Chapter 66 - THE DESCENT THROUGH THE SEA CAVE
The subterranean dock beneath San Rocco was a colossal natural sea cave reinforced with Roman concrete and blackened iron gantry cranes. The water inside the cavern was an oily, ink-black surge that rose and fell five fathoms with every heave of the Atlantic gale outside, slamming against the limestone walls with concussive, deafening booms that shook the catwalks overhead.
Moored in the center slip was the Sparviero—an eighty-foot, custom-built stealth interdiction vessel. She had no bright paint, no luxury teak decks, and no recreational fittings. Her hull was constructed of radar-absorbent carbon-composite painted in matte ocean-gray, powered by twin marinized gas-turbine engines capable of seventy knots in open sea. Two remote-operated fifty-caliber turrets sat recessed beneath hydraulic fairings on her bow and stern, controlled from the bridge consoles.
Dante carried Sophia down the rusted iron spiral staircase leading to the dock. He had stripped off his suit jacket, wearing a tactical black neoprene assault smock and combat trousers, his heavy Kimber .45 strapped to his thigh. Sophia was bundled inside a miniature waterproof offshore survival suit of bright red Gore-Tex, though she had adamantly refused to surrender her midnight-navy coat; Dante had simply zipped the red survival gear directly over her bespoke tailoring, leaving her looking like a tiny, determined astronaut with a serious scowl.
Marco and four senior assault operators from the Falcone elite guard were already aboard, their weapons secured in watertight bulkhead racks, checking the twin turbine telemetry on the digital bridge.
"Engines are warm, Don Dante," Marco yelled over the thundering roar of the water echoing off the cave roof. "The port authority radar in Elba has been looped using the diplomatic codes your father provided. We have a forty-minute thermal blind spot before the coast guard notices the wake."
Dante stepped across the boarding ramp, carrying Sophia onto the bridge. He settled her into the co-pilot’s shock-mitigating racing seat, clicking the four-point harness securely across her chest. He tucked Consigliere Barnaby into the utility pocket on the side of her console, making sure the bear’s black tie remained straight.
"Can you see the screen, sweetheart?" Dante asked, pointing to the massive, multi-spectral radar display glowing pale green before her.
"Yes, Daddy," Sophia answered, her small fingers already reaching out to touch the trackball that controlled the infrared camera. "The green circles are the safe water. The red triangles are the bad rocks."
"Exactly," Dante said, kissing her cheek. "You keep your eyes on the red triangles. If one gets close, you tell Marco to turn."
"I will shout at him," she confirmed with supreme gravity.
Dante turned to the helm console, wrapping his large, scarred hands around the throttles. He looked through the reinforced ballistic glass at the mouth of the sea cave. Outside, the open sea was a wall of black water and white froth, whipped by seventy-mile-per-hour crosswinds.
"Open the sea gates," Dante commanded into his headset.
Deep beneath the water, the massive pneumatic barrier began to sink with a groaning shudder of ancient hydraulics. The sea rushed into the cavern with violent, foaming fury, lifting the eighty-foot carbon hull three feet in a single heave.
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Dante shoved the throttles forward.
The twin gas turbines screamed to life, their high-pitched whine transforming into an earth-shaking, forty-thousand-horsepower roar that vibrated through the very bedrock of the fortress. The Sparviero leaped forward like a released javelin, her composite bow slicing through the surging swells, shooting out of the mouth of the cave and plunging directly into the heart of the raging storm.
