Rage of Angels
Time slipped away. Sometimes Jennifer would hear a telephone ring in some distant recess of the house, and once she heard someone knocking at the front door, but those sounds had no meaning for her. She would not allow anything to interrupt her being with her son. She stayed in the room, eating nothing and drinking nothing, lost in her own private world with Joshua. She had no sense of time, no idea how long she lay there.
It was five days later that Jennifer heard the front door bell again and the sound of someone pounding on the door, but she paid no attention. Whoever it was would go away and leave her alone. Dimly she heard the sound of glass breaking, and a few moments later the door to Joshua’s room burst open and Michael Moretti loomed in the doorway.
He took one look at the gaunt, hollow-eyed figure staring up at him from the bed and he said, “Jesus Christ!”
It took all of Michael Moretti’s strength to get Jennifer out of the room. She fought him hysterically, punching him and clawing at his eyes. Nick Vito was waiting downstairs and it took the two of them to force Jennifer into the car. Jennifer had no idea who they were or why they were there. She only knew that they were taking her away from her son. She tried to tell them that she would die if they did this to her, but she was finally too exhausted to fight any longer. She fell asleep.
When Jennifer awakened, she was in a bright, clean room with a picture window with a view of a mountain and a blue lake in the distance. A uniformed nurse was seated in a chair next to the bed, reading a magazine. She looked up as Jennifer opened her eyes.
“Where am I?” It hurt her throat to speak.
“You’re with friends, Miss Parker. Mr. Moretti brought you here. He’s been very concerned about you. He’ll be so pleased to know you’re awake.”
The nurse hurried out of the room. Jennifer lay there, her mind blank, willing herself not to think. But the memories began to return, unbidden, and there was nowhere to hide from them, nowhere to escape to. Jennifer realized that she had been trying to commit suicide without actually having the courage to do it. She simply had wanted to die and was willing it to happen. Michael had saved her. It was ironic. Not Adam, but Michael. She supposed it was unfair to blame Adam. She had kept the truth from him, had kept him ignorant of the son who had been born and who was now dead. Joshua was dead. Jennifer could face that now. The pain was deep and agonizing, and she knew it was a pain that would be with her for as long as she lived. But she could bear it. She would have to. It was justice, demanding its payment.
Jennifer heard footsteps and looked up. Michael had come into the room. He stood there, looking at her with wonder. He had been like a wild man when Jennifer had disappeared. He had nearly been out of his mind for fear that something had happened to her.
He walked over to her bed and looked down at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Michael sat down on the side of the bed. “I’m sorry.”
She took his hand. “Thank you for bringing me here. I—think I was a little crazy.”
“A little.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Four days. The doctor’s been feeding you intravenously.”
Jennifer nodded, and even that small movement caused great effort. She felt inordinately weary.
“Breakfast is on the way. He gave me orders to fatten you up.”
“I’m not hungry. I don’t think I ever want to eat again.”
“You’ll eat.”
And to Jennifer’s surprise, Michael was right. When the nurse brought her soft-boiled eggs and toast and tea on a tray, Jennifer found she was famished.
Michael stayed there and watched her, and when Jennifer was finished Michael said, “I’ve got to go back to New York to take care of a few things. I’ll return in a couple of days.”
He leaned over and kissed her gently. “See you Friday.” He slowly traced his fingers across her face. “I want you well, quick. You hear?”
Jennifer looked at him and said, “I hear.”
51
The large conference room at the United States Marine Corps base was filled to overflowing. Outside the room, a squad of armed guards was on the alert. Inside was an extraordinary gathering. A special grand jury was seated in chairs against the wall. On one side of a long table sat Adam Warner, Robert Di Silva and the assistant director of the FBI. Across from them sat Thomas Colfax.
Bringing the grand jury to the base had been Adam’s idea.
“It’s the only way we can be sure of protecting Colfax.”
The grand jury had agreed to Adam’s suggestions, and the secret session was about to begin.
Adam said to Thomas Colfax, “Would you identify yourself, please?”
“My name is Thomas Colfax.”
“What is your occupation, Mr. Colfax?”
“I’m an attorney, licensed to practice in the State of New York, as well as in many other states in this country.”
“How long have you been practicing law?”
“For more than thirty-five years.”
“Do you have a general practice?”
“No, sir. I have one client.”
“Who is your client?”
“For most of those thirty-five years it was Antonio Granelli, now deceased. His place was taken by Michael Moretti. I represent Michael Moretti and his Organization.”
“Are you referring to organized crime?”
“I am, sir.”
“Because of the position you held for so many years, is it a fair assumption to say that you are in a unique position to know the inner workings of what we shall call the Organization?”