State Of War

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“So you don’t think the Russians are involved?”

“I think they’re somehow part of the mix and, more important, I think there are players in this game that have yet to reveal themselves.”

“So how do you want to play it?”

“I think I want to have another conversation with Salami.”

Kaino smiled happily. “Wear a hat!”

“Definitely.”

“Oh.” Grimaldi reached into his gear bag. “Almost forgot. A friend worked this up for you.” He tossed Kaino a Miami Heat cap. It made a strangely meaty thud in the big master sergeant’s palm as he caught it. Kaino massaged the impact material in the brim almost erotically and began adjusting the tab in the back for his head. “Sweet!” Kaino settled his cap on his head with a happy sigh. “So why do you want to talk to Salami? He’s an asshole. You think he lied to us?”

“No, I think he believed everything he told us when he told it, but I think he may have had some very interesting conversations with some very interesting people since you and I had our powwow with him. Plus, I’m thinking if Savacool can get a line on where he’s hiding out, so can the people we’re working against.”

Grimaldi had seen this more times than he had fingers and toes. “You think he’s being watched?”

“I’m counting on it.”

“So we’re going to pile into a car, drive up to Salami’s beach blanket Babylon and see who shoots at us? Again?” Kaino asked.

Bolan shook his head. “Not exactly.”

Savacool leaned her elbows on the table, perched her chin in her hands and gave Bolan the big brown eyes. “Do tell.”

“You and Kaino are going to pile into a car, loaded for bear, and be ready to hit Salami’s place on my signal.”

Savacool regarded Bolan with grave suspicion. “And you?”

Bolan looked at Grimaldo. “Did you bring me a jump rig?”

“Did I bring him a jump rig...” the pilot scoffed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Miami Beach, 10,000 feet

Grimaldi shouted from the cockpit into the helmet com link in Bolan’s ear. “Go! Go! Go!”

The soldier stepped out of Dragonslayer’s cabin and arched hard as he gave himself to gravity. Miami was a spectacular pool of light below, cut by the dark lines of waterways and counterpointed by the vast darkness of the ocean to the east and the Everglades to the west. The Stony Man pilot spoke in Bolan’s earpiece.

“Triangulating target.” The helicopter’s navigational computer synced with the grid of light below. “Target acquired, illuminating.”

The gimbaled infrared laser mounted on the helicopter fired a beam invisible to the human eye. In Bolan’s NVGs a bright pulsating spot appeared near the ocean’s edge. The spot pulsed on the roof of Salami’s beach bungalow.

“Copy that, Dragonslayer,” Bolan replied. “I have visual.” He stretched his arms behind him, turning his body into a streamlined dart aimed for the ocean’s edge. He enjoyed several more seconds of free fall and hit his chute as he crossed over the target. The canopy deployed, and Bolan began a tight spiral over Salami’s domicile. Out front Bolan could see a pair of men with slung rifles. They were smoking cigarettes, obviously in a low state of alert. Most of the lights in the house were off. The back patio and the beach beyond were dark and appeared empty. Bolan vectored in. The wind off the water was mild and the sand was soft. The soldier flared his chute as the beach rushed up at him and made a textbook landing. “On the ground. Going in.”

“Copy that, Sarge. Orbiting your position.”

Bolan clicked out of his harness and pulled his stun gun. He silently walked around the house and right up to the thugs lounging against Salami’s yellow Corvette. A black SUV sat parked to one side.