Beware the Caged Lion

By David Holmberg

This fourth Daniel Lyons adventure finds him going undercover to protect an important government witness. Dropping from site, locked up in a maximum security prison, threatened by gangs, loneliness, and abandonment, Daniel must convince the witness he is here to help. Carl and Evangeline work to locate Daniel, then find a way to free him, even as a notorious mob hitman is dispatched. Who is the target? Daniel feels indebted to Evangeline and she suggests an unusual way for him to make it up to her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Holmberg
• Release date: Jan 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463453193

David Holmberg

David moved to Maine over thirty years ago, after college. He has studied martial arts for years and holds a high degree black belt. A veteran of over 20 medical mission trips to the Dominican Republic, he is also a Sunday School teacher, an avid photographer, and an obsessive reader. Having consumed over 5,000 books by his own estimate, David felt it was time to give back and write his own book at last. He and his wife, Peg, have a grown son. Peg read an early draft of his first book and said it sounded like it was written by a Sunday School teacher who read too many detective novels. Truth in advertising.

Book preview

Chapter 1        Good Day for a Run

They moved along as if synchronized, covering the growing distance easily. Running beside each other, stride-for-stride, they found the pace very efficient to maintain. How long had they been running? An hour…maybe a lot closer to two? Daniel couldn’t say for sure. Maybe it was longer than that. It’s easy to lose track of time in moments like these.

He was running with his girlfriend, Evangeline. Girlfriend…even now, that was a new term for him. Still getting used to calling her his girlfriend, even after four months. Even so, it was something he enjoyed, that brought him peace, to have a special relationship with one of God’s fellow children.

The ponytail swayed back and forth, relentlessly keeping time with the knee lift of each stride she took. Trying not to stare, Daniel couldn’t help but be fascinated by how gracefully she moved. Thin, but wiry, blessed with long legs, Evangeline had a classic distance runner’s body, a truly efficient machine, designed for forward motion. Fearfully and wonderfully made, indeed, Daniel thought, recalling a line of Scripture. The Good Lord knew what He was doing when He made them, male and female.

The pace was just fast enough to force natural pauses in the conversation. The body’s demand for the lungs to ventilate was strong enough to momentarily overcome her proclivity to talk, he noticed. Noticed, but was wise enough to not mention.

The pauses to breathe were intermittent, as Evangeline managed to keep up an otherwise constant flow of words. Daniel noticed that she slipped into her native Quebec French at intervals, which surprised him a bit. At least until he considered that she only had a couple years of school girl English and did not speak it every day. With the stress of a long workout and the excitement of spending time with her boyfriend, it’s a wonder she can speak English at all, he figured.

Their relationship was still new, at least in his terms. Just over a year ago, Evangeline had played a pivotal role in helping him apprehend a legendary fugitive, though they didn’t meet in person at the time. That memorable event was a few months later, when she was covering a mixed martial arts tournament in Quebec City for the newspaper, while Daniel was busy winning the tournament.

Daniel shared the gospel with Evangeline, and she came to faith in Christ. It was a few months after that, during the winter, that they had shared an adventure involving Russian commandos and an epic, all-night flight through the Maine woods. That was the beginning of their romantic relationship.

Sweat was running down her cheeks, and dripping from her chin. And still she manages to be the cutest girl I’ve ever seen, he mused to himself. That’s another observation I should keep to myself. Not too many girls are going to be flattered when you remark on their sweat dripping all over the place. Daniel was inexperienced in romantic relationships, but his natural reticence served him well at times like these.

Evangeline was thrilled to be spending time with her boyfriend, and running serious road miles with him was a definite plus. That epic all-night run through the snowy Maine woods had re-awakened her interest in distance running. She had kept up a habit of running since her high school days on the cross country team, but in the last few months she had been pushing herself to greater distances. Daniel had never mentioned running competitively, but she knew he did road work for conditioning for his martial arts training. Remarkably, he seemed to have no trouble at all covering even quite lengthy runs, like this one. He never ceases to amaze me, Evangeline thought with a grin.

