Edge of Tomorrow

by Wolf Wootan

  All because that fucking Lucchese wants some fucking letter! thought Bocca.

  “This is very bad news, Guido, I hope you know that!” screamed Bocca. “Lucchese will have my balls! We fucked up getting his damn letter, you and Dino fucked up a simple snatch of two women, and now you let that bitch shoot you when you were supposed to shoot her!”

  “I didn’t know she was a fucking hit woman for the Mafia!” whined Guido.

  “You should have suspected something after the way she threatened Dino with that fucking knife!”

  “You knew that, too!” blurted Guido, knowing as he said it that he should not have.

  “Shithead!” yelled Bocca, slapping Guido hard in the mouth, drawing blood. “You trying to blame me for your fuckups?”

  Bocca picked up a phone and dialed a number.

  “Sonny! Get your ass in here—now!” he yelled into the phone.

  A minute later a knock came at the door and Sognalio “Sonny” Gianconna entered the room when Bocca said, “Get in here!”

  Sonny was a six feet four inch giant with a drooping mustache and the shoulders and arms of a weight lifter.

  “You called, boss?” he grunted.

  “Yes! Get rid of this sack of shit! I never want to see him again! Understand?”

  “Come on, Guido, let’s go,” said Sonny, taking Guido’s good arm and guiding him toward the door. Guido had tears in his eyes and he was whimpering.

  When the door was closed, Bocca took a deep breath and called Lucchese, then explained what had happened, putting as much blame on Nota as he could. Marco Lucchese was furious!

  “Damn it, Sal! I need that Carfagno letter! I don’t give a shit about Dino and Guido! Who is this Don Corleone? The name sounds familiar,” said Lucchese.

  “Sounds familiar to me, too, but I don’t place him right now. Guido said he was some big Mafia boss in America—with close Sicilian ties,” answered Bocca.

  “I sure don’t need any more trouble with the fucking Sicilians! The last time was a bloodbath! But I need that fucking letter. If it says what I’ve been told it says, I can kiss the Sicilians goodbye! The police don’t have the letter—I checked with my sources in the police department. It must be in that fucking castle!” yelled Lucchese.

  “That castle is full of Mafia hit men, for God’s sake! What do you expect me to do?” whined Bocca.

  “That’s your problem! You can follow Guido to fish-land if you can’t handle this! You should have used Sonny instead of that fucking Guido, and we wouldn’t be in this fix! I’m sending Tony to Rome to help you. Understand? Use Tony and Sonny to get me that letter!”

  With that, Lucchese disconnected. “Tony” was Antony Aliotto, Lucchese’s chief enforcer. Bocca felt a chill slither up his spine as he remembered how efficiently Tony disposed of Lucchese’s enemies—or anyone who displeased him. He knew Tony was coming here to make sure the Carfagno letter—whatever it was—was found, and if it was not, Bocca’s life span would be shortened drastically! He just hoped Tony could figure out a way to get into that fucking castle and find the fucking letter!

  • • •

  At 10 A.M., Hatch, Carmelo, Sara, Syd, and Colonel Coffer assembled in the communications and computer room, the same room where Syd had done her research on Monterra. It was similar in configuration to the one Syd had seen in Florida, except the ceilings were higher. They all settled in to watch the large screen while Carmelo pulled up the digital file which contained images of Bocca’s building taken earlier by a satellite. The 3-D image on the big screen rotated slowly so all sides could be reviewed. Hatch watched it closely while remaining silent. He saw the rickety fire escape, the front and back doors, and the door on the roof which allowed access to the roof for maintenance. He saw the small balconies on the back of the building at the second and third floor levels. The view from them was not great, but they did allow the occupants to get some fresh air and sunlight. Hatch had Carmelo stop the image rotation, and then had him zoom in on the third floor balcony. A man was standing on it.

  “That’s Bocca,” said Carmelo. “According to our surveillance guys, he lives on the third floor. The front door downstairs always has a guard. That place is locked up tighter than your Folsom Prison.”

  This place will be a hard nut to crack, thought Hatch. Lexus could take it at night using explosives on the doors, but I’d have hell to pay with the Italian authorities. I can’t allow that—I have offices and people here. My Italian isn’t good enough to pull off a ruse. I can think of only one possibility.

