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It’s important, she replied.
Ok forty mikes. The regular?
Yes. ASAP, her return text said. Very important.
Ok. Be there with bells on.
Lassiter turned to Morris. “I’ve got to go meet someone. Secure the Mexican brown and the money in my car, return the choppers and take the van back to base. I’ll tag up with you at 0700 tomorrow for debrief.”
“What about the prisoner, sir?” Morris asked.
Lassiter shrugged. Could the guy possibly be a Fed? Godfrey would have told him if that was the case. So the poor bastard was probably lying through his teeth. If he had any left. He was practically half-dead, anyway, and he’d made his own bed. Now it was time to die in it.
“Give him to them.”
“But what if he’s really one of the good guys?”
“You do this long enough, Morris,” Lassiter said, “you’ll learn one thing. There are no good guys.”
Morris nodded, turned and left. Lassiter watched him walk away, knowing his doubt still lingered. Could the prisoner be telling the truth? Could he be a Fed? But why would they send them with explicit orders to grab the guy from De la Noval, only to have him turned over to the motorcycle goons? If the guy really was a Fed, Benedict or Godfrey would have known. They’d only said the guy had been playing both sides of the fence. More than likely he was somebody’s low-level snitch who probably knew a few of the players higher up. The guy looked Mexican, too. Maybe he was one of their crooked cops. It was hard to tell. Besides, keeping a prisoner wasn’t something Lassiter had the desire or the facilities to do. Better to get rid of him sooner rather than later. More collateral damage.
Lassiter’s cell vibrated again.
Are you coming?
On the way, he texted back.
As soon as I make the call, he thought, and punched in the number. As he listened to the ringing, he took a deep breath as he pictured her beautiful face and body moving toward him in a translucent glow of the motel’s small lamps. It would be the perfect ending to a semi-successful mission.
Fairfax County, Virginia
ANTHONY GODFREY SET down the disposable cell phone and ground his teeth as he poured more of the amber liquid into his glass. He was careful that none of the liquid spilled on his desk, which was made of high quality teak and imported from Europe, a remnant of the court of King Louis XVI. The whiskey tasted smooth going down, but left just enough of a burn to remind him that everything, as Lassiter said, had not gone according to plan. Jesús De la Noval had slipped away before being terminated, but hopefully he would not find resurrection like his namesake.
But Godfrey would cross that bridge when he came to it. If he came to it. One thing he’d learned during his years as a deputy assistant secretary of state was not to worry about the intangibles. Just deal with them if and when they came up. He tried to let that philosophy carry over to his civilian mind-set now that he’d left government service and taken over the family business, GDF Industries, after the death of his father.
Don’t sweat the small stuff, he could almost hear the old man saying. It had served them both well in the long run.
Godfrey sipped some more of the whiskey, savored it and swallowed. He needed to call the future president of the United States, even if it was five-twenty in the morning. Smiling, he picked up his own cell phone, scrolled to the number for Brent Hutchcraft and pressed the selection button. The senator answered after the third ring, sounding wide-awake and cheerful, but then again Hutchcraft made it a point to go for a three-mile run every morning, rain or shine.
“Tony,” Hutchcraft said. “What are you doing up so early? Or is it more of a late night?” This guy was as cool as dry ice.
“How did you know it was me?” Godfrey asked.
“You’re using the same disposable number that comes up as GOD on my phone,” Hutchcraft said. “Who else would have such audacity?”
Godfrey forced a laugh. Best to sound courteous, deferential and matter-of-fact, just in case someone out there was listening. He didn’t think anyone was, and if they were, he’d most likely already know about it, but the secret of survival was to adhere to security procedures at all times, until they became second nature.
“I was hoping I’d catch you before your morning jog,” Godfrey said. “Want to grab some breakfast?”
This was their customary code for calling a meeting.
“I’m on a diet of egg whites and a protein shake this week,” Hutchcraft said. “The D.C. Triathlon’s coming up in three weeks. Besides, I’m announcing this week, and how would it look if some reporter saw me having breakfast with the ghost of Alfred Hitchcock?”
