by Wolf Wootan
Il Castello di Bragno, Italy
Tuesday, August 14, 2001
8:30 P.M.
Hatch, Syd, Sara, Carmelo, and Alberto assembled in the small dining room at 8:30 P.M. for dinner. Carmelo’s wife, Angelina Cifelli, whom Syd met for the first time, joined them for dinner. She was a stunning woman, 39 years old, and was about Carmelo’s height in her heels. She reminded Syd, vaguely, of Isabella Rossolini, the actress. Angelina assisted Gina in placing the food on the table, since Teresa had been told to take the night off and rest. The young Italian girl, Silvia, whom Syd had seen earlier, was also helping. In addition to baskets of the crusty bread and a large bowl of salad, two giant platters of steaming food were placed on the table. One contained Melanzane Florentine, breaded egg plant rolled with ricotta cheese, spinach, mozzarella cheese, and covered in a tomato sauce. The other platter contained Scampi Pesto, jumbo butterflied shrimp that had been cooked in olive oil, fresh basil, garlic, and pinenuts. There was also the usual bowls of spaghetti and marinara sauce. The mixed aromas made Syd’s mouth water.
Syd had dressed in one of the new outfits she had bought in Rome: a multicolored knee-length skirt and an off-the-shoulder white blouse. She thought she looked quite Italian. She had enjoyed her leisurely bath with Hatch, and as a result, was quite mellow and relaxed even before sampling her wine.
She took one of the egg plants—a new experience for her—and several shrimp after devouring a plate of salad accompanied by hot, buttered bread.
“It would be hard to keep my weight under control if I stayed here very long,” Syd laughed.
“You should go running with me in the morning, Syd,” said Sara. “I’m only going to do a couple of miles until my strength is back. You can do five if you want. Isn’t that your usual?”
“Normally. Since I’ve been hanging out with you guys, it’s been hard to keep up my regimen,” answered Syd as she stuck her fork in another shrimp.
They chatted amiably while they ate. An outsider would never have guessed that two of them—Carmelo and Alberto—and possibly three—Syd—had been marked for death by the Catena di Morte crime organization.
As they were finishing their meals, Hatch took a sip of his red wine and said, “Syd, I know I promised you a wonderful vacation, but it seems you’ve been drawn into danger again—into my problems, things which were not supposed to involve you.”
“Well, if I remember correctly, you got involved in my problems first. The Wrath of Allah thing was all about me, not you. You didn’t back off from helping me,” she pointed out, sipping her wine.
“True, I guess, but just in case those catenari bastards have you on a hit list now, I think it might be better if you went back to Florida tomorrow,” he said.
“Hatch! I bought a whole bunch of new clothes today—with your credit card, by the way—and I came here to have a Roman holiday, as they say in the movies. Carmelo and Alberto can’t run away, so why should I?” stated Syd calmly.
“They get paid to take risks, you don’t,” Hatch replied.
“Whoa there! What about Iran? What about Cuba? I wasn’t on the payroll on either of those little jaunts, and I wouldn’t call them risk free!” she retorted.
Carmelo looked at the exchange between the two with a question mark on his face, wondering what Syd was talking about. He wondered again who Syd really was, and what her relationship to Triple Eye was. Syd saw the look on Carmelo’s face, and noticed that Angelina also looked confused.
Before Hatch could answer her last remark, Syd decided to clear the air.
“Hatch, you obviously haven’t told the people here who I am. I don’t want Carmelo to think that my insistence on staying is giving him just another headache to worry about. You know I can take care of myself as well as anyone in this room. In fact, I may be of some help once you decide what to do about these bastards, and you know it,” said Syd. “Help me here, Sara!”
“She’s right, Hatch. I’m not much help to you right now. My left arm is still weak as shit. You may need a female decoy before this thing is over,” said Sara, pleading Syd’s case.
Hatch looked into Syd’s eyes, saw the determination, and gave up on trying to talk her into leaving. He had to admit that she knew how to take care of herself, and was, in fact, the most deadly female agent he had ever known. He decided that he had better brief Carmelo on her background.
