A Murderous Venture

By K. M. Winthrop

The assignment was to be covert, strictly off the record. Take custody of a witness. Go under deep cover. Protect the witness until the trial. Nick Marcous was forbidden to communicate with anyone. Not his fiancé. Not his family. No one. But the assignment was not as covert as he was led to believe.
Because someone knew!
And because someone knew the top secret assignment turned into a murderous game of hide and seek. As Nick fought to keep his prisoner safe the bodies began to pile up. His family was threatened and he was forced to choose between his duty and the people he loved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664148741

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Copyright © 2021 by K. M. Winthrop.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 12/21/2020

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

PROLOGUE

She picked up the doll and stared at it, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her hands shaking violently. She couldn’t understand why they were doing this to her. She’d been loyal. She’d been damn loyal. More loyal than a lot of women would have been. She turned the doll over in her hands, examining it closely.

It was crudely made from an old sock, very much like the first doll. A large head was separated from the body with a piece of heavy twine and it had spindly limbs dangling from it. Its hair was made from brown yarn, similar in color to hers. The dark eyes and nose were drawn on the doll in ink, probably a Sharpie marker. The mouth was smeared on with bright red lipstick. However that was where the similarity between the two dolls ended.

The first doll merely had a gag tied across its face covering a gaudy lipstick mouth. It was crude but its message was clear.

Don’t talk. Or else.

This doll’s mouth was gaping open in a silent scream and there were red spots emanating from it. Tiny red drops that ran from the doll’s chin down to its under stuffed body. She was sure they weren’t drawn by a sharpie. She was sure they were real blood. A piece of razor blade embedded in a plastic knife was plunged into this doll’s chest. The area around the makeshift knife was wet with a dark red, sticky substance.

Gingerly she touched it and rubbed the substance between her thumb and fore finger. Like the red spots it was blood. She was sure of it. She was also sure of the message the doll was meant to convey.

If you talk, you’re dead.

She had no doubt the person who left the doll in her cell intended to follow through with the threat. It was also obvious they had the ability to carry it out.

When the first doll was left in her cell she panicked and turned it over to the guard. They immediately moved her into solitary confinement away from the general population. For her own protection, she was told. She would be safe there. There was no way they could reach her there.

But, she thought as she stared at the garish doll, it was now all too apparent they could reach her. And she had absolutely no doubt that they would.

She was in a locked, solitary cell in a locked, restricted cell block. But despite that fact someone was able to enter the cell during exercise period and leave the second doll on her bunk. So much for protection.

She quickly lifted the thin mattress and slipped the doll onto the concrete slab that served as her bunk. Then she sat down on the bed, leaning forward, cradling her head in her shaking hands. The dolls had fulfilled their purpose. She was appropriately terrified.

She had no idea why the organization suddenly decided she might inform on them. In the four years she’d been locked away in this miserable place she hadn’t talked. She consistently refused the state’s frequent offers to trade leniency for information. She would have been a fool not to. She knew who she was dealing with. She was all too familiar with the organization’s unlimited reach. The dolls were just one more example. She knew better than to open her mouth. Prison was hell but at least she was alive.

She spent the rest of the afternoon pacing back and forth in her tiny cell. She left her dinner tray left untouched.

Finally, the light in her cell flickered off. Nine o’clock. Bed time for shut-ins. The room was dark, illuminated only by the dim night lights in the hallway that filtered through the barred window on her cell door. She lay down on the bunk, huddling under her blanket with her back pressed against the concrete wall for safety, and she fell into a fitful sleep.

It was the grating sound of her cell door opening that awakened her. Terrified, she peered through the darkness as she pulled the blanket close around her, shivering despite the heat.

Like her cell, the corridor outside was pitch black.

A feeling of panic overtook her.

That’s impossible, she told herself.

The corridor lights were always burning. They illuminated the corridor between the rows of cells twenty four hours a day.

