The Swamp: An Organized Crime Thriller (A Levi Yoder Novel Book 4) Read online

  THE SWAMP

  A Levi Yoder Thriller

  M.A. ROTHMAN

  Primordial Press

  Copyright © 2019 Michael A. Rothman

  Cover Art by M.S. Corley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  ALSO BY M.A. ROTHMAN

  Technothrillers: (Thrillers with science / Hard-Science Fiction)

  • Primordial Threat

  • Freedom’s Last Gasp

  • Darwin’s Cipher

  • Multiverse

  Levi Yoder Thrillers:

  • Perimeter

  • The Inside Man

  • Never Again

  • The Swamp

  LitRPG:

  • The Plainswalker

  • Sage’s Tower

  YA Fantasy:

  • Agent of Prophecy

  • Heirs of Prophecy

  • Tools of Prophecy

  • Lords of Prophecy

  “The Social Responsibility of Business is to Increase its Profits”

  —Milton Friedman 1970

  “Greed, for lack of a better word, is good. Greed is right. Greed works.”

  —Gordon Gecko 1987

  “If the [Ukrainian] prosecutor isn’t fired, you’re not getting the money.”

  —Joe Biden 2018

  CONTENTS

  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

  Author’s Note

  Preview – Darwin’s Cipher

  Addendum

  About the Author

  This page left purposefully blank.

  CHAPTER ONE

  With his heart beating through his chest, John pulled the minivan into the parking spot nearest to the third-base line of Simpson Field. It was early morning and the dew still glistened on the grass. He had a clear view of the congressional baseball practice, and they’d already fielded the players.

  In his rearview mirror, he saw someone approaching on the driver’s side. The man rapped his knuckles on the window and motioned for him to lower the window.

  John glanced at the badge clipped to the man’s belt and complied. “Yes?”

  The man leaned down, his eyes quickly roaming across the interior of the late-model Toyota minivan before settling on the driver. “Sir, I’m Agent Sanchez from the Capitol Police. We have some congressmen practicing on the field today, so if you want to watch them that is certainly within your rights, but you and your vehicle will need to be searched ahead of time.”

  John was twenty, and he looked like an innocent white kid from the upper-middle class—but he didn’t trust the cops. He tried to keep his voice steady as he turned off the car and unbuckled his seatbelt.

  “Is there a problem? I used to come here with my brother and we didn’t have to be searched.” He unlocked the doors and stepped out of the minivan as another agent appeared at the passenger-side window. John looked over his shoulder at the other agent. “The door’s unlocked. I have nothing to hide.”

  Sanchez motioned for John to lift his arms. “We had an update to our security policy after the congressman was shot in 2017. Arms out to the side.”

  After a quick but thorough pat-down, Sanchez looked over to his partner, who tossed him a thumbs-up as he slid the minivan’s door closed.

  “Okay, sir, you’re good to go. Enjoy the practice.”

  John smiled as he walked past the bleachers and pulled out a newspaper clipping from the New York Times. He looked back and forth from the article to the players on the field. At least one of the men—no, two from the article were on the field. One red-headed and fifty-something, the other with a drooping left eyelid. There were probably more, but he’d have to get closer to get a better look.

  No way was he going to risk it.

  Besides, he didn’t need a closer look. These men were all traitors to the country his father had fought and died for in Afghanistan. These congressmen were living large on the taxpayers’ dime. They were liars and cheats, all of them.

  He gave his surroundings a quick scan and saw that the cops were clustered around the press box and the dugout, just as he’d expected. They were out of his way for now.

  Stuffing the article back in his pocket, John walked over to some shade trees just out of sight of the field. At the base of an oak tree he found the little patch of dirt he was looking for. He took another quick look around, then used his hands to move the loose dirt until he uncovered the item he’d buried here two days ago.

  He pulled the ammo box out of the ground, flipped open the latches, lifted the lid, and smiled.

  Inside were an old Smith & Wesson revolver and a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun. Both had once belonged to John’s father.

  He slipped the revolver into his waistband, then slammed the filled magazine into the MP5, pulled back on the gun’s charging handle like he’d seen his dad do countless times, and chambered the first round.

  As he flipped the fire select to “auto,” he recalled the details of the New York Times article, and his face burned with anger. The headline had read: “The Citizens of the World Are One Day Going to Feel the Effects of Today’s Vote in DC.” The article had gone on to identify the traitors who’d crossed party lines to join the opposition.

  John muttered under his breath, “Some citizens will feel those effects today.”

  Slinging the MP5’s carrying strap over his shoulder, John tucked it under his windbreaker and strolled toward the field.