Her facility with spoken English had slipped a bit recently, she noted. A busy semester in a French instruction school and a lot of shifts waitressing at the diner had given her virtually no chance to converse with Anglophones. Daniel’s visits were only once or twice a month, and that just didn’t seem like enough.

Daniel was very supportive of Evangeline’s education, so had limited his phone calls and visits during the semester. Evangeline understood, but found the long intervals between calls or visits interminable. After so many years of romantic disappointments, she really appreciated having a boyfriend to spend time with. Even so, it was sweet of Daniel to be concerned that she not be distracted from her studies.

You know…running like this…I’d forgotten how much fun… Evangeline started in.

We’ve been out here…well over an hour…maybe closer to two, Daniel frowned as he tried to look down and focus on his watch. They had wandered quite a few kilometers north from Sherbrooke, keeping pretty much to the same road. Open farmland spread out on both sides of the road, crops as far as the eye could see. Glancing up and checking the position of the sun, he continued, Maybe we’d better turn around now and head back…don’t want to be way out here after dark… if we can help it.

"No, we wouldn’t want that, now would we? …that would be awful….to have to run with you…all through the night…again." Evangeline snuck a look at Daniel. He had the cutest grin.

They laughed. It had been an epic journey they had shared in the winter, running and stumbling through the Maine woods most of the day and all through the night. Evangeline had escaped from her Russian captors, and with Daniel had fled to safety. The experience had cemented their relationship.

We should turn back…now…or we won’t make it before dark…still a long way from your place, Daniel advised.

Short cut….up ahead about a kilometer…cuts through on a path in the woods…will take us back…to where we started.

Path in the woods…. good footing to run?...how long to get back?

Easy…wide and flat…used to be a logging road…now a walking trail…can be back in, like, half an hour…no more…promise.

Lead the way… Red. Just as she had promised, the woods trail was an easy short cut back to the university dorms. Their initial route had covered three sides of a large, irregular rectangle, with the woods trail connecting the shortest side back to their origin. They headed back to the dorm, slowing the pace a bit and taking their time.

The phone rang in Evangeline’s room while Daniel was in the shower down the hall. Just a minute, Carl, I think he’s out of the shower by now. You hang on, and I’ll run down the hall and see…. Yes, I can do that….I was his trainer at the tournament and went into the locker room, remember? Oh, right! You’re teasing me….Yes, I’m blushing, Carl. You got me, again. Now wait, and I’ll get him.

Chapter 2        Unexpected Departure from Thomaston

The metallic sound of the cell door sliding open startled Pierre ‘Petey’ Caltrone. Awake, but not fully coherent, he rolled over to face the intruder. Still an hour before sunrise, the Maine State Prison at Thomaston was quiet and poorly lit. Because the hallway overhead lights were on all night, it never got truly dark in the cells. Propping himself up on an elbow and fumbling for his eyeglasses, he was momentarily relieved to see the familiar dark blue uniform of a Maine Dept. of Corrections officer. At least it wasn’t a prisoner assassin sent to cut his throat before dawn, he surmised.

Quiet now, Petey. You’re going for a little trip. It’s for your safety. Don’t talk…or make any noise. Orders from Admin. We’ll have you out of here before the sun is up.

Petey was relieved to see that it was Officer Donnelly in his cell. A twenty year veteran C.O., William Donnelly had a solid reputation among his peers, and was reasonably well respected by most of the inmates. He enforced the regs, but wasn’t known to be cruel or sadistic in how he treated prisoners.

Where are we going? My lawyer didn’t say anything about a move, and I just talked to her last night. What is this?

It will all be explained later. After you’re on your way. I have no idea where, so don’t bother ask again. We need to be quiet, this move is on the sly. Admin made that very clear. None of the cons will know you’re gone ‘til the morning duty C.O. skips your cell at roll call. Now, get dressed and gather your stuff…such as it is. Officer Donnelly glanced around the 6’ x 8’ foot cell. No, there was very little Petey needed to pack, that’s for sure. Everything he owned could either be worn or carried in the standard size pillow case Admin had provided for the move.

