Part 5 (1/2)
Bolan turned away to mask the sudden displeasure he was feeling. This would be no good. A kid and his pregnant wife-Bolan had no wish to involve them in his troubles. So... perhaps a moment of relaxation, a bite of food, and he would be on his way.
The woman reappeared in the yard, the radio slung from her shoulder. ”Will you come inside?” she called.
”In a minute,” Bolan replied. He told the boy, Take the weapons in, Juan. I'll be along.”
Escadrillo gave him a fleeting smile and set off for the house, a Thompson balanced jauntily across each shoulder.
Bolan then undertook a routine reconnaisance of the area, taking particular note of the terrain layout and orienting himself with the compa.s.s points. He was on relatively high ground and in a patchwork area of small truck-farms. He circled about to a hillside south of the house, and from there he could see the Caribbean, glisteningly blue in the afternoon haze. Off to the east were patches of wild growth and untended fields which were reverting to the jungle. To the north, at a somewhat higher elevation, was evidence of a strip-mining operation.
As he returned to the house, Bolan pondered the information given him by the woman who had brought him here. Her name was Evita Aguilar. She was twenty-six, single, and an agent of the Puerto Bican counterpart of the U.S. Justice Department, Organized Crime Division.
For three months she had been ”cultivating” Vince Triesta and observing the visitors to Gla.s.s Bay. During that period, she had been Triesta's woman.
Bolan did not disrespect her for that.
In a war like this one, conventional morality was often the greater of two evils. Right Right was getting the mob before ft gobbled up everything in sight. was getting the mob before ft gobbled up everything in sight. Wrong Wrong was not doing so. was not doing so.
Bolan understood. It was his own philosophy. Hit them with every d.a.m.n thing you have. And a woman had a unique advantage when it came to infiltrating the enemy. Why disrespect her for using her greatest weapon? Bolan did not Evita Aguilar was a gal with a cause. She had told Bolan, during that wild jeep ride, ”This syndicate is hoping to take from our Operation Bootstrap. This is an economic development program, and it is badly needed in this land of the poor. I will not let these Mafiosi Mafiosi take the bread from my people's mouths. Sometimes we must fight the devil with the devil.” take the bread from my people's mouths. Sometimes we must fight the devil with the devil.”
Exactly what Bolan himself was doing.
”Since Bootstrap,” she'd added, ”the per capita income has nearly doubled. This means a great flow of money, new money, at all levels of our economy. The syndicate would divert this flow to their own pockets.”
”Yeah,” he'd commented. ”A five letter word beginning with M is both Money and Mafia.”
”Or D,” Evita said. ”For Dinero Dinero and Devils.” and Devils.”
Yeah, she was a gal with a cause. And Bolan was glad she was on his side, if only unofficially.
”We have known of you in San Juan since your very beginning,” she'd told him. ”Officially, of course, our position is that you are a criminal. We would apprehend you and extradite you to the mainland, if you should ever come to Puerto Rico. Unofficially, of course...”
She'd left the rest of it unsaid, but Bolan knew what she'd meant. Many people in her department felt that they were in a life or death struggle with the Mafia octopus, and they would be happy to have all the help they could get. She had made it clear, though, that Bolan must not expose himself needlessly to the authorities.
”Not all of us have the flexibility to take unofficial positions,” she explained.
It was the name of the game for Bolan. He understood.
He also understood Evita Aguilar. She was a social worker turned cop; a concerned citizen who had seen social justice crumbling under the pressures of organized cannibalism-and she'd decided to attack the problem at its source.
This syndicate is corrupting district officials and looting the economy at all levels,” she'd explained. ”But it is the poor people who suffer the greatest loss. Is it not always so?”
Yes, Bolan knew, it was always so. The Mafia game was no more than the old European feudal system, dressed up for the twenty century and operating invisibly. In its gentlest form it was a method of ”taxation without representation,” an unconscionable gouging and exploitation of the economy of a people. It was the invisible hand forever in the pocket of the consumer. The corruptor of a nation's morals and of its government. Looter and rapist of industry and labor alike, temptress and panderer, and cheerleader to ma.s.s-man's baser appet.i.tes and needs.