“OK, I give up. Carmelo, I need to bring you up to date on a couple of recent missions we carried out, and you need to know what Syd’s involvement was, and who she really is,” stated Hatch.
He spent ten minutes describing the two missions, then explained Syd’s MOSSAD background. Carmelo and his wife were rapt during this dissertation.
Hatch finished up by saying, “So, as you can see, she’s in the club: I was CIA, you were SISDE, and she was MOSSAD. The Spy Club, so to speak.”
“So that’s why Sara calls you Dr. Z.,” said Carmelo with a small smile, relishing the story of how Syd marked her victims.
“I told you that she was one fucking dangerous broad,” added Sara. “And fucking smart, too!”
Angelina put her hand in front of her mouth to hide a smile, still amazed at Sara’s language.
Hatch said, “We need to discuss what we’re going to do about these guys. This situation is much different from the one we had in Iran. We can’t get them all in a building and blow them up. There are hundreds—probably thousands—of these people spread out all over the place.”
“Actually,” interjected Carmelo, “there are about 1500 of them according to our best guess intelligence. They are city folks—unlike the rural Sicilian Mafia and ’Ndrangheta, or Calabrian Mafia—and have key groups in Rome, Naples, and Palermo, to name a few. Their natural enemies, besides society in general, are most of the other crime groups here, because they compete with them rather than cooperate. They do have alliances with the Colombian drug lords, and some Russian and Asian crime groups. They are into drugs, extortion, kidnapping, gun smuggling, and murder for hire.”
“Who is this guy Salvatore Bocca?” asked Syd.
“He is the capo régime for Rome and its surrounds. The top man of the Catena di Morte, based in Naples, is Marco Lucchese. Although he calls all the shots for the catenari, he may not even know about this local problem Bocca and his people have caused. I know we need to explore the meaning and impact of the Carfagno letter, but my immediate concern is protecting the witnesses against the two bastards who tried to kidnap Syd and Teresa: namely, Syd and Teresa. If you two don’t show up in court, the charges will be dropped, and the bastards will walk.”
“You’re saying Teresa is a target, too?” asked Syd with a gasp.
“I’m afraid so,” replied Carmelo. “I know how these people work. No one—repeat, no one—ever testifies against them.”
Syd took a sip of wine as she absorbed the seriousness of the situation. Teresa being a target bothered her immensely.
“This situation has to be neutralized, Hatch,” said Syd finally, using his word.
“I know,” he answered. “I’m thinking through my options.”
Sara spoke up, “Hatch, we’ve got Colonel Coffer’s HRT based here, and Shadow-4. They could really teach those assholes a lesson they wouldn’t forget!”
“Like I said earlier, using Colonel Bill’s strike team may not be feasible. Plus, that’s not really in their mission plan—not what they signed on for. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t change the plan in an eye blink if I knew how to proceed,” grumbled Hatch. “This situation seems personal, and I’ve never asked our people to get involved in my personal problems before.”
“Bullshit, Hatch!” said Sara. “You know that wouldn’t matter! Besides, Bill and his people want some action. They haven’t had a mission since May, and you can stay sharp training for only so long, then you have morale problems. And this is not personal—they killed a Triple Eye employee!”
Colonel William S. Coffer had been the OIC, Officer in Charge, of train
ing the Delta Forces at Fort Bragg. A gunshot wound to the left leg had caused him to retire early from the Army. Sara had immediately snapped him up for her Hostage Rescue Team program. He had been delighted and excited to be taken off the Army scrap heap. His team, now pulling duty in Rome, was one of her best teams. Coffer’s team, and the hangar for Shadow-4, was located in a concealed compound in the forest south of the castle.
“I know, Sara. I have to think about this. We need some satellite shots of Bocca’s building, Carmelo. I need to know what we’re dealing with here,” answered Hatch. “Have we located the missing Dr. Helen what’s-her-name yet, Carmelo?”
“Yes. She’s being housed in the U.S. Embassy. Strange, wouldn’t you say? It will be difficult for us to interview her, but I’ve got a man working that problem,” replied Carmelo.