Godfrey bristled at Hutchcraft’s comparison of him to the deceased filmmaker, although he did recognize that the resemblance was striking. He said nothing.
Hutchcraft chuckled. “Sorry. How about you, me and Dirk in a game of racquetball at the club at three?”
Godfrey said he’d have his secretary make the reservation, and wished Hutchcraft well on his training run. Why the man sought to punish himself to such a degree by entering triathlons at the age of forty-four was beyond Godfrey. Still, image and looking fit were a big part of running for president.
After he’d clicked off he reached for the disposable cell phone to place his last call of the night. He punched in the number and Animal answered with his usual belligerent, “What?” Godfrey hated dealing with this motorcycle moron, but sometimes life left a person little choice. And Godfrey was, for the most part, used to lowlifes and ignorant bastards. He’d dealt with enough politicians.
“It’s me,” he said. “Just checking to see if the package arrived.”
“Yeah,” Animal replied. “But I ain’t getting much. He’s pretty beat up already. Plus I ain’t seen no Benjamins, or no guns and roses, neither.”
Godfrey considered that. It meant that Lassiter still had the money, the weapons and the heroin, which was just as he’d said in his report. Godfrey was big on confirmation. He’d learned that during his tenure in the State Department and the Agency during the cold war. Trust, but verify, as many times as you could, until you were certain. Turning all the goodies over to Animal prematurely wasn’t in the cards.
The DEA man was a different story. The quicker they found out what he knew, and to whom he’d told it, the better. As far as Avelia being worked over, Del la Noval had to have done some preliminary interrogation before the strike team intervened. Maybe that’s how he’d figured the team’s imminent arrival and realized it was safer to boogie. That guy Jesús was as crafty as an alley cat, but it was a moot point now. Godfrey would deal with that loose end later. The bird in the hand had to be eliminated.
“Get whatever you can find out and dispose of him,” Godfrey said. “But do it in a judicious manner.” He wondered seconds later if a guy like Animal would know what judicious meant.
“Yeah, yeah, I know how to deal with a snitch. What about the goodies?”
The “goodies” meant the drugs, along with the twenty Stinger missiles, two-hundred M-72 LAWs, fifty Barrett sniper rifles, five-hundred M-4 rifles, accompanying ammunition, assorted grenades, starlight scopes, claymore mines, and five hundred level-four body armor flak jackets that were supposed to be delivered to De la Noval for a cool ten million dollars. Instead, the drug lord got a shipment of full-metal jackets, courtesy of Lassiter and his group.
“That should proceed as planned.”
“So we’re still on for tomorrow night then?” Animal asked.
“Most assuredly,” Godfrey said. “I’ll get hold of you tomorrow.” He pressed the end button without waiting for a reply or acknowledgment. He needed to make sure Benedict’s cleanup wet team was set to take care of this one. Looking out the window, he watched the nascent sky changing from pink to a gray, almost colorless hue that he knew would inevitably turn to a robin’s egg blue. The monuments and landmarks of the nation’s capital still had that faintly orange glow. Hutchcraft was probably out running in the Virginia woods near his house, enjoying the crisp morning air.
Well, goody goody for him, Godfrey thought. And goody goody for me.
He had more worlds to conquer.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_7232c9bf-3780-53b3-a024-ab6a9082d591)
Stony Man Farm, Virginia
Bolan watched as Hal Brognola poured himself a cup of coffee. The big Fed took a sip, shook his head with a disgusted expression and asked Bolan if he wanted a cup. It was closing in on 6:00 a.m., and Bolan had barely slept on the plane ride from Mexico to Stony Man Farm.
“No, thanks,” he said. “I want to hit the sack for a few and then the range later on.”
“The range? I figured you’d want to sleep for a week after your abrupt trip south of the border.”
Bolan shrugged. “Have to keep in practice. We didn’t fire a shot down there.”
