20:44 (Washington Time)
Sunday, June 26, 1988 ‘C’
Passenger Terminal, Washington International Airport
Forty kilometers west of downtown Washington D.C.
Virginia, U.S.A.
Tony Bocelli smiled on spotting Nick Donatello, who was waiting beside his Cadillac, parked along the access road servicing the airport’s passenger terminal.
‘’Aah, Nick! It is nice to see that you have fully recovered. How are things around Washington?’’
‘’Relatively quiet, Boss. The men did as you told them and made themselves discreet, to give time to the police to hit at those Winter Hill Gang bastards. And how was your vacation in Italy, Boss?’’
‘’Just fine, Nick.’’ lied Tony, who was accompanied by his wife, older son and daughter. While the relaxing activities per say had gone well, his efforts at convincing other Mafia leaders in Italy to support him against the Boston-based, Irish-Italian so-called ‘Winter Hill Gang’ had gone nowhere. The sad truth was that those Italy-based mob bosses were afraid of the highly violent and brutal Boston gang, even though the Winter Hill Gang was attempting to expand their operations and to grab control of the Washington area, where the drug dealing business was bringing in millions of dollars, from the Gambino Family, to whom Tony belonged.
‘’Do you have news about Leonardo, Nick?’’
‘’I do, Boss! He still lives with Misses Dows and successfully completed Fourth-Grade with top notes. He and little Nancy Dows just returned today from a school summer camp trip.’’
‘’Excellent! Well, let’s get going!’’
While Nick loaded the family’s suitcases in the large trunk of the Cadillac, Tony, his wife Maria, son Gino and daughter Livia took place aboard the luxury car. Soon, the big Cadillac rolled away from the airport terminal and headed East on Highway 267 and crossing the Potomac River on the Francis Scott Key Bridge and then heading towards the district of Woodley Park, where the Bocelli residence was located. Tony felt good at seeing again his house, a big mansion surrounded from the other nearby houses by curtains of trees and situated along Woodland Drive Northwest. Driving off the street and on the crescent-shaped driveway of the mansion, Nick stopped his Cadillac in front of the main entrance and was about to step out to take the family’s suitcases out of the trunk when eighteen-year-old Livia suddenly spoke, alarm in her voice.
‘’Hey! Somebody is approaching our car from the rear.’’
Before their driver could react to that, dense gunfire erupted and bullets started hitting the Cadillac, piercing the steel body of the vehicle, shattering the windows and then hitting its occupants. Nick had only time to half-open his door and put his hand around his holstered pistol before being hit in the chest by a .12-gauge shotgun slug that killed him instantly. Both Maria and Livia Bocelli were struck multiple times in the head and upper torso, while Gino Bocelli was peppered by a submachine gun burst. Tony had time to see his family die before he was repeatedly hit by bullets coming from three different directions. There was a short respite in the gunfire as four armed men ran out of the bushes in which they had been hiding and towards the Cadillac before they delivered ultimate coup-de-grâce shots to the heads of each of the Bocelli and of their driver. Their deed now done, the attackers retreated and disappeared as quickly as they had struck.
23:16 (Washington Time)
The Loomis Residence
324 South Grove Street, Aurora Hills
Arlington, Virginia
Greg Loomis, wearing a robe over his pajamas, had just switched off his lounge’s television set after watching the late-night news and was about to go upstairs to go to sleep when his lounge’s telephone rang. The federal chief prosecutor for the Washington D.C. area sighed before walking quickly to his telephone: that had to be a call about work. When such calls came in this late, it generally meant some bad news. Picking up the receiver, he spoke in it at once.
‘’Greg Loomis speaking!’’
‘’Mister Loomis, this is Special Agent Markus, at the FBI watch center. We have a serious situation developing around Washington.’’
‘’Speak!’’ said tersely Greg, steeling himself for anything.
‘’First, Tony Bocelli and his family, who had just arrived back from Italy, were assassinated as they were arriving at their residence in Woodley Park. Tony Bocelli, his wife Maria, son Gino and daughter Livia were all killed by multiple bullets, along with Nick Donatello, Bocelli’s driver and bodyguard. This happened around nine forty this evening. Shortly after that, we started getting reports about more killings, this time of mobsters who were members of the Bocelli Clan. At the latest news, six of Bocelli’s subordinates have been gunned down, some alongside their families. We believe that someone is trying to grab Bocelli’s territory by brute force.’’
