A small, rickety, flatbed truck, once used to carry colorful crates filled with fresh picked grapes and olives, slowly rolled to a stop along the shoulder of a dirt road, the driver immediately turning off headlights and engine.
Instead of crates, the truck now carried boxes of a different sort. Down each side were long wooden ones filled with M1 Garands, Beretta 92s, and Uzis. Lining the center of the truck were dark green, beat-up ammo boxes from World War II.
M1s were gas-operated, semi-automatic rifles with clips holding eight rounds of 30–06 Springfield cartridges. The clips for these rifles were known as “en blocks.” Basically, the cartridges were stacked on top of one another, being held in place by the base and extractor groove of the clip. The clip, with cartridges facing forward, was inserted into the top of the rifle. During World War II the rifle’s fire rate averaged 40–50 accurate shots per minute at a range of three hundred yards, making it the most single, fastest-firing service rifle.
The Beretta 92s were semi-automatic pistols, a modified version of the 92. A slide-mounted combined safety and de-cocking lever replaced the frame mounted manual thumb safety of the 92. The ammo for the Berettas were ten-round clips of 9 x 19 mm Parabellum.
The Uzi used an open bolt, blowback-operated design, that exposed the breech end of the barrel, thereby improving cooling during periods of continuous fire. Fifty-round magazines were stored in the ammo boxes.
Two men jumped out of the cab, quietly closing the passenger side door. Dead grass alongside the road was slick from a light rain earlier in the evening, making them slip as they hurried to the rear. One of them slapped the truck’s bed, giving the driver the “go” signal.
The driver, Giovanni Bruno, stepped on the clutch and slowly released the brake, as the two men in the rear began pushing the vehicle across the field, finally concealing it behind what was left of a small stone building.
Bruno, a man who grew up with Castalani on the streets of Palermo, helped him organize the group. Over several months, Bruno had chosen men who were eager to become part of the newly formed group. Many were homeless, some recently freed from prison. And it was Bruno who was instrumental in syphoning weapons that had been so carefully hidden over the years by Pino Falcone.
Making several trips, they started ferrying in the ammo and guns, stepping over and around pieces of thick splintered wood, the remains of a beamed ceiling now laying in disarray on the dirt floor.
Bruno had specifically chosen Edoardo Amara and Santo Piscaro to become his advanced party. Their responsibility was to transport the weapons, load the ammunition, then act as lookouts. He assigned Amara the task of loading the Berettas, Piscaro the rifles, and he would take care of the Uzis, since they were the weapons with which he was most familiar, having used them since his late teens. His uncles had taught him well, as did his friend, Luigi Castalani. And now, in the dark and quiet of his hiding place, he was able to load the weapons almost intuitively.
Two hours later, having completed loading ammo, the three men stood the rifles in a haystack design, six rifles per stack. The pistols were placed side-by-side in one of the crates, the Uzis in another. Then, all they had to do was wait for the remaining Diavoli to arrive.
Amara reached for a pack of cigarettes tucked in his jacket pocket, then drew one out with his lips.
“No,” Bruno warned him. “Not now.”
Amara nodded, pushing the cigarette back into the pack. “Si, si. Capisco.” (I understand.) They knew the slightest indication of anything out of the ordinary could prove disastrous for them, since no one had been in this ruin of a building for years.
Bruno pulled out a tattered piece of cloth from his pants pocket and wiped sweat from his face. He removed his coppolla, the traditional wool flat cap, and ran the cloth over top of his dark, curly hair.
He pointed to Piscaro. “Take the binoculars. Keep an eye on the facility until Edoardo relieves you. And look for the guards. They should be starting their rounds.” Piscaro nodded, then disappeared into the field.
To help ensure success of the attack, the homes of three local policemen, who were hired as security guards, had been visited by a couple members of the group two weeks earlier. The guards were given specific instructions to cut openings in the chain link fence at several designated spots along the western perimeter. Once the task had been completed, they were to continue with their patrols until 0430.
Gradually, over the course of the next two hours, members of the group started arriving, and as they did, each went directly to the weapons cache, selecting one or two, having experience in using all three.
Bruno stepped outside, expecting Castalani to arrive at any time. He was finding it difficult to decide if the feeling in him was caused by excitement or nervousness. This day was to be one of the most incredible days of his life, yet one of the most dangerous. Either way, he was looking forward to it. Finally, he heard the shuffling of feet, even before he saw the dark forms of three men approaching. He turned and went inside.
Two bulky men, carrying Uzis, with their flat caps pulled down to their eyes, stepped into the building. Walking closely behind was Luigi Castalani. He pushed past them and removed his black leather gloves. Holding them in one hand, he slapped them against his other palm, moving his eyes slowly around the group of men.
Bruno waited until Castalani looked in his direction, then he stepped nearer, handing his boss an Uzi, finally backing away, giving Castalani center stage.
Standing in the center of the group, Castalani glanced at the Uzi he was now holding. Raising his head, he cast his eyes around the group of men before finally speaking. “Each of you knows the plan for tonight. You have the targets and you know what must be done. Our contacts inside will be waiting. You know who they are, and you know they have helped us this far. But… I do not want anyone left alive who is not part of our group. Do I make myself clear?” Most of the men nodded in understanding, while others verbally responded, “Si!”
“Adesso… andiamo!” Raising his Uzi high overhead, he declared, “In bocca al lupo!”
His men replied enthusiastically, “Crepi!”
Their good luck was turning out to be all they could have hoped for. The early morning hours continued presenting excellent conditions in helping conceal their impending attack, with heavy cloud coverage and intermittent showers continuing. They had to take advantage of the current conditions. The attack must happen before daylight.
The men split into groups of five as they approached the perimeter, panning out and staying within twenty-five yards of each other.
Inside the facility, no one paid any heed to two figures, ducking into the shadows, walking toward a rundown wooden shed. They disappeared around the back, standing between two generators. One pulled a flashlight from his pocket. Aiming it toward the field, and directly in line with the generators, he turned it on and off three times. Once that was done, the two knelt down behind one of the generators and with their hands, dug out two old flour sacks. Inside each one, and wrapped in a protective layer of red oilcloth, was an Uzi. They inspected the clips, but failed to inspect the firing pins.
They were instructed to wait until they saw a single, small burst of light in the field, a signal that the Diavoli were close and just outside the perimeter. Then, they had to take care of the larger generator that supplied power to the buildings, with the intent to force anyone inside, outside.
The arrival of the helicopter carrying three men was a complete surprise, but there were no provisions set in place for them to contact anyone outside the facility. The plan had already been set in motion. They were specifically told to not deviate from their very specific instructions. Now, the best they could do was pass their information on to someone immediately, once the group was inside the compound. They had to believe the new arrivals, no matter who they were, would be dealt with in the same manner as the others.