Known to his parents in Montreal as ‘Pierre,’ but as ‘Petey’ to his associates in the La Famiglia Nardone, he until quite recently had been a trusted accountant and business consultant to the crime family that dominated neighborhoods of Montreal and had territories across Quebec Province and down to the coast of Maine. Balding, growing a bit paunchy, and very near sighted, Petey did not look at all like someone who made a living in organized crime. He looked every inch like the middle-aged, suburban office worker who lived next door. And in a sense, that’s exactly what he was.

Petey stood at the cracked, stained sink and splashed water in his face. Cold, but that was good. Rubbing his eyes dry, he saw his reflection in the grimy window over the sink. The image was dark and distorted, but recognizable. The face staring back at him was somehow older, with heavier lines. The last six months had taken quite a toll on him.

Six months…that’s how long it had been since his arrest. Petey had been visiting and auditing some of the Nardone family holdings on the Maine coast when the feds swooped in and ‘cuffed him early one morning. He smiled to himself. Law enforcement always seemed to make their presence known in his life very early in the morning.

Charged with money laundering and belonging to a criminal organization, via the RICO statutes, he was held without bail while on trial in federal court. The trial had moved quickly and he had been convicted on all counts. At the sentencing hearing, both Petey and his lawyer were shocked to hear the judge hand down a sentence of twenty-five-to-life.

Twenty-five-to-life? For a white collar crime? What had he done that was so bad to deserve to be put away forever? It was money laundering…’cleaning up’ a little money skimmed from various street rackets and even some legit businesses. That’s all. No violence, no dead bodies, no real harm to polite society. He’d expected to draw five-to-ten at most, probably serving no more than three with good behavior. A guy could do that much time, what with the privileged country club type of minimum security place the feds sent white collar criminals these days. Tennis courts, libraries, movie theaters, no locks on the cell doors…it sounded like a resort, not a prison. That’s what Petey had heard through the grapevine, and his lawyer had confirmed the tales.

Petey wasn’t too sure, but somewhere in the sentencing documents the feds had remanded him to the custody of the Maine State Dept. of Corrections. He was going to do his time in a state prison, and Maine considered his sentence a ‘big boy’ stretch, so off he went to the maximum security facility in Thomaston.

Maine DOC ‘Max’ Thomaston turned out to be no resort, that’s for sure. Petey complained long and loud to his attorney, but she advised him that although his transfer to state custody was irregular in cases like his, it appeared to be at least pro forma legal. She had actually used those words, pro forma, which meant little to him. Her parting words had been not to worry, she would use the involuntary transfer as part of the appeal of his sentence she was preparing.

Maine DOC had kept him in Administrative Segregation, known as Ad Seg, for his entire stay. That meant lock-down 24/7. No contact with other prisoners, all his meals served through the bars of his cell. He could leave the cell only under strict security protocol: handcuffs and at least two armed guards at all times. He was allowed a one hour exercise period outdoors every other day, but with no others prisoners in the yard. He was taken to the showers once a week, again by himself.

Ad Seg was normally reserved for prisoners at risk, who for whatever reason were considered not a good candidate for mixing in with the general population. A lot of reasons could get you into Ad Seg, but as far as the general population was concerned, the chief one was being a stoolie.

A stoolie, a snitch, a rat, an informer…by whatever name you called it, it was the lowest rung on the prison social ladder. In the Alice in Wonderland world of prisons, where every normal aspect of human existence is severely distorted and inverted by the Looking Glass, any type of cooperation or negotiating with the authorities was beneath contempt.

A couple weeks in Ad Seg was sometimes handed out as punishment for some infraction of the rules, and could happen to anybody in prison, but it did tend to raise suspicions. A couple months, like in Petey’s case, pretty much removed all doubt.

Petey did not know why he had been kept in Ad Seg for so long, but he knew it made him a marked man. Besides the open hostility he faced from the violent psychos among the prison population, there was always the very real possibility of La Famiglia Nardone suspecting that he had turned. That was enough to bring him nightmares.

Chapter 3        Sit Down with the Boss

Don Cesare Nardone welcomed the two men, thanking them for coming. Ever the Old World gentleman, the don offered coffee and anisette to his guests. Courtly manners and deep respect were fundamental to his world, but truth be told, when the don summoned you, you dropped everything and ran to him. He may thank you for coming, it’s true, but it was rumored that not responding to his call was tantamount to asking for a small caliber bullet in the back of the skull. No one on the street seemed to know exactly where this rumor started, or showed much curiosity about verifying it.

