Moore pointed to Cranston. “Find some coffee!” Cranston took off running.
Adler got off the truck, grabbing hold of Grant’s arm. “You need to go after them, Skipper. You need to stop those bastards.”
Grant understood Adler’s remark, seeing the anger on his face. The emotion fueling his remark was undoubtedly because he had formed a bond with the Italian workers.
But for now, Grant had to move on. He walked toward Moore, seeing two bodies and two men sitting in front of them on the truck bed. “What’d you find out from the G2?”
“Since the communication was next to impossible, we searched for and found a map and had him point to the spot. It’s some kind of nature forest, or something, just south of Palermo.”
Grant called, “Vince!”
Russo came running. “Sir?”
“See if you can get any more info out of that guy.” Grant pointed to the truck.
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything else, Ray?”
“We finally talked the AFN guy out of the building. He was as white as a ghost, shakin’ like a leaf. His name’s Sam Wright. He’s in the barracks.”
“And what about the workmen?”
“A few of ’em had been herded into the tunnel. It took awhile for us to calm them down, too. It was a challenge to understand them, but they indicated they were ordered to load the canisters and munitions.”
“Injuries?” Grant asked.
“Gunshot wounds. We got most of the bleeding stopped, but they need treatment pretty soon. They’re in there,” he indicated the barracks, pointing with his finger.
“And dead?”
“Two, sir. We put the bodies in the hangar.”
“Christ,” Grant said quietly, lowering his head. He despised the term “collateral damage,” thinking “innocent victims” seemed more appropriate, more compassionate. They were human beings. He looked up, blowing out a long breath, then he called, “Joe.”
Adler was standing behind him. He thrust his hands into his pockets, with a grim look on his face. “I heard, Skipper. I’ll go.” He walked off slowly.
Grant kept his eyes on Adler walking away, as he said to Moore, “Ray, get that tech. Go with him to send a transmission to Naples. Request a chopper to get the wounded out of here. Maybe there’s a carrier in the Med.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“One more thing, Ray. Did you find any of the attackers, dead or otherwise?”
“Two dead by the generators; assumed they’re the ones who cut the power; two by the fence line that were dressed like guards, four more that our ammo found its way into, and the two you and Vince took care of.”
“And there’re three more in the truck. Christ!” There wasn’t time for a decision on bodies. Then Grant thought about the bodies by the generator and the guards. Those men couldn’t have been killed by EOD. They were too far from the fighting. Somebody was tying up loose ends.
“Okay, Ray. Go.” Moore took off. Grant motioned for Taylor. “Craig, you got my gear?”
“In the barracks, sir. You want me to. . .”
“No. I’ll go. I need to change outta these clothes,” he commented, looking down at the blood stain across the front.
Moshenko had stayed quietly out of the way, until Grant looked at him. “Come on, Grigori.”
As they walked into the barracks, Russo came rushing up beside them. “Sir?”
“What’ve you got, Vince? Anything else?” Grant asked, as he went to get his rucksack off a chair.
“They’ve got a cave picked out. I know the area a little. It’s called Grotta Mazzamuto. Its a very mountainous area, without any population, just some hiking trails.”
“Okay. Looks like that guy is going for a ride with us. Put him in the truck.”
Adler walked in, concentrating his stare toward the far wall, where the injured Italians were laying. His pace quickened as he spotted Luigi.
Kneeling beside the Italian, he spoke quietly, “Luigi, come stai?” (How are you?)
The now frail-looking man opened his eyes, and recognizing Adler, he smiled weakly and nodded.
“We’ll take care of you, my friend,” Adler smiled, patted the old man’s hand, then he stood and went over to Grant.
“How’s he doing?” Grant asked with concern.
“Looks weak, Skipper. They all look pretty bad. What are we gonna do for them?”
“I’ve sent the senior chief with the AFN tech to call Naples. If the fleet’s close, maybe they can get a chopper off a carrier. I think that’s the best we can do, Joe. If that doesn’t pan out, maybe we can contact a hospital. The closest one’s probably in Catania.” He laid a hand on Adler’s shoulder. “Look, let’s just wait for NAS, okay?”