  Hatch continued to mull over the situation in silence. Finally, Sara asked, “Well? What do you think, Hatch?”

  “The place is like Fort Knox. I’ve seen enough for now, Carmelo. Let’s move on. You said you had a first cut at Carfagno’s family tree?” answered Hatch, not giving Sara a direct reply to her question.

  Bocca was obviously not afraid of a sniper bullet, because he was an easy target on his balcony from several nearby buildings. Hatch had to remind himself, however, that these were in the main just street thugs, not professionals. Hatch had a plan in mind, but could not share it with this group—especially Syd—because she expected to be involved in whatever he did. Hatch wanted to talk to Bocca, not just kill him from a distance, but his plan was a one person job, and Syd would be very pissed off at him if he revealed what he was thinking.

  Carmelo handed a computer printout to Hatch. It appeared to be a page from a family tree program available on most computers. It had several blanks in the outer limbs of the tree, but it did have one thread which lead from Carfagno to the present time. Hatch scanned the chart quickly, then passed it to Syd, who began looking at it with Sara looking over her shoulder.

  “Very interesting,” mused Syd.

  “Isn’t it?” replied Hatch, as Carmelo smiled his wicked grin, already privy to the contents of the page.

  “If Lucchese knows anything about his ancestors, and knows the contents of the Carfagno letter and the treaty, we now know why he is interested in getting his hands on that letter,” said Hatch. “He is a direct descendant of the swapped daughter of Alfonso di Conti.”

  “And thus, could make the claim that he is the true Prince of Monterra, not Giuliano II!” exclaimed Syd.

  “Because he has di Conti blood in his fucking veins!” said Sara.

  “Right!” agreed Carmelo. “When this chart is complete, there will be others, but he is a logical one who would kill for the letter. I wonder how many people know as much as we do. SISDE? The CIA? They have both seen the letter, or at least a copy of it.”

  “I know how SISDE knows. They have Holcomb’s copy. How would the CIA know anything?” asked Sara.

  “Helen Brooks probably has—or had—the original letter,” replied Carmelo, “and she is at the U.S. Embassy, which is teeming with CIA people.”

  “What if she gave the original letter to her dig sponsor, the American Archeological Association of Rome?” asked Syd.

  “Then we would be certain that the CIA knew,” smiled Carmelo. “That organization is funded by the CIA—one of their many front companies. That ensures that the CIA gets a first look at anything coming out of excavations. They’ve done it for years.”

  “Wow!” exclaimed Syd. “Too many players in this game!”

  “A major question is how much does Lucchese know, and if he knows as much as we do, what does he intend to do about it?” stated Hatch with a frown.

  “And does the Italian government have any plans in the works?” added Syd.

  Hatch stroked his beard and said, “Whatever the Italians have in mind, the CIA will want to direct things to fit their master plan of how things should be. They thrive on fucking with other countries and their governments.”

  Carmelo entered the conversation. “If we can convince Bocca—and ultimately Lucchese—to stop attacking us, do we really want to get involved in this Carfagno letter thing? Do we really care who rules Monterra?”

  Hatch responded, “Philosop
hically, no. But personally, I wouldn’t want to see a butcher like Lucchese rule anything. I’m not a real fan of this royal bloodline shit anyway. George III of England was as crazy as a loon, yet they let him do outlandishly ridiculous things because of his blood! Pure bullshit!”

  “I agree!” said Sara. “But what’s our next step?”

  “We need to know more about who knows what,” said Hatch. “I think we start by talking to Helen Brooks and see what she knows about that subject. Any progress on that front, Carmelo?”

  “I talked to an assistant to the Ambassador and he admitted she was under their protection. Since Holcomb was murdered, she is quite afraid and won’t leave the embassy. Can’t say I blame her. Afterwards, I talked to Triple Eye’s CIA contact over there—he owed me a favor—and he said I could come to the embassy and talk to her as long as I didn’t upset her. I scheduled a meeting for one o’clock this afternoon,” replied Carmelo.

