Chapter 37 - The Sicilian Extraction
Vincent reacted on pure instinct. He tackled his father into the snow, pinning the old man’s arm just as the flare ignited with a brilliant, blinding white hiss. The flare dropped harmlessly into a snowbank, sputtering into steam.
"Enough!" Vincent roared, holding Domenico down by the collar of his coat. "It's over!"
A heavy hand clamped onto Vincent's shoulder. It was Caterina. "Vincent, look at the horizon. We don't have time for this."
Far across the frozen waters of the fjord, the dark hulls of three fast-attack hydrofoils were carving through the pack ice, their searchlights illuminating the mist. These were not Domenico’s men.
The flags fluttering from their antenna masts bore the crimson sigil of the *Cosa Nostra di Palermo*—the true Old World syndicate, the ancient council of Sicilian barons that Domenico had stolen the ledger from forty years ago.
"The Sicilians," Domenico gasped from the ground, coughing up blood and laughing hysterically. "They tracked the cipher broadcast! They don't care about the family name, Vincent! They came to reclaim their heritage, and they will slaughter every American who stands on this ice!"
"Move, now!" Vincent barked, pulling his father to his feet by the scruff of his neck and shoving him toward Caterina’s extraction boat. "Ruby, get on board! Caterina, man the stern fifty-caliber!"
Ruby dashed up the gangway of the interceptor boat, her small hands quickly unlocking the cabin door and firing up the twin diesel turbines. Caterina leaped onto the aft deck, racking the heavy charging handle of the mounted Browning .50-caliber machine gun.
Vincent hurled Domenico into the forward passenger hold and leaped over the gunwale just as the lead Sicilian hydrofoil opened fire with high-caliber autocannons.
Heavy rounds chewed through the ice shelf, throwing giant geysers of frozen slush and pulverized stone into the air. The interceptor’s engines roared, its deep-V hull slicing violently through the black, churning water as Caterina returned fire.
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Tracer rounds lit the Arctic sky like angry red threads. Caterina’s continuous burst struck the lead hydrofoil’s wheelhouse, blowing out the glass and sending the enemy vessel veering out of control until it slammed violently into an iceberg, erupting into a towering column of orange flame.
"Set course south-southwest!" Vincent shouted to Ruby at the helm. "Get us into international shipping lanes!"