Adler nodded, looked over his shoulder toward the wounded, then turned again to Grant, this time with fire in his eyes. “When we goin’ after those bastards?”
“We?”
“I know you’re going. Don’t even think about leaving me here, ’cause you know that won’t work.”
Grant’s mouth curved into a smile. “I know that as fact. But right now I’m ordering you to get some coffee and something to eat. You hear me?”
“Whatever you say.” Adler walked off slowly to the galley.
Grant was changing back into his cammies when Moshenko stepped near him. “Will I be helping you?” Looking directly into Grant’s eyes, he continued, without waiting for the initial answer. “I am sure you have something planned already, do you not?”
“I do, Grigori, and yes, I’m including you. I don’t give a flying fart what either of our government’s thinks or says.”
Moshenko leaned closer and just stared up at Grant. In his thick Russian accent and pronouncing the words slowly, he asked, “‘Flyeeng fart?’ What is this ‘flyeeng fart’?”
With a wide grin, Grant only said, “I’ll explain later.” He lifted his holster from the chair, slipped it around his waist, fastened the buckle, and readjusted his .45, when he heard Moore in his earpiece. “You need to come to AFN, sir.”
Grant took off running, pressing the PTT. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Naples bureau chief’s on the line.”
Grant didn’t know what to expect, but hoped the bureau chief had some good intel.
Moore had the door open. “Follow me.” Both of them took the stairs two at a time, finally reaching the second level. The door to the tech room was already wide open.
Wright looked up and handed the phone to Grant with a slight nod of his head. Introductions could wait.
“Stevens here.”
“Captain, Jack Edwards here. I guess Admiral Torrinson told you I might be calling.”
“Yes, sir, he did. But first can I ask if you had any luck getting a chopper for us, to pick up the wounded here, sir?”
“You were lucky, Captain. A carrier was heading to Augusta Bay. A helo lifted off not long ago. You should catch sight of it within a half hour.”
Grant gave Moore a thumb’s up before saying to Edwards, “Wait one, sir; let me pass the word.” He turned to Moore. “Ray, head over to the barracks; tell them a chopper’s on the way, maybe half hour. Have them do what they can to get those men ready for transport.” Moore didn’t hesitate and took off. Grant resumed his conversation with Edwards. “Sorry, sir. Have you got anything for me? Have you heard from your agent yet?”
“Agent Fierra still hasn’t contacted me, but you’ve gotta understand this isn’t an easy task. These ‘padroni’ (godfathers) aren’t usually willing to sit down and have chats with the CIA. It’s just something they have an aversion to.”
Grant dropped his hat on the desk and briskly rubbed his hand over the top of his head in frustration. Considering his past experiences with the Agency and his lack of confidence in it, he wanted to end the conversation, until Edwards said, “But, again, you may still have some luck on your side.”
“Why’s that?”
“Since Fierra is half-Sicilian and speaks Si
cilian, he’s got a head start.”
“Sorry, sir, but if that’s all he’s got. . .”
“Hold it, Captain! Let me finish, will ya?”
“I’m listening.”
“We suspect that Falcone doesn’t have a clue about this ‘Diavoli’ group even being in existence.”
Grant started pacing next to the desk, wondering how Edwards came up with that conclusion. “From what I understand, he’s head of one of the largest organizations in Sicily.”
“Yeah, he is. Doesn’t mean he knows everything.”
Bullshit, Grant thought. He got where he is because he does know everything. “Look, sir, my gut tells me he’s gotta know, but let’s assume for the time being he doesn’t. Does your agent plan to tell him?”
“Depends.”
“Did you say ‘depends’?” Grant’s voice went deeper and louder. “Depends on what?” He wanted to reach into the phone and shake the shit out of Edwards.
“Look, Captain, this conversation’s beginning to take a nasty turn that. . .”