Angelina Cifelli finally spoke up, “Signore Hatch, pardon me for speaking. I do not pretend to know what is going on here, but I do know I cannot tolerate my husband going to work everyday with this danger over his head! He has always had a dangerous job, I know, but this is too much! I think we should take our children and leave Rome for awhile!”
She was nearly in tears, Syd noticed, and Angelina daubed her eyes with her napkin.
That won’t solve the problem, Angelina, thought Syd. You can leave, I can leave, but what about Teresa? Alberto? No, we can’t give in to those thugs!
Syd inquired, “Carmelo, how do the police here deal with situations like this?”
“The problem here is that many of the police—even high up in the chain of command—are either members of a crime group, or paid to look the other way. Don’t get me wrong, I know a lot of good cops, but I don’t trust the system in general. I don’t expect the police to do anything about this, even if we had solid evidence to present to them, which we do not,” Carmelo informed her.
“What would happen if Teresa and I were women in the Sicilian Mafia? Or the Calabrian Mafia?” asked Syd, a small smile on her lips.
Carmelo raised an eyebrow, then looked at Hatch. Hatch peered at Carmelo, then back to Syd.
Carmelo answered, “A small gang war would probably erupt. Either of those groups would execute a few catenari, especially those involved, and certainly Bocca. Marco Lucchese would probably get a message he wouldn’t soon forget.”
Hatch chimed in, “I think I see where you are going, Syd, but the Liberators aren’t the Mafia, and I don’t want them involved in a gang war.”
“That’s not where I’m going, Hatch. I’m thinking that maybe Anna Klein pays these folks a visit, pops a few of them, and makes it look like a Mafia hit. The police won’t be after Anna, and if Carmelo is right, they won’t look very hard for the hit man at all. It will look like just another disagreement between criminal organizations—good riddance!” explained Syd. “We send a vague message to this Lucchese guy, making him think Bocca stepped on some Mafia toes. He’ll make sure that no further action is taken against us, unless he wants an all out war with the Mafia.”
“Shit! I like that, Hatch! Turn Dr. Z. loose on the fuckers!” exclaimed Sara.
“You two!” blurted Hatch. “This is serious!”
“I am serious, Hatch!” snapped Syd. “Everyone hiding out from these street thugs is ridiculous! You’re the one who lectured me about neutralizing situations! I can neutralize this one! And I wouldn’t complain if Bob Hatcher showed up to watch my back!”
Carmelo interjected, “The concept is pretty good, and might work, Hatch. And with Bocca dead, there would be no one to push his personal agenda against us.”
Hatch said nothing as he pondered the plan and its possible consequences. What Syd proposed was illegal, of course, but legality was a very relative term to him. Ridding the world of bad guys was always illegal under someone’s laws. The tasks Anna Klein and Bob Hatcher had performed were certainly not legal in the minds of their adversaries. Hatch did not know why he wrestled with such thoughts. The old Bob Hatcher would have already eliminated the problem without as much as a shrug of the shoulders. What really bothered Hatch was letting Syd revert to being Anna Klein, even for a moment. He knew Syd was dedicated to leaving Anna Klein in the past. However, he liked Syd’s plan. He and she could carry out the task, he was sure, with a minimum of risk. Those catenari thugs had never been up against real hit men before.
“What is going on here?” asked Angelina. “Who are Anna Klein and Bob Hatcher?”
“Just some people we know, Angelina. Good problem solvers,” answered Hatch, a glint in his eye. “Don’t you worry. We’ll fix this problem.”
He then looked at Syd, smiled, and said, “Your plan may very well be the best way. Let’s discuss it later tonight. I want to think it all through for awhile. Now, I’m going to go and have a cigarette.”
He got up and left the room abruptly.
“Something is bothering him, Sara,” said Syd with a sigh.
“Yeah, you came up with a plan before he did! He gets that way with me sometimes,” Sara answered with a giggle.
“I don’t think that’s it. Let me help you with the dishes, Angelina.”
Syd got up and started stacking plates, helping Angelina clear the table.
