by Wolf Wootan
“I know what you mean, though. It’s hard being a woman in a man’s business,” observed Sara. “I’ve faced that all my life. You have to keep proving yourself.”
After another half-mile through dense forest, the path widened and several paths merged with it every quarter of a mile or so. All of a sudden, eight men running two abreast came out of a path on their right. They were all dressed in khaki tee shirts and running shorts. The unit caught up with the women in less than a minute.
“Yo, Major! I heard you were here!” said the man on the left of the front duo. “How’s the arm?”
“Yo, Gunny! Arm’s getting better! Meet the gal who bound it up and saved my life, Syd Steppe. Syd, this is Gunny Lamper, the LL team leader here,” huffed Sara.
“Hi, Gunny,” Syd said, looking him over.
“Yo, Syd! We all owe you one for looking after the major! Are you also the gal who nailed that sniper? Great shooting!” said Gunny.
He turned his head and addressed the men running with him, “Yo, people! This is Syd, the gal who drilled the shooter asshole!”
They answered in unison, “Yo, Syd!”
They all ran for another quarter mile in silence, then Gunny said to Sara, “Why don’t you come lift a brew with us tonight—join the poker game? We’ll change it to strip poker in your honor!”
“I might do that! I’d love to see all of you bare-assed naked!” laughed Sara.
“We have other ideas!”
“In your dreams! You guys have never beat me yet!”
“Then bring Syd along. Maybe she won’t cheat like you do,” Gunny laughed.
“Well, I’m gonna head back, Gunny. I’ve already exceeded my limit for the day. You want to go on for a ways, Syd?” asked Sara.
“Yeah, I think I will. I’m in a groove. Gunny can tell me how to get back to the castle,” replied Syd.
“OK. Take good care of her, Gunny, or I’ll kick your fucking ass. See you later, Syd,” said Sara as she turned and jogged back the way she had come.
Syd fell into an easy gait next to Gunny, who asked her, “How far you gonna run, Syd?”
“I was planning on five or six, but I feel good enough for a little more than that,” she replied.
“OK, I’ll lead you back to the castle a different way than you came so you won’t get bored,” stated Gunny, who then turned to the man on his right and added, “Sam, take ’em home. I’ll see you later.”
Sam peeled off on a path to the right, his strike team following. Gunny pointed to a path veering to the left, and he and Syd took that path.
“This’ll be around eight miles total this way. Too far?” Gunny asked.
“No, that should be fine. I’m feeling good so far. How about you, though? How far have you already run?”
“Don’t worry about me, ma’am.”
“I assume you were a gunnery sergeant in your previous life,” said Syd.
“You got it, ma’am. The major—Sara—recruited me into this outfit when I got kicked out of the Marines. I cold-cocked a lieutenant when he was trying to get my platoon killed in Bosnia. I saved my platoon—and his ass as well—but the Marines don’t tolerate sergeants slugging an officer.”
“How do you like this outfit?” she asked.
“Greatest outfit ever! I’m still Semper Fi inside, but this is one crack unit. And the equipment is unreal! Oops! I don’t know what I can tell you. You in the Liberators?”
Syd gave him a look and smiled. He was about an inch taller than she was, but probably weighed in at close to 190 pounds. He was all muscle with thick shoulders, and sported a Marine haircut. Tattoos covered both shoulders and his left biceps. Syd guessed he was in his late thirties.
“No, but I am privy to some of Lincoln Liberators’ information. I know about Shadow-4, if that’s what’s bothering you. But I’m not in LRD. I’m just a friend of Hatch Lincoln and Sara.” she replied.
“Mr. Lincoln is something else, isn’t he? Gave a lot of us second chances when no one else would. You run like a Recon Marine, ma’am. What’s your gig?”
“I’m a language professor at the University of Miami,” she smiled.
“You’re shittin’ me, right?”
“’Fraid not. How many of your team have been helped out of bad situations by Sara and Hatch?”
“Most of us had problems of one kind or another. This job helped us get our lives back together and still do what we know best,” answered Gunny. “Where’d a college prof learn to shoot a sniper rifle? I hear that shot was over 500 yards—and at night, too!”