  The game was in session. A pitch was thrown, and the batter at the plate made contact with a resounding whap. As the ball sailed into the outfield, heads turned to follow it.

  With the loud thudding of his heartbeat drowning out all the other noises on the field, John pulled out the submachine gun, lined up his first shot, and pulled the trigger.

  Sitting on a park bench on the north side of Lincoln Park, Levi Yoder waited for his contact to arrive. It was the middle of a bright and sunny day in DC, and though the risks of COVID infections were almost nonexistent in the open air, most people wandered through the park wearing their face masks. It was a strange time he was living in, one where politics and science were often confused.

  Levi hadn’t had so much as a cough since beating cancer a few years back, but he too wore a mask. Not because he thought it would do him any good, but because if he didn’t, he’d stand out—and that was the last thing he wanted.

  As one of the only made members of the Italian mafia who wasn’t actually Italian, Levi had long ago embraced a life of obscurity and shadow. But today he wasn’t doing anything for the Bianchi family. In fact, if Don Marino knew what he was doing… well, there’d be a lot of uncomfortable questions.

  His phone vibrated and he tapped the Bluetooth receiver on his ear. “What’s up?”

  “Levi, it’s Brice. I’m calling to give you a heads-up that the FBI’s gunshot monitors just triggered an alert in your area.”

  Levi pressed his lips into a thin line. “I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Shots were fired just across the river from you, around two miles from your current location. The computers say it was automatic weapons fire. I don’t have any police scanner traffic yet, but the Capitol police are going to lose their minds over this. Don’t be surprised if all public venues around DC get slammed shut in the next fifteen minutes.”

  “Does this change my plans?”

  “No, that’s still on. Just wanted you to know that there’s some stuff going down nearby and you might see a surge of activity in the area.”

  “Roger that.”

  Levi hung up and sat back against the park bench with his senses on high alert.

  Brice was the chief tech guy for a place called the Outfit, a part of the government nobody ever talked about. The Outfit was also his second “employer”—in a weird sense of the word. He didn’t exactly pull a regular paycheck from them, but occasionally they had things they needed done that required Levi’s more unconventional skills and resources.

  Today was exactly such a day.

  He glanced at his watch and frowned. It was two minutes past the scheduled meeting time, and that told him a lot about the person the Outfit had sent him to meet up with.

  In the society of which Levi was a member, you were never late to a meeting without having a really good reason. And if you were late to a meeting with someone of a higher rank, that was equivalent to a slap in the face. People had gotten whacked for less.

  But this wasn’t some mafia capo he was meeting with, or even a business acquaintance. This was a DC stooge of some kind, and like most federal government workers, they always thought they were the most important people in the universe.

  His phone vibrated again. “Yup?” he answered.

  “Walking toward the
statue of Mary Bethune and the two kids.” The man’s nasal voice reminded Levi of Paul Lynde, the voice of Templeton the rat from the Charlotte’s Web cartoon—and perhaps a bigger star from game shows in the seventies.

  “You’re late.”

  “I know, sorry. I just got—”

  “I’m sitting on the northernmost bench.”

  Levi hung up and scanned the park for his contact. In the distance he heard multiple sirens.

  A minute later he saw a thin man dressed in a dark suit fast-walking in his direction. The man was in his forties, and the suit lay well on him—it was tailored and likely above the price point of the typical government worker.

  The two men’s eyes met, and the contact gave Levi a nod as he approached.

  He sat on the other side of the park bench, then turned to Levi and said with a grin, “What’s your favorite way to hide a corpse?”

  “Medium rare, slathered with garlic butter and paired with a nice Chianti.” Levi glared at the man. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  The man shrugged, thrust his chin forward, and looked down his nose at the mafioso. “I was just trying to break the ice. I know who you are, Mr. Yoder. I also know about your connections to New York and the other families on the East Coast. You’ve acted as a CI in the past, and I’m glad to hear that you’re willing to help us out again.”

  It took everything Levi had not to throttle the man sitting just outside arm’s reach. The only law enforcement he’d ever worked with in DC had been the FBI, and at no point had he ever been an informer. “I don’t know what kind of stuff you think you know about me, but if you’re implying that I’ve been a confidential informer for you or anyone in the past, you’re sadly mistaken, Mister…”

  “Smith. Just call me Agent Smith.”

  “Okay, Smitty. What is it you want?”

  The agent frowned. “I’d assume your person would have told you what I’m here for. Do you have it?”

  Levi sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know what kind of training they’re giving you people in the FBI Academy, but this isn’t how it works. You’re the one looking for a favor.” He leaned forward and growled, “What the hell is it you want from me?”

  Smith’s eyes widened slightly, but otherwise he kept a calm demeanor. “I was told you have some photos for me.”