After a moment she became aware of a dark figure standing in the doorway. For a long moment there was no movement and no sound other than soft breathing. She sensed rather than saw the specter move across the cell toward her. The figure stopped by the side of her bunk, so close to her she could touch it. Once again it stood motionless, she could almost feel it staring down at her. She crossed her arms across her chest, shrinking back against the wall of her cell, trying to make herself as tiny as possible. Then she heard a soft thud beside her head.

She sensed the figure silently backing away and after a moment she heard the click when her cell door closed. Seconds later the corridor lights came back on.

Terrified she sat up, fumbling in the dim light until her fingers found the source of the thud, a switchblade knife that had been thrust into her pillow. And surrounding the knife was the familiar thick, sticky substance.

She sprang to her feet, moving to the far side of the cell, as far away from the knife as she could. She was shaking uncontrollably. It was obvious not even solitary confinement could protect her. She didn’t dare trust the guard. For that matter she didn’t dare trust anyone connected with the prison. No one could access her cell without their cooperation.

Sitting alone on her bunk her fear slowly evolved into fury. Just who the hell did they think they were dealing with anyway? Were they trying to scare her? Well they scared her all right. They not only scared her, they terrified her. Now she’d see to it that they were the ones who were scared. And by the time she was done they’d be the ones sitting in prison and she would be starting a new life.

She’d ask to see her lawyer. She’d show him the doll and the knife. She’d agree to make a deal. That would be her ticket to freedom.

CHAPTER I

The two women seated at the conference table glanced up at him when he entered the room, nodding a brief acknowledgement.

Nick Markous returned their greeting in kind. He took a chair on the opposite side of the table. He couldn’t help wondering why Captain Chandler summoned him. Probably another long, boring meeting. Just what he needed. When Chandler got up a good head of steam he could go on for hours.

I really don’t have time for this, he thought, fidgeting with his pen. There was morning briefing to attend to, daily reports to go over, assignments to hand out, not to mention the mountain of paperwork that was piled up on his desk.

Hiding his irritation wasn’t easy but it was necessary.

He looked the women over as inconspicuously as possible.

They were both attractive, each wearing dark blue ‘dress for success’ business suits. But that’s where the similarity ended. One woman was about twenty eight, small in stature, with bright blue eyes. Her auburn hair was bobbed short and curled around her face giving her a soft, delicate look. She was poised, sitting erect in her chair, one hand protectively on the purse that lay on the table in front of her. The other woman was taller, heavier, and seemed to be a few years older. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders in soft waves and her eyes were hazel-green. Unlike the other woman, she appeared to be slightly on edge, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her purse as she scanned some papers in front of her.

Nick had no idea who they were. They weren’t connected to his department however he was sure they were connected somewhere. Considering the way they were protecting their purses it was obvious to him they were both carrying. Probably small, lady-like weapons, easily concealable but just as lethal as the man-sized variety. It was also obvious that carrying wasn’t part of their regular duties. If it were he wouldn’t have been able to spot it so quickly.

The brunette looked up at him, briefly making eye contact before she gave him a frank once over. If the expression on her face meant anything she approved of what she saw.

Most women did.

He was slightly over six feet, broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip. He had classic Grecian features, high cheekbones and a determined jaw line. His black eyes were deep set with heavy lashes that would be the envy of any woman. In a less rugged face, they might have been described as pretty. His black wavy hair was worn a bit longer than usual for a man of thirty six. His face might have been considered stern, almost hard, had it not been for the warm Mediterranean personality it mirrored. His lazy smile started in his eyes then spread slowly across his face, softening the firmness of his mouth.

The brunette gave him a quick smile before she returned her attention to the papers.

The redhead ignored him completely.

The door opened and two men Nick did know entered the room. One was Police Captain Darious Chandler, his boss. The other was Edmond Gibson, an assistant prosecutor with the State Attorney’s office.

Well, I see we’re all here so let’s get started, Chandler began in his best official voice.

He motioned Gibson to the chair beside Nick and, assuming his usual seat at the head of the table, he set a thick file down and opened it. He briefly scanned the top pages before he looked up.