Part of the reason he was in the office Brognola sometimes used when he was at Stony Man Farm was to give his old friend the briefing so he could, in turn, brief the President. The other part was to get some answers. Bolan wished he had better news. He’d given Brognola a partial sitrep by sat phone on the flight back. Sleep had proved elusive after that, and even Grimaldi’s attempts at humor as he piloted the plane hadn’t shaken the darkness from Bolan’s introspection.
“No sign of Avelia, eh?” Brognola said as he set the cup on his desk. His face showed the fatigue and creases of little or no sleep, so Bolan knew he was in good company.
“Like I said on the phone, somebody beat us there. They hit the place hard, left a bunch of bodies and an empty tiger cage that I assume they’d been using to hold Chris.”
“A tiger cage?” Brognola shook his head. “I thought those things went out a couple of wars ago.”
“Evidently not,” Bolan said. “It looks like they tortured him, too.”
The big Fed winced. “Damn. No sign of Jesús De la Noval, either?”
“As far as we could tell,” Bolan said. “We checked as many bodies as best we could, and didn’t see him. But at that point I figured, since things had already gone to hell in a handbasket, there was no sense sticking around waiting for company.”
Brognola nodded. He picked up the coffee cup and took another sip. “Ah, Aaron outdid himself making this batch. You could run a deuce-and-a-half on it. I knew I should have declined his offer to make a fresh pot of coffee before he headed back to the computer room.”
Even Brognola’s attempts to lighten the mood talking about Aaron Kurtzman’s legendarily terrible coffee did little to lift Bolan’s spirits. The big Fed seemed to sense that. “I’m sorry we missed finding Chris. Do you think there’s any chance he may still be alive?”
The fact the tiger cage had been empty, except for the shackles, meant that Avelia had most probably been there, but had then been removed at some point prior to Bolan’s arrival. Too much time had elapsed between the discovery of his capture and the rescue mission. Somebody had messed up on this one. Badly.
“It’s hard to say,” Bolan said. “Did you find out what Chris was working on?”
“Not a lead in sight, but Aaron’s keeping at it.”
Bolan shook his head. “They hung him out to dry.”
“Yeah.” The sadness was evident on Brognola’s tired face. “That’s obvious.”
“A couple more things are obvious,” the soldier said, holding up two fingers. He tapped the first one. “They should’ve pulled him sooner. Or had a react team on standby in the area. Whoever was in charge of putting him in there undercover dropped the ball as far as scheduling the rescue, and needs to be fired.” He clenched his fingers into a fist. “Or worse.”
“Damn straight,” Brognola said.
“And,” Bolan continued, “somebody who knew we were going in there had advance notice and sent in another team to beat us to the punch. I don’t know if they got Chris, but it’s a likely probability.”
“You think maybe Jesús De la Noval took Avelia?” Brognola asked.
“Run with a prisoner he knew was a federal agent? Not likely.”
Brognola compressed his lips, and then nodded. “Yeah, I agree.” He stared at Bolan as an uneasy silence descended over them. The higher-ups in the federal government never liked to admit they’d made a mistake when an operative ended up compromised, especially in cases where the screwup caused a loss of life. They both knew there would be substantial hand-wringing and finger-pointing as everyone struggled to avoid culpability. But that didn’t change the facts: Chris Avelia hadn’t been properly protected and was most likely now in enemy hands, or dead.
Finally, Brognola said, “There was a leak somewhere along the line. I’ll see what I can find out about that, and get back to you. And I’ll make sure that the President knows, as well.”
Bolan nodded. He knew his friend would do his best in that regard. “Have Aaron check into something else, too. Jack and I saw some helicopters leaving as we approached. It’s doubtful they belonged to De la Noval. They looked like old surplus U.S. military. They had to have transported the team that hit the compound before we arrived. Maybe he can track them down.”
“We’ll get right on that, too,” Brognola said. “Anything else I need to brief the President on?”
“Just that Chris is a good man. Tell him I’m not about to stop looking until I find him. He’d better not, either.”