“It’s a long story, Gunny. Besides, it was a very lucky shot,” she said, side-stepping the question.
“Veer left at that next trail, Syd,” Gunny advised.
Gunny Lamper did not think Syd was giving him the full skinny on who she was, but he decided not to push it, especially since she was close to Sara and the big boss. He liked his job too much.
“Only a half mile to the castle, ma’am. How’re you holdin’ up?” asked Gunny.
“Great! I haven’t been able to run for a few days, so I thought I would be more winded, but I’m fine.”
“You’re in great shape, ma’am,” he smiled.
She got his double entendre and smiled, also, accepting the compliment with pleasure. She was in good shape! And had a pretty good shape for a woman thirty three years old!
He added, “You comin’ to the poker game tonight?”
“I’m a lousy poker player. I think I’ll pass. Besides, I’ll be busy tonight,” she replied, thinking of Bocca and his thugs.
The castle came into view as the forest thinned.
“Thanks for the company and the escort, Gunny,” she said.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” he said, and disappeared back into the forest.
Another good man rescued by Hatch. Are all of his people victims of various flaws in the system, and the misfortunes of life? Gunny even hinted that most of his team were rescuees. What a complex man Hatch is!
Gunny’s remarks started Syd thinking about Hatch again: who was the man really? He had used the word ‘relationship’ last night, and she had assumed he meant ‘sexual relationship,’ but could he have possibly meant something more? As she assessed her view of their relationship, she realized that she did not think of him as a super-rich man, a billionaire. Even though his wealth was in evidence all around him—castles, mansions, private jets, invisible helicopters, endless supply of money—he did not wear his money ostentatiously on his sleeve. Maybe it was because she had first met him in a violent situation—getting a fleeting glimpse of Bob Hatcher in the process, she now knew—instead of one associated with his wealth that she never thought of her relationship with him as being related to his money. He obviously had great compassion for the woes of others as demonstrated by his employees whom she had met. She wondered about the thousands of employees he must have: they all could not be rescuees. The way he planned to deal with Bocca was another enigma: a rich man could buy a horde of hit men to handle the situation, but instead, Hatch was determined to handle it personally. He obviously did not like to buy his way out of problems, or he would not go on those dangerous Shadow missions, either. Then there was the one-night-glimpse of Bob Kelly, song and dance man par excellence. She was sure she knew things about his past, personal life, and business that no one outside his companies knew—maybe some things very few insiders were aware of. Did that have any importance? He said he trusted her, but was he talking about Syd or Anna? She wondered, still confused.
She got back to Hatch’s room in time for their communal shower. She stopped analyzing their relationship and treated herself—and Hatch—to a delicious morning ‘dally’ under the spray of the warm water.
She dressed in a lime green halter dress—one of her new outfits—and low sandals. She and Hatch went down for some breakfast before they paid a visit to the wounded sniper.
• • •
After breakfast, Carmelo led Hatch, Sara, and Syd down th
e long hallway, into the courtyard Syd had been in earlier that morning, and out a different gate to where a blue Jeep Grand Cherokee was waiting. Gunny was leaning against the hood eating a banana.
“Yo, Gunny!” Sara greeted him.
“Yo, Major!” he replied.
The rest of the party greeted Gunny as they piled into the Jeep. Gunny started the engine and drove down a narrow road into the heart of the forest. It took about twenty minutes to arrive at a large clearing which had a huge hangar with a two-story building running along one side. The entire structure was covered with camouflage paint.
“Colonel Coffer’s compound,” Hatch informed Syd. “Shadow-4 is housed here as well as the Hostage Rescue Team known by the call sign Lexus. Their sphere of influence is Europe and the old USSR nations at times. Their last mission—the one Sara mentioned—was back in June. It involved the rescue of the Orient Express, if you can believe that.”
Syd thought of Mrs. C. talking about her husband’s last ride on the Orient Express, but felt sure this was about something else, so she asked, “You mean, like the train?”
