Free The Insiders by Craig Hickman Page B

also avert any negative press that might compromise liquidation of Charles’ other assets.
    When the traffic light changed, Daniel and Cheryl began crossing Boylston Street. They walked past the center island, commenting on the beautiful budding elms and maples that lined the edge of the Public Garden.
    Suddenly, without warning, a car swerved out from behind a lane of stopped traffic, crashed through a street construction fence, and headed directly for them at high speed. As soon as the two attorneys grasped the horrifying reality that the car was targeting them, they changed directions and began to run, but it was too late. The car struck them in the crosswalk before crashing into the back of a parked delivery van and exploding into flames. Their bodies were crushed instantly, hurled from hood to windshield and into the air. Cheryl’s body hit the asphalt like a ragdoll, twisting and rolling for fifty feet until it came to a stop beneath a parked car. Daniel’s was thrown against the back of a parked SUV, shattering the vehicle’s windows before dropping lifelessly to the street. Both of them had died instantly.
    Later that evening, The Boston Globe posted a preliminary online report of a fatal Back Bay accident:
Boston Globe City & Region Desk
    By S USAN K ITE .
    A car racing at high speed hit two pedestrians in Boston’s Back Bay earlier this evening. The car swerved from behind a lane of stopped traffic and struck attorneys Daniel Redd of Boston and Cheryl O’Grady of New York City, who were walking in the crosswalk at Boylston and Arlington. Both were killed instantly. The car continued through the intersection and crashed into a parked delivery truck before exploding into flames. Remains of the driver have not yet been identified.
    Even though the publicly reported details were sketchy, it was sufficient confirmation for Marco. No one had seen or heard anything unusual. It was a clean remote hit. The remains of the driver would soon be identified as a drunken street bum who’d gotten behind the wheel of a stolen car. The remote control equipment inside the car had exploded into a million indiscernible pieces, a method he’d employed for a dozen other hits. Marco’s two million dollar fee, with another million for no loose ends, would be wired to his Nevis account within twenty-four hours, as promised. Doing business with Tate was truly a pleasure.

11
    Wilson – Cambridge, MA
    Wilson lay sprawled across the overstuffed chair and ottoman in the belfry library of the Fielder family home in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The two-story library had always been Wilson’s lair. His father turned the circular belfry into a cozy library lined with maple bookshelves when Wilson was eight. The large oculus window provided a lookout to the outside world and a beautiful view of Cambridge Common and Harvard Square. Growing up, he and his friends had used the library and its large round window as an imaginary battle station with a strategic lookout. That’s when he started calling the Fielder family home Brattle House. When he’d gotten older, the library became another place to have long intimate conversations with his father.
    Last night, after spending several hours researching the latest surveillance and counter-surveillance practices online, Wilson had fallen asleep in his favorite overstuffed chair. His sister Rachel woke him with a violent shake. “Wilson. Wilson. Wake up. Daniel Redd was killed last night.”
    Wilson cracked opened his eyes gummed up from sleep, struggling to bring them into focus. Rachel’s face was distorted. She looked horrified. “What?” he said, as her words began to sink in.
    “Last night, just before eleven o’clock, Daniel and another attorney were hit by a drunk driver on Boylston.”
    “Where’s the driver?”
    “Dead. The car struck a truck and exploded.”
    Still dumbstruck, Wilson grabbed the morning edition of The Boston Globe from Rachel’s hands.
Daniel Redd of Boston and