More freakin’ games, Grant thought disgustedly. “No, you look. We’ve got dead and wounded, innocent Italians. We just rescued an EOD team that this goddamn group took as hostage. Now, why do you suppose they wanted EOD? Do you have any clue what they took from here?” Grant heard nothing but silence from the other end of the line. “Whether Falcone knows or doesn’t know, hardly makes any damn difference. Those canisters are being taken someplace, and you’re wasting my time with this bullshit conversation.” He slammed the phone down. A second later he noticed the tech staring up at him. “You’re Sam Wright?” he asked, trying to force a smile, and extending a hand.
“Yes. Yes, I am.” The strength in the hand shaking his made Wright wince.
“Sorry,” Grant apologized. “Still pissed.” Wright nodded. “I’ve gotta thank you for what you did, for taking the chance you took with all that was happening outside.”
“I felt really bad for. . .” Wright brushed a hand across his bloodshot brown eyes.
“What? For staying in here? For protecting yourself?” Wright gave a brief nod. “Think about this. If you had gone out there, you might be one of the wounded, or worse. And how would we have found out about anything, if you didn’t send those transmissions?”
“I. . .I suppose you’re right.”
“You bet your ass I’m right.” Grant started toward the door. “I’ve gotta go. You sure you’re okay?”
Wright nodded as he stood, commenting, “I’d like to help with the wounded, if that’s okay.”
“Let’s go.” As Wright started past him, Grant took hold of his arm, pulling him back. “Look. You’re gonna have to stay here after we’re gone. I’ll contact Keith and have him bring the rest of the men that work with you.”
Wright looked as if he was about to panic. “But. . . but what about security? We don’t have any!”
“I’ll leave EOD here. It’s the best I can do for now. Besides, I doubt there’ll be any more problems. They took what they were after.” Grant thought for a second, before asking, “Can you put a call through to NIS in D.C. now?”
Walking back behind the desk, the tech answered, “Sure.”
Grant gave the details for the call, and within a minute, Torrinson’s yeoman was on the line.
“Zach, this is Captain Stevens. Need to talk with the admiral ASAP.”
“Grant!” Torrinson shouted. “What the hell’s happening? Where are you?”
“Sir, we’re still at AFN, getting ready to haul.”
“Where. . .?”
Grant knew he was pressing his luck, not explaining the plan to Torrinson, but he was running out of time. “Sir, please; I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta make this quick. We’ve got to get some kind of security for AFN as soon as possible. All I can do for now is direct that EOD stay here temporarily. Maybe you can contact the Italians and have their police brought in, too. Can you help them, sir?”
Torrinson was trying to face the fact that he was about to be left out of the loop. The concern in Grant’s voice made him uneasy, but he was going to put his trust in Grant Stevens again. “I’ll work on it. Any contact there?”
“Best to call this number, sir. You’ll be talking with Sam Wright. If you need to talk with EOD, Sam will find them.” Grant blew out a breath through tight lips. “Thanks, Admiral.” He had one other request for Torrinson. “Admiral, Colonel Moshenko and the other two Russians are safe. Think we need to contact the Russian ambassador?”
Torrinson jotted a note on the yellow pad. “Will contact State when we’re through here.”
Grant was quiet and Torrinson knew the conversation was over. “I know, Grant, you’ve gotta go.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll contact you as soon as I can.” Grant lowered the phone slowly, staring at it as he put it in the base. He started for the door, motioning for Wright to follow.
They rushed downstairs then ran across the compound. “Go,” Grant said to Wright, pointing to the barracks.
Moore and Adler came up to Grant, with Adler immediately asking, “What’s the plan, Skipper?” Grant eyed his friend, studying the rugged, tired face. Adler responded, reassuringly, “I’m fine.” He held up two fingers, and said, “Scout’s honor.”
Without taking his eyes from Adler, Grant said to Moore, “Ray, use that radio and contact Keith Wagner in Motta. Tell him to bring the rest of the American workers. They need to plan on staying here.”
“Aye, sir. I’m on it.”
“Where’s Grigori?” Grant asked, looking around.
“He went to get the comrades,” Adler responded, as he looked over his shoulder. “Here he comes.”
Grant took a quick check of his watch and signaled for Moshenko. “Grigori! Get my team!” He turned to Adler. “Joe, listen, I talked with the admiral. Gotta leave your team here until the admiral can get security sent in.”
