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!”
Chapter 14
The higher they traveled into the nature reserve, the cooler the air became. A slight western breeze carried on it the pungent smell of wild mushrooms, and a strong scent of pine.
The path the two trucks were following was treacherous, but they weren’t doing anything different from the caravan that passed through here ahead of them. They just had to take it slow.
As they approached a slight bend in the path, the iridescent eyes of a red fox glared at them, as the animal tried to stay hidden in the tall grass, with a small rodent hanging from its mouth. The truck’s tires ran over a small branch, cracking it in half, causing the fox to scurry across the road.
Cranston and Grant were hardly distracted, and using the NVGs, kept focusing on the beaten path, trying to avoid any hazards. The rest of the team strained their eyes, trying to look through the darkness, seeing only dark forms of trees and hills.
The brake lights on Russo’s truck lit up. Adler was just starting to slow down, when Grant was already out the door. He ran to Russo. “What?”
“According to the mileage, what we’re looking for is about a hundred yards ahead, to the right.”
“And that would be?”
“The Italian,” Russo said pointing over his shoulder, “said it’s called Conza cave.”
Adler put the truck in neutral and pulled the hand brake. He jumped out, then mustered alongside Grant. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Give me a minute, guys.” Grant turned away, trying to think out his next course of action. Walking back and forth next to the truck, he finally stopped and said, “Think we’ll use the ‘herd the cattle out of the pen’ maneuver. Craig, it’ll be up to you to determine about how many Italians are in the cave, then report back. Get the shotgun mike; make it quick.” Simpson dragged the rucksack close, pulled out the mike, then took off.
“When Craig gets back, Ray and I’ll go position ourselves outside the cave. Give us ten minutes. Vince, then you start driving — slowly — on my signal. Copy?”
“Copy that. Lights on?”
“Affirmative. And if the rest of the trail is anything like what we just drove over, it’s gonna be a bitch, so be careful. I want to get all or most of those bastards outside the cave. Do what you’ve been doing. They talk, you answer. You’ve gotta make them believe you’re in charge of the ‘prisoners’ but you need help escorting them into the cave. Got it?” Russo nodded.
Adler looked at Grant questioningly. “Can I see you for a minute over there?” Grant followed him to the other side of the truck, then Adler said, “Let me get this straight. You wantme to stay with the truck?”
“You heard me right. I need you to man the radio in case it turns to shit up there. It’ll be up to you to contact Grigori.”
“But, Skipper… ”
“Joe, listen to me. Officially, you’re not part of the team on this one. You understand?”
Under his breath Adler mumbled, “Doesn’t sound like an official order to me.”
Grant knew it was hopeless and just turned to Moore. “Ray, give me one of those.” Grant took off his jacket, attached the small battery to his waistband, adjusted the dangling antenna, then ran the wire up a sleeve before inserting the earpiece in his right ear. He nodded to Moore who spoke quietly into his throat mike, testing the equipment. Putting his jacket back on Grant confirmed, “Okay, Ray. You got the C4?” He had to be prepared, but the explosive would be a last resort, and only after the canisters were safely stowed… unless they had to seal off the cave, canisters and all.
“C4, det cord, pencils,” Moore responded, holding up a rucksack.
C4’s color and substance resembles white modeling clay. Det cord, burning at twenty-five thousand feet a second, can be used to connect multiple blocks of C4. The explosive could be formed to almost any shape, then exploded with something like a blasting cap or chemical pencil. The three inch chemical pencil contains a one inch ampoule of acetone, that when crimped allows the acetone to eat away a plastic washer holding back a striker under spring tension. When the washer erodes, the spring drives the striker into the explosive detonator, setting off the device.