Right before the end of the Via Ballarò, he came to the Via Rua Formaggi, took a right, and slowly walked down past the Black Cat.
It was housed in a four-story building, the first floor of which was painted a burnt tangerine. It had a black awning, with potted palms in the street, blocking any parking out front. A brown metal gate covered the door. Brown wooden shutters covered what looked to be an expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows that opened up onto the sidewalk.
The main entrance to the apartments above appeared to be adjacent to the entrance of the club. If there was a bouncer, which any club worth its salt would have, that was going to be a problem. There was no way they’d get through that door without being seen. Not without creating a major distraction. He’d have to come up with another way in.
Walking down to the next corner, he turned left and pulled out his phone. He had no problem at all looking like a tourist. It would only help his cover as he continued his surveillance.
Opening up Google Maps, he pinpointed his location. Then, he clicked the satellite view and zoomed in on the neighborhood from overhead.
For as many narrow passageways as the old town had, he’d pulled the short straw in this section. Buildings were built side by side and back to back. There were no alleys, no rear exits. There was, however, something interesting.
Behind the Black Cat was a group of adjoining buildings surrounding an enormous inner courtyard.
Palermo was famous for its palazzos. Harvath figured that’s probably what the adjoining buildings originally were. That, or a convent. But now, with the concrete of the courtyard painted like a soccer field, he figured it was probably a school of some sort.
Along the north side of the complex, the roof was flat and lined with solar panels and hot water tanks. From there, it was a short scramble to get up onto the roof of the Black Cat building. Harvath decided to take a closer look.
Walking up to the Via Giuseppe Mario Puglia, he hung a left. Half a block down, he saw something that made him smile. Scaffolding.
The old town was just that, old. And during his short walk through the neighborhood, he had seen a ton of renovation projects. He made a mental note to look into investing in a Sicilian scaffolding company. But as quickly as the thought entered his mind, he got rid of it. If the Mafia here was anything like it was back in the U.S., the construction industry was the last place he’d want to put his money.
Crossing the street, he held his phone up and pretended to be trying to get a signal. As he did, he took a video of everything he saw.
The narrow cobbled street was quiet. As best he could tell, it was residential — no shops, no cafés. There was very little traffic.
It was perfect. He had found his way in.
Checking his watch, he saw that he had enough time to search for potential places to reposition their vehicle before he’d have to head back and meet the rest of the team at the restaurant.
CHAPTER 52
Staelin was the first to arrive at Osteria Ballarò. It was a Sicilian restaurant built in the stables of an old grand palazzo. He had taken a table in back, had his book out, and was reading when everyone else arrived.
Harvath noticed he also had a beer in front of him. “Having a good time?” he asked.
The Delta Force operative looked up from his book and drew Harvath’s attention to the rest of the restaurant. “When in Palermo.”
Harvath looked around. Everyone had a cocktail or a bottle of wine going.
He didn’t mind drinking. In fact, he enjoyed it. Just not before an operation.
That said, his team didn’t exactly look like teetotalers. They looked every muscled inch the intense ass kickers they were. To not have at least one drink on the table would have raised eyebrows.
More important, his guys were professionals. They had trained with alcohol in their systems and knew its limiting effects. He decided to allow it.
Morrison ordered a beer as well. Barton asked for a glass of Chianti. Harvath and Lovett joined him.
As soon as the waiter had left to go get their drinks, they began discussing what they had noticed while surveilling the nightclub.
They all agreed that getting up to the apartment unseen via the street entrance was a nonstarter. By the time the club opened, there’d be too much going on.
That also meant that getting Ragusa out of the apartment in order to interrogate him at another location was out of the question. The interrogation would have to happen there.
They assumed that the Mafioso would be traveling with bodyguards and could call upon nightclub security for backup if needed.
The Black Cat was equidistant between two of the busiest police stations in the old town. If a call went out to law enforcement, response time was likely to be fast.
The team had done an excellent job of mapping CCTV cameras, potential escape routes, choke points, and alternate rally locations if they were forced to split up.
When it came to breeching the apartment itself, they were in agreement with Harvath. They would have to come in from the roof.
The waiter delivered their drinks and asked if they were ready to order. Lovett asked him in Italian to give them a few more minutes.
“Show me your shoes,” Harvath said after the waiter had left.
“My shoes?” she replied.
He motioned for her to do it and she complied. Turning in her chair, she slid one of her feet from beneath the table and showed it to him.
“You flew in from Rome. Where’s your bag?” he asked.
“In the back of the truck.”
“You have any other shoes in there?”
Lovett nodded. “My running shoes. Why?”
“Because I don’t know if this Ragusa character speaks English. In case he doesn’t, you’re going to be my terp. You’ll go in via the roof with us. Running shoes will do.”
“Full disclosure. I’m not very good with heights.”
“You’ll be fine,” he assured her.
“What about the rest of us?” Morrison asked. “How’s this all going to break down?”
Taking out his phone, Harvath opened up Google Maps and showed the Force Recon Marine a large Baroque church, the Chiesa del Gesù, a block over from the nightclub.
Because it was built on an angle, back from the street, it created an area that opened up extra parking.
“You should be able to park right on the edge,” Harvath explained. “As long as you don’t leave the truck, it won’t get towed.”
“No offense, but why me?” Morrison asked.
“Because Haney’s not here and I trust you. That’s why.”
Morrison didn’t look convinced.
“Listen,” Harvath continued. “If I’m a Palermo cop, and I roll up on you, I’m not going to get a bad vibe. You’re obviously an American and he’s probably going to peg you for military. Just smile and tell him you’re waiting for a legit spot to open up so you can join your friends for drinks.”
“Why not have Barton do it?”
“Because he’s incapable of smiling. Nobody would believe him.”
“That’s true,” the SEAL said from across the table, giving Morrison his death stare.
“Also,” Harvath said, tightening in on the satellite image of the rooftops, “I think he’s about the right size to go into the apartment via the skylight.”
“And him?” Morrison asked, looking at Staelin.
“He’s going to be our eyes and ears on the ground.” Waiting a beat, Harvath added. “We all good then?”
They all nodded, except for Staelin.
“What’s up?” Harvath asked.
The Delta Force operative slid his phone over to him. On it, a weather app was open.