‘’Do we have any indication who could be implicated in this?’’
‘’We don’t have anything that could tell us that, sir, but my bet is that the Winter Hill Gang is doing this. The utter brutality and violence are their style and they have been trying for years to take parcels of Bocelli’s territory. Further, the wholesale killing of family members, including children, just doesn’t jive with traditional Italian Mafia ethics. However, the Irish mob never showed such restraint.’’
‘’I would tend to agree with you on that, Special Agent Markus. I… OH SHIT!’’
‘’SIR, ARE YOU OKAY? WHAT IS GOING ON?’’ asked the FBI agent, alarmed by Greg’s sudden exclamation.
‘’Leonardo Bocelli, Tony Bocelli’s younger son: he is presently living next door to me, at the residence of General Ingrid Dows. He may just be next in line on the hit list of those Irish mobsters. The Winter Hill Gang already tried once to kidnap him in order to blackmail Tony Bocelli.’’
‘’I remember that incident, sir. Do you want some of our agents to come and protect the Dows’ house?’’
‘’Yes, and make it quick! I’m going to warn General Dows in person right now. Call again if you get more news or information: I have to run out now.’’
Putting down his telephone receiver, Greg Loomis then grabbed his set of house keys before running out of his house and go next door to Ingrid’s house, where he banged loudly on the door while shouting.
‘’INGRID! INGRID! IT’S ME, GREG LOOMIS! OPEN UP, QUICKLY!’’
Greg nervously looked around behind him to see if any car was approaching along South Grove Street. Thankfully, he saw none. As he banged again on the door, it suddenly opened and he found himself facing a naked Ingrid Dows who was holding a pistol.
‘’What’s happening, Greg?’’
‘’I just got a call from the FBI: Tony Bocelli and his family have been assassinated tonight as they were arriving at their residence, back from a vacation in Italy. The FBI is also getting reports of men from the Bocelli Clan being assassinated around Washington, some alongside their families. Young Leonardo may be in grave danger now.’’
‘’Shit! It must be those damn Irish mobsters from Boston again. Can I expect some police protection to show up soon?’’
‘’Yes! I asked the FBI for such a protective detail for your house. With you being a cabinet-level presidential advisor, I don’t expect the FBI to refuse to send you protection. Uh, by the way, sorry to have awakened you like this.’’
‘’That’s alright, Greg: I always sleep in the buff. Thank you for warning me.’’
‘’Are you going to tell Leonardo about his family, Ingrid?’’
Ingrid had to think for long seconds before answering.
‘’Not now! I will wait until in the morning. For the moment, I will only tell him that the FBI thinks that there is a possible threat against him. You better return to your house now and arm yourself, Greg.’’
‘’I will certainly do that, Ingrid. Be careful!’’ said Greg before running back to his house, where his next action was to go grab his revolver from his bedroom’s night stand.
Closing and locking her front door, Ingrid then climbed the staircase to the upper floor at a run, then entered the bedroom where Nancy and Leonardo were sleeping. She ignored the fact that she found Nancy, naked, nearly sprawled over an equally naked Leonardo, instead closing back the door of the bedroom as quietly as she could and then going to her own bedroom in order to get dressed. As she did so, she tried to figure out which way would be the least brutal one to tell Leonardo about the death of his whole family. Despite long minutes of thinking, she finally concluded that there simply was no gentle way to announce such awful news to a young boy. Lying and trying to hide this to Leonardo would be even worse. Still, she left him sleep for the time being: tomorrow was going to a rough enough day for him. With her decision taken and now fully dressed, she posted herself at a corner of her lounge’s front window, her Glock pistol and two full spare magazines inside a gun belt rig.
Some thirteen minutes later, two black cars stopped in front of her house, disgorging a total of six men in dark suits and hats.
‘’That was fast!’’ said Ingrid to herself. ‘’Maybe too fast.’’
