“Have to talk with the team, sir, but I can guarantee this will be finished today.”
“Good luck, Grant.”
Five minutes later Grant was walking across the compound slowly, with his head down and his hands shoved into his back pockets. Halfway to the barracks, he stopped, clasped his hands behind his head and looked up. He just stood there, trying to put his thoughts in some kind of reasonable order.
Should he touch base with Jack Edwards? Edwards already had somewhat of a loose relationship with Falcone. But he couldn’t even be sure if Edwards would be willing to make the introductions.
He shook his head and started pacing. It ate him up thinking he had to deal with the Agency, but he may have no choice. He didn’t think he could just drive up to the warehouse and expect Falcone to let him in. No. He had to contact Edwards. Make Falcone aware he’d be delivering his “package.”
Okay, then what? He pounded his forehead with his fist. “Think, Stevens, think,” he said under his breath. Negotiate with Falcone. Maybe a trade. Castalani for the canister. Simple enough, and sometimes simple is best — but sometimes simple is stupid. But what if Falcone had his own plans for Castalani and the gas? He may not want to give it up so easily.
Moore and Adler walked up behind him, with Adler asking, “Anything we can help with, Skipper?”
Grant turned, was silent for a minute, then said, “Ray, try one more time to see if you can find out where that canister was being taken. Get as many details as you can.” Noticing that Castalani was still sitting on the ground, he added, “And get one of the marines to put that bastard in the hangar. Keep him out of sight.” Moore rushed off.
Grant stepped closer to Adler, staring at him dead on. “You get your head straight yet?”
“I’m ready to go forth, my fearless leader! When we gonna get this show on the road?”
“As soon as I touch base with Jack Edwards.”
“You pulling him in on this?” Adler’s eyebrows raised, not expecting the comment, especially knowing how Grant usually felt about Agency peeps.
“Think it’s best. Don’t think we can just drop in on Mafia. Since Edwards has been on speaking terms with Falcone, he’s probably our only hope to get in the door.” Grant looked over Adler’s shoulder, seeing Moore holstering his sidearm as he hustled toward them.
“Did you use more friendly persuasion, Ray? Hope you got something.”
“Affirmative. Last that clown knew, his friend was to deliver the canister to Falcone someplace not far from the commercial docks.”
Again Grant smacked his fist into his palm. “I knew that bastard had more to say.” But then he started feeling frustrated again. “Shit! Please don’t tell me it’s the warehouse. There’re too many damn places they could’ve hidden that canister.”
“Negative. Not the warehouse. Seems Falcone has a freakin’ hundred foot Benetti yacht docked in a marina just north of the warehouse location. That guy,” Moore indicated with a thumb over his shoulder, “is pretty certain from directions given to him and his partner, that that’s the location of the canister.”
This particular yacht was built at Benetti Yachts. A luxury yacht with three decks, she has a beam of twenty feet and maximum depth draught of eight and a half feet. Her hull was built out of steel and the superstructure over the hull is fashioned out of aluminum. With her twin GM diesel engines, her top speed is approximately fifteen knots and a cruising speed of twelve knots, giving her a range of thirty-eight hundred miles.
On the forward deck is a hydraulic winch, allowing easy launching and retrieving of a nine foot inflatable boat, a Zodiac. The transom of the inflatable is rigid, providing strength for the mounting of its outboard motor.
“Makes more sense than a warehouse,” Adler commented. “But that’s one helluva big boat, Skipper.”
Grant nodded in agreement, before turning to Moore. “See if Vince can get a marina name and the name of that yacht, and any specific details. We’ll be right behind you.”
He thought about Adler’s question, trying to reason where a canister could be stowed — a canister of nerve gas, on a vessel that size. But there wasn’t any reason for Falcone to think his secret wasn’t still safe. Grant was betting it was stored where Falcone could keep an eye on it, like maybe the bridge. With the canister being the size of a grapefruit, it wouldn’t take up much room.
They were going to have to give themselves enough time for the search, and before daylight. Grant glanced at his watch. It was 1145 hours. The drive to Palermo would take two and a half to three hours.
“So? Any idea on where to start looking?” Adler asked.
“I’d say start at the bridge and work our way down, Joe.”
Adler nodded, asking, “You still thinking of bringing Edwards in on this?”
“Don’t see any way around it. Oh, by the way, the admiral reported that the injured Italians were transported from the carrier to a hospital in Catania.”
Adler blew out a long breath, then asked, “All of them?”
“He seemed to think so. Feel better?” Grant asked, laying his hand on Adler’s shoulder.
“Yeah, sure do.”
Grant noticed Moshenko leaning against the doorframe, puffing on a cigar. “Joe, give us a minute.” Adler went inside. Grant anchored his thumbs in his back pockets and propped a foot on the doorstep. “Grigori, listen. I talked with Admiral Torrinson about your helping us.”
“And he said…?” Moshenko asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.
“Ambassador Yakunin has requested you take the comrades to East Germany like originally planned. I’m sorry, Grigori.”
Moshenko flicked an ash from the cigar, looking down, shaking his head. “Very disappointing, Grant.”
“Look, Grigori. You went through one helluva ordeal here, not to mention saving our butts up at the cave. You need to fly outta here, then go home to Alexandra. Hey, you don’t think the comrades will ‘rat’ on you, do you?”
“‘Rat’ on me?” Moshenko asked, wrinkling his brow.
“Yeah, squeal on you, tell somebody what you did for us.”
“No, I do not think they will ‘rat’ on me. I reminded them you saved their lives, and I will remind them again if I must.” His face broke out in a mischievous grin, revealing his chipped front tooth. “And we will be flying over a good deal of open water on our way. Strange things happen over water, Grant, no?”
“You’ve read and listened to too many stories, my friend,” Grant answered, giving a wink.
Moshenko broke the end from his cigar, tucking the remainder into his jacket pocket. “I will need to make contact with the Leningrad.” The Russian ship was a Moskva class helicopter carrier.
“Sure, Grigori. You need to use the phone in the AFN building?”
Moshenko shook his head. “I will use the radio in the helicopter.”
He started to walk away, when Grant grabbed his arm. “You remember the conversation we had about D.C.?” Moshenko nodded. “I’ll be there for you, my friend. Don’t you ever forget that.”
Looking back as he was entering the barracks, Grant could tell Moshenko had some concern for his immediate future. Now Grant had to erase the feeling of guilt for getting his good friend involved in the op.
Chapter 19
Grant sat near the end of the long wooden table, balancing himself on the back legs of a chair, rocking back and forth. He couldn’t waste any more time if this op was going to end today like he promised Torrinson.
His next order of the day was to contact Edwards in Naples. He had to convince him to set up a meeting with Falcone. Maybe it wouldn’t take much convincing considering what happened to Agent Fierra, whether or not Fierra died because of an accident or not. It was still an agent lost.