“Yes, the real train. It was carrying a large load of gold bullion on the Paris to Budapest run and six German gunmen hijacked the train in an attempt to steal the gold. They were neutralized, if I may use that word again, by the Lexus team without the train ever stopping. No civilians injured. It was quite a job!”
Thinking of the rescue in Cuba, Syd said, “I can imagine how they did it, knowing what I know now. Still risky, though!”
“Life is risky, ma’am,” interjected Gunny, remembering how his strike team had been put on the roof of the moving train by Shadow-4.
Gunny parked the Jeep in front of a door in the two-story building. Unlike the compound in Florida, no Triple Eye personnel worked here—their office was in Rome—so security did not seem as severe to Syd. There was a sign-in desk, and after everyone signed the log, they went to a room similar to the interrogation room Syd had seen in Florida. Colonel Bill Coffer was there waiting for them, and Syd was introduced to him. Syd was surprised when she saw him, because for some reason, based on what they had said about him, she expected someone who looked like John Wayne. Instead, the man whose hand she shook was about an inch shorter than she was, and was thin and wiry. He was dressed in camos with pleats on the front of his pants, which were stuffed neatly into spit-shined combat boots. He was completely bald, but it was not clear to Syd if he shaved it or if that was the way it was naturally.
They all looked through the one-way window and observed the wounded sniper sitting in a chair, his right arm in a sling and heavy bandages on his right shoulder.
“Well, well, well!” exclaimed Syd. “That’s the little fucker who drove the car when they tried to kidnap Teresa and me. What a fuckup! I could have killed him twice already! I don’t know much about the mob except what I’ve seen in the movies—like The Godfather—but when a guy fucks up as much as this guy has, don’t they whack him for embarrassing the family?”
Hatch stroked his beard as he looked at the catenari sniper.
“You know, Syd, you just gave me an idea about what to do with this guy. Let me run something by you guys and see what you think—especially you, Carmelo, since you’re the resident expert on crime organizations,” said Hatch.
He took ten minutes to explain his plan, then revised it after receiving input from everyone. Finally, they all agreed to try it. Carmelo led Hatch and Syd into the room to confront the shooter. They could see panic in his eyes when he saw Syd. So far, according to Bill Coffer, the prisoner had spoken only Italian, claiming he could not speak English. Since he could be lying, and probably was, they had to stay in character when they spoke in English among themselves.
Speaking Italian, Carmelo asked the prisoner, “Do you speak English?”
The man shook his head.
Continuing, Carmelo asked, “What’s your name?”
This was an unnecessary question, since Carmelo had already run his fingerprints and found out that he was Guido Nota, a criminal who had been arrested many times, but was never convicted. The man looked at the three of them, settling on Syd, then said in Italian, “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“That’s fine. We’ll just call you ‘asshole’ for now. And don’t bother to ask for a lawyer. You may have a misconception about who we are. We are not associated with the police, so no one here is on your payroll. Your fate is completely in our hands. I have been instructed by this very important gentleman here,” Carmelo said as he pointed to Hatch, “to inform you that you and your associates have invoked the wrath of his boss, Don Vito Corleone.”
Carmelo paused for effect, letting the name sink in. Syd had to struggle to suppress a smile. It had been her idea to use the name of the mobster played by Marlon Brando in the Godfather movie.
“Never heard of him,” Guido replied, sweating.
“That is your misfortune. He is the leader of La Cosa Nostra in the United States, with strong ties to …”
Carmelo stopped talking when Hatch touched his elbow, then shrugged, letting Guido fill in the blank.
“Why don’t we go ahead and whack him?” asked Syd in English, looking at Hatch. “That’s what Don Corleone sent us for. Remember, they killed one of ours, and were stupid enough to go after me twice. I’ll do the honors.”
The man’s eyes went very wide, and he started breathing rapidly: he obviously understood English well enough. That was what Syd was trying to find out.
“You like using that knife, don’t you?” Hatch added, increasing the agitation of the wounded man. “Carmelo, ask him who sent him.”