  Hatch said, “That’s good. Maybe she can shed some light on how Lucchese got involved in this. I wonder if Prince Giuliano II knows what’s going on.”

  “He’ll probably be the last to know,” laughed Sara. “He’ll find out when someone yanks his country out from under his crown.”

  “I wonder if he should be alerted?” mused Carmelo.

  “Let’s talk to Brooks first before we decide what involvement, if any, we want in this can of worms,” replied Hatch. “You and I will leave here by chopper right away. We can land at Triple Eye’s heliport. Since I am here in Italy, I should make an appearance at the office anyway.”

  “I was hoping you would. They always like to see the boss,” grinned Carmelo.

  “What do you gals want to do while we’re gone?” asked Hatch.

  “I’d love to see some of Rome before I have to leave,” smirked Syd, “but I suppose it wouldn’t be prudent today. The Bocca situation should be resolved before we give him any easy targets.”

  “You don’t have much luck as a sightseer, do you, Syd?” laughed Sara. “Thanks to me, you didn’t get to see any of Istanbul either!”

  “Not your fault, Sara. Getting you home was more important than sightseeing. I guess Sara and I can hang out around the pool today, call out for a pizza,” chortled Syd.

  “We could have done that in Florida,” added Sara with a snicker as she looked at Hatch, rubbing it in.

  Hatch looked forlorn, not knowing what to say to the women about their ruined vacations. He had to bring the Bocca thing to a close immediately! Syd could tell by the look on his face that Hatch was not a happy camper.

  Poor dear! I’m causing him to fret about things he ordinarily would just shrug off. My less than exotic vacation is not what he’s really worrying about. It’s the Bocca thing. Storming that building with Lexus is not an option. A sniper bullet the next time Bocca steps out on that balcony doesn’t really resolve anything either, because Hatch wants to talk to him before he neutralizes him. That leaves only one option: one person enters Bocca’s place through the balcony! Hatch knows that, I know that. He doesn’t know how to tell me I’m not going to be involved. Dammit! He shouldn’t have to worry about my feelings! He should do what he has to do without worrying about me—or my feelings! Should I tell him what I think I know, or wait and see if he’ll tell me?

  “The pool is OK, Syd. I’m supposed to swim laps to beef up the strength in my arm. Besides, I need to tone up my tan,” said Sara.

  “You’ll be perfectly safe here. Bill has his Lexus troops deployed, and all sensors are activated. Just relax and enjoy. We’ll be back sometime this afternoon,” said Hatch, picturing Sara sunbathing in the nude. Would Syd do the same? What a sight that would be! Hatch shook his head to clear the image.

  • • •

  Hatch called for the Triple Eye chopper to pick them up in the courtyard, then he and Carmelo went to change clothes and get ready to leave for Rome. Sara and Syd went to their chambers to don bathing suits and gather towels, sun block, manicure kits, nail polish, and other sundry items women consider necessary for a visit to the pool. Sara, Syd, and Hatch appeared in the hallway at the same time. Syd gave Hatch a quick kiss before he headed for the stairs.

  Sara smiled and said, “Just like seeing hubby off to work, eh?”

  “Sara! I haven’t known him long enough for things to have progressed that far! It’s just that I know what he’s planning to do and that was the last chance he had to tell me. Since he chose not to, he can just squirm while his conscience bothers him!” laughed Syd.

  “Whatever are you babbling about, woman? You sound like a jealous teen who wasn’t asked to the prom! He’s only going to see Dr. Brooks.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But one way or another he’s going to drop in on Signore Bocca by himself—without me. He thinks I will be really pissed when I find out, but I won’t. The only way to see Bocca is a one man job,” stated Syd.

  “How do you know what he’s planning if he didn’t tell you?” queried Sara.

  “Think about it, Sara. You’ve probably planned more difficult missions than I have. You saw the pictures of Bocca’s building. How would you get in to talk to him?”

  Sara thought for a moment, playing the images of the building through her mind.

  “Of course! How stupid of me! Go in through the balcony! I’d have Shadow-4 position me over the balcony, down the rope, and bingo! Hello, Signore Bocca!” exclaimed Sara with a smile. “You’re good, Syd! You saw that right away! You crafty bitch!”

