Edge of Tomorrow (49 page)

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?

All because that fucking
Lucchese wants some fucking letter!
thought
Bocca.

“This is very bad news, Guido, I hope
you know that!” screamed Bocca. “Lucchese will have my balls! We
fucked up getting his damn letter, you and Dino fucked up a simple
snatch of two
women
, and now
you let that bitch shoot
you
when you were supposed to shoot
her
!”

“I didn’t know she was a fucking hit woman
for the Mafia!” whined Guido.

“You should have suspected something after
the way she threatened Dino with that fucking knife!”

“You knew that, too!” blurted Guido, knowing
as he said it that he should not have.

“Shithead!” yelled Bocca, slapping
Guido hard in the mouth, drawing blood. “You trying to blame
me
for your fuckups?”

Bocca picked up a phone and dialed a
number.

“Sonny! Get your ass in here—now!” he yelled
into the phone.

A minute later a knock came at the door and
Sognalio “Sonny” Gianconna entered the room when Bocca said, “Get
in here!”

Sonny was a six feet four inch giant with a
drooping mustache and the shoulders and arms of a weight
lifter.

“You called, boss?” he grunted.

“Yes! Get rid of this sack of shit! I never
want to see him again! Understand?”

“Come on, Guido, let’s go,” said Sonny,
taking Guido’s good arm and guiding him toward the door. Guido had
tears in his eyes and he was whimpering.

When the door was closed, Bocca took a deep
breath and called Lucchese, then explained what had happened,
putting as much blame on Nota as he could. Marco Lucchese was
furious!

“Damn it, Sal! I need that Carfagno letter! I
don’t give a shit about Dino and Guido! Who is this Don Corleone?
The name sounds familiar,” said Lucchese.

“Sounds familiar to me, too, but I don’t
place him right now. Guido said he was some big Mafia boss in
America—with close Sicilian ties,” answered Bocca.

“I sure don’t need any more trouble with the
fucking Sicilians! The last time was a bloodbath! But I need that
fucking letter. If it says what I’ve been told it says, I can kiss
the Sicilians goodbye! The police don’t have the letter—I checked
with my sources in the police department. It must be in that
fucking castle!” yelled Lucchese.

“That castle is full of Mafia hit men, for
God’s sake! What do you expect me to do?” whined Bocca.

“That’s your problem! You can follow Guido to
fish-land if you can’t handle this! You should have used Sonny
instead of that fucking Guido, and we wouldn’t be in this fix! I’m
sending Tony to Rome to help you. Understand? Use Tony and Sonny to
get me that letter!”

With that, Lucchese disconnected. “Tony” was
Antony Aliotto, Lucchese’s chief enforcer. Bocca felt a chill
slither up his spine as he remembered how efficiently Tony disposed
of Lucchese’s enemies—or anyone who displeased him. He knew Tony
was coming here to make sure the Carfagno letter—whatever it
was—was found, and if it was not, Bocca’s life span would be
shortened drastically! He just hoped Tony could figure out a way to
get into that fucking castle and find the fucking letter!

• • •

At 10 A.M., Hatch, Carmelo, Sara, Syd, and
Colonel Coffer assembled in the communications and computer room,
the same room where Syd had done her research on Monterra. It was
similar in configuration to the one Syd had seen in Florida, except
the ceilings were higher. They all settled in to watch the large
screen while Carmelo pulled up the digital file which contained
images of Bocca’s building taken earlier by a satellite. The 3-D
image on the big screen rotated slowly so all sides could be
reviewed. Hatch watched it closely while remaining silent. He saw
the rickety fire escape, the front and back doors, and the door on
the roof which allowed access to the roof for maintenance. He saw
the small balconies on the back of the building at the second and
third floor levels. The view from them was not great, but they did
allow the occupants to get some fresh air and sunlight. Hatch had
Carmelo stop the image rotation, and then had him zoom in on the
third floor balcony. A man was standing on it.

“That’s Bocca,” said Carmelo. “According to
our surveillance guys, he lives on the third floor. The front door
downstairs always has a guard. That place is locked up tighter than
your Folsom Prison.”

This place will be a hard
nut to crack
, thought Hatch.
Lexus could take it at night using explosives on the doors,
but I’d have hell to pay with the Italian authorities. I can’t
allow that—I have offices and people here. My Italian isn’t good
enough to pull off a ruse. I can think of only one
possibility.