Part 1 (1/2)
San Diego Siege.
by Don Pendleton.
I can't get at the enemy here.
He is too well dug in. So I'm laying siege to San Diego.
When the pressures get too intense, then we will see what comes up over the hill.
-Mack Bolan, THE EXECUTIONER
PROLOGUE.
The tall man in midnight combat garb stood in stark silhouette on the high ground atop Point Loma, gazing broodingly upon the sprawl and sweep of California's oldest city. Coronado and the impressive Naval Air Station lay directly ahead, Lindbergh Field and the Marine Base slightly to the north, the complex of seagoing navy activities spilling off toward the south bay. Backdrop to it all was the old city herself with her hills and freeways and suburban cl.u.s.ters-”Dago” to generations of servicemen, San Diego San Diego to those who proudly loved her and made their homes in the sunny, smog-free environment ... ”h.e.l.l-ground” to the tall man in black who quietly contemplated his next area of operations. to those who proudly loved her and made their homes in the sunny, smog-free environment ... ”h.e.l.l-ground” to the tall man in black who quietly contemplated his next area of operations.
He was Mack Bolan, Mafia-fighter extraordinaire, extraordinaire, the one man army who had already become legend in the world's annals of crime. the one man army who had already become legend in the world's annals of crime.
This time, however, he was not alone.
Another man moved into silhouette against the city's lights-a shorter man, heavier, powerfully built.
The meeting had been pre-arranged. The greetings, though restrained almost to the point of stiff formality, were nonetheless warmly emotional in undertone.
”You got my message,” the short man said, for openers.
”I wish I hadn't,” the other murmured.
”Sure, I know. But... well, you said it yourself once or twice. A life without challenge is no life at all. I couldn't stay up there boy-scouting while all this-”
”Okay,” Bolan interrupted. He was not a man to spend much time on small talk, but the voice was tired, concerned, and admiring all at once as he added, ”You're looking good, Pol. Dropped a few pounds, eh?”
”Yeh.” The man patted his belly. ”Few inches, too. You look as mean as ever. Even with the pretty new face. Brantzen did a good job.”
”They got Brantzen,” Bolan declared coldly.
”Yeah, I heard.”
”They'll get us all, eventually. You have to know that, Pol.”
”Sure, I know that,” the other agreed. ”In the meantime....”
Bolan sighed. ”Okay. What's the big smell?”
”That town down there. They call it 'the city around a park,' or words to that effect.”
”So?”
”They should call it 'the town that Uncle built,' meaning Uncle Sam. Between the military bases and the defense contractors, it's the highest federal-impact area in the nation, dollar for dollar.”
”Go on,” Bolan prompted.
”Well you know what federal dollars mean.”
”The city built around a picnic,” Bolan replied quietly.
”Yeah. And also the city with a Mexican border. Plus one of the world's ten greatest natural harbors.”
The man in black again sighed. ”I don't have this town on my hit parade, Pol. They're too well covered here. There's no battleground down there, no combat stretch. San Diego doesn't have skin lesions-it's got cancer of the gut. I can't carve it out without removing a lot of good tissue along with the rot.”
”That's exactly the problem,” the other man muttered. ”An old friend of ours is caught up in that rot down there.”
”Who's that?”
”Howlin' Harlan Winters.”
Sure. Colonel Harlan P. Winters-Howlin' Harlan or Howlie to his troops, a soldier's soldier, once top-dog of the elite Penetration Teams in Vietnam.
Bolan said, ”I heard that he'd retired.”
”Yeah. Kicked him up to Brigadier and right out the G.o.ddam door.”
”That happens to good soldiers sometimes,” Bolan mused. ”Especially when they get too good.”
”Well, he's in a h.e.l.l of a mess now.”
”A mob mess?”
”That's the smell I get. I stumbled onto the thing up in Frisco, sheer accident. He's in deep s.h.i.+t, Sarge-and he needs a guy with a big shovel.”
”Meaning the Executioner.”
”Yeah.”
Bolan's shoulders drooped forward in an almost imperceptible movement and the eyes turned to ice as they returned to a sweep of the crescent coastline of San Diego Bay. He told his companion, ”I just came from a messy one, Pol.”
”Yeah, I know, I heard. They were even trying to tie you into an a.s.sa.s.sination attempt on the President. I knew that was pure bulls.h.i.+t the minute I heard it.”
”This one could get even messier,” the Executioner declared. ”I brought quite a bit of Intel away from that Was.h.i.+ngton sweep. Enough to know that ... well, I can't just blitz into San Diego. And especially not for Howlin' Harlan.”
”You know something about him I don't,” the other man decided.
”Maybe. Did he ask for me, Pol?”
”h.e.l.l no. He doesn't even know I'm into it, yet.”