“You do not think there would be any retaliation against us?”
“Not as long as we had more of the gas, Don Falcone. No one has any idea on how much we have in our possession.”
Falcone couldn’t believe that statement. How could Castalani not think the Americans were aware of exactly what and how much was taken? Castalani would not be advancing within the organization. He was a fool. His intelligence was lower than the sheep grazing in the field.
Falcone turned away and walked back to the table, picking up a crystal glass filled with water. He took a sip, then took the glass with him as he went near Castalani again, not looking at the man when he asked, “And Luigi, when did you intend to tell me about ‘La Mano del Diavolo’?” That’s when he stepped in front of Castalani, nearly toe to toe with him, with his dark eyes seeming to penetrate right through to Castalani’s soul.
Castalani’s face drained of all color, as he tried to explain. “That is how I was able to accomplish what I did, Don Falcone. Without my group, there would not have been success.”
“Hmm. Your group was put together behind my back, Luigi. And let me ask you this. Exactly where did you get the weapons you needed for this group?” Castalani’s mouth went completely dry, but before he regained any sort of composure, Falcone asked another question. “Do you have any idea who came to visit me, Luigi?” Castalani shook his head, then jumped when Falcone’s voice boomed in his face. “The CIA! I had a visit from an Agent Fierra! He specifically came here from the American Embassy in Naples to tell me about you and your group! Why did it have to be him to bring me the news, Luigi?” Letting that sink into Castalani’s brain, Falcone added, “I did not tell the agent that I already knew of your group.” Falcone paused briefly before asking, “Are you going to explain to me why you went behind my back?”
Castalani’s eyes were burning from the sweat dripping into them. There wasn’t any way he was going to be able to bluff his way out of this. “I am sorry, Don Falcone. I just thought I would take the initiative, to show you I was able to think for myself, to come up with a way to help you and the Family. I’m sorry for offending you, Don Falcone.” Castalani bent low as if in respect, when, in fact, he couldn’t look Falcone in the eye… he didn’t want to look Falcone in the eye.
Falcone mulled over his options. He touched Castalani on the shoulder. “Luigi, your Uncle Francesco has been with me a long time, and he has been loyal all those years. He is a man I respect and trust. You will need to regain my trust. Do you understand?”
Castalani inhaled deeply, almost choking on the air going down his throat. “Yes, Don Falcone.”
Falcone glanced at his gold watch. This twenty minute meeting had lasted long enough. He put a hand on Castalani’s back. “Luigi, I want you to go to my warehouse. You will need to give me more details about these weapons you have and where you have stored them. I have another meeting scheduled this morning, then I’ll meet you before noon. Perhaps I can invite your uncle to join us.” He waved for his bodyguard. “Escort Signore Castalani to his car.”
Falcone watched Castalani drive away, then he went to his phone.
As Castalani drove toward the security gate, he thought about Falcone’s words, about his attempt to “sweet talk” him, to try to hide his total contempt for what he, Castalani, had done.
Once through the gate, Castalani stepped on the gas, determined to get to Conza cave immediately, to his men, to the weapons and containers stockpiled there. A new plan had just evolved.
Chapter 17
Light from the lamp filtered through the lower branches. Grant could see that the Italian had set it on the ground. Easing his body through the prickly branches, he saw someone not more than six feet away from him, pacing back and forth. The other three men were approaching the truck that had carried the team.
Russo opened the driver side door and leaned out, shouting, “Andiamo! Andiamo!”
Bruno’s concentration was totally focused on the truck. All he wanted to do was just get the damn Americans into the cave. He was completely unaware of the danger lurking behind him.
Grant was within arm’s reach of him, waiting for his moment. Keeping his eyes glued to his victim’s back, Grant heard some commotion near the truck. Bruno took a half step forward when Grant threw an arm around his neck, his forearm pressing against the throat, cutting off oxygen, his other hand pressing the back of the head forward. Bruno’s body started sagging but Grant wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t relieve the pressure he was forcing against the throat.
With Grant and his victim literally “in the spotlight” from headlights shining on them, and visible to the team, the Americans had their chance.
Russo jumped from the cab, raised his Uzi and shouted in Italian, “Drop your weapons! Hands up! Hands up!”
Grant anticipated what was about to happen and dropped to the ground, dragging the body down, using it as a shield.
The three Italians stopped in their tracks, initially confused. But Gallo and Luca reacted like the robots they were, quickly sliding their Uzis off their shoulders. The team in the back of the truck opened up with their weapons. Bullets from the Italians’ guns sprayed across the front of the truck then into the air as the two men fell back, hitting the ground solidly. Conti fired his weapon as he spun around in pain, falling to the ground, unconscious. Grant heard the stray bullets impacting against the stone wall behind him.
“It’s me, sir,” Moore said, warning Grant before stepping out from behind the trees. He reached for Grant’s outstretched hand, pulling him from under Bruno’s lifeless body.
Grant shouted, “Everybody else okay?”
“Affirmative!” Russo shouted back. “A bullet grazed Paul’s arm, but he said he’s okay.” He got out of the cab and ran over to Conti, kicking away the man’s weapon. “Got a live one here, but probably not for long. He caught a couple bullets in his chest and thigh. Looks like an artery’s been hit.”
The rest of the men cautiously approached the two bulky forms laying in front of the truck. Dark patches of red started soaking their clothes. Cranston and Womack knelt next to each man, checking the carotid arteries for a pulse. Cranston reported, “Two dead.”
Walking up the incline, Adler said, “Time for me to do my thing.”
“Go,” Grant responded, giving a quick smile, thinking it was one of the only times Adler actually followed his orders. Then he turned to Moore. “What’s your body count in the cave?”
“Just one. Have to tell you, there’s a shit-load of stuff in there,” he indicated with a thumb over his shoulder.
“Gotta be thankful, though, Ray.”
“How so, sir?”
“Well, guess none of that gas is leaking, right?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah! Roger that, sir. Roger that!”
Grant looked around. “Jesus! More bodies.” He wasn’t about to transport them back to AFN. He shouted and pointed toward the trucks, “Get those bodies in the cave!” He started walking down the incline, standing over the Italian on the ground. “How’s he doin’?”
Russo knelt, checked for a pulse, then looked up at Grant, shaking his head.
Under his breath, Grant said, “And we’ve still got the one tied up.” He took off his hat, rubbed a hand over his head, then turned back up the hill, slapping his hat against his thigh.
Adler was kneeling next to the mortars when Grant walked in and asked, “Can you safe this stuff while we’re here?” He looked around in almost disbelief at what had been stolen from AFN.
Adler got up and pushed his hat back with a thumb. “Not if you want to get out of here today.”
Moore came near them, with the rest of the team following close. “We’ve got some bad news.”