  “Thanks, Sara—I think. It’s just the way I was trained to look at all situations—as if they are some sort of puzzle to be solved. Cute suit, by the way, what there is of it!”

  Sara had on a skimpy Hunter Green bikini under a white, see-through cover-up. Syd’s black bikini was one she had purchased in Rome and white skin showed above the bra top, on her lower stomach, and the top of her hips. She was planning to extend her tan to areas of her body which were normally not exposed. They both wore sandals.

  Sara laughed, “That thing you’re wearing doesn’t hide much either! You’re becoming more daring!”

  “Well, you know what they say, ‘When in Rome …’”

  “I know the saying, but so far it’s passed me by. I haven’t even gotten laid yet and I’m horny as hell! At least, you’re gettin’ some every night!”

  “Sara! How presumptuous!”

  “Presumptuous my ass! There’s no sexual tension in your body! I can see the contentment in your face!”

  “I meant, how can you presume that I’m only getting it at night?” roared Syd.

  “Go ahead, rub it in!”

  “Gunny looked like he was game for a tryst with you. Maybe you can lose yourself to him in that poker game tonight,” suggested Syd.

  “Don’t I wish! But Hatch’s fucking rules prohibit it! Double entendre intended!” scowled Sara. “Maybe I should send into town for a gigolo for the night!”

  “Poor Sara! That’s not something I can help you with.”

  “Well, let’s do something to take my mind off my sexual problems. You haven’t been shown the finer points of this castle, have you?” said Sara.

  “No, Hatch hasn’t had the time to give me the tour,” replied Syd. “This would be a good time—on the way to the pool.”

  “Good. First of all, let me say that this castle was built in three different time frames, resulting in three buildings kind of connected together, with common walls. This part has been renovated, as has the farthest away section—where Gina and the help live. The middle section is still being worked on, but there is a hallway on the first floor that connects this section to the back section. The tower is situated over the south wall of this part of the castle. You saw that stairway on the tower that went down inside the wall?”

  “Briefly. I was a little busy at the time, though I did wonder where it went,” replied Syd.

  “Put your pool bag down and follow me. There are some things I want to show you,” said Sara, putting down her own tote bag.

&
nbsp; She walked toward the south end of the hall, away from the north stairs. The wall opposite the living quarters had a suit of armor about every eight feet, with shields and medieval weapons hanging on the wall space in between. Each item had a small brass plaque near it describing what it was and the historical dates when it was in use. When they reached the end of the hall, Sara stopped and faced the shield that hung there.

  “If you noticed, all of these shields have a colorful coat-of-arms on them. This one goes with that suit of armor there. All of the shields with green on them somewhere are special. They have a secret door behind them. Let me show you,” said Sara.

  Sara reached behind the shield and pulled on a small ring in the wall. A piece of the wall—two and a half feet wide and six feet tall—swung smoothly outwards like a door, revealing an entry into a dark passageway. Sara entered the opening, and once inside, flipped a switch on the inside wall which turned on a row of dim lights.

  “Come on in for a minute, Syd,” said Sara.

  “OK. Are you sure there is enough room in there?”

  “It’s actually quite roomy,” replied Sara, who was now standing erect. The passageway was six and a half feet tall and three and a half feet wide. Syd joined her in the tunnel.

  “Wow! Not bad! Lights, too!” exclaimed Syd. “I used to like to play in tunnels when I was a kid.”

  “Me, too. The lights are low-wattage ones, but they are good enough. There are also flashlights clipped to the wall here,” she said pointing, “and about every ten yards just in case there is a power failure, and the backup power also fails. You don’t want to be caught inside these walls without a light.”

  “Yeah! Scary!” answered Syd.

  Sara continued, “If you go south in this passageway, you will come to a set of stairs. Going up the stairs, you get to the third and fourth floors, and then the tower. Going north, you pass two more sets of stairs. If you watch the west wall, you will see yellow numbers with a yellow circle nearby. These indicate exits back into the main hall. The numbers are to orient you to where you are. Number one is the northernmost exit, and so on. You just lift the latch in the yellow circle to release the door.”