Nick, these two ladies are Brenda Davisson and Susan Yeamons from the US Marshal’s Office. You know Ed, of course. Ladies, this is Lieutenant Nick Markous.

He exchanged nods and mornings with Gibson and the women before he returned his attention to Chandler.

Nick, we asked you here because we have an important operation in progress and we need your participation. Do you remember Alice Bascomb? This goes back maybe five years. She was connected to Sam Mischansky.

Nick nodded thoughtfully. He knew the names well enough. Mischansky was the local syndicate kingpin. His organization had the monopoly in human trafficking, prostitution, gambling, and smuggling. Name the racket and he had his fingers in the pie. After the narcotics syndicate was broken a few months before, the organization was now branching out into the drug market as well.

He definitely remembered Alice Bascomb. She was Mischansky’s live in companion until she was caught transporting a van load of minor girls to a party where they were expected to provide services to the male attendees. Nick noticed the van moving erratically at a high rate of speed and pulled in behind it. However before he could pull it over the van missed a curve and ran off the road, plunging into a retention pond. Nick leaped from his car and dove into the pond after them. He managed to pull Bascomb and two of the girls out of the sinking van alive. The third girl he extracted was younger. Thirteen at the most. She was severely injured and died in his arms. Another girl was trapped in the vehicle and drowned before first responders were able to free her from the wreckage.

Bascomb’s alcohol level at the time was almost three times the legal limit. She was originally charged with two counts of second degree murder but Mischansky’s lawyers managed to have the charges reduced to vehicular homicide.

As you know, Chandler was saying, "the Feds have been trying to get enough evidence to put Mischansky out of business for a long time. Up until now no one has been willing to talk and with good reason. The organization has a nasty way of discouraging any dissension in the ranks, if you know what I mean. We’re pretty sure Bascomb has enough information to hang Mischansky twice over but she consistently refused to cooperate.

Up until now, that is. Apparently Bascomb’s had enough of prison life. She’s not very happy that while she’s serving hard time Mischansky is frolicking with his new lady love. A snitch told us she voiced her feelings on the subject to some of the other inmates and with some degree of enthusiasm. She hinted if she told everything she knew about Mischansky he would fall for the count and it would bust the organization wide open. Our snitch said she thinks Bascomb was just grousing because she saw a picture of him with his new lady. But it seems the syndicate isn’t taking any chances. Some serious threats have been made against her. The warden moved her into solitary confinement for her own safety but even that cell has been violated twice. Prison officials feel she is in serious danger.

He related the incidents of the two dolls and the knife.

"The threats were obviously meant to scare her into silence but they had the opposite effect. The woman is terrified. She told her lawyer she was sure she was marked for death and she would do whatever she had to do to get out of there.

We made her another offer and this time she accepted, Chandler added. She has agreed to testify in return for a pardon and placement in the witness protection program. Somehow this leaked out to the organization and to say that they were not amused would be a major understatement. Ed applied for an immediate hearing before the grand jury but the first open slot is Monday morning. That means we have to find a way to keep her safe until she’s scheduled to testify. In view of the threats made against her it stands to reason prison is not the place.

The State Attorney’s office has agreed to commute her sentence in return for her testimony, Gibson continued. The US Marshal’s office will set her up with a new identity after she appears. They think the only way to keep her safe until Monday is to remove her from prison immediately, hopefully without the organization’s knowledge. Then we have to keep her under cover until she walks into court at ten o’clock Monday morning. It goes without saying Mischansky has contacts inside the prison. Unfortunately that includes some of the prison staff as well as the inmates.

Nick frowned. It was an interesting situation but he had no idea how it affected him. It certainly didn’t fall under his job description.

How do I fit in to all this? he asked when Chandler paused for breath.

Bascomb has refused to go along with the arrangement unless we assign you to protect her. She said you were good to her and you’re the only one she can trust to keep her safe.

I was good to her? he gasped in disbelief. You’ve got to be kidding! My testimony sent her away on a ten to twenty. If I had my way it would have been twenty five to life.

What can I tell you, Nick? It seems you have a way with the ladies. Every time you walk into my office it’s at least half an hour before I can get any work out of my secretary.

