“Wish I could! Okay, look, I’ll shoot for the C-130.” Torrinson looked up at the wall clock above the office door. “Are you planning to make this a night op?”
“Let me see how long it's going to take to put this thing together, sir, but as of now, I can’t see it happening any earlier.” He only hoped it didn’t take any longer, knowing there were lives depending on him and his team. “I wish I could make it happen faster, sir.”
“I know, Grant. Time is of the essence.”
Grant smiled. He and Torrinson always seemed to be on the same wavelength. “Yes, sir, it is.”
“We’ve got to anticipate any situation, Grant, especially since we don’t know what they’ve got planned for the hostages, assuming there are hostages.”
That same thought had passed through Grant’s mind, almost making him nauseous. Usually, he depended on his gut, his instinct, but all he had to go on this time was practically nothing. Again, that feeling of helplessness hit him.
Torrinson continued, “I mean, we don’t know if they plan on staying on base, if they plan on making a run for it, or… ”
“Or if they plan on making use of the new-found weapons.”
“True, true,” Torrinson replied, grimly, momentarily closing his eyes. “And that’s one of the biggest concerns.” He rocked back and forth in his swivel chair, as he tapped the pen against his lips.
“Sir, do you think it’s possible this group is a renegade part of the Mafia? If what the tech heard and if Russo can translate it correctly, it may be the name of the group. And if that’s the case, I can’t imagine it not being renegade.”
“Still trying to determine that, but it’s looking that way. What we do know is that someone in Naples is trying to make contact with the head of the Palermo organization who controls the whole region.”
“The ‘Cowboys’?” Grant asked, with a raised eyebrow, and already having a pretty good idea the CIA was getting involved. (“Cowboys” is term used for the CIA, standing for “ Cowboys In Action”.)
“More than likely, but even for them, it won’t be an easy task.” Torrinson got up and stood by the corner of his desk, sliding the toe of his shoe back and forth on the deep blue carpet. “Well, Grant, can you think of anything else, anything you need?”
“Yes, sir, there is. Any way to get me a map or maybe recent photos or satellite images of the facility? It’d sure help in planning how we can attack this thing.”
“I’ll get right on it. Anything we can get, I’ll have faxed to Operations along with the warning order.”
“That’d be good, sir. I’ll have one of the men head over there.”
“No. You keep all of them with you. I’ll have the papers brought to you. Hold on a sec. Let me get Zach.” Torrinson called out to his yeoman, and a minute later, he was back with Grant. “Now, you’d better get going.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be in contact with you before 1100 hours my time, Admiral.”
“Look, Grant, I know you’re just coming back off a mission, but… ”
“Not a problem, sir. We’ll take care of it. To tell you the truth, Admiral, I’m glad it’s my team that’ll be going in.”
Torrinson sat at his desk, nodding his head, understanding Grant’s willingness to take on this mission. They were the closest team to AFN and would take the shortest time to get there. But still, two missions, back to back. “Okay, Grant. On your way.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Grant held his cap in his hand, momentarily looking at the gold eagle and anchor emblem and gold braid. He rubbed the edge of his sleeve lightly across its shiny black brim, almost unconsciously, as he processed the information. Finally, he opened the door, then lingered in the doorway briefly. When he looked up, he saw the team milling around by the main door with all their bags piled in the corner of the room. They started toward him.
The look on Grant’s face practically answered Ray Moore’s question before he even asked it. He picked up his gear, and the rest of the men did the same. “Staying or going, sir?”
“Hold it a second, Ray,” Grant said, holding up a hand, before turning to one of the security guards. “Need to make a request, sir. Is there any place we can use for some private discussion? We’ll probably need it for at least two to three hours.” Grant thought he’d better add more clarification. “Will have to contact my boss at NIS in D.C. later, too.”
“Don’t see why you can’t use that same room, Captain.” Guard Tom Adams became curious and asked, “NIS, you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmm. Don’t think we’ve had any NIS boys here before,” Adams commented, as he started walking toward Grant.
Grant was positive that more curiosity-type questions were rattling around in the guard’s brain. He started turning back toward the office, knowing they couldn’t waste any more time. “Appreciate your cooperation, sir.” Adams stopped in his tracks and shrugged his shoulders, feeling he’d just been rudely shoved aside. Grant reached for his bags that Simpson was holding, then motioned with his head for the team to follow.
Once behind the closed door, and with their gear stashed at the end of the room, the men carried the folded beige metal chairs away from the wall, then opened them near the desk where Grant was sitting on the corner.
He sat up straighter, as he folded his arms across his chest. And then he began. “I know you were looking forward to going home, and I understand you’re just as tired as I am, but that call was from Admiral Torrinson. We’ve got a new warning order. It seems a situation’s developed at the new Armed Forces Network facility in Sicily.”
“A ‘situation,’ sir?” asked Moore, scooting forward on his chair.
“Yeah, Ray. Don’t know if you’re very familiar with that place, so let me first give you some background.
“The site was built on top of an old airfield where damaged German fighters and bombers landed during World War II. Even before construction started, thorough searches had been made for any ordnance that could have gone undetected.
“Two weeks ago construction for a new water storage facility was begun a hundred yards or so from the main AFN building. Bulldozers unearthed what appeared to be an underground tunnel, with all the earmarks of having been built by the Nazis. It was running along the south side of the property, stretching about a hundred yards end to end. Quite a feat, gentlemen, since that area is not more than eighty feet above sea level.”
“No, shit!” Simpson grinned, then immediately apologized for his remark. “Uh, sorry, sir. That was completely uncalled for.”
Moore gave a quick glance at Simpson, a look only Moore could give, that of a hardened senior chief petty officer. Then he looked back at Grant and questioned in his gravely voice, “What’d they find, sir? I mean, besides the tunnel. It had to be something of significance, right?”
“You’re right, Ray. It was a pure treasure trove. The Nazis were gearing up for any invasion the Allies were planning. They had stockpiled assault rifles, mortars, machine guns, two of the first cruise missiles invented, the Henschel HS-293s, but most disturbing were the canisters of nerve gas, Sarin to be more specific.”
Sarin was discovered in 1938 by two German scientists attempting to create stronger pesticides. It is the most toxic of the four G-agents made by Germany. The compound, which followed the discovery of the nerve agent Tabun, was named for its discoverers: Schrader, Ambros, Rudiger and Van der Linde. Sarin is a clear, colorless, and tasteless liquid that doesn’t have any odor in its pure form. However, sarin can evaporate into a vapor (gas) and spread into the environment, being lethal at a distance of up to three-quarters of a mile, depending if any additives have been added to it. The gas usually travels horizontally, along the winds, so anyone above where it’s been released, is presumed to be safe.