“Nice work, Grigori!” Grant said, as he laid a hand on Moshenko’s shoulder. He ducked his head, then sat in the co-pilot’s seat. A picture flashed in his mind of the last time he found himself in one of these helo’s.
The KA-25 Moshenko was piloting had crashed into the Mediterranean from engine failure. Grant was on a dive team searching for a lost nuclear bomb off the coast of Spain. When the helo hit the water, so did Grant, swimming into the sinking aircraft, and cutting Moshenko out of a jammed seat harness.
“You are okay, my friend?” Moshenko asked, giving Grant a questioning stare.
Grant slouched in the seat, clasping his hands behind his head. “Aside from exhausted, starving, and aching all over? Then, yeah, I’m okay.”
“We should be back to your compound shortly where you will be able to rest and eat.”
“Still gotta do something with the Italian passenger.”
“And you have decided?”
Grant sat straighter, then turned sideways, resting his elbows on his knees. “Would you be willing to… ”
“You do not even have to ask,” Moshenko answered with all seriousness. Then he changed the subject. “Do you remember being in a cockpit similar to this under very different circumstances?”
“No way I’d ever forget, Grigori. One helluva friendship started that day.” Grant held up his hand with Moshenko’s thick hand immediately latching onto it.
Grant looked to the side, seeing Adler approaching, pointing out the windshield toward AFN. “There it is, straight ahead.”
“Home sweet home,” Grant mumbled.
Chapter 18
With the chopper still one hundred feet above the ground, Grant yelled over the sound of the rotors, “Doug, grab that guy and hang onto him!”
Taylor grabbed Castalani’s jacket, pulled him up, then bending an arm behind his back, held it securely. Castalani winced, with fury building up inside him.
Grant and Adler stood by the open door, hanging onto the sides, looking down as the ground came at them, the rotating blades kicking up dirt beneath them.
At touchdown, Grant and Adler jumped out. Grant immediately cupped a hand around his mouth and yelled, “Ray, take care of this guy! Put him in there!” he ordered, pointing to the barracks. Moore grabbed Castalani’s arm and yanked him from the chopper, turning him over to Simpson and Russo.
As Grant and Adler were walking from the chopper, Moore asked, “You both okay?”
“We’re good. Any problems on the way back?” Grant asked.
“Negative. Everything’s been secured in the hangar.”
Grant glanced off to his right, and asked with surprise in his voice, “Where’d they come from?”
“Oh, the marines? Admiral Torrinson requested fleet to bring them in off the carrier as additional security. And, by the way, he’s waiting to hear from you.”
Moshenko caught up to them, thinking of Grant’s comments on the helo. “Excuse me,” he said laying a hand on Moore’s shoulder.
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you have any food and drink for these men?”
“Yes, sir. We sure do. Come to the galley,” Moore responded.
“That’s a good idea, Skipper!” Adler commented.
“I’ll catch up to you later, Joe,” Grant said. “I’ve gotta contact NIS. The admiral’s been out of the loop for too long.” With that he took off jogging toward the main building.
A couple minutes later, Grant made contact. “Zach, Captain Stevens here.”
“Oh, sir! You’re back!”
“Yeah. Is the admiral in?”
“No, sir. He just left for home. Said he’d be back in an hour. Should I call him, sir?”
Grant looked at his watch. “No. I’m gonna grab a quick bite. Just tell him I’ll be here.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Hey, Zach. Hold it. Can you patch me through to Jack Edwards in Naples?”
“Sure, sir. Wait one.”
Grant paced in front of the desk, ignoring the rumblings coming from his empty stomach. He had to find out if anything had been determined on Agent Fierra’s cause of death.
“Captain Stevens? Jack Edwards.”
“Yes, sir. Listen, sorry we got off to a bad start earlier. No excuse, but we had a helluva situation going here, sir.”
“Understand, Captain. What can I do for you? Wait! Before you answer, can you tell me what happened? Did you find who or what you were looking for?”
“Yes, sir. We did. Brought the canisters here and also captured somebody from the group. Haven’t had a chance to run a G2 yet, but pretty sure he’s the leader. Name’s ‘Castalani.’”
“Well, Captain, you just got yourself a winner there.”
“So, he is the ‘head honcho’!”
“Damn right he is. I got a surprise call from Pino Falcone not long after Castalani met with him. And, by the way, your instinct about Falcone knowing about the group was correct. Anyway, Falcone swore on the bible he didn’t have anything to do with Agent Fierra’s death.”
“Did you feel comfortable with that, sir?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Besides, Falcone knew we would have run any and all forensics.”
“Did you get those results?”
“I won’t go into details, but from the examination of the vehicle and of Agent Fierra’s body, it seemed to be an accident. We’ve sent the body back to Langley for autopsy anyway, for final confirmation.”
“I’m sure that gives you some relief, sir, but let me again extend my sympathy. It’s always tough to lose a team member.”
“Thanks. Say, what do you plan on doing with Castalani, if I can ask?”
Grant hesitated. “I still haven’t talked to Admiral Torrinson.” He left it at that. “Look, have to go. Maybe one of these days we’ll meet up.”
“You know where to find me.”
Except for the marines standing guard around the compound, everyone else was in the barracks. Grant walked in, his eyes meeting Castalani’s. The Italian was sitting at the far end of the table in between Russo and Simpson. Grant walked along the side of the table, stopping opposite the Italian. He put a foot up on a chair, and laid his forearms across his knee. Without taking his eyes from the man, he asked Russo, “Vince, has he offered up any information?”
“Been as quiet as a mouse.”
“What about our other Italian friend over there?”
“Nothing yet.”
Grant pounded his fist on the table. “Enough of this bullshit. Ray! You, Ken and Eric take Castalani upstairs. Gag and tie him to anything in there. And once you’ve got him settled, I want it to sound like you’re beating the crap out of him. Maybe that’ll loosen this guy’s tongue.”
“Got it, sir.” They jerked Castalani off the seat, dragged him across the room, then roughly pushed him up the stairs.
Grant turned his attention back to the other Italian, giving him a hard stare. “Okay. Vince, Paul, same thing with this guy. Take him to one of the other rooms and tie him down. We’ll see if all the noise will jar his memory.” The two SEALs immediately took their charge upstairs.
Grant sat down heavily near Moshenko and Adler. “Here ya go,” Adler said as he slid a bowl of steaming, hot spaghetti in front of him, along with a cup of black coffee.
Grant’s eyes opened wide in amazement, as he breathed in the delicious-smelling aroma. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“That’s what I said,” Adler laughed. “Wait until you taste it!”
Grant looked around the room, spotting Wagner leaning against the doorway to the galley, with a black apron wrapped around his waist, and waving a wooden spoon. Grant snapped a quick two-finger salute to the generous man.
Moshenko put a hand on Grant’s back. “Eat. You need to eat.”
Grant asked, “Did everybody have some?”