Nick censored the remark that immediately popped into his mind. Chandler was his boss. It didn’t take a genius to know that voicing any comment in front of Ed and the women wasn’t the best idea.

"It appears the only way we’ll be able to pull this off is for the department to release you to the Federal Marshal’s Service temporarily. As of now you are on detached assignment. You’ll go to the prison with the marshals posing as an associate of Bascomb’s attorney, presumably to take a deposition. Davisson will act as a representative of the State Attorney’s office and Yeamons will be the court stenographer. Yeamons has the same coloring and body type as Bascomb. While you’re presumably taking Bascomb’s deposition Yeamons will trade places with her. As far as anyone’s concerned Bascomb will remain in prison and you’ll leave with the same two women you came in with.

Starting now the three of you will go under deep cover until Monday morning.

Come on, Dar, you know I can’t just drop out of sight with no explanation. I’ve got a family who expects me to come home every night. What’s more, I have a million things to do. I’m getting married in three weeks.

No problem. Keep it zipped. he shrugged. It’s not that big a deal, Nick. Your family can manage without you for a few days. As far as Tracy and her mother are concerned they’ll probably be glad to have you out from under foot. All the groom really needs to do is put on his tux and show up on time. Besides, from what I hear about your future mother-in-law you should appreciate any excuse to escape.

He paused for the expected round of polite laughter from Gibson and the women.

The three of you will leave for the prison from here, no stops and no phone calls. There’s a car downstairs, unmarked and anonymous, Gibson added.

He slid an envelope across the table.

This is a driver’s license, ABA ID card, and a credit card for any expenses you might have along the way. You’ll be operating under the name of Henry Marx. He’s an actual attorney in case anyone at the prison decides to check you out. The prison is a good six hour drive from here so we made the appointment for ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Our people will keep Bascomb under twenty four hour guard in the prison infirmary until then. As soon as you have her out of the prison head back here. We reserved two rooms for you tonight in Florida City and a suite here in town where you can hold Bascomb until Monday. The hotel information and room keys are in the envelope so you won’t have to stop at either office to check in. Davisson will be in charge of the operation but I hope the two of you will be able to work together.

I don’t like the idea of breaking a convicted felon out of prison.

Technically we aren’t breaking her out, Brenda Davisson stated. The warden has agreed to release her into the custody of the US Marshal’s Office. She’ll remain in our custody until after she testifies. She knows she won’t be granted the pardon unless she keeps her part of the bargain. After she testifies we’ll give her a new identity and she’ll be relocated.

Davisson met his eye for the first time since he entered the room. She was soft spoken but her tone was crisp and it was tinged with an icy professionalism.

It should be obvious how important it is that Mischansky’s organization doesn’t know we’ve taken her out of the prison, she continued. This is the only way we can keep her safe until Monday.

She turned to Chandler and added, If that’s all you need from us, Captain, I think we’d better get moving.

The two women stood up and started from the room. Apparently the meeting was over.

Nick sighed, picked up the packet, and followed them.

They took the elevator to the first floor, the women ignoring him completely until they reached the street. Davisson indicated the car they were to use as she took the keys from her purse.

I’ll drive, Nick stated in a voice that left no room for argument.

Deftly, he removed the keys from her hand. He unlocked the car with a pair of quick beeps and opened both doors on the right side of the car for the women to enter.

Davisson glared at him for a moment. That his ‘take charge’ attitude irritated her went without saying. Then, probably deciding it wasn’t worth an argument, she slipped into the passenger’s seat. Yeamons appeared to be stifling a smirk as she got in the back. Nick started the car and, before he pulled away from the curb, he reached over and tuned the radio onto a twenty four hour news station.

Keep the radio on and keep your voices low. We have a couple of stops to make before we get underway, he announced quietly.

Apparently you’re not too good at taking orders. I might also add you seem to have a problem with a woman being in charge, Davisson stated coolly. This is a supposed to be a top secret operation. Our instructions are to drive directly to Florida City, no phone calls, and definitely no stops.

