In the Mouth of the Wolf

Chapter 12

Just west of Golden Hill Terzo is Grotta Mazzamuto, a mountainous region of rocks derived from the sedimentation of animal shells and skeletons in the seabed from the Mesozoic era. There are many outcroppings made up of volcanic rocks, many places suitable to hide almost anything. Even better was the fact that the Grotta Mazzamuto was uninhabitable. Only during daylight hours did hikers venture into the area, and only rarely.

Castalani had done his research, studied maps and personally investigated the best site for storing everything they had taken from AFN. And with a region so vast, so remote, the likelihood of their location being discovered was practically nil.

The rest of his plan was simple. Once the canisters and weapons had arrived safely, he’d drive to Palermo and advise Falcone of his accomplishment. He would leave it up to Falcone as to what he wanted to do from that point on.

Castalani and his bodyguards had been traveling for nearly forty minutes, when he suddenly shouted, “Lento! (slow) Lento!” There were no signs, no natural landmarks to indicate a turnoff, but he knew they were close just by the mileage. Shining his flashlight along the shoulder for about twenty feet, he finally spotted the upside down V he made months earlier with five large rocks.

The driver made a slow turn left, easing the car off the road. Castalani looked through the window, seeing a mere hint of headlights showing on the horizon, and knew the vehicle carrying the canisters was not far behind. Since all the drivers had the exact same instructions on how to find the turnoff, he was feeling more comfortable, more at ease.

“Stop and let me out,” he ordered. “You continue to the cave. I will ride in the truck.” He slammed the rear door of the Fiat, then watched as the car pulled away slowly, traveling at no more than fifteen miles an hour.

Over the next two kilometers it would have to traverse grass, dirt, rocks, and hills angled at twenty-five degrees in places. The car wasn’t built for this type of terrain. Caution was high priority.

As the truck approached, Castalani walked to the middle the road. Holding up one hand to shield his eyes from the headlights, he pointed with the other, signaling the driver to turn.

The driver, Paolo Conti, stopped the vehicle, unable to hide the surprised look on his face. “Is everything all right, sir?” he asked as Castalani got up into the cab.

Motioning with his hand, all Castalani said was, “Proceed.” He turned briefly to look at the tarp covering the steel containers tied down in the truck bed.

Five minutes later, Conti was still holding onto the steering wheel in almost a death grip. He leaned close to the windshield, trying to see through squinted eyes. “Very difficult,” he grimaced. Then his eyes went wide, seeing in his rear view mirror the scalding red hot lava shooting from Etna. “Look!” he shouted, indicating with a thumb over his shoulder.

Castalani turned around to look briefly. “Do not worry. We are more than one hundred miles from Etna. Pay attention to your driving.” He was right about the distance, since any ash from past eruptions was usually carried by winds to the south or east, and lava had never reached Palermo.

Just then the steering wheel jerked from the Conti’s hands as the ground started shaking. He slammed on the brakes. For a mere few seconds the two men could hear a rumble as the truck shook.

“My God!” Conti cried. He started to open the door, when Castalani grabbed his arm.

“No! What is the matter with you?” he shouted.

And just as suddenly as it had started, the quaking stopped. The men sat quietly, waiting and listening. Finally Castalani ordered, “Now, proceed!”

They continued driving into the blackness, with Castalani having Conti read off the mileage. When he heard what he was waiting for, Castalani held a hand in front of Conti, saying, “This is it.”

He got out of the truck, shining his flashlight back and forth in front of his path. Walking carefully, he aimed the light upward. Directly in front of him was a thick row of pines and underbrush. He proceeded up a slight incline, pushing aside tree branches, stepping over brush.

Once he was on the other side of the trees, in front of him was a huge opening in the side of the hill, hiding nothing but darkness. The light from his flashlight barely penetrated the opening.

He walked farther into Conza cave, stepping over and around large rocks, avoiding puddles of water. The depth and size of the cave gave added protection for storing the canisters and weapons, and for hiding the Americans.

He heard footsteps coming toward him, the light from a flashlight growing brighter, leading the way for the two bodyguards. They stepped closer, waiting for any instructions.

“Go start unloading the truck. Put the containers at the back of the cave. When the Americans come, be sure you position them directly next to the containers. One of you will stand guard over them, the other post yourself near the entrance. Keep an eye on the others as they unload the remaining trucks.” Both bodyguards just nodded, then left. They were men of few words.

Castalani slowly followed them. Making one last 360 degree visual inspection within the small confines of the flashlight, he started backing out of the cave. As he stepped through the trees, he saw headlights in the distance.

Conti was in the bed of the truck. He folded the tarp back, exposing the canisters. Shining a flashlight, he continued looking for kerosene lamps. He kicked the tarp into a corner, re-covering one of the steel canisters. Backing up against the wooden slats of the truck, he made sure he gave both bodyguards enough space to remove the remaining canisters.

When Castalani came near, Conti leaned over the side. “Will you be staying until everyone has arrived?”

“No, only until this one is unloaded. Once it is, I’ll take the car, then you leave with this truck. Those two,” he said pointing to the bodyguards, “know what to do.”

“How many others will be staying?”

“Bruno will decide who stays with him, but tell him no more than a total of six.”

“How long until you return?” Conti asked as he returned to his search.

“I should be back tomorrow, perhaps close to sunset.”

“Ah,” Conti said, holding up two lamps.

“Get one lamp into the cave.” Castalani looked again toward the oncoming vehicle as its lights got brighter. “That’s Bruno. His truck must be unloaded as quickly as possible.”

Conti lit a match, then touched the wick of the lamp before handing it to Castalani. Wanting to verify all information, Conti asked, “Do you want us to take the trucks to our homes or do you have another location?”

“Take them to my warehouse on the docks. The guards there have been informed. Now, take the lamp and stay by the trees. Get some light up there.”

Conti raised the lamp, trying to illuminate his path. Just then another rumble beneath his feet brought him to a dead stop. His body rocked from side to side, as he tried to maintain his balance.

Castalani was growing tired of Conti’s fear, especially for a man who had experienced volcanic eruptions and earthquakes throughout his life. The added pressure of the attack and knowing what was in the containers had undoubtedly jarred his nerves.

“You stop this foolishness, do you hear me?!” Castalani shouted. He had enough to worry about and only hoped he didn’t have to be concerned about any of the others. He turned his attention to the oncoming truck.