She then concentrated and telepathically probed the thoughts of the men now walking calmly towards her front door. What she sensed made her furious.
‘’The bastards!’’ she spat out before pointing her pistol through the opened lower window section of her lounge and shouting out loud.
‘’STOP AND RAISE YOUR HANDS, ALL OF YOU! I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!’’
The reactions of the men then proved her right: instead of flashing badges and continuing to pretend to be police officers, all six of them pulled out handguns and started pointing them at the lounge’s window. However, Ingrid did not give them the opportunity to fire first and started firing her Glock 41 pistol. Two of the men fell down on the grass or pavement before they fired their first shots, peppering the lounge’s windows and shattering them in hundreds of pieces. Despite the hail of bullets directed at her, Ingrid stood her ground and, using a wall corner as partial protection, kept up her fire, emptying the thirteen .45 caliber rounds in her inserted magazine before stepping back behind the protection of her house’s external wall while hurrying to put in a fresh magazine in her pistol. The two surviving mobsters, one of whom had been wounded to his left arm, used that chance to retreat towards the two parked cars. However, before Ingrid could resume fire, a hail of automatic fire finished shattering what was left of her front windows, while the furniture and artworks in her lounge were chewed up by dozens of bullets: the drivers of the cars, on seeing their comrades fall under fire, had stepped out and were now showering her with submachine gun fire. As soon as the drivers found themselves in need of changing magazines on their weapons, Ingrid took that chance to pop out from behind the wall corner and fired five quick shots, downing the two mobsters trying to retreat to the cars. Ingrid then had to step back again to avoid another burst of automatic fire.
Inside his house, Greg Loomis had stayed up to wait for the promised FBI backup team and had felt relief on seeing the arrival of the two cars. That relief however turned into dismay when he heard Ingrid shout a warning to the six men approaching her house. His dismay turned to confusion, then fury, when he saw the supposed FBI agents pull their guns out instead of showing their badges.
‘’The bastards! They’re mobsters, not FBI agents!’’
Things went very fast from there, with an intense gun battle ensuing between the mobsters and what had to be Ingrid Dows. While Greg was able to see that the attackers were suffering heavy losses at the hand of Ingrid’s expert shooting, the bursts of automatic fire from at least two submachine guns shocked him: from his experience with mobsters, Italian mafiosos would typically withdraw to avoid too heavy casualties. What he was now seeing was more typical of the brutal and extremely violent ways of Irish mobsters. Running to his telephone, he urgently composed the number for the FBI watch center and shouted in the receiver as soon as someone answered the phone.
‘’THIS IS FEDERAL PROSECUTOR GREG LOOMIS, AT 324 SOUTH GROVE IN AURORA HILLS. MOBSTERS ARE ATTACKING GENERAL DOWS’ RESIDENCE RIGHT NOW. TELL YOUR BACKUP TEAM TO HURRY!’’
Some 500 meters away, on Fort Scott Drive, the FBI team of agents sent to protect Ingrid’s house clearly heard the heavy gun battle even before their watch center could advise them by radio. The senior agent, who was leading a team of five male and two female agents, swore to himself.
‘’Fuck! This sounds like war has broken over there. Press on the pedal, Pete!’’
As his driver obeyed him and accelerated to the maximum practicable without causing an accident, the senior agent grabbed the microphone of their car’s radio and nearly shouted in it.
‘’Central, this is Car 23! We are hearing heavy gunfire coming from the direction of General Dows’ residence on South Grove Street. We should be there in less than one minute.’’
Not waiting for a reply, the senior agent took out his standard service handgun, a snub-nosed .38 Special, six-shot revolver, while shouting to his agents in the back seat of the car.
‘’Get ready to jump out of the car as soon as we have stopped. That includes you, Pete: those bastards will probably try to pepper us on arrival. Once stopped, go grab a shotgun out of the trunk and cover us.’’
Some thirty seconds later, thanks to some virtuoso driving by Pete, their car came within sight of the house at 326 South Grove Street and they saw at once the men firing automatic weapons at the house from behind the protection of their two cars. Before the senior agent could give more orders, he and his agents saw two lightning-fast small but very bright blue balls shoot down from an upper floor window of Dows’ house. Those two balls then hit the cars parked in front of the house and exploded into blinding balls which expanded nearly instantly to diameters of about four meters each while producing a sound similar to a lightning strike.