Brognola’s expression grew sadder and he nodded. At this point the chance Chris Avelia would be found alive was slim to none. Once Bolan knew for sure, his mission would shift from one of rescue to revenge, or as he called it, moral justice.
Tucson, Arizona
THE LIAISON WITH Ellen at their usual spot, the Holiday Inn, was turning out to be anything but the romantic interlude that Lassiter had anticipated. In fact, it was having just the opposite effect on him. The first thing she did was have him take off his shirt, which he took as a good sign. Then he noticed the bed. It was covered with fresh towels. What was that about?
They’d been meeting there for the better part of a year, ever since Dr. Allan Lawrence had brought her in to assist with the GEM Program. Lawrence had introduced her as “Dr. Campbell,” and said, “I’ve brought her west from D.C. She was my finest student at Johns Hopkins.”
Lassiter couldn’t care less about that. One look at the young, twenty-something blonde, with oval glasses and a knockout figure even in a lab coat, and he was smitten. He didn’t hesitate at all when they’d moved to the private examination room and she’d told him to strip down for his physical.
“I’m ready to check anything you want,” he said with a smile. “Demonstrations can be arranged also.”
She’d smiled, too. Briefly. Just a hint of perfect white teeth flashing behind an almost shy expression. But she wasn’t smiling now. The blue eyes looked deadly serious...and sad.
“We need to do this now?” Lassiter said as he reclined on the rather hard motel bed and extended his bare arm toward her. He used his other hand to fluff up the pillow. “I’ve only got about two hours, you know.”
She shot him one of her piercing glances as she tied a rubber ligature around his massive biceps.
“Is this going to hurt?” he asked, trying to sound playful. Getting an IV right now was probably the last thing on his mind. What the hell had gotten into her that this took precedence over them enjoying each other’s bodies for a while?
“I’ll try to be gentle,” she said as she wiped the inner aspect of his right elbow with an alcohol swab. Her dainty fingers looked glossy in the thin, latex gloves. Those were a bit of surprise, too. If she was worried she was going to catch something, it was way too late at this point in their relationship.
“What’s with the gloves?” he asked.
“John, please,” she said, looking around. “I need something to hang this bag on.”
He glanced toward the door. “Too bad this isn’t one of those old bed-and-breakfast places. They’d probably have a coat rack handy.”
She reached into her medical bag and pulled out a catheter. He barely felt the needle slide into his distended vein. A few drops of blood fell out of the shunt before she attached it to the IV line, secured the hookup with some tape and then straightened, holding the plastic plasma bag over him.
“Hook it on the mirror over that.” He pointed toward a dresser adjacent to the bed. “Use one of the coat hangers.”
She looked, and then told him to hold the bag as she went to the small closet and tried to pull one of the thick metal hangers from the clothes rack. They were secured by a circular design that kept patrons from stealing them. Swearing, she turned to him with a frustrated look.
Lassiter was already off the bed and moving toward her. She started to protest, but he held the IV bag above his head as he walked. When he was next to her he asked, “Need some assistance, milady?”
Ellen bit her lower lip, then reached up and took the bag. “Do you think you can pull one of those off without disturbing the hookup?”
He grinned. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
“John, be careful. Don’t bend your arm. I’m serious.”
He kept his right arm straight as he grabbed the hanger. The fingers of his left hand curled around the thick, circular metal. For a moment the muscles in both his arms flexed like gigantic pythons awakening. He bent the circular clasp, freed it from the rod and handed the hangar to her. “How’s that?”
“Fine,” she said. “Thank you. Now go back and lie down.”
“Don’t I get a kiss as a reward?” He leaned close to her, his lips brushing hers.
She kissed him softly, but with a gentle urgency, and he once again sensed that something was off.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Go lie down. Let me get this hung.” Still holding the IV bag, she guided him toward the bed and waited while he resumed his position of repose. Then she slipped the tab of the IV bag over the bent portion of the hanger and looped it over the corner of the mirror.
