“Whoa, sir!” Moore interrupted, with his bushy eyebrows shooting up. “You mean that shit’s been sitting underground all that time? Why, that’s gotta be almost… What? Thirty-, thirty-five years!”
“At least, and that’s only one of the problems,” Grant replied, as he stood and took a couple of steps toward the door, with all eyes following him. “With Italian civilians working on the water project, and God only knows who else was allowed to come and go, it was impossible to keep this under wraps, to keep it from the general public.
“An EOD team out of Little Creek was sent over. They were on site the next day.” Grant’s fists balled up, tension showing clearly on his face, his square jaw clenching. “According to the admiral, during the early morning hours, the base was infiltrated by what’s looking more like a renegade part of the Mafia.” He went back to the desk and picked up the envelope. Looking across at Russo, he said, “Vince, the tech heard shouting that he said sounded like, ‘La Mano del Diavolo.’ Not sure if I pronounced that correctly.”
“Yes, sir, that sounds correct. Translated it means ‘The Devil’s Hand.’”
“So, it probably is the name of a group. Have you heard of it?”
“No, sir. Sorry, I haven’t.
“How much Italian do you know, Vince?” Grant asked with a slight curve of his mouth.
“Enough to get by, sir, you know, food, vino, women.” Russo grinned, then immediately cleared his throat, adding, “More than enough, sir, mostly from hanging out with my grandparents and relatives. They were from Sicily, a little town outside Palermo called San Cipirello. They emigrated to the States as the Mafia started to take over the surrounding towns.”
Grant turned and went to the window, noticing the fog had lifted, with blue sky starting to break through patchy clouds. Maybe it was a good sign. He asked Russo, “So, you think you’d be able to hold your own if need be?”
“Yes, sir! Would not be a problem.”
Going silent for a moment, Grant turned his thoughts again to his foremost concern. Each of the men kept looking at him, suddenly noticing something in his eyes, the expression on his face changing. It was more than just worry or concern. None of them had ever seen him look this way. They glanced at each other then back at Grant.
Grinding his right fist against his other palm, Grant finally said, “Look, before I get into more details, I gotta tell you that this has turned into more than a possible international incident. I mean, it’s personal… to me.”
“What is it, sir?” questioned Moore, staring at Grant through clear gray eyes.
“Colonel Grigori Moshenko was there as part of a Russian contingency, and Lieutenant Joe Adler was on TAD.”
Grant didn’t have to explain any further. Every SEAL knew of Joe Adler. And they’d heard of Grigori Moshenko, Colonel, KGB. Both were friends of Captain Stevens.
“Shit, sir!” exclaimed Lewis, knocking over his chair as he jumped up. “Is he okay? Are they okay?”
Grant could only shake his head. “Don’t know. Nothing’s been confirmed as far as injuries or anyone being killed. All Admiral Torrinson could tell me was that a technician in the AFN building had broadcast a brief call, picked up by NAS Naples. This tech shutdown his broadcast just as the shooting stopped.”
Moore finally stood, walked over near Grant, and raised his hands in the air, shaking them. “Wait a minute, sir. You mean there wasn’t any security? They found all that shit, but there wasn’t any security?”
Grant just shook his head. “Think they only had some hired locals.”
“Well, ain’t that just fuckin’ great! No, it isn’t great. It’s fuckin’ stupid!”
Grant reached over and put a hand on Moore’s shoulder. “Take it easy, Ray.”
“What the fuck, sir?” Cranston exclaimed, immediately pounding his fist on his thigh.
“I know, Paul.”
“But, sir, Lieutenant Adler, he, I mean, he was with the Teams, sir. He’s trained. He’s worked with you, sir. I’m sure he’s okay, sir, you know. ” Cranston usually wasn’t the one to run out of things to say. It was different this time. It was becoming personal to all of them.
Grant knew it was time to move on. “Look, everybody needs to calm down. I know you’ve all got more questions, like motive, reasons. So do I, but nobody has any firm answers at this point. In the meantime, we've gotta start putting this op together.
“The admiral's expecting my call by 1100 hours with all the details. I’ve asked him to requisition us a C-130. Don’t know any other way to get us there any faster.
“We’ll have to inventory the equipment we’ve still got left from last week’s op, then see what we can get from the base here. If there’s anything else, the admiral said he’d have it flown in by a chopper out of Bremerhaven.” Grant took a brief moment of silence, then said, “Craig, Paul, you do the inventory, and… ” A knock at the door interrupted him. “Come.”
An airman entered and asked, “Captain Stevens?”
“That’d be me.”
“Sir, this came into Operations for you.” He stepped closer to Grant, handing him two sealed manila envelopes, each marked, “Captain Grant Stevens — Confidential — Eyes Only.”
“Thanks, airman. That’ll be all.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once the door closed, Grant unsealed the first envelope, withdrawing the warning order. He read it thoroughly before folding it and putting it in his jacket pocket. The next envelope had four photos and a topographical map. The photos, all eight-by-ten, had been taken by a satellite two days earlier.
The first photo showed a complete overview of the countryside around AFN. In the next three photos the camera had honed in close enough until the buildings were clearly defined. He passed them to Moore before unfolding the map, detailing an area that surrounded the facility for one mile.
Grant slid his finger along the map, tracing a couple of different routes they could take, depending on the wind, depending on where they hit dirt.
“Let’s see that closeup photo, Ray,” he asked Moore as he held out his hand. “Okay. Here’s what looks to be a hangar. I understand that’s where EOD is storing the recovered munitions. And here’s the AFN building where the transmission came from. All indications show that the Diavolo group came in from here.” He moved his finger in an arch, going from the AFN building to the opposite side. “This looks like the dig site.” The men gathered around him and Moore, leaning closer as he tapped the photo. “Now, I would think it’s more than likely they posted guards around that.”
“What’s that building?” asked Moore, as he pointed to a building near the hangar.
Grant held up the photo. “Don’t know, but I suspect it might be the temporary quarters. There doesn’t appear to be any other place they could use.” He stood abruptly, slapping the photo against his thigh. “Dammit! We’ve just got so little to go on. We don’t know if they’re still on the property. We don’t know where the hostages are being held. We… ”
“We don’t know shit, sir,” responded Cranston.
“You’re right, Paul. We don’t know shit. We’ve just gotta work with what we do know. Okay, get back to doing that inventory.”
“Aye, sir,” Cranston responded, then turned and headed for the gear.
“Hope you’ve got some ideas, Senior Chief” Grant said, sitting on a chair across from Moore.
“Wish I did, sir. Wish I did.”
“Guess this is one of those ‘fly by the seat of our pants’ missions then, huh?” Grant laughed, giving Moore a punch in the shoulder.
“Believe it is, sir. But we’re up for the challenge.”