In the Mouth of the Wolf

Chapter 13

Driving in complete darkness, constantly having to navigate hairpin turns, unsure of the accuracy of the map he was holding and of the directions given by the Italian, Grant was beginning to feel less comfortable. He scooted toward the edge of the seat, looking up through the windshield, hoping to get a bearing from the stars, but there was nothing visible, just complete cloud coverage.

Adler saw him out of the corner of his eye. “What’re you thinking?”

“Think we might need to call Grigori. Flash your lights for Vince, then start slowing down.”

Russo was keeping one eye on the driver, the other on the road, when he saw the headlights. Immediately, he said to the driver, “Alto!” Motioning with his hand, he indicated for the driver to pull off to the side of the road.

Once they had stopped, Grant said to Adler, “Joe, go tell them why we’re stopping while I call Grigori.” Adler jumped out and jogged to the truck.

Grant picked up the radio. “Come in Doug. Over.”

“Doug here. Over.”

“Get Grigori.”

A second later, Grant heard the familiar voice. “Moshenko.”

“Grigori, need you to fly. Try to find that caravan. You have the destination. Contact me when you do. Copy?”

“Copy. We are on our way.”

Grant put the radio on the seat just as Adler got in the truck. “We good?” Adler asked.

Grant just nodded, then threw the map on the seat. “Enough of this shit. Think I need to pay a visit to that driver.” He reached down and pulled the razor sharp K-bar from his leg strap then jumped out of the truck.

Adler leaned out the open window and called, “You gonna pull an ‘Otto Neuss’?” Adler referred to an East German involved in one of their past missions.

Grant flashed a quick grin through the windshield. He stopped briefly by the bed of the front truck. “You fellas doing okay?”

The SEALs stood at the same time, looking over the side. Moore answered for them. “We’re good. What’s goin’ on?”

“Need to take care of some business with our Italian friend.” Grant continued walking around to the driver’s side. He yanked open the door, grabbed the startled man by the collar and jerked him from the truck. “Vince! Let’s go!”

Half pulling, half dragging the Italian, Grant took him to the opposite side of the road, then down the embankment, into the darkness. Jerking the man down to his knees, Grant pressed the knife against the jugular. “Vince, translate. Tell him no more games. I want accurate directions now.”

Russo stood in front of the Italian, talking quickly and angrily. Getting a shaky response from the man, Russo said to Grant, “He said he’s being truthful.”

Just then Grant heard the sound of a chopper. “Perfect timing, my friend,” he said under his breath, looking up and seeing red blinking lights.

He jerked the man’s head back and pointed overhead with the knife. “Okay, Vince, now tell him this: If I don’t think he’s telling the truth, I’m calling in my friend in that chopper and we’ll go for a little ride. Only it’s just going to be one way for him. I don’t think he’ll like what I’ve got in mind.”

Russo rattled off Grant’s words. The Italian grabbed hold of Grant’s leg, pleading for his life.

“Well?” Grant asked.

“Says he swears on the Virgin Mother and his mother and his grandmother that he’s taking us to the right place.”

“Where does Falcone live?” Russo looked at Grant with surprise. “Ask him, Vince.”

The Italian’s voice trembled as he answered. Russo slung his rifle strap over his shoulder and said, “He lives in a villa above Palermo, and Falcone spends a lot of time down near the docks, running his operation from a warehouse on Via Cristoforo Colombo.”

“Last question. Who’s the group leader? What’s his name?” As the man responded, Grant caught the name “Castalani.” He immediately pulled the man up, handing him off to Russo. “Let’s go.”

“Get what you wanted, sir?” asked Moore, as he leaned over the side. Grant gave a thumb’s up.

Adler was leaning against the truck door. He pushed his hat back off his forehead with his thumb. “I take it the G2 went well.”

“The gentleman was more than willing to verify the information requested,” Grant responded as he walked around the front of the truck.

“Yeah, I’ll bet he was! You do have a powerful means of persuasion!”

They both got in the truck, with the doors slamming simultaneously, just as the radio sounded. Grant reached for it. “Stevens.”

“Doug here.”

“Any luck?”

“Affirmative. At this point, we only see two sets of headlights, heading west northwest, traveling about ten minutes apart. There were another two headed in the opposite direction.”

“They probably made their drop. Give me the coordinates.” Grant jotted them down then he picked up the map. “You flew over us less than ten minutes ago.”

“We thought those were your lights.”

“How far do you think we are from them?”

“Maybe five, six miles max.”

“Roger. We’re on our way. Tell Grigori to head back. Will contact him if needed. Out.”

“Guess our Italian friend was telling the truth,” Adler commented, as he pulled back onto the road.