  “Very good, Smitty.” Levi gave the man an icy stare. “Now tell me what kind of photos you think I have. You want the naked ones of you with your neighbor’s daughter?”

  “What?” The agent shook his head and snorted derisively. “I don’t even know who my neighbors are much less whether or not they have kids. I was told that there’s compromising photos of a certain congressman’s wife.”

  “And why would you want such a thing?”

  The agent lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “I can bring the full force of the FBI to bear if need be. I don’t need to explain why.”

  “Baloney. I don’t care who you think you are, you don’t have the authority to do jack.”

  Levi wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the man’s hollow threat. He couldn’t imagine why the Outfit had okayed giving this pompous ass anything. But in the end, he had to trust their intel on the matter.

  He pulled an envelope from a pocket on the inside of his suit jacket and handed it over. “There you go, Agent Smitty. Is that what you wanted?”

  The agent peered into the envelope and pulled out a set of polaroids. As he flipped through them, a smile grew on his face. Levi couldn’t fathom what might be so entertaining to an FBI agent about pictures of some woman snorting white powder.

  Smitty put the pictures away and got up from the bench. “Thank you, Mr. Yoder. You’ve done a great service for your country.” Then he turned and walked back the way he came.

  Levi’s phone vibrated, and he tapped his earpiece. It was Brice.

  “I’ve been watching through one of the park’s security feeds. You’re all done?”

  “That guy is lucky I didn’t kneecap him, but yeah, he’s got the photos. Was there something else before I head back to New York?”

  “Yup, Mason wants to see you. Now. If you can head over to Georgetown, I’ll meet you at a bar called the Rooster and Bull. I just texted you the address.”

  Levi shook his head as he got up and walked back to his rental. “I wouldn’t have thought you to be the bar type, Brice. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. What’s this about?”

  “Honestly? I have no idea. All I was told was that Mason wanted to meet with you today. Management, like God, works in mysterious ways. They don’t always share their agendas.”

  “Well, whatever Mason has planned, I’m going back to New York tonight. I’ve got an appointment that I’m not going to miss. You tell him that.”

  “Roger that, Levi. I’ll let him know.”

  There were cops everywhere along the route from Lincoln Park through the National Mall and past Foggy Bottom on the way to old Georgetown, where Levi was to meet Brice and Mason. Whatever the shooting was that Brice had told him about, it hadn’t hit the airwaves yet, but Levi sensed the tension in the air as he drove through the heart of the country’s capital. There were at least twice as many cop cars on the road as normal, and in Georgetown he spotted a pair of flatfoots walking the beat every other block. Something had definitely stirred up the hornets’ nest.

  Levi pulled into an open spot on the side of the road, hopped out, and put coins in the meter. As he did so, he caught the eye of an old man in dirty threadbare clothing staring at him from across the street.

  “Do you have any food I can have?” the old man yelled.

  Levi shook his head and walked south on 31st Street until he spotted what he was looking for: a faded sign featuring a profile of a rooster on the left, the head of a longhorn bull on the right. He opened the door beneath the sign, and the smells of stale beer and wood polish wafted from within.

  The place was like any other dive bar. Dimly lit, a few tables and booths, a gray-haired man behind the counter toweling a glass dry. It was obviously a slow time of the day, as there was nobody else in this place but one pudgy man at the bar. The man Levi had come to see.

  Brice stood and held out his hand, gripping the edge of a coin between his thumb and index finger. It was a challenge coin. Such coins were popular in the military, usually to signify that the person holding the coin was a member of a particular group or campaign. This one was a bit different. It served the same purpose, but mere possession of such a coin wasn’t all that was required to be identified as a member of the Outfit.

  Levi gripped the other side of the coin. For a moment, nothing happened. But after a second or two, the coin grew warmer. The coin featured a pyramid, much like the one on the back of the one-dollar bill, and when the eye in the pyramid began glowing—signifying that both holders of the coin had passed a biometric identification—Brice pocketed the coin and motioned toward the unoccupied stool next to him.

  “Mason should be here any moment.” He waved to the barkeep. “Get my friend a…” He glanced at Levi. “If memory serves me right, you’re a teetotaler, aren’t you?”

  Levi looked up at the grizzled barkeep. “A seltzer would be great.”

  The barkeep placed a glass of sparkling water on the bar, and as Levi pulled out his wallet, the old man waved it off. “The drinks are covered. Your money’s no good here.”

  Mason arrived a minute later, coming through a door at the back. “Levi!” he said as he approached with his hand extended. They shook hands vigorously, and the shorter man grinned mischievously. “I’ve been waiting for this day for quite a while.”