picking up the rabbit she noticed a red wire dangling from the side of the car's engine area.
At first relieved, Kitiona heightened her alert status. She showed Carol the rabbit with her hands extended. With her eyes and a slight shake of her head, she cautioned Carol. “Let’s take this rabbit to the park.”
Sensing something wrong while walking to the park, Carol asked, “What’s up?”
Kitiona answered, “I saw a red wire dangling from the side of your Jeep’s engine. It might be a bomb. We should have someone look at it.”
Carol exhaled a long breath. “That’s an antenna for my alarm system. Carl had it installed when we first started dating. He’s paranoid. He works with sensitive information and crazy informants. He says this alarm system alerts us when someone tampers with my car. He doesn’t want me to get blown to pieces, mob style, anytime in the future.” She showed Kitiona the car alarm app on her phone. It read clear with a green background.
Relieved, Carol and Kitiona turned the rabbit loose in the park. It hopped towards the tall grass as they smiled walking back to Carol’s car.
Carol's Georgetown townhouse was located a few miles from the U.S. Capitol Building. She and Kitiona settled in for the afternoon. Their day of sightseeing, shopping, lunch and bomb scares wore them out. Kitiona remarked, “I feel like I walked up and down our Aunu’u volcano today. That is without Mac and our beautiful hills. On Mac’s last visit we hiked all over Samoa. I think I can turn him into an ‘island boy’ without much work.”
“Turn me into an island girl and I will sail away into the sunset. No more politics.” Carol said sitting on the couch. She sat her new Chromebook in her lap and typed in a Congressional search site, ‘Florida election machines and Clean Plastic Bill’.
Chapter 17
In Moscow, money hungry Vladimir (Tarzan) Solonik called Mr. West. Raising his thick eyebrows anticipating approval, Tarzan reported on ‘Project Florida’ and its latest developments. "Our politicians received legislative approval to update Florida’s voting machines. The machines are sitting in a warehouse ready for transport. We're all set to contact the gangster Nickolas Bianca to arrange transportation of the machines to the voting polls.
Mr. West, expecting expediency, coldly said "Good." He knew the machines were already upgraded in China with his specially designed, nano-impregnated, mother boards. The legislative ‘stamp of approval’ was necessary for the Club’s plan to be brought to fruition.
Tarzan began exploring possible problems. "We may have a few problems developing. This Fair and Free group is still snooping around. Our attempts to scare them off have not produced positive results. We’re also intimidating the people from the law firm they hired."
Mr. West heartlessly proclaimed, “We don’t work in shades of gray. Let me stipulate that we're paying you to eliminate problems, period. Do what needs to be done to insure our candidates get elected. Are your people briefed and ready?"
Tarzan assured Mr. West that his number one Brigadier from Brighton Beach was orchestrating the kidnapping and transportation of the voting machines. He assured Mr. West that Hoza Mogilevich had the experience and cunning to pull off their caper. Tarzan concludes his assurances putting Mr. West on the spot. “We need the stickers and transmission codes for your voting machines to produce the desired results. Where are they?”
Mr. West promises Tarzan, "The voting machine stickers and my men are on their way to you. Be assured, they will get to the U.S. Then it’s up to you to protect my guys in Florida. “All your people have to do is get them access to the machines in transit. My men will activate them by peeling off their clear film strip covering. Once the film strip is removed, the nano-particles reorganize to await instructions. Do you understand?”
Tarzan had no idea how nano-particles worked but visions of his $100M payoff danced in his imagination. He vigorously asserted to Mr. West that he was in complete control of the situation. “I am supervising this operation myself. I plan to carry the stickers in a diplomatic pouch and deliver them myself. This will get done as planned.”
Mr. West concludes, “Your continued usefulness to the Club depends on ‘Florida’s’ progress and success. Do your job. I expect positive results when you next report."
Tarzan finishes his Club call. He leans his cushy desk chair back staring out the window. He removes the thick reading glasses from his bulbous nose to more clearly see the muddy brown Moskva River streaming along side his office.
He likened himself to this turbulent, mercilessness river finding its way to the sea. His past determination was matched only by his ruthlessness. As a young man, Tarzan multiplied his father’s stake in the post-WWII black market. His investments exploited the Russian government’s instability. His compounding wealth plus his hardnosed gangland prominence steered him into Moscow’s ‘Pakhan’ or top mob boss position.
In Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, Tarzan’s captain, Tariel (Hoza) Mogilevich was talking with one of the Atlanta kidnappers, the skinny man. The skinny man reported that they had captured Dominica’s cousin Annie. They had both women secured and quiet.
He explained that they were an hour from the designated holding house at St. Simons Island, Georgia. Hoza sees a call coming in on his other satellite phone. Hoza ends their call by telling the skinny man to continue as planned. “Call me when you get to the house.”
Tariel (Hoza) Mogilevich the ‘Brigadier’ ends one call to answer the call from his Moscow boss. Hoza anxiously answered, "da." Tarzan barks back, "Give me a status report."
Hoza anticipated telling his boss of their successes to date. "We have the girl and her cousin for insurance. We're ready to make contact."
Tarzan confirms, "Continuing moving forward with Project Florida. I will be traveling to New York soon. I will give you instructions after I land. I will stay in the city.” Tarzan looked forward to the luxuries America’s decadent life-style afforded. They ended the call satisfied with their progress.
Hoza, an action kind of guy marked with facial scars across his left cheek and chin areas, looked forward to toying with the American mafia boss, Nickolas Bianca. His and Bianca's men constantly wrestled over territory. They currently feuded over Coney Island’s drug concession.
Hoza dialed Nickolas Bianca’s office. Nick was lying on the couch watching TV in his Providence office above his Federal Hill nightclub. He regularly watched replays of the horse races throughout the country. His betting parlors produced a steady cash flow. His hands on management style, led him to meet with his odds makers at the beginning of every week. Nick’s office phone rang, breaking his train of thought.
Hoza’s tone and announcement immediately got Nick’s attention. "We have your daughter. We respect you and your position in the family…..”
Nick, his face flushing red, breaks in. "What respect? Do you respect your mother like this?"
Hoza, keeping his cool said, “We’re not going to get into a pissing contest. We have your daughter. You're never going to see her in one piece again, unless, well, you know the rest. What piece of her do you want us to send you for proof of life?"
Nickolas, taken aback by Hoza’s boldness proclaimed, “Don't forget who you're talking to.” Knowing he could instantly locate Dominica because of her tracker he had implanted for this possible situation, he strained, “What do you want?”