This ‘Calzone’ is getting to be a problem, Don Nardone explained. He meant Petey Caltrone, using a play on words for his last name because of his well known affection for heavy marinara sauces. Everyone in the La Famiglia Nardone called Petey ‘Calzone.’ It was a sign of acceptance in this world to have such a nickname bestowed on you by the don.

The don paused, and poured himself some coffee. Sipping the strong espresso, he waited for a response.

Dominick Villarilli spoke up, The ‘Calzone’ knows his way around our territories. There’s very little he doesn’t know about our business. Villarilli, the Nardone family consiglieri, was merely stating the obvious. By doing so, he was endorsing the don’s position. As family consiglieri, he was privy to the innermost secrets and his wise counsel was sought before the don made big decisions.

There was an interval of silence in the room. All three men sipped their drinks. When it was obvious that the onus had shifted to him, Carmine Misiano put his anisette down, A problem to be watched carefully, or one we need to take care of now? Carmine Misiano was the Nardone family underboss. He was the conduit for all of the don’s orders, passing them along to the capos and soldatos who made up the family.

Don Nardone considered his answer for a moment, before responding, Sooner, rather than later. The big Mafia Commission Trial from a couple years ago was heavy on everyone’s mind. For the first time, a US Attorney had used the new federal RICO statutes to convict the heads of four of the Five Families that ruled the New York underworld. "This RICO business is going to be the end of our world. Cosa Nostra is all that we have." The don used the Italian phrase, translated as ‘This Thing of Ours,’ to describe their way of life.

Dominick Villarilli spoke, We have interests in Montreal and across Canada, and that’s beyond the reach of RICO laws. But we have many interests in the US, also. That border is very porous these days.

We have many friends in New York, Don Nardone acknowledged. Nardone family ties to the Five Families stretched back decades, as far as the legendary Castellamarese War. He turned toward his consiglieri, Reach out to our closest friends in New York. That guy in the social club down in Greenwich Village. See what can be found out about our ‘Calzone.’ That guy has many friends in US courts, there’s very little that happens that he can’t find out.

Do I go with my hat in my hand? We’re reaching out to him, is there anything we bring to the table here?

Nothing needs be said in that regard. We have mutual interests on the coast of Maine. When we prosper, his family does very well, too. We have a loose cannon with this ‘Calzone.’ He needs to be re-fastened to the deck, before he goes off and causes damage. That guy in Greenwich Village knows all this without being told. It’s in his interest, nearly as much as ours, to clean this up and fasten the cannon very firmly back to the deck.

The consiglieri rose, "I’m on my way to the airport, on the first plane to New York. I’m going to do some walking around Greenwich Village with that guy. Expect me back sometime late tomorrow. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I will be taking a car out to the airport."

Don Nardone accompanied his consiglieri to the office door, spoke a few words in his ear, then closed the door and returned to his desk.

Carmine Misiano swallowed the last of the anisette, setting the cut crystal glass carefully down. He considered his words carefully before speaking, "Don Nardone, never in all my years in this famiglia have I seen your consiglieri move with such dispatch. Tell me plainly, what is it I need to know?"

The don stared out the office window for a moment, before speaking.

Chapter 4        Lunch with Agent Pike

Daniel parked his car and entered La Tamale Caliente, the Mexican restaurant on Bow Street, overlooking the waterfront in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Spotting Carl sitting with a very well-dressed black man, he waved off a hostess, and made his way over to the secluded table. He did not sit, but stood quietly, glancing out the window at Kittery, Maine, just across the river.

Carl rose to his feet and shook Daniel’s hand, So good to see you again, Daniel. Let me introduce you to my lunch companion. Carl indicated the man with the shaved head, wearing gold-framed glasses, This is Agent Thomas Pike of the Drug Enforcement Agency. He contacted me, and has made a very lucrative job offer you should hear about.

