Chapter 43
I’ve spentthe past three evenings trying to identify the airfield where we were taken. After scouring pictures online for hours, I’ve come to the conclusion that Canadian airfields all look the same. If only there were more pictures of supply closets in airplane hangars. Oddly enough, that doesn’t seem to be a popular feature to advertise. Go figure.
We only saw a quick look at the area where the airstrip was located when we walked from the hangar to the plane. Most everything was covered in snow, however, so that hasn’t helped much. I’m having to fall back on deductive reasoning instead.
I’ve been able to roughly pinpoint where the cabin is approximately sixty miles northeast of L’Ascencion. The crash site couldn’t have been much more than a couple of miles from there, and we were in the air for no more than thirty minutes before we crashed. With an average airspeed of 200 mph, that gives me a one-hundred-mile radius of possibilities with those on the southern side of that circle significantly more likely than the northern side. This would be incredibly helpful if rural Canada didn’t have a ridiculous number of small privately run airstrips.
Taking all things into consideration, I’ve zoned in on three that I believe are the most likely candidates. The only way to confirm beyond that is to go in person and see them with my own eyes.
Maybe it’s a waste of time to chase down answers like that. Some might say what’s done is done, but that’s not who I am. I need to know who was responsible. And I want everyone in the city to hear how I hunted down every last one of them.
The minute a family goes soft and allows something as personal as a boss to be taken hostage, that’s the beginning of the end. It reeks of weakness. Vulnerability.
I refuse to allow it.
Even if I’m not at the helm when this is over, I won’t be known as the man who led the Moretti family to ruin.
“I need to leave town for a few days,” I tell Gino over dinner. “Not exactly sure how long it’ll take, but I’ll be in touch.”
“You find something?”
I shrug and pat my napkin to my lips. “Maybe. Hopefully. Either way, I have to try.” And no one else can do it for me. If I can find the airfield where we were kept, I know in my gut it will lead to useful information. And once I pinpoint who was responsible, I’ll rip their fucking throats out. No one pulls that shit with the Morettis and gets away with it.
Gino nods approvingly. “I’m here to help on this end however you need me.” He leans back and takes a sip of wine. “I’ve been thinking about what we discussed. If you really want me to take over, I’ll do it, but I don’t want you rushing into any decisions. You get this done first and see how you feel after. The rest can wait.”
It can wait, but it won’t change anything. I’ll still want Shae, and she’ll still be a Byrne.
I keep my thoughts to myself and simply nod.
“How many guys you planning to take with you?”
“I thought I’d take Ettore and have him bring four of his most trusted soldiers with him.”
“What about your brother? Tommaso is nearly twenty now. He could use the experience.”
Irritation quickly sours my mood. Gino isn’t wrong, and I value his opinion, but my brother’s situation is complicated. “This mission is too important to take any unneeded risks. We’ll be going into their territory. I need to feel 100 percent confident in every man at my back.”
“Fair enough. Just remember that he’ll never get there if you don’t give him a chance.”
Gino knows as well as anyone that Tommaso’s mind doesn’t work quite like the rest of ours. It’s created problems every time we try to bring him into the fold. Communication with him is a challenge at best. The most frustrating part is that the guy is a fucking genius. He’s so damn smart but somehow can’t understand the simplest instructions. I don’t understand, and this isn’t the time for practicing tolerance. I have enough on my plate as it is, so dealing with Tommaso right now isn’t an option. I don’t even want to discuss it.
“Speaking of kids, how’s your brood?”
He smirks. “Quieter now that Pip is out of the house.”
“That good or bad?”
“Hell, I don’t know.” He shakes his head and laughs.
We spend the rest of dinner on lighter topics, catching up on family drama and sports news. I lost my father earlier than I should have, but I count myself lucky to have an uncle like Gino to help fill those shoes. The load I carry on my shoulders is infinitely more tolerable with him around.
Two days later, six of us board a private jet and set out for Canada, unsure what we’ll encounter. We’re so loaded down with equipment and supplies that the pilot informs us we’ll have to fuel up at each stop. I don’t give a fuck. You better believe I’m taking an arsenal of guns, a satellite phone, emergency equipment, and a week’s worth of provisions.
I saw the odd glances some of the guys sent my way but ignored them. They can give me a hard time after they’ve spent three weeks in a cabin hunting for their own food. Until then, they can keep their fucking mouths shut.
The first stop proves to be a dud. We don’t have to leave the plane for me to know it’s not the airstrip I’m looking for. A brand-new water tower stands across the runway from the hangars. It wasn’t on the Google Map satellite photos, or I could have saved us the trouble. We fuel up and set out for our next stop.
As soon as we touch ground at the second stop, I know I’ve found my airstrip.