
JOE PORRAZZO |
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Tucson, Arizona December 16, 2010
James Hurley finished packing and turned on the ten o’clock news. He grabbed another donut from the Dunkin Donut box ignoring his doctor’s warnings about his high blood pressure and cholesterol count. By the way things were going he wasn’t going to be around long enough to die of natural causes anyway. Hurley was sure the news station would repeat the story of the latest murder again. Although no one knew they were murders yet. The authorities and reporters had no reason to link the deaths or suspect foul play in these unfortunate tragedies. But Hurley knew better. Steve Woods and Les White had lied to him. Tragic accidents and suicides—his bosses weren’t going to stop until all five people were dead. The victims’ only mistake had been to access his company’s web site. It never crossed Hurley’s mind that he should call and warn the one unlucky witness that was still alive. Bob Canton would have to fend for himself. All Hurley knew was that he didn’t want to be the sixth target, and that his own life wouldn’t be worth a wooden nickel if he called anyone. Calling in the authorities wasn’t even an option. It had started two days ago—only one day after reporting his error to his bosses. After recognizing the names of the first two victims, Hurley had gone online and purchased a one-way airline ticket to Bogotá in Colombia. Even with his limited Spanish, it should be easy to disappear in South America with no wife or kids to worry about. But he estimated his life savings would only last about a year. He had an old high school buddy down there that he could ask for help. Maybe 2011 would be a better year for him. What then? Hurley thought not for the first time. Hurley had to hurry if he were going to make the red eye flight. It would take him forty minutes to get to Tucson International Airport, and longer to get through security. He gathered up his computer-generated airline ticket, tourist passport and visa. Then he grabbed the compact disks from work. He shoved all of the items into his green carry-on bag. The incriminating evidence could be worth something someday. It may even save his life. Oblivious to the surveillance cameras hidden in every vent of the one-bedroom apartment, Hurley made his way to the front door. As he opened it wide, and then bent down to pick up his suitcase, a hand reached out and covered his mouth. The next thing he felt was a sharp stab of a needle in his right shoulder. Hurley would be dead of a drug-induced heart attack within minutes.
Deliberate Deception By Joe Porrazzo Copyright © 2011
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