Ultimate Betrayal Read online

  ULTIMATE BETRAYAL

  JOSEPH BADAL

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 by Joseph Badal

  Previously published by Suspense Magazine

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonEncore are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  eISBN: 9781477870594

  This title was previously published by Suspense Magazine; this version has been reproduced from Suspense Magazine archive files.

  OTHER BOOKS BY JOSEPH BADAL

  STAND-ALONE THRILLERS

  THE PYTHAGOREAN SOLUTION

  SHELL GAME

  DANFORTH SAGA

  EVIL DEEDS (#1)

  TERROR CELL (#2)

  THE NOSTRADAMUS SECRET (#3)

  THE LONE WOLF AGENDA (#4)

  DEDICATION

  “Ultimate Betrayal” is dedicated to Trinity Badal, a wonderful granddaughter who right from the start possessed the key to my heart.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  “Ultimate Betrayal” is my seventh novel and, as with the others before it, would not have happened without the support, hard work, and guidance from a number of people.

  My thanks go to John and Shannon Raab for their work in editing, publishing, and marketing of “Ultimate Betrayal.” As usual, Shannon did a masterful job in creating the cover for this novel.

  A number of friends reviewed the manuscript and made valuable suggestions that improved the read, corrected my German, and gave me encouragement. They include Stuart & Rosalie Sherman, Inge Taylor, Nick Franklin, and Tom Avitabile.

  The inspiration for this book came from experiences I had while serving in the U.S. Army in Vietnam in 1971-72. Although the back story in “Ultimate Betrayal” is based on my protagonist’s service in Afghanistan, much of the action and references to activities in Afghanistan were drawn from Vietnam experiences.

  Finally, I want to thank all those wonderful men and women who have read my previous books. Your support provides valuable and continuous inspiration.

  PRAISE FOR JOSEPH BADAL

  “Crisp writing, masterful pacing, and characters to genuinely care about. This is what top-notch suspense is all about.”

  —Michael Palmer, New York Times Bestselling author of “Political Suicide”

  “ “Ultimate Betrayal” provides the ultimate in riveting reading entertainment that’s as well thought out as it is thought provoking. Both a stand-out thriller and modern day morality tale. Mined from the familial territory of Harlan Coben, with the seasoned action plotting of James Rollins or Steve Berry, this is fiction of the highest order. Poignant and unrelentingly powerful.”

  —Jon Land, bestselling and award-winning author of “The Tenth Circle”

  “Joseph Badal has surpassed his own high standards once again. He pulls out all the stops in his new standalone thriller “Ultimate Betrayal,” a tale of crime, espionage, family tragedy, family ties, and ultimately justice and redemption.

  “He is the master of the cinematic thriller, in the best sense of the term. His trademark short chapters from multiple points of view take readers on a rocket ride into the worlds of military service, government agencies, law enforcement, family bonds, and organized crime. If you haven’t read a Badal thriller before, “Ultimate Betrayal” is a great first step in immersing yourself in his body of work.

  “So put on a pot of coffee and fasten your seat belt.”

  —Robert Kresge, former CIA officer and author of the Civil War spy novel “Saving Lincoln” and the Warbonnet historical mysteries

  “Joseph Badal has done it again. “Ultimate Betrayal” packs action and revenge into an international conspiracy thriller you won’t soon forget. Read it!”

  —Steve Brewer, author of “Firepower”

  “Joe Badal keeps getting better and better. He knows how to spin a multi-viewpoint thriller without losing the reader, and he knows the international stage so well that he can take us to both exotic and down-home places in a story that flows effortlessly. And uniquely, he can ratchet up the action to a fever pitch without burying us in pages of techno babble. In this tale of “Old World vengeance without New World remorse,” you’ll love the good guys and hate the bad guys—just as it should be.”

  —Steven F. Havill, author of the Posadas County Mystery series

  “Filled with unexpected twists, unconventional allies and a master-mind villain who makes hired killers look like kindergarten teachers. “Ultimate Betrayal” is Joseph Badal’s best book yet. A must-read for anyone with a craving for a fast-paced, action-packed, beautifully constructed thriller.”