‘’JESUS! WHAT WAS THAT?’’ shouted from the back seat Agent Rhonda Fleming. Then, as soon as the balls had exploded, the firefight stopped. The FBI agents quickly understood why once their cars screeched to a halt near the scene of the fight: the two mobster cars were now little more than burning, partially melted wrecks sitting inside freshly made, fuming craters in the asphalt of the street. As for the mobsters who had been firing from behind the cars, they were now reduced mostly to charcoal-black pieces of human bodies blown away from the car wrecks. Stepping out of their cars and approaching cautiously, the eight FBI could only stare with disbelief at the carnage. Rhonda Fleming then passed a shaking hand on her face.
‘’Dear God! I have never seen anything like this before. What the hell happened?’’
‘’I don’t know, Rhonda, but we will probably know soon.’’ said the team leader. ‘’I see the door of Dows’ house opening. That must be General Dows now coming out. Stay here while I go speak with her.’’
Putting his revolver back in his holster, the senior agent met Ingrid halfway to her house and produced his FBI badge.
‘’Special Agent Michael Murdoch. I was sent with a team of agents to protect your house. Unfortunately, it seems that those mobsters got here before us. Are you and the children in the house alright, General?’’
‘’We are, but I can’t say the same about my poor living room: the inside is now all chewed up by bullets.’’
‘’Can you tell me quickly what exactly happened, General?’’
‘’Of course, Special Agent Murdoch.’’
Ingrid then spent about a minute to describe what had happened after Greg Loomis had come to warn her. The latter was in fact arriving at a walk, still dressed in his robe and pajamas, as Ingrid was finishing her description. However, Murdoch still had one question for her, which he asked cautiously.
‘’General Dows, could you tell me what were those two bright balls which vaporized those cars and the mobsters?’’
‘’I certainly can, mister: my daughter Nancy threw them from her upper floor window when she saw that I was being heavily outgunned.’’
‘’Pardon me?’’ could only say Murdoch, stunned. In response, Ingrid looked up at an upper floor window of her house and shouted out loud.
‘’NANCY, COULD YOU COME DOWN HERE, PLEASE. IT IS NOW SAFE TO DO SO.’’
‘’Uh, are you talking about some kind of secret military weapon, General?’’
‘’No, I am talking about my five-year-old daughter Nancy: she is the weapon.’’
Michael Murdoch suddenly started sweating on hearing that and had to wipe his forehead dry. A moment later, a very cute and also very naked little girl came out of the house and joined up with Ingrid, Loomis and Murdoch, then looked up at her mother.
‘’You needed me, Mommy?’’
‘’Yes, sweety, although you have already proven quite useful tonight. Could you show to Special Agent Murdock how you produce an energy ball?’’
‘’Yes, Mommy!’’ the little girl said before raising her right hand level and palm upward. Then, a small, crackling ball of intense blue light appeared in the palm of her hand, making both Loomis and Murdoch step back in alarm.
‘’Don’t worry about it, mister.’’ she said in her small voice. ‘’I have control of it and can also make it disappear, like now.’’
The blue ball then effectively disappeared, leaving Murdoch unsteady on his feet.
‘’Je..Jesus! How can you do that, girl?’’
‘’Easy, mister: I am half angel.’’ replied Nancy in a most innocent voice. ‘’If more bad men come, then I will vaporize them too.’’
‘’Damn! I still can’t believe this!’’
‘’You better be, mister: at school they call me ‘Supergirl’.’’
00:12 (Washington Time)
Monday, June 27, 1988 ‘C’
Ingrid’s private study
With her house and front lawn now swarming with FBI crime scene specialists and armed agents and having answered all their questions, Ingrid took the time to bring Leonardo and Nancy inside her upper floor private study, closing the door behind them. She then sat with them on a sofa and looked down somberly at the ten-year-old boy.
‘’Leonardo, I suppose that what just happened must have told you that something was wrong, right?’’
The boy nodded once his head in acknowledgement, so Ingrid took a deep breath and spoke gently to him.