“Understand, Skipper. I’ll go tell them. But what about. . .?
“Move, Joe! Then get your ass back here so we can get this op going! Everybody! Get your gear. Load it into those trucks! Put mine in the helo!” He had a quick thought. “Paul, get the rope from the roof.”
Adler came running back. “All set, Skipper. Now, do you think we’ll need any extra ammo? We’ve got some in the hangar.”
Grant was feeling better seeing Adler returning to his old self. “Think we’re good, Joe. It’d be best if your guys kept it anyway. Listen, can you give me the short version on what was left in the tunnel before the attack?”
Adler reached into his top pocket, lifting out a small black spiral notebook. He flipped through several pages before finding the last notation, then he read, “Six grapefruit-size canisters; two heavy mortars; H.E. (high explosive) anti-personnel bombs; five boxes of rifles; three boxes of machine guns. We got the cruise missiles out first.” The Henschel HS-293 was an anti-ship missile with a liquid propellent rocket motor. It weighed approximately twenty-three hundred pounds with a length of twelve feet.
Grant stared in disbelief. “How the hell did you get those out?”
“Same way they got them in,” Adler grinned. He pointed to the east side of the compound. “Right over there was the exit from the tunnel. They’d poured concrete and made a ramp. The missiles were already mounted on wheeled platforms. We set up a pulley system. And don’t worry. We already sealed off that end.”
He didn’t have to wait for Grant to ask and he called out, “Doug! Get me a quick count of what’s in the tunnel!” Adler turned back to Grant. “Ya know, Skipper, those canisters were meant to be put inside missiles as a means of delivery. Is it possible they don’t know that?” he questioned, as he slid the notebook back into his pocket.
“Still gotta worry, Joe.”
“Oh, I agree! I agree!”
Taylor wasn’t gone long, and he rushed back to Adler. “LT, the only thing left is one box of the machine guns!”
Adler shot a look at Grant, as he commented, “No wonder they had so ma
ny trucks.” He motioned to Taylor, “Okay, Doug. Thanks.” Taylor left. Adler rubbed a hand across the stubble on his face. “That’s one reason why they were here so long.”
“Why’s that?”
“Those damn mortars. They weigh over two hundred pounds. They must’ve broken them into the three sections.”
Grant was just nodding his head, but he had another major concern. “How unstable do you think those canisters are?”
“They were packed individually in protective steel containers, but. . .I really don’t know. There’s the possibility it’s been degraded after all that time, but again, I don’t know. I do know that if certain oils or petroleum products had been added, the ‘shelf’ life can be extended, but there’s no way to know that either. Christ! We were waiting for orders on how they wanted us to dispose of the shit.” He grabbed one hand with the other and cracked his knuckles. “What the hell are we gonna do when we find them?”
Grant jammed his hands into his pockets, took a couple of steps, then turned back to Adler. The jaw tensed as he ground his teeth. “What if we’re too late, Joe? If they’re leaking, we could walk right into that shit and it’d be all over.” He looked around at the men who were about to go with him. Going on a mission where you could see your enemy was one thing. But how would they confront something they couldn’t see? How could he expose them, literally, to an unseen enemy?
Adler stepped closer. “I know what you’re thinking, Skipper. Don’t even go there. You know you won’t be able to stop any of us, even with an order.”
Grant’s insides were twisting into a knot. “Think it’s time for us to hang it up, Joe? We been doing this shit too long?”
Adler knew the torment Grant could put himself through; he’d seen it before. “It’s all we know.”
A faint smile showed on Grant’s face. “You mean like we were born for it?”
“Why the hell not?”
Several minutes later, everyone gathered around Grant, who started to say, “We’ve. . .” Just then they snapped their heads around, hearing the sound of a chopper coming from the carrier. Grant shouted, “Ray, get ready for them!”
Once the helo had safely landed in the compound, two Navy corpsmen hopped off, carrying medical bags. Another two seaman followed with stretchers. Moore waved them to the barracks.
In the Mouth of the Wolf Page 10