  —Anne Hillerman, author of “Spider Woman’s Daughter”

  ULTIMATE BETRAYAL

  JOSEPH BADAL

  CONTENTS

  PART I

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  PART II

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  PART III

  CHAPTER 1


  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  To My Readers

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PART I

  JUNE 6, 2001

  CHAPTER 1

  If someone had asked eighteen-year-old David Hood to define happiness, he wouldn’t have had an answer. He couldn’t remember what happiness felt like. But he could answer a question about the meaning of life. David knew all about life. Life was hard work, always doing your best, and getting by. Just getting by. He also knew what life wasn’t. Life wasn’t about the triumph of good over evil.

  At 6’2” and 175 pounds, David had the broad shoulders, trim waist, and long, powerful legs of an athlete. He carried himself confidently. Neighbors considered him courteous and respectful—someone who never got into trouble. He was on time for work every day, worked hard, and kept his mouth shut. All qualities that Gino Bartolucci valued.

  David rehearsed aloud what he would say to Mr. Bartolucci as he walked down Broad Street. He’d worked in the sprawling Bartolucci Market after school, on weekends, and during the summer for the last four years. Now that he had his high school diploma, he felt he owed Mr. Bartolucci an explanation for what he was about to do. Out of respect. Then he’d have to tell his father.

  Gino Bartolucci owned a number of “legitimate” businesses, including Bartolucci’s Market. But his real money came from numbers running, bookmaking, loan sharking, and the protection racket. But eighteen-year-old David Hood figured Mr. Bartolucci’s mob connections had nothing to do with him. The mob was a part of South Philadelphia—always was, always would be. What really mattered to David was that Mr. Bartolucci gave him a job he badly needed and always treated him fairly. Like a father treats a son.

  After he turned down a side street, he walked six blocks of maple tree-lined row houses to the South Philadelphia produce district and stopped across the street from the market. The aromas of frying sausages and peppers reached him and he breathed them in as though his life depended on it. The familiar faces of shoppers as they inspected fruit and vegetables in the sidewalk bins made him sad. Very soon, this would all be part of his past. He already felt homesick.

  David crossed the street and entered the market, an open-air affair that could have been transplanted from Sicily. Garlic sautéed in olive oil cut the sweet smell of oregano-laced salsicci. Somehow the fragrances of fresh-cut flowers survived the spicy onslaught from the grill. Mr. Bartolucci called this collage of aromas “Italian perfume.” The raucous sound of people who argued in Italian and English over prices and the quality of the produce seemed almost melodic.

  David watched Mr. Bartolucci come out of his office, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of his fifteen-year-old daughter, Carmela, who was already taller than her five-foot, six-inch father. The girl batted her eyelashes at David, who ignored her. All David ever noticed about Carmela were the rubber band-held braces on her teeth and the maroon and white Catholic school uniform that hung like a tent on her more-than-plump body. She was too young, fat, and silly. Besides, David didn’t encourage relationships with girls. They always wanted to know his inner thoughts and feelings. He didn’t want them to ask questions. They might not like his answers.

  Bartolucci wore his usual blue suit, red tie, and white dress shirt—his tie and shirt open at the neck. Black hair laced with white streaks slicked back. Bartolucci’s hands belonged on a giant. They looked almost freakish and damned intimidating on his short, stocky frame.

  Gino greeted David with a wave of a ham hock hand and a “Ciao, Bello!”

  “Mister Bartolucci, could . . . could I talk with you for a minute?”

  “Certo, Michel,” he responded. “Uno momento.” Bartolucci barked a stream of orders in Italian in his sandpaper basso voice to two Sicilian immigrant employees and then told his daughter to get an ice cream cone. He turned to David and asked with the usual rough edge to his voice, but with softness in his eyes, “You need something?”

  “Mister Bartolucci, I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me. You’ve been great and I appreciate it. But I won’t be able to work here after this month.”

  Bartolucci frowned. “Whatsa matter? Now you a hotshot high school graduate, you gonna leave the wop behind?” He smiled. “You gonna go off to some Ivy League college and chase preppie girls?”

  “No, ah, no, Mister Bartolucci.” David’s face suddenly felt hot. “It’s not like that. I enlisted in the Army.”

  “You did what!” Bartolucci exploded.

  David glanced around. Every person within twenty-five yards seemed to freeze in place.

  Gino pulled David by the arm into his office, slammed the door behind them, and pushed him into a chair. “Whatsa matter, you get drafted?” he said. “I can fix that. I can make you a free man like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  “There’s no draft anymore, Mr. Bartolucci.”

