Part 8 (1/2)
Bolan shook his head. ”Not a chance. As for keeping me in Puerto Rico, I am wanted for capital crimes in a dozen states and two foreign countries, not to mention that I'm an army deserter and also top man on the FBI's list. a.s.suming that I could get tried and released in all those places, which would be a wonder equalled only by the second coming of Christ, I would still have years of court battles to look forward to, and with Johnny Matthew d.o.g.g.i.ng me every step of the way.”
”Who is this Johnny Matthew?”
”The non-existent Mafia,” he said whimsically. ”If you're wondering about my chances with legal justice, just consider that weird fact. The mighty U.S. government has backed down to the point of using a cover name when referring to Mafiosi Mafiosi. They are Johnny Matthew now.”
”Yes, I have heard of this timidity,” she said quietly. ”It is shameful.”
”Anyway,” he added, smiling soberly, ”I am not ready to throw down my gun and walk peacefully away. I'm my own Pentagon now, my own war department, and my own executive branch of government. I make the decisions and I carry them out. And it's war, Evita. War to the b.l.o.o.d.y end.”
”It is your choice,” she murmured, taking a wooden step backwards.
”It's no choice at all,” Bolan told her. ”It's the only way to go.”
He spun away from her and went outside.
When Evita joined him there moments later, the jeep had been puDed into the yard and the three bodies were piled into the rear. Bolan was carefully collecting the ejected sh.e.l.ls from the Thompsons. She helped him round up the fallen enemy weapons, and these were added to the collection in the jeep.
”What is your plan?” she asked him.
”I'm taking this load of garbage out of here,” he replied. ”There's a car just up the lane, also another dead soldier. I'll pick him up, and you follow me out in their car.”
”We will abandon the jeep?”
”That's the idea. I noticed a strip-mine up along the foothills. Do you know the place?”
She nodded. ”It is Aggregates Limited. About three miles from here.”
”Okay, then I'll follow you. Come on, let's. .h.i.t it. Too much delay already.”
Bolan drove her to the other vehicle, where he picked up the fourth body and gave Evita a snub nosed .32 from the shoulder holster of the first victim.
”This one I can handle,” she a.s.sured him, spinning the cylinder with an expert touch.
He said, ”I'll bet you can,” and went to inspect the Chevy.
She followed close on his heels and announced, ”It is a Gla.s.s Bay company car. But something has been added.”
”The radio?”
”No.” She ran a hand across the top of the car. ”This.”
She was pointing out a peculiar design on the roof. Four circular plastic decals were placed along the centerline, each colored a bright orange. Bolan had noted the design earlier, but had thought nothing of it.
”That's new, eh?” he mused.
”Yes. It is new since this morning.”
”Air spotters,” he muttered.
”What?”
”It's for visual identification from the air.”
”The helicopters,” Evita decided. ”They have been added to the hunt, no? But it will be night very shortly. The marks and the helicopters will mean nothing in the night.”
Bolan said, ”These will. That's luminescent paint.”
”We can peel them off.”
”No,” he replied quickly. ”We leave them' on. This can be turned to our advantage. Listen, Evita, you'll have to drive the jeep. I hate to put you in charge of a hea.r.s.e, but-”
He was interrupted by the squawking of the radio inside the Chevy, as a testy New England accent swelled in from a noisy background to demand, ”Ground Four, Ground Four, what have you got? Report, dammit!”
Evita was counting the four decals atop the car with exaggerated stabs of a forefinger. ”I believe you are being paged,” she said.
Bolan grinned and leaned in for the microphone. ”That's a chopper,” he told her. ”I could hear the rotors in the background.”
He thumbed the mike into transmit mode and put on his street voice. ”Ground