"Hold it. Leonetti?"
There were some things that Jack Grimaldi did not need to know, for various reasons. "Yeah, he's the key," Bolan explained, determined to skirt the truth a bit. "Does the name ring a bell for you?"
"Not really," said the pilot.
"Goes back quite a few years. Roberto Leonetti was a New York underboss whose ambitions exceeded his reach. A bit like Gordy, I'd guess. And he came to grief-had to go into hiding. His wife and kid were hustled away by one of his loyal soldiers who was caught and snuffed a few days later. The wife and kid were never seen again. Leonetti lived the rest of his days in hiding but he kept sending people out searching for the wife and kid until the day he died."
"They got to him, though?"
"They got to him, right. But not through the wife and kid. Like I said, they've never been seen since."
"So how does Leonetti figure-?"
"The kid came back."
"Oh. Uh-huh. So the kid has been seen…"
"It seems that Dandy Jack Clemenza ran into him in Singapore while playing the heroin market. As the story goes, young Leonetti was heavily into the Golden Triangle loop. Guess it was in the blood-like father, like son. Clemenza took the kid on as his man in Asia."
"This kid is now grown up."
"Right."
"Great plot for a movie."
"It's no movie, Jack. A guy calling himself Carl Leonetti showed up here in Nashville last week. It seems that he's decided to go into competition against his own sponsor and-"
"That would be Clemenza."
"Right. It looks like Leonetti brought in a shipment that Clemenza knew nothing about. He was looking for a connection. He connected with Crazy Gordy."
"An unfortunate coincidence?"
"Depends on the point of view. It's a strongly layered outfit, Jack. Clemenza ran his own thing. Copa runs his own thing. Somewhere, several layers up, I'd guess, somebody runs both of them."
Grimaldi sighed. "And Mazzarelli just runs for Copa. Okay. Standard procedure."
"Sure. Standard split, too. The investment money comes down from the top and runs along the roots. As it's sucked back up, every wiseguy along the way skims off his share and sends the rest along."
"I understand that, yeah."
"Okay, understand this. The Syndicate got only half of what it paid for. That half fell the hard way last night in Memphis with Clemenza. The other half came into Nashville last week with Carl Leonetti."
"Oh ho," said the Mafia pilot in a falsely cheery voice. "I read that scene in big bold print."
"Read it this way, though. Leonetti hits Nashville with a shipment worth millions. He's trying to reach Copa. Instead, he reaches Mazzarelli. He's never seen again."
"Not even by Copa."
"Right. Especially not by Copa. So… I let it out. Now Copa is wondering about the name of the game."
Grimaldi chuckled. "So would I. But I still don't know what the hell-"
"I want Leonetti, Jack. I want him alive and well. The guy is wired."
"Oh. Oh. Yeah. Okay. That's why the feds." "That's why, yeah."
"I couldn't figure it. It's not like you, Sarge." "Maybe not, but that's the way it is. For now."
"So why are we going back?"
"You ever hear of Molly Franklin?"
"The Molly Franklin? Sure."
"She is Mrs. Copa."
"Awww-really? I never heard-"
"Neither did I. But he's introducing her that way. I take it that it hasn't been for long. She wants out, Jack. I'm going to take her out."
"Aw-well now-you mean we're…?"
"Yeah. Mazzarelli is out chasing a Black Ace. Copa is out chasing Mazzarelli. I figure there couldn't be more than a handful of guys left at that joint. That's why I want you to slip me in there. There's a small stand of timber on the back forty. Did you notice it?"
Grimaldi sighed. "Yeah. I noticed it."
"If you pick your angle carefully, I believe you can come in behind that timber without attracting attention. A low profile approach. You know."
Grimaldi knew, sure. And he did not like it. "This just isn't like you, Sarge. If there's just a few guys there, why don't you just blast her out. I’ve seen you-"
"Not this time, Jack."
"That's where your odds are. Those trees are several hundred yards behind the house. It's open country from that point on. There's not even a bush between there and the house."
"I'll have to chance it," Bolan insisted.
"Let me fly over once more and-"
"No way. This is a soft mission, Jack. That lady has to simply disappear. I mean like into thin air."
"Well, I can get you closer than those trees."
Bolan had figured that all along. But it had to be the pilot's own choice.
"Without being seen?"
"I think so, yeah."
Bolan had confidence in the guy. With damn good reason. He took a long breath and said, "Okay. Do your stuff, flyman."
"You just watch my stuff," said Grimaldi. Brave words, yeah. But the eyes were scared. Those knowing eyes were scared.
And, Bolan knew, with damn good reason.
CHAPTER 14
"They're going to hear us," Grimaldi warned Bolan. "There's no way to avoid that. So you'd better pray you've got your numbers right."
They were powering along just off the deck on a downwind approach, following the base of the ridge. Stunted trees growing along the 50-foot slope flashed past in dizzying procession just a few breathless centimeters removed from the reach of the wind milling blades.
And, yeah, Bolan knew that they would be heard. But he was counting on a greatly thinned human line in the defenses of that joint and he was especially counting on the fragility of human perceptions. Hearing was one thing; knowing, another.
The stone wall loomed up in the forward vision. The little bubbletop jumped it and powered on, hugging the ground again into the home stretch.
Grimaldi had earned his combat stripes at ' Nam, and Bolan had confidence in the guy. He'd seen many such windmill jockeys perform amazing derring-do stunts in the combat zones. Grimaldi was as good as any in Bolan's experience. But he would never cease to marvel at the fantastic, precision control these guys could coax from the complicated flying machines.
They had scurried on for just a few seconds after hopping the wall when the pilot grunted, "Hang onto your socks!"
With no noticeable slowing of the forward speed, the little chopper suddenly wrenched upward. Bolan felt the G-forces where he sat and where he digested his food; the little craft shot skyward, rising abruptly like an elevator-straight up. Bolan caught a glimpse of the house at the top of the bounce, at about the same moment that he became aware that Grimaldi had killed the power. For a flashing instant it seemed that they were going to topple backwards, but then the little chopper righted itself and settled to the ground with hardly more impact than an ordinary landing. This one had been fast and quick-damned quick!
Grimaldi released his inner tensions with a happy whoop, then told his passenger, "Ground zero, buddy. Hit it."
But Bolan was already hitting it. The numbers were tight and there were none to he squandered on premature congratulations. The target was about 30 seconds away, up a 50-foot timbered slope and in through the aquatic gardens. Thanks to his daring jockey, Bolan figured he had a good chance. Yeah. Call it 50- 50, anyway.