  Bartolucci’s face flushed and his eyes narrowed to slits. The veins on the sides of his neck bulged. “You enlisted? What’d you finish at South Philadelphia High? Last? You stupid or somethin’?”

  “First.” David looked at his shoes and quietly said, “I finished top of my class.”

  “First!” Gino growled. “First! You gonna waste that on the goddamn Army? Get your ass shot off in some goddamn foreign country?”

  David sat silently, momentarily met Mr. Bartolucci’s eyes, then looked away to avoid the man’s blistering gaze.

  “Look at me, kid! Look at me!”

  David steeled himself. Raised his head.

  “You sure you want to do this? You made up your mind?”

  David dropped his gaze again.

  “I asked you a question, boy. You sure you want to do this?”

  David looked up again. He licked his lips and swallowed. “It’s not a matter of want, sir. It’s something I gotta do.”

  “That’s bull. You . . .” Bartolucci stopped and stared hard at David. Then he nodded and said, “What did your father say about this?”

  “I haven’t told him yet. He doesn’t get home from work ‘til 8:00.”

  With a sigh, Gino fell into his chair. “He ain’t gonna like it.”

  “He won’t care one way or the other.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

  David closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He had no interest in arguing with Mr. Bartolucci about his relationship with his father.

  “Okay, if it’s gotta be, it’s gotta be. Che sera, sera. Now I’m gonna tell you what to do.” He pulled an enormous wad of cash from a pants pocket and peeled off ten one hundred dollar bills. “You take this money and you go party like crazy until you gotta go to the Army. And if you ever need anything at all—ever—you gonna call Gino Bartolucci.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Carmela Bartolucci practiced moving her hips like a runway model, while she walked back to her father’s office. She pushed the remainder of the ice cream cone into her mouth and thought about David Hood. Daddy didn’t like it when she looked at boys. But David acted as though she didn’t exist. She wished he’d pay attention to her. She had every detail of his face memorized: black hair combed straight back; high forehead; dark, well-shaped eyebrows; long, dark lashes; blue eyes; straight nose; sensually-full lips.

  “Carmelita, come over here.”

  Gino’s loud voice shocked her out of her daydream. She smiled and said, “Si, Papa, che volete?”

  “Venga, Carina,” he shouted.

  Carmela blushed. She followed him into his office. “Why did you yell at David, Papa? I could hear you through the door.”

  Gino frowned at his daughter. But his face quickly softened. He blew out a stream of air and said, “He just told me he enlisted in the Army. That boy is molto intelligente. He should go to college, not the Army.”

  “He’s awfully quiet,” Carmela said. “It’s like he’s
. . . you know, kinda sad.”

  Gino turned his gaze back to her and smiled. “You’re a smart girl, Carmelita.”

  She smiled. “Why’s he like that, Papa?”

  Gino hesitated, sat down behind his desk, waved a hand at his daughter to take a seat. “You’re probably old enough to hear this.”

  Full of anticipation, she sat forward in her chair.

  “Patience, Carina.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “One evening when David was twelve, he and his older brother, Tommy, were on their way home from the movies. Tommy was maybe sixteen. Nice boy, just like David. Tough, too. It was just after dark and they were only a few blocks from their house when a gang of hoodlums jumped them.”

  Carmela knew her mouth had dropped open. Her heart raced, but she didn’t dare move. She sat transfixed by the sadness in her father’s eyes, the grim set of his jaw. The thought of someone hurting David made her feel sad and angry.

  “There were five of them against Tommy and David. Tommy fought like a lupo and beat up three of the gang. Then one of the others pulled a knife on David. Tommy went after that guy.” Gino paused, as though he expected Carmela to ask a question.

  “What happened?” she obliged.

  Gino’s mouth turned down and he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he said, “Tommy died right there. The one with the knife stabbed him in the heart. The word is David has always blamed himself for his brother’s death. He was just a kid. There was nothin’ he coulda done.” Gino shrugged. “To make matters worse, David’s mother went demenziale, crazy, over Tommy’s death. She died a couple years ago. And David and his father don’t have much of a relationship. You understand now, Carmelita, why David seems so sad.”

  “But it wasn’t his fault that gang attacked them. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”