blond hair
and the honest, good looks that attracted women like flies. Behind
his back his colleagues called him Baby Face Connolly. This was not
to say that he lacked respect. On the contrary, everyone had the
highest regard for him, acknowledging his long-sought-after and
well-deserved success in his chosen field. Graduate of both the
police academy and Harvard Law, Connolly was one of the youngest
agents to achieve “Agent in Charge” in FBI history.

Over a year ago, he took command of the
Organized Crime Task Force (OCTF), which had consisted of fifteen
agents. Today it had over twenty-five agents and was situated in
mid-Manhattan with satellite offices in Brooklyn, the Bronx, and
Long Island. The OCTF’s database included the names of all of the
precinct captains for New York, all of which had been instructed to
report any crimes that may have direct ties to any of the crime
families.

One of Connolly’s first assignments was to
identify all of the crime families in the United States. He also
created a special unit, consisting of five agents, to see if there
were any links to any crime syndicates in other countries. Lastly,
he realized that to be successful in bringing these dedicated
criminals to what he liked to call the Last Supper-justice, he
would have to identify any influences the crime families had over
law enforcement agencies. Not an easy task.

In one year, OCTF put together a 250-page
investigative report that listed every suspected member of every
crime family in the United States. The report went on to list other
countries that were suspected of being involved with the shipment
of drugs, arms, and the trafficking of young girls and boys for
prostitution.

One of the most powerful families listed was
the Giordano family, run by Felicia and Fabio Giordano. Rumor was
that they masterminded the infamous “Last Breakfast at La
Ristorante,” where close to a hundred people lost their lives after
consuming some wine, which had been artfully tainted, resulting in
a well-planned clean sweep. It was also rumored they currently
controlled most of the prostitution, numbers, and drug traffic in
the state of New York, and that they had strong ties to crime
families in most US cities, including Chicago and San
Francisco.

During that same time period, OTCF enlisted
the aid of several police officers, directly from the academy, to
infiltrate the organization. This was met with heavy criticism when
two officers were found dead with gunshots to the head, only two
weeks after being accepted into the Giordano family.

Two of John’s top agents, Sam Williams and
Sheila Cooper, were assigned to investigate the murders. Sam
Williams was a veteran agent of ten years, standing at five foot
eight, 185 pounds, and one of the first black agents to join the
FBI. Sheila, on the other hand, was five foot six, weighed only 145
pounds soaking wet, and had only one year in the agency. Both,
however, proved their loyalty and dedication to following the code
they swore to uphold, time and time again. John Connolly had a gift
for recognizing the qualities in people, and he saw these two as
very good in dealing with a situation, especially when restraint
and understanding the letter of the law was called for.

Prompted by the death of the slain undercover
officers, the two agents visited Felicia at her mansion in New
Jersey, and then later at her favorite restaurant. At one point
during the investigation, Felicia asked the two agents if the
officers had been tortured before they were killed.

“No, not that we know of. Why?” asked
Sheila.

“It would be shameful if whoever took their
lives in such a sadistic manner would torture them as well. After
all, they were only doing their sworn duty,” Felicia responded.
Sheila and Sam stared at Felicia with contempt.

Sheila, placing both of her hands on the
table, went right up to Felicia’s face, and staring into her eyes
said, “It’s just a matter of time before we take you down.”

Felicia, smiling, stared back and replied,
“That will never happen, and I suggest you keep your distance
before I get a restraining order against you and your partner.” The
tension in the room could be felt as Felicia’s bodyguards moved
toward the two agents, only being stopped when Felicia waved them
off. “You better leave now. My friends are getting nervous,” she
told the agents.

Looking up at her “friends” Sheila said, “If
I were you, boys, I would be distancing myself from her. It’s just
a matter of time,” she said. “We’ll be back, Ms. Giordano. Your
luck is running out!” replied Sheila, looking down at Felicia.

May
11-13, 1984 (New York City)

When both Sam Williams and Sheila Cooper
returned to their headquarters, John Connolly invited them into his
office. Closing the door behind him, he asked how their conference
with Felicia Giordano had gone. He listened intently, watching how
they reacted as they relayed their experience in dealing with
Felicia. John could see that these two agents were serious about
their jobs, and that they also understood the limitations that were
being placed upon them.

“Sir, if I could persuade Ms. Giordano to
volunteer as my sparring partner in the ring, it would really make
my day,” Sheila remarked to her captain, bringing a smile to both
Connolly and Williams.

“I would like to invite you two to a barbecue
Stephanie and I are throwing this coming weekend,” the captain said
suddenly. “I can’t invite the entire task force, however.
Unfortunately, the Hampton estate is being painted. So please keep
this between us.” He smiled, as did they.

“Umm, sure, sir,” responded Sheila.

“Yes, sir, it would be my pleasure,” Sam
said.

John and Stephanie Connolly and their three
children (John, Julie, and Ingrid—ages twelve, nine, and seven
respectfully) lived in a three-bedroom Cape Cod house located in
Levittown, Long Island. Stephanie grew up in this home, which was
left to her by her parents when they retired to Florida some years
back.

It was a beautiful and comfortable May day
when Sam, his wife, Erin, and their two teenage daughters, Tami and
Lenita, arrived at the Connolly home around 1:00 p.m. The kids
disappeared almost immediately into the backyard, or to the game
room where there was a pool table and a ping-pong table, the latest
video games, and two televisions.

Sheila arrived alone around 1:30 p.m.,
bringing a home-baked cherry pie and a bottle of red wine. Both
John and Sam greeted her when she arrived. There were several other
people at the barbecue, and the mixer was quite comfortable. A
couple of neighbors and a few more friends arrived a few minutes
later. In all, there were about twenty-five people.