‘’Leo, we were not the only ones those bad men and others like them wanted to kill. What they were trying to do was to take over the businesses of your father. I didn’t know either about it before our neighbor warned me, but your family returned yesterday evening from Italy. Unfortunately, enemies of your father were waiting for him at his home. They killed your father, mother, brother and sister, plus Nick Donatello. I am sorry, Leonardo.’’
It took a moment to the boy for reality to hit him fully. Then he broke down and started crying, prompting both Ingrid and Nancy to hug him in an effort to comfort him. Ingrid let the boy cry himself dry and also let him speak first.
‘’What am I going to do now, Ingrid? I have no parents and no family left.’’
‘’Do you have uncles or aunts, grand-parents who would still be alive?’’
Leonardo shook his head vehemently in response.
‘’My grand-parents are old and sick and live in Italy. I had two uncles, both of whom were mobsters like my father. One was killed years ago in a gang dispute. The other is in jail for life for murder. Even if they were still around, I would refuse to live with them: this Mafia business ruined everything in my life, apart from bringing dishonor to my family. I truly loved my father, but not how he made his money. I never want to deal with crime again, ever!’’
‘’Still, you will need someone to support and help you grow, Leonardo.’’
The boy then looked up at her with imploring eyes full of tears.
‘’Ingrid, I want to stay with you and Nancy. You are the best thing I have known for years. Will you be my new mother?’’
‘’Please, Mommy! Say yes!’’ exclaimed Nancy at once. Ingrid then felt a big ball form in her throat.
‘’Leonardo, know that I very much want to say ‘yes’ to you. However, adopting you may not be that easy. If any relative still alive claims the right to become your tutor, or if your father entered a request about you in his last will, then this could end up in a long, complicated legal fight.’’
‘’Can’t I choose myself with whom I want to live?’’ replied Leonardo, becoming angry, but not directly at Ingrid. The latter sighed in response.
‘’The problem is that you are still a minor, Leonardo. What you want could have little weight indeed against the terms of a signed last will. However, I promise you that I will do everything to make your wish become reality. Now, I believe that you and Nancy better go back to bed: the coming day may be a long and rough one.’’
10:17 (Washington Time)
Front porch of Ingrid’s house
‘’I will start my evaluation of the damages right away, Misses Dows. Be assured that my insurance company will treat your claim most favorably.’’
‘’Thank you very much, Mister Mayweather. Unfortunately, you may find that all those bullets went deep into my interior walls, apart from making most of my lounge furniture good only for the scrap heap.’’
‘’I was able to see that right away, Misses Dows, but I promise you that we will process your damage claim as expeditiously as possible.’’
‘’Thank you again, Mister Mayweather.’’
Letting the insurance evaluator start his job in earnest, Ingrid looked with sadness at the front of her house: all the windows of the ground floor and much of the wooden elements of the façade were going to have to be replaced. The same went for the interior partition walls, where bullets had ricocheted around and through the dry plaster panels, cutting or damaging many electrical wires in the process. The noise of approaching rotors overhead then made her look up with frustration: an army of reporters had descended on her neighborhood in the morning, while quite a few helicopters carrying television camera crews or photographers had buzzed her house, taking pictures of what had become a battleground. Only a strong police presence at kept those reporters at bay, forcing them to film from a distance. Her frustration then turned to surprise at the sight of the mate black Hiller AIRCAR now on approach to land in the street in front of her house.
‘’President Bush? Here?’’
Ever since Ingrid had given him a joy ride in her new aircar, President Bush had pestered his staff to get at least one such aircar for the presidential fleet, with the Air Force ending up buying a dozen machines to serve the needs of White House staffers and cabinet members, on top of those of the President. Those aircars had then proved extremely popular, greatly cutting the commuting time and travel costs over short and medium distances. Now, if the President decided to, say, go to New York to attend a meeting at the United Nations, he could then jump in his aircar, which he always insisted in piloting himself, along with up to five bodyguards and aides, with the rest of his party taking place in one or more other aircars. Flying straight out from the White House Grounds, with no need to order one of the big helicopters of the presidential fleet and thus to wait for its arrival from Andrews Air Force Base, he could then go to New York and land directly in front of the United States Building, and this in less than half an hour after taking the decision to leave the White House. If he needed to go see someone in another part of the city afterwards, he only had to jump back in his aircar instead of having to get a convoy of limousines. His personal example had in turn made about every high-level politician, big company C.E.O. and millionaire want to get their own private aircars. As a result, Stanley Hiller’s problem now was to be able to satisfy all the orders he now had in his books.