Carmelo did so, but the man remained mute, so Hatch said, “OK, we know Bocca sent him. I wonder what Bocca will do to him if we just drop him off at Bocca’s house. I know what Don Corleone would do to me if I fucked up as often as this asshole has.”
“But—Don Corleone wants us to get rid of him,” interjected Syd.
“Bocca will take care of that. Then we’ll take care of Bocca. I want this shit to deliver a message to Bocca,” answered Hatch. “It’s too bad they didn’t know everyone in this castle was protected by the Cosa Nostra and its friends. Now, they’re in the deepest shit possible. Carmelo, tell this asshole we’re having him dropped off, and I want him to deliver a message to his boss, if he gets to talk before they kill him.”
Carmelo relayed the message in Italian, but it had not been necessary. Guido Nota knew he was doomed.
• • •
Back out in the hall, Syd said, “That guy is so inept I almost feel sorry for him. Are they all like that, Carmelo?”
“Unfortunately, no. They are a vicious group. He definitely understood English, as we expected. He’ll feed his boss quite a story,” replied Carmelo. “What’s next, Hatch?”
“Have him dropped off in front of Bocca’s place, and we’ll see what response we get. Tell our sentries to be alert; those assholes may be stupid enough to make a move against us here at the castle. If they do, I’ll let you turn Lexus loose on them, Bill.”
The colonel smiled and said, “I hope they are that stupid. I’d love to have a crack at them on our own turf!”
“OK, Carmelo. Put some surveillance on Bocca’s place, and have the bastard dropped off,” Hatch ordered.
“Will do. I have a satellite programmed to watch his building, but I’ll put a couple of men in the neighborhood, too. Then, I’ll see you at the ten o’clock meeting,” said Carmelo.
“I’ll double check our perimeter security, Hatch,” stated Colonel Coffer. “A gnat won’t get near the castle without me knowing it!”
• • •
Salvatore Bocca’s headquarters—which was also his living quarters—was in a three-story brick building in the rough part of southern Rome, an area populated by thieves, drug dealers, and catenari members. He lived on the third floor, and various key members of his regime lived on the other floors. There was always a guard at the front door on the first floor. The
back door was locked at all times. There was a fire escape climbing up the west wall, but all entry doors were locked from the inside.
Rocco Bianco, the guard on the front door, was surprised when he saw a black Mercedes pull up to the curb in front of the building. That area of the curb never had cars parked in it, since everyone in the neighborhood knew the consequences of parking in front of Salvatore Bocca’s building. Bianco stepped out onto the covered entry as the passenger door opened and Guido Nota was pushed out onto the sidewalk. Bianco saw that Nota was heavily bandaged and his right arm was in a sling. They had been wondering why he had not checked in last night with the results of his assignment: kill the two women who were witnesses to the botched kidnapping, especially the one who had threatened Dino with a knife and had him arrested. Now, he shows up on Bocca’s doorstep looking like he had been in a car wreck.
The Mercedes sped away as the guard went out and helped Guido Nota into the foyer of the building.
“You better have a good story, Guido. Bocca is fuming,” stated Rocco Bianco in Italian.
“The story is not good, Rocco. I’m probably a dead man!” replied the wounded Guido. He knew that if Bocca did not kill him, those Mafia people would. He was very frightened.
They took a small elevator up to the third floor and Rocco knocked on Bocca’s door. Salvatore Bocca opened the door and let them in, scowling at Guido.
“Go back and stand watch, Rocco. I’ll deal with this!” ordered Bocca.
Bocca was a thickset man around six feet tall and 200 pounds, and had a shaved head. He had an earring in his left ear lobe, and besides his catenari tattoo, had a tattoo of a cobra wrapped around his right biceps. He was dressed in black slacks and a black, sleeveless tee shirt. His eyes were like black lumps of coal as he looked at the pathetic Guido Nota.
“Make it good, Guido! I only want to hear it once. What happened?” fumed Bocca.
Guido blubbered out the story. No matter how hard he tried to lessen his part in the failure, Bocca was not fooled. Guido had fucked up royally! And the Mafia was warning him to lay off the people in Il Castello di Bragno or face dire consequences! What was happening here?