At 4:30 p.m., after everyone had stuffed
themselves with hot dogs, hamburgers, and sausages, they retired
into different parts of the house. The ladies congregated in the
dining room while the men moved into the living room. There were
outbursts of laughter as stories of life’s experiences were shared
among friends.

After awhile, several people said their
goodbyes. With only a few guests left, John invited Sheila and Sam
up to his study where he wanted to show them his gun collection.
The remaining guests were having coffee with Stephanie in the
dining room.

After closing the door behind him, John asked
them both to sit down. “What I am about to tell you cannot leave
this room. It is not, and I emphasize the word not, to be shared
with the other agents or anyone else,” he ordered.

Both Sam and Sheila were taken by surprise.
“Yes, sir,” they both responded.

“It seems as if we caught a very lucky break,
though through unfortunate circumstances.”

“What do you mean, sir?” asked Sheila.

“Do either of you know Assistant DA Leo
Agostino?” John asked them.

“I don’t,” responded Sheila.

“Yes, I do. I had a case with him back in
’82, which we lost,” Sam answered. “It was just before you came on
board and took over the task force.”

“Yes, the case against Leo Russo, one of
Giordano’s lieutenants,” added John.

“We went in there with guns blaring. We had
tapes and photos of an exchange between Russo and one of his
dealers. This was the break we were looking for. Man, if we could
have gotten Russo, it would have been just a matter of time before
we would have gotten the rest of the Giordano family.

Sam, now standing, continued, “Then things
started to go wrong, just before we went into trial. First, the
photos and tapes disappeared. Then surprise witnesses came forward
as alibis to Leo’s whereabouts when the exchange had taken place.
We tried to get a hold of the witnesses, but then they disappeared.
Mr. Agostino pleaded with the judge, uh . . . Judge Sam Livingston,
but it was no use. The lawyer for the defense, Mike Angelino, was
good. One of the mob’s top lawyers out of Chicago, if I remember
right. The case was thrown out due to lack of evidence. Man, was I
mad!”

“Well,” said John, “the other day, I had a
visitor. It was Mr. Agostino. It seems like one of the undercover
officers who was executed was a relative of none other than Mike
Angelino.”

“What, the defense lawyer?” Sheila asked.

“Yep, big ass mistake for the Giordano
family,” added John.

“But . . . but he’s their lawyer. He can’t
testify against them, can he?” asked Sam.

“No, he can’t. But what is interesting is
that he did provide us with the name of someone who is not
protected by attorney-client privilege. Judge Samual Livingston,”
announced John.

“The judge who presided over the Russo case?”
asked Sam.

“Yes, none other,” responded John.

“He is on the take?” Sheila asked.

“Yep, agent Ed White and I have been secretly
working on gathering the evidence that would put him away,” John
said. “A couple of days ago, we visited him at his home and had a
long conversation. It seems as if the judge is in fear of his life,
and that of his family, and wants protection, so we struck up a
deal. His family has been relocated to an undisclosed location. The
judge will join them after he testifies against the Giordano
family.”

“Wow, that is a break,” Sheila remarked.

“Last night the judge’s house was bombed,”
said John.

“Oh my God,” commented Sheila.

“How did they know?” asked Sam.

“I don’t know. Obviously someone in the
bureau,” responded John. There was silence; each lost in their own
thoughts.

“Captain, what do you need us to do?” asked
Sam.

“You are both going to disappear for a few
weeks. I need you both to go home and pack your things. Sheila, at
one o’clock pick up Sam at his house, go to the location I have
written down on this paper, and relieve the two gentlemen who are
babysitting the judge. Make sure you aren’t followed.” Handing
Sheila the paper and a bag, John continued, “Here is an electronic
scanner. Scan your car before leaving your house, and then again
after you pick Sam up. Under no circumstances are you to call
anyone, family or otherwise. One more thing, you will be working
with two others in protecting the judge. You are to take your
orders from them. Is that understood?” he asked them both.

“Yes, sir, we understand,” both nodded.

June
6, 1984 (New York City)

Tyler Santiago stood staring up at the
third-floor window where he had lived with his mother so long ago.
His deep blue eyes moistened as he thought back to the last time he
was here. His heart began to pound harder as he once more
visualized his mother’s ruthless murder. With strong hands that
trembled, his lean, strong body almost buckled as he relived the
scene. Never knowing his father, his mother was his only source of
love and strength.

Raised by his uncle, who took him in after
his mother died, Tyler learned quickly to adapt. His uncle George,
a police officer, was very kind and had opened his home and heart
to him.

Shortly after taking him in, his uncle took
him upstate to an open field, where he made a makeshift dummy, gave
Tyler his gun, and ordered him to empty the chamber at the dummy.
At first, Tyler hesitated, looking at his uncle, shouting that this
would not bring back his mother. “Yeah, you’re right, but you can’t
kill the bastards that killed her. Shoot the damn dummy!” his uncle
ordered. Tyler, with tears in his eyes, shot at the dummy. Every
time he ran out of bullets, his uncle would take the gun, reload
it, and give it back to him. After a short time, Tyler was
reloading the gun by himself and putting holes all over the dummy.
This went on for almost two hours. When the bullets finally ran
out, his uncle took him in his arms, and they both cried
openly.

His uncle loved Tyler’s mother. He looked
into Tyler’s eyes and asked his forgiveness for not finding who did
this and apologized for not protecting them. Tyler realized that
his uncle felt that it had been his fault and that he should have
prevented it somehow.