Miami Massacre Read Online Free PDF Page A

any way we can bring 'im in. I ain't guaranteeing no condition on delivery."
    The other members of the Arizona delegation were scrambling into a line of cars to the rear. As the small caravan eased out of the terminal area, Balderone stepped quickly into the shadows of the terminal and whistled softly. A man in an airline uniform moved out to join him. Balderone breathed a relieved sigh and said, "Okay, we got Mr. Tough out of the way, now let's get set. You got your boy up in the tower?"
    The uniformed man nodded and tapped finger on a small device at his ear. "He's up and I'm tuned in," he reported.
    "Okay, that's great." The thickset Mafia veteran withdrew a small transistorized two-way radio from his pocket. He grinned, extended the antenna, and said, "To hell with that guy. We got instincts and
more.
We got a sure thing, ain't that right."
    His companion smiled back. "Yes, sir, I'd say so. That Cessna business jet out of Phoenix looks like the real article. According to his flight plan, he'll arrive just before dawn."
    Balderone soberly nodded his head. "Okay, you take your station now. I'll be up on the observation deck. You give us a quick make on every plane landing. Don't you try to decide which ones are important. You let me decide."'
    "Sure, Mr. Balderone."
    "Tell your boy upstairs the same thing. I ain't paying no five thou for decisions, I'm paying for solid info and I don't wanna see nothing dropped."
    "Sure thing. Uh, I hope you have some men at the flying service, sir. That's where these private charter jobs tie up."
    "Listen I even got boys on the damn gas trucks, don't you worry about that. You just keep . . ." His words trailed off as he turned an expectant gaze toward the awkward approach of two men burdened with equipment cases and other paraphernalia — apparently photographic equipment. "You got all the stuff?" he asked.
    One of the new arrivals grinned and extended an oblong leather case. "If you mean this, yeah. It will drop a charging rhino, and you can see the man on the moon's pimples through that scope."
    Balderone smiled and patted the case, then slung it over his shoulder. "I'll carry the tripod, too," he offered. "You boys ain't never gonna make it to the roof with all this. Hey, don't forget my press card."
    The man in the airline uniform was exhibiting a troubled frown. "You aren't, uh, planning on doing any shooting from up there, are you?"
    "Naw, we're not planning," Balderone replied. "This's just our little handy dandy screen patcher, just in case a hole develops. Instant reweaving, see, right on the spot." He chuckled and walked away, the other two men following closely. The Miami screen was about to be lowered firmly into place.

Chapter Three
The soft sweep
    The gray November dawn at Miami International revealed a scene of relative inactivity. Several airliners were loading, sleepy-eyed passengers moving quietly and unhurriedly along the ramps and into the planes. A small Caribe Airlines arrival was unloading in the customs area. An Eastern Airlines flight had just completed its landing roll and was turning onto a taxiway. At the far end of the airport, the low-slung building and hangars of the private flying service were just as quiet, with very little sign of activity.
    Inside the terminal, 50 to 60 between-flight travelers slumped tiredly in lounge chairs or wandered restlessly about the quietened building; a lively breakfast trade in the restaurant provided the only signs of bustling activity, and even here the sounds were subdued and in keeping with the solemnity of sunrise.
    On a parapet above the observation deck, outside the main terminal, two men continued a quiet vigil — surrounded by an impressive array of photographic equipment. Below them, leaning against the deck railing, a large man in a baby blue suit was peering onto the field through powerful binoculars. He lowered the glasses, allowing them to swing from a strap about his neck, and spoke into a small radio. "How