“Looks that way.”

“I know there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Adler said. “You gonna tell me?”

“Don’t know what to do about the missing agent, Joe. I mean, we can’t just forget about him.”

“Skipper, you know we’ve got to find those canisters first.”

“Yeah, but if Falcone’s got him, how much time do you think he’s got? Or if he’s still alive.”

“You can’t be certain Falcone did anything to him, right?”

“I know, I know. But he was walking into a bitchin’ situation, having to confront Falcone with possible news about a rebel group working within his own organization. And he’s CIA, Joe. Don’t think Mafia man’s going to appreciate that.”

Adler kept his eyes on the curving road and the red taillights ahead of him as he said, “Yeah, but you’d think Falcone would want to know, so he could take care of the situation his own way.”

“We don’t know one damn thing about that guy Falcone, or how he thinks, or what he’s capable of.”

“Well, Skipper, like you said, he’s Mafia.”

Grant rested his head against the back window, rubbing a hand back and forth across his forehead. “How much farther do we have to go?”

“You’ve got the map.”

“Oh, yeah.” Grant picked up the map and turned on the penlight. “We’ve gotta be getting close. Dammit! Why the hell aren’t there any kind of landmarks on this road? Okay, according to Taylor’s coordinates, we should be right about here,” he pointed on the map.

Brake lights on the truck in front of them went on. “We’re slowing down, Skipper.”

“Feels like we’re crawling, Joe. We’ve gotta be real close to a turnoff. Flash those lights. Make Russo stop.”

Grant jumped out, jogging to Russo’s side of the truck. “Vince, how close to turning off?”

“We’re looking for something on the left side of the road. There’re some rocks in the shape of an upside down V, pointing to the route.”

“Follow me,” Grant said, drawing out his penlight. He walked down the left side of the road, with both trucks following slowly behind him. After about thirty feet he stopped, holding up his arm. He turned in the direction the rocks were pointing, shining the small light on flattened grass, and distinct tire tracks. He waved the trucks toward him.

Standing next to Russo, he said, “Looks like this is it. Do we know how far we need to go?”

Russo asked the driver. “About two kilometers.”

“Okay. You take over the driving while our friend gets in the back. Tell him, Vince.” Russo translated the order as Grant was pulling open the driver’s door. The Italian didn’t hesitate in jumping out. Grant grabbed the back of his jacket, practically lifting the man off the ground, as he said to Russo, “I’m putting Cranston up here with you with NVG’s. Stay in the lead, but be careful. Keep your eyes open. We’ll stay close.” Russo nodded. “Kill the headlights before turning in. Give me a minute with the team.”

Holding onto the Italian’s jacket, he walked to the back. “Take him, Ray.”

Moore took hold of the Italian and pulled him up, dropping him on the wooden floorboards. Lewis grabbed him and dragged him forward.

Moore asked, “Ready to get this finished, sir?”

“Roger that.” He shifted his eyes to Cranston. “Paul, I want you to take NVG’s and a scope and get up front with Vince. We’ll be traveling in the dark for the next couple of kilometers. Hand me those,” Grant said reaching for the NVGs. “We’re going to have to play this last part by ear, men. Don’t know who or how many may be waiting up there. Got your weapons handy?”

The team answered in unison, “Yes, sir!”

As Grant was getting into the cab, he looked over his shoulder, seeing the volcano still spewing fire. “Let’s move, Joe.”

Adler flashed his lights, then turned them off and both trucks started moving. Just then the radio sounded. “Stevens.”

“Doug here.”

“Speak.”

“They found the agent.”

Grant gave a sigh of relief. “Is he okay?” There was a pause. “Doug?”

“No. They found him in a car at the bottom of a cliff.”

Grant moved the radio away from his ear. “Oh, Christ.”

Adler shot him a glance, not liking Grant’s response.

“Any evidence of foul play?”

“No one’s saying. They think he was on his way to Palermo airport, heading back to Naples.”

“Who notified you?”

“Admiral Torrinson called AFN.”

“Okay. Listen, contact Jack Edwards in Naples. Send him our condolences. Tell him we’ll help if we can.”

“Roger.”

Grant disconnected before turning to Adler. “Agent Fierra was found… dead.”

“Oh, shit.” After a moment of silence, Adler asked, “What happened? Anything suspicious?”

Grant was shaking his head. “His car was found at the bottom of a cliff.”

All Adler could say was, “Poor bastard.”

They sat in silence briefly before Adler spoke. “Whadda we do now?” He turned his head, seeing the look he was all too familiar with. The tightening of the square jaw, the mashing down on the teeth.

“Now? We finish shit, Joe. This is where we finish!”