The Hidden Trillionaire Mafia Lord

Chapter Nine

“TARGET IN RANGE!”

The radio on his dashboard called out as his assault boat glided through the waves like knife in water.

Their plan was to wait at dock for Bonanno and Gambino to respond to the false alarm at 0600 hours before they infiltrate and rescue the kidnapped hostage.

To his left, General Griggs' older boat sped through, and behind him, Maurice piloted his own, rough-edged but armed. They were minutes away from 0600 hours.

Static crackled in the comms.

“Everyone hold position,” came the voice of General Yugoslav from command HQ.

General Griggs tapped his radio. “Say again?”

“I do not copy, I repeat, I do not copy. What is going on, General?” Maurice roared into his comms.

“Hold position, Charlie. We are receiving interference from the Communication system.”

“Copy that.” Levi responded.

“Is that a problem?” Maurice responded through his comms.

There was a brief pause.

“Charlie, Oscar, 105. Your coordinates have been compromised, I repeat your coordinates have been compromised. They know we are coming!”

Levi stared at his receiver. “Is that a problem, sir?”

“Abort Mission!!” Yugoslav repeated sharply. “I repeat… abort mission and return to our dock immediately. We’ve been compromised. There’s a mole.”

Maurice groaned. “A mole? You’ve got to be joking.”

Griggs growled, “Who is it? Who leaked our coordinates?”

Yugoslav’s voice remained grim. “We don’t know. But someone within the command relayed your path to Bonanno and Gambino. If you proceed, you ride into a trap.”

Levi said nothing and his eyes were fixed on his screen. He listened as the others responded.

“Understood. Returning to base.” Griggs exhaled.

“Copy that,” Maurice echoed.

Both turned their boats around, except Levi.

“Alpha 2-9-6, I said everyone should return to dock!” Yugoslav was screaming.

“I heard you, sir.”

“So why are you still going ahead?”

Levi didn't answer. He locked his gear and eased the joystick forward.

“Levi, do you copy?” Yugoslav’s voice was quieter now. “Abort the mission and return to dock. That’s an order!”

Still, no reply.

Levi’s hand hovered over the throttle.

Then he unplugged his radio completely as his eyes narrowed over the waves. The dark coast of the border stretched ahead like a diseased skin.

Good thing was, his boat was fortified with an anti-detector which kept him hidden from any radar.

“This is for Hogano's wife.” he muttered.

And with practiced fingers, he stealth-activated the docking gear and veered off radar, slowly toward an abandoned dock just outside the perimeter of Bonanno and Gambino.

The stealth boat kissed the waves and he shut off the engines.

Levi stepped out, adjusted his helmet and checked his firearm.

His radio buzzed one last time, Yugoslav was barking in anger.

“Young man, what are you doing?...Stop disobeying my commands right now!”

“I read you loud and clear, sir.” Levi replied.

“Good. Because… you’re on your own now on. There will be no cavalry. Do you understand?...no reinforcements, no extraction!!”

A long pause.

Then he added, still in anger. “Godspeed, crackhead!!”

The comms crackled dead.

He swung two bags stuffed with fake rounds and blank ammunition.

He surveyed the compound from the fence, it as empty as a graveyard. He patiently cut open the barbed wire on the fence and carefully scaled through into the compound.

He crept past two distracted guards and found the armory, two mafias chatting in hushed tones manned the entrance.

Levi moved behind a truck, threw a small pebble across the ground and it clattered near the gate. One mafia turned, the other grumbled.

"Ancora un topo?" one muttered, stepping out to investigate.

That was all he needed.

Levi struck. One blow, silent and efficient. Then another and the mafia guards slumped unconscious. He dragged them behind crates, checked the door, and slipped inside.

Rows upon rows of ammunition greeted him.

He opened his bags and began replacing every live round with an empty round, slotting them into crates, belts, and magazines. The room smelled of oil and metal and tension.

Breathing heavily, he stepped back and surveyed his work.

Perfect.

He moved next to the transmission post, a squat bunker with only one light on. There was only one mafia. Good.

He knocked once.

“Chi è quello?” A voice asked.

CRACK. The butt of Levi’s rifle met the man’s face and he dropped, dazed. Levi shoved him under the desk then checked out the radio system.

He adjusted the dials, and began typing into the Morse machine, sending encrypted messages to General Yogoslav at HQ:

SOUND THE FALSE ALARM NOW!

He heard heavy boots approaching and he slipped outside into the darkness again, his heart racing from adrenaline.

Moments later, there was a loud rumble in the sky and cries from the terrain as gunshots erupted in the distance.

Good, Command HQ had received his encrypted message and had hopefully sounded the false alarm as a decoy to pull the captors away, giving him time to extract the hostage of interest.

Jeep engines revved alive in quick successions and sirens wailed like judgement day.

“Alle armi! Alle armi!” shouted a rogue looking mafia.

Levi ducked behind a crumbling wall and stood watch.

From inside the main compound, mafias poured out like ants from a trampled hill. They moved in lines, grabbing gears that wouldn’t save them: ammunition belts filled with blanks, fake grenades, and dead rifles.

A leader barked something in clipped Italiano, and they all jumped unto power bikes and screeched into the horizon.

Levi slipped into the deserted building, it was a matter of time before the captors realize the alarm was false. Time was running out.

He opened the first cell, a thin man scrambled forward.

Scratch that.

He moved to the next, it was empty. Unto the next. Nothing.

He followed a thight corridor and approached a cell. As he made to open, a mafia swung a dagger which caught him in the arm. He swirled, gave him a hard deck but the mafia stood studily like a rock.

The mafia swung again and he ducked.

Too late. He was flung and he crashed through stacks of crates and concretes.

The mafia rushed again but he was faster. He leapt, grabbed a concrete hangar and smashed through the mafia’s thick skull, knocking him out clean.

He followed a thin passage and arrived at a lounge but a bullet ricocheted right before him.

“Halt!”

A thin voice commanded him and he turned to see a lady aiming a pistol at his head.