If you think I have a problem with a woman calling the shots you clearly have never met my fiancé, Nick returned. What’s more I’ve had enough dealings with Mischansky to know how he operates. Obviously he has people in the prison and he probably has people in the department as well. Both yours and mine. I’ll give you odds the syndicate knew all about this operation before we did.

Davisson didn’t answer him but he could tell she was seething to a boil. He couldn’t help but wonder if the auburn hair was natural and, if so, did she have a redhead’s temper to match. He imagined he’d find out before the assignment was concluded. They hadn’t gotten off to the best of starts and considering her superior attitude, he doubted their relationship would improve over time.

He drove to a twenty four hour department store and parked the car at the far end of the parking lot.

Softly he ordered, Wait in the car and keep up a conversation. Talk about anything but the assignment. Make sure you don’t say anything that would indicate where we’re parked or that I’m out of the car.

Nick waited until the radio program went to commercial before he clicked it off and went inside. He returned half an hour later with two packages and slipped into the driver’s seat. He turned the radio on again before he dug into one of the packages. He handed each of the women a throwaway phone and a zip lock plastic bag.

Take the batteries and the SIM cards out of your phones and store them in the plastic bags. That way no one will be able to track us by our cells. Davisson and I will program each of the throwaway phone numbers into our phones. Yeamons, let Davisson hold on to your personal cell. You can’t take it into the prison with you. The only numbers you’ll program into your throwaway are the contact numbers for the Marshal’s Service and the State Attorney’s office. We don’t want to hand them our information if they should confiscate your phone. Memorize our numbers in case you need to contact us.

He handed Yeamons one of the packages.

There’s a change of clothes for you in here. Slacks and a blouse. Stenos don’t usually wear business suits. The blouse is loose fitting and the slacks have an elastic waist band to make sure they’ll fit Bascomb when you change clothes. There’s also a dark wig and horn rimmed glasses. If you wear them into the prison and Bascomb wears them out it will lessen the chance the guards notice the switch when we leave. Another thing, give Davisson your weapon before we enter the prison. Stenos don’t carry and we certainly don’t want Bascomb to get her hands on it.

I think you’ve been reading too many detective novels, Davisson commented sarcastically.

No, Marshal Davisson, he replied in the same tone. Actually I don’t have time to read detective novels. But I’ve set up too many undercover operations where I wanted to keep my men as safe as possible. I don’t leave anything to chance.

He disabled his cell phone and handed Davisson his throwaway, asking her to program the numbers into it. Then he pulled out of the parking lot.

But instead of turning toward the interstate he turned in the opposite direction. After stopping at a gas station, two convenience stores and another twenty four hour department store, parking in each location for ten to fifteen minutes, he pulled into a small used car lot.

Wait here for me here. If you have any luggage in the car go through it and check everything for bugs, he directed as he exited the car.

Davisson sighed rolling her eyes. Not likely, she muttered to herself.

She got out of the car, slamming the door behind her, and followed him across the lot into the small office.

A short, dark haired man hurried over to them. He frowned when he saw Davisson standing beside Nick but he greeted them boisterously.

"Hiya, Nicky. Kalo̱sórisma! Long time no see. What can I do for you this time?"

Hey, Gus. I need a car for about five days, professional looking and in good condition. Strictly between you and me. Then I need one of your employees to drive our car to some parking lot and lose it. Tell him to leave the radio on while he’s driving. There’s probably a tracking device on the car so have him make several stops for about ten to fifteen minutes each. Gas stations, convenience stores, and at least two or three other car lots. Then have him drive in circles for a couple hours. Give whoever might be tracking the car a grand tour of the city. Make sure he wipes clean anything he touches including the keys. Leave them in the ignition. I don’t want the car traced back to you.

Gus thought for a moment, nodding slowly.

Yeah, I can handle that. No problem. You in trouble, Nicky?

No. Just taking a few precautions.

Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Gus looked pointedly at Davisson and he commented in Greek, You’ll be in real trouble if Tracy gets a look at that redhead. He laughed and added in English, I got a nice, late model sedan in the other day. Hang on a minute while I get some plates and the keys.

No dealer plates.

That figures. I’ve got a good set of plates you can use. I took them off a car that came in from Tennessee. If you’re trying to stay under somebody’s radar they should work for you. I can’t help you with a registration or insurance though so you’d better drive like a good boy.

He stepped out of the office and returned a few minutes later with the plates and the keys. They exchanged keys and Nick went back to the car.

Moving day, ladies. Yeamons, did you check everything over for bugs?

Well, at least he didn’t call us girls, she commented with a sigh. Everything is clean, Lieutenant. We just have two briefcases, one for you and one for Brenda, plus a steno machine for me. Our purses haven’t been out of our possession. I take it we’re changing cars.

Yeah. Davisson, as of now you’re in charge again. You can drive if you want to.

I have to fire up my phone to engage the GPS.

Don’t worry about it. I know the way. Besides I doubt your GPS would plot the route I plan to take. When they realize we aren’t driving the car that was assigned to us they’ll probably be watching the interstate.

Then maybe you should do the honors. Far be it from me to interfere with this macho performance of yours. Which, by the way, does not impress us in the least.

Nick ignored the remark and said, One more thing, don’t use any credit cards. Pay cash for everything. If you find yourself short let me know. I hit the ATMs at a couple of the convenience stores and I have enough cash to cover any expenses we might have.

He got into the car and moved the seat back, glad it was a full sized sedan that would accommodate his long legs. He drove through a maze of city streets until they reached the bridge. Turning off at the first exit on the far side, he embarked on a tour of southern Florida, using roads that were less traveled but far more picturesque than the interstate. Despite using secondary roads and brief pit stops for gas and sandwiches they made reasonably good time. However it was late afternoon before they arrived in Miami-Dade County.

Davisson balked when Nick made a left turn instead of turning right onto the interstate.

The sign said Florida City is that way, she protested firmly, pointing to the on ramp.

It is. But we’re not going to Florida City. It’s a small town and if they’re watching the motels it would be too easy for them to spot us. We’re going to Naranja. A friend of mine has a little motel where we can get rooms for cash, no credit card or sign in needed.

Nick ignored her eye-rolling histrionics and focused his attention on the road.

The motel was set well back from the road and he parked midway down the strip of rooms. He emerged from the office a few minutes later with keys to two small but passably clean adjoining rooms. After they were settled in, they walked down the street to a drug store. It was a small, country store with a limited selection but they were able purchase toiletries and a few other necessities.

As she stepped back onto the sidewalk Davisson looked around, shaking her head slowly. That she wasn’t happy with what she saw went without saying.

I don’t supposed this widening of the road boasts anything as civilized as a restaurant. I don’t know about you but I could use a decent meal.

As a matter of fact there is. It’s just a small mom and pop affair but the food is passable. Side street, just a couple blocks from here.

He led the way to the restaurant and they found a booth in a secluded corner.

I take it this is your first undercover assignment, Nick commented after they gave the waitress their orders.

Is it that obvious? Susan asked. I’ve been with the Marshal’s service for four years, mostly paperwork and following up with the people we placed. I was bored out of my mind until I was promoted to agent about six months ago. When they offered me this assignment I jumped at it. I couldn’t wait to get out from behind the desk and do something important. What are we doing wrong?

What have they done right? Nick thought.

But he kept his irritation to himself. The next five days were going to be five days too long as it was. It would seem a hell of a lot longer unless they made some effort to get along. Since it appeared the women had no attention of doing so it would be up to him.

You’re too trusting, he said quietly. "The boss gives you a scenario, everything by the book, and he tells you to follow it to the letter. So you do. The problem is the bad guys probably read the same book. I can tell Captain Chandler put this assignment together. It’s got his name written all over it. Dar’s a good man and a great administrator but he can’t think outside the box. You wouldn’t believe the arguments we get into when I want to do something slightly out of the ordinary. Same with Ed Gibson. Everything he does is printed chapter