Alphonso wasn't nicknamed Rail because of some unique method of execution he'd developed for the Viaselli crime Family. No matter how much he ate he stayed skinny as a rail. One of his less creative companions had mentioned this when they were teenagers. The name had stuck.
Next to Rail stood Lou "Fatso" Fettuci, who was as fat as Alphonso was skinny. Down the line was five-foot-tall Anthony "Tiny Tony" Meloni. The rest of the men seemed pretty average compared to these three.
Mr. Winch personally greeted all of them. With him was that freaky little kid with the weird blue eyes. Winch blabbed on and on about loyalty and discipline. How he was going to teach them to be better soldiers for their Don. At first it all sounded like some sort of orientation for freshman killers.
At the beginning of his conditioning, Alphonso thought Mr. Winch was nuts. He decided to just go along to get along. Humor the Chinaman who was so stupid he actually thought he could teach a goodfella something about loyalty.
The sessions wound up being more intense than Alphonso had bargained on. They went on for hours. In small, dark rooms. Isolated from the rest. With little sleep or food.
In the end Mr. Winch managed to show something new to Alphanso about loyalty after all. Alphonso's lifelong loyalty to Don Carmine Viaselli had crumbled like the walls of Jericho. The same was true for the others. Their greatest desire was to serve the will of their new master.
Alphonso was crestfallen when Mr. Winch selected Fatso Fettuci and a few others to go off on the first mission. It had something to do with delivering a message at a junkyard in Jersey. Alphonso Ravello had wanted to be first. He wanted desperately to prove his worth to Mr. Winch.
Deep disappointment turned to hope the moment he was summoned to the McNulty Funeral Home in Enfield, Connecticut.
Rail parked down the street. As he approached, he saw that the entire building was bathed in darkness. He crept around back just as he had been instructed. Mr. Winch met him at the back door.
The Korean was alone. It seemed strange. It was the first time since Alphonso had first met the Oriental that the blond-haired kid wasn't with him.
Inside, the cool air held that strange funeral-parlor mix of flowers and embalming fluids. In hushed tones in the darkened back hallway of that small Connecticut funeral home, Mr. Winch gave Alphonso "Rail" Ravello his destiny.
Alphonso couldn't have been more proud when Mr. Winch selected him for the special assignment. Unlike Fatso, who was a mere messenger, Rail was going to go down in history.
"Booth, Oswald, Ray," Mr. Winch had said. "Why are their names different from your name? What makes people remember them, while you will die forgotten?"
"They're famous," Alphonso replied.
"They are not famous, they are infamous. Infamy is a coveted thing. Composers and playwrights work a lifetime at their craft to become famous enough to be remembered. Most never achieve that level of success. They die forgotten. But a single moment, one small act of infamy, properly directed, and an otherwise ordinary man becomes a legend that none will ever forget. Just ask Brutus."
This was the only thing Ravello didn't understand. What did the fat guy from Popeye have to do with whacking someone?
Mr. Winch brought Rail into the viewing room. An ornate mahogany coffin with gold handles was nearly engulfed by expensive bouquets of flowers. Both gleaming lids were up. Alphonso saw that the silklined box was empty.
Mr. Winch noted the confused look on Alphonso's face.
"I have taken care of the previous occupant," the Oriental had said. "Get in."
At first Alphonso didn't quite know what he meant. But when Mr. Winch explained just exactly what was expected of him, a sense of calm confidence descended on Rail Ravello.
"I can do this thing," Alphonso said as he climbed inside the box. His long legs made it a tight fit.
"Of course you can," Mr. Winch replied. He passed several items to the skinny man. Everything he would need.
"I can do anything," Alphonso insisted as he tucked the items alongside his thin frame.
"Anything I tell you," Mr. Winch cautioned as he closed the lid and sealed it tight.
Catches inside could be sprung when the time came.
Eight months ago Alphonso might have been afraid of being sealed inside a box like this. But somehow his mind was different now. Those talks with Mr. Winch had done it. When Mr. Winch talked, he made things like this make sense. Even the constant ticking in his ear didn't bother him.
And so Alphonso "Rail" Ravello stayed in the coffin. He didn't make a sound at midnight when the uniformed men came to collect it. He remained silent in the car to the airport, where he was loaded onto an Army transport. He didn't say a word when the plane landed and the coffin was taken off and brought to another waiting car.
It was daylight now.
Alphonso was hot in the box. He pulled the air down deep into the pit of his stomach, just as Mr. Winch had taught him. The breathing helped him retain his calm for the drive in the hearse from the airport.
There wasn't a problem that anyone was going to look inside. As long as he didn't make noise and kept from moving, Alphonso would be all set.
One of the items Mr. Winch had given him back in Connecticut was a pinhole periscope. It stuck out into one of the gold handles. The other handles had crystal tips. The one with the periscope was made of one-way glass.
Inside the box Alphonso had an eyepiece that he could wiggle around to see outside. It was through the periscope that he saw the familiar white dome appear in the side window of the hearse. The dome loomed close, then disappeared as the building beneath it swallowed the somber black car.
They stopped in some kind of underground garage. More jostling as the coffin was brought to an elevator. Upstairs it was met by a group of soldiers. With somber faces they carried the box into a round open chamber.
Through his periscope, Alphonso could see another closed coffin resting across from his.
The soldiers stood at attention, the doors were opened to the public and a line of sad-faced mourners began to pass respectfully by the matching coffins.
Unbeknownst to any of them, curled up inside the coffin of Senator Calvin Pierce was Alphonso "Rail" Ravello. At his bent knee was a semiautomatic handgun.
Sweating in his solitude, he watched for the face of the President of the United States to pass down the line. And awaited his chance to write himself into future history.
Chapter 26
Deputy Director Bernard Tell of the Central Intelligence Agency spotted the two men as they came toward him through the busy terminal of Washington National Airport.
Tell got up from his seat and walked toward them. As they were passing by, he stepped partly into the path of the younger of the two, bumping lightly into him. At the same time Deputy Director Tell let the manila envelope he'd had stashed under his suit jacket fall to the floor.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir," Tell said. "Here, you dropped your envelope." He retrieved the envelope from the floor and tried to hand it over.
"No, I didn't," Remo Williams said.
Remo and the Master of Sinanju started to walk off. Deputy Director Tell chased after them.
"I'm certain you did drop this, sir," he insisted tightly as he dogged them to the door.
Remo stopped. "Oh, I get it. Give it here." Deputy Director Tell didn't allow the world to see the relief he felt inside. He didn't even know why he'd been hauled out for so insignificant a drop. There were plenty of junior agents at the CIA who could have handled this.
Tell started to leave. He was horrified when the young man grabbed him by the arm.
"Wait a sec," Remo said.
He tore open the envelope and pulled out the papers. As soon as they were exposed to light the white edges began to turn pink, then red. The reaction to the light was to show whether they'd been read before. This was one of the many security details he'd had drilled into him by MacCleary and his band of spy school rejects.