The presidential aircar, closely followed by a second White House aircar, soon landed in the part of the street cordoned off by the police, filmed and photographed by the reporters standing behind the police cordon. By the time President Bush came out of his aircar with four Secret Service bodyguards and with Attorney General Richard Thornburg, Ingrid was able to go get Nancy and Leonardo, so that they could all be together to greet the President. President Bush grinned when little Nancy gave him a military salute while flashing a big grin. He playfully returned her salute, then crouched in front of her.
‘’You must be Nancy, right?’’
‘’Yes, Mister President! It was really nice to come and visit us.’’
‘’The pleasure is mine, Nancy. I am told that you are a real hero.’’
‘’Not as much as Mommy, Mister President.’’
Bush smiled at that, then straightened up and shook hands with Ingrid, his expression now sober.
‘’Are you okay, Ingrid?’’
‘’Yes, Mister President! I was not hurt and neither were Nancy or Leonardo. However, my house took quite a beating during that firefight.’’
Bush glanced at Ingrid’s house, with its shattered windows and walls pockmarked by bullets, then looked down at Leonardo, who was standing next to Ingrid.
‘’So, all this basically happened because the Irish mob wanted to kill this boy, on top of having already killed the rest of his family?’’
‘’That’s correct, Mister President. I am afraid that they may try again in the future, unless we drastically work to eliminate that threat for good.’’
‘’I would tend to agree with you on that, Ingrid. Those mobsters went way too far and they must pay the price for it.’’
Bush then turned to speak with his attorney general.
‘’Dick, I want the FBI and all the other law enforcement resources under your control to hammer at those mobsters on a top priority basis. Let’s arrest them and stop their activities, at once! And forget legal niceties and pussyfooting: get them arrested and investigated, even if we don’t have solid proofs against them. I am tired of seeing these bastards evade justice thanks to their high-priced lawyers. I am in fact in mind of possibly declaring those mobsters as being a clear and present danger to the United States, if this will give more tools for the FBI to work with. This cancer has been eating at our country for far too long.’’
‘’Understood, Mister President! I will get the U.S. Marshalls Service to help the FBI in executing search and seizure warrants and track suspects. We could also have the IRS{13} do full audits of their supposedly legitimate businesses.’’
Bush nodded approvingly at that, then got close to Thornburg and whispered another order to him.
‘’I understand that the leader of this Irish mob gang fled to the Grand Cayman Islands, where we can’t legally touch him. Well, I am now declaring him to be a clear and present danger to the United States. I thus want the CIA to get rid of him…anonymously.’’
‘’I will pass the word to Director Webster, Mister President.’’
Bush then returned his attention to Ingrid.
‘’Ingrid, I understand that you may be busy properly taking care and protecting those two children in the next few days, time for us to eradicate these rats. Feel free to take a few weeks of leave from your job at the White House.’’
Ingrid, who had ample time during the night to think about what she would do next to protect and support Leonardo and to manage the increasingly complicated job of managing Nancy’s growing process, took a deep breath before replying to Bush in a polite, respectful tone.
‘’Mister President, it pains me to tell you this, but the events of this night confirmed to me that I must concentrate all of my abilities and time into protecting, supporting and raising both Nancy and Leonardo. Leonardo is now an orphan at age ten and wants to stay away from anything touching the Mafia or organized crime. He asked me to be his tutor and I intend to officially adopt him as soon as possible, to avoid some distant relative with connections to the Mafia to claim guardianship over him. I don’t know if his father left a last will or what could be written in it concerning Leonardo, but I would appreciate the support of the Department of Justice in this adoption request. Also, concerning my daughter Nancy, now that her powers have become public knowledge, I will have to manage very closely her education while protecting her