Reaching out to shake Agent Pike’s hand, Daniel expertly looked the man over, estimating his height to be at least six feet and body weight to be a good two-and-a-quarter. Age was a little ambiguous, but approaching fifty seemed about right. Glad to meet you, Mr. Pike. I presumed this was a business lunch. The grip strength, shoulder width, fluidity of motion were all noteworthy. Probably a college athlete, possibly football, he guessed. Reading the size and apparent capabilities of people from casual observations was a skill that Daniel had perfected over the years. All part of the situational awareness every serious martial artist practices.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Lyons. Our mutual friend here highly recommends the cuisine, so we should all look forward to a spicy Mexican lunch. And yes, of course, this is about a business proposition I have for you. But all in good time. Let us place our orders, and spend a few minutes relaxing first. Carl tells me this is the most authentic Tex-Mex available in New England, and I, for one, am looking forward to confirming that.

Daniel took his seat and a waitress brought him a menu. He noted that the other two already had menus, and that three glasses of ice water were already poured. Not wanting to delay things, Daniel ordered the first taco combo plate he saw listed. The waitress wrote his order down, then disappeared into the kitchen. Apparently, Carl and Agent Pike had already placed their orders.

The meal moved along pleasantly enough. The food was served promptly, and as advertised, it was outstanding. A little hotter than he was used to, Daniel nonetheless was impressed with the variety of tastes. He made a mental note to bring Evangeline here someday soon. The whole girlfriend relationship concept was still a novelty for him.

Agent Thomas Pike, DEA, was proving to be a quite a conversationalist. Extremely well spoken, his deep bass voice rumbled on about all manner of illegal drug escapades in New England and Canada, and what organized criminal groups were behind them. Carl and Daniel mostly listened to what was proving to be a succinct law enforcement seminar.

You come very highly recommended, Mr. Lyons. The Preacher, who is our most trusted private contractor, has told me some of your back story. Agent Pike referred to Carl as ‘The Preacher,’ as did many of his professional contacts in the security business. But it is your proven skill set that sets you above all the others, and that’s exactly what draws our interest.

Carl had briefed Agent Pike on Daniel’s truly awesome fighting ability. Having worked with Daniel three previous times, he was an eyewitness to Daniel’s incredible unarmed combat skills. Not only had he single-handedly captured a legendary fugitive from Canada, and dominated all opponents in a professional mixed martial arts tournament, he defeated a team of Soviet military commandos. And that was all within the last year, after his discharge from the military.

Why is that, if I may ask? If Carl briefed you, you should already know that I’m not experienced with law enforcement or intelligence gathering. What I do is fight well. That’s all. I have all the basic paramilitary skills: parachuting, SCUBA, weapons…but I’m no expert at any of them. What I am is an expert at is fighting. Unarmed, hand-to-hand, close quarters combat, whatever you choose to call it. That’s what I’m good at. I’ve studied and practiced combat arts from all over the world for over twenty years now. Every day of my life.

Agent Pike looked at Carl, and seemed to pause before answering, Now we get down to it…the reason we need your services, Mr. Lyons. Agent Pike offered a government-issue credit card to the waitress, and waited until she withdrew before continuing, A great opportunity has arisen. An accountant with the Nardone Family in Montreal has been convicted of money laundering in federal court here in the US. We of the DEA would love to ‘flip’ this guy, get him to turn state’s witness against his bosses in organized crime.

Carl and Daniel listened. Traditional organized crime families had suffered a rash of traitors in recent years, most of them testifying in open court, then disappearing into Wit Sec, the federal Witness Protection Program run by the US Marshal Service.

Pike continued, What makes this individual unique is that he has a comprehensive knowledge of the money trail. He’s not a boss, not a policy maker, but he has an encyclopedic grasp of the actual hands-on business practices of one of North America’s oldest and wealthiest traditional mafia families.

Carl offered, "You ‘flip’ a mafia soldato, a made guy, and he tells you where the bodies are buried. But what you’re saying, is that this accountant knows where every dollar comes from, and where it goes. He knows every racket, every dirty deal, every score…and he knows what cops, prosecutors, and judges are on their payroll."

"Exactly, Preacher. We ‘flip’ this accountant, and he can give