In harsher variations it was contract murder, intimidation, white slavery, manipulation of compet.i.tive sports, narcotics, unrestrained political power, bigtime theft, black marketry-the whole wide range of criminal conspiracy.
Bolan had framed his reply to Evita in characteristic terseness, however. ”A guy I met in Vegas.” he'd told her, ”wrapped up the whole rotten mess in just four words. Ants at a picnic. That's the mob. They don't build or produce, they just plunder. And wherever the picnic is, that's where you'll find them swarming. Where are the picnics in the Caribbean, Evita?”
She had raised her shoulders in a gentle shrug and replied, ”Everywhere. Caribe land is the new swinging scene, and not merely for the idle rich. From the Bahamas throughout the West Indies and the Antilles, this is where the action is. The picnic, yes, the one big big picnic.” picnic.”
”The Caribbean Carousel,” he'd commented musingly.
”I have heard this term and wondered about it,” the girl replied. ”I am sometimes handicapped with the language, you see. Spanish is our official language but English is required teaching in all public schools. And in English, the carousel is a... a... !”
She was making a circular motion with her hands. Bolan grinned and helped her complete the idea. ”Yeah, a circular horse race without a start or a finish-a merry-go-round.”
”Ah yes. The British call it a round-a-bout. In the Italian, this word is carosello carosello, originally meaning a tournament.”
”Well, maybe that comes closer to the real meaning,” Bolan had commented. ”As the mob uses it, I mean. I believe you could help me get into that tournament, Evita.”
”I will do what I can,” she had promised him.
And now as Bolan returned to the shanty cabin in Puerto Rico's back country, he found himself wondering if any of it was really worthwhile, after all. Here was a lovely young woman, obviously well educated and strongly principled, offering herself up body and soul as a sacrificial victim to the G.o.ds of human justice-and to what d.a.m.ned end?
Long after Evita Aguilar had been fully and finally desecrated, long after she had ceased to exist altogether-wouldn't the ants still be swarming at every human picnic?
Well... that was what life was all about, wasn't it? It was neither the picnics nor the ants that made humanity worthwhile. It was the struggle itself, the fight for balance-and the sacrifices that some humans were willing to make to maintain that balance.
Sure, Bolan understood.
It was the story of his own life.
Evita was waiting for him at the doorway.
She smiled and waved to him and called out, ”The food is waiting. Come in and meet your friends.”
Bolan understood that, also.
He took her arm and went inside to warm human companions.h.i.+p and a moment of relaxation.
In a little while the h.e.l.l would begin again and the Caribbean carosello carosello would resume at full gallop. would resume at full gallop.
For now, it was enough to simply re-discover and remember what it was all about. The horse race without beginning or end could wait awhile.
For the moment, Mack Bolan was home... and remembering.
Chapter Six.
THE PARALLELS.
The Escadrillo kids were obviously very much in love and caught up in the adventure of establis.h.i.+ng home and family-as humble as the home and as tentative as the family might be. The girl appeared to be about six months pregnant. She was a pretty little thing with long black hair and glistening eyes- and beginning to move a bit clumsily with her extra burden. Rosalita Rosalita, the little rose, was the perfect name for her, Bolan decided. She spoke very little English and at first seemed a bit awed with Bolan's presence in her home. He bridged their communications gap with an occasional complimentary phrase from his limited knowledge of her language, and they got a thing going with the eyes which transcended language barriers.
It was a simple meal, but the food was plentiful and tasty-and there were no social tensions in the Escadrillo household by meal's end.
The cabin was a single large room with a sleeping loft. It was spotlessly clean. The furnis.h.i.+ngs and decorations were minimal and inexpensive, but the end effect was surprisingly attractive and comfortable.
They had inside plumbing and electricity, a few modern gadgets in the kitchen area, a television set that didn't work and an impressive looking multi-band radio that did.