• • •
Syd finally reached the top of the tower and stepped onto the platform made of heavy wooden planks, which had been hewn out of tree trunks in some distant time. As she stopped to catch her breath after the long climb up the steep stairs, she saw Hatch leaning against the thick stone wall, looking out into the night through one of the notches in the wall, a notch once used by ancient cannons, or possibly archers raining arrows down on their attackers. He was smoking a cigarette, the red tip glowing in the dark. She turned off her flashlight as he turned to see who was there. The stars were bright and there was a half moon shining down on the tower.
“Am I intruding?” she asked with the wicked little smile that was meant to melt him into putty.
“No. Come on over. I was just having a cigarette away from the madding crowd,” he sighed.
She moved over next to him in the notch and took the cigarette from between his fingers, took a drag, then handed it back. She held the smoke in her lungs for a few seconds, then exhaled as she felt the unfamiliar rush of the nicotine.
“On a clear night like this, you can see the lights of Rome,” he said.
“Do you come up here often when you’re here? Those steps are quite a climb,” she remarked, making small talk.
“It’s good exercise, and worth the climb. I come up here to clear my head, think. I heard that great men go to the mountain top to get inspiration and guidance—maybe to find themselves. This is the closest thing to a mountain around here.”
“You mean like Jesus—or Moses?”
“I was thinking more like John Denver,” he laughed quietly. “I think he wrote Rocky Mountain High on the top of a mountain.”
He took another drag off his cigarette, and took a sip out of a glass snifter containing amber fluid. He offered it to Syd.
“A very good sherry, not too sweet,” he said.
She took a sip and nodded. She put it back down in the recess in the battlement and looked at the lights of Rome in the distance. It was a balmy night, 75 degrees still, and very little wind.
Neither spoke for a moment, then she said, “A penny for your thoughts.”
“Ein pfennig fur das thoughten ist often oberchargen,” he replied in a mock German accent, smiling.
“You never seem able to have a serious talk with me, Hatch Lincoln. Are you trying to send me some sort of message?” she said softly.
He turned and looked at her, their eyes locking in the pale moonlight. When he did not reply right away, she took the cigarette again and took a puff. Then she sipped the sherry again, looking back out into the night.
I shouldn’t have come up here. I’ve intruded on his private space, and he really doesn’t want to talk right now.
So she stayed silent, looking at the dark view, and enjoying his closenes
s. He smoked in silence, trying to decide his course of action against the catenari thugs. He really hated them for drawing his friends into this situation. His plan all along had been for Bob Hatcher to come to life for a day and pay those bastards a lethal visit. But now that Syd had spoken her plan aloud, how could he keep her out of it without an argument? He was happy that both of them had arrived at the same solution, although her idea to blame the Mafia was a nice touch—even brilliant. In the past, Bob Hatcher had always worked alone because he could not trust anyone to watch his back. He knew, however, that he could certainly trust Syd, but he was deathly afraid of getting another woman killed because he cared for her. He had to admit, he was becoming too fond of Syd, relishing every moment they were together. Not just the sex part—though it was exceptionally good—but moments like now, when they were just standing close to each other, saying nothing. Syd had sensed his mood and did not push for conversation.
They both saw it at the same time: the tiny flash of light in the night below.
“Incoming!” they both yelled in unison, each pushing the other out of the opening in the battlement. The bullet chipped a piece of stone out of the left side of the recess where Syd had been standing. There was no sound of a gunshot.
“Fucker’s using a silencer! Good thing we were looking straight down the barrel or we’d have never seen the muzzle flash,” exhaled Syd. “You OK?”
“Yes. You?”
“Fine. Give me that sherry before the asshole breaks it,” she said, reaching for the snifter and then taking a large swig.
Hatch was on his Blue Phone, giving orders to Colonel Coffer to get Shadow-4 in the air, and to block the access road at both ends. Shadow-4's IR system would find the shooter without much trouble.
“I wish I had a rifle and I would make that asshole shit his pants,” fumed Syd.
“There’s one up here, if it hasn’t been moved. I told you this castle is laced with secret passageways. I meant to give you a tour and show some of them to you, but we haven’t had time. You notice how the north wall of this tower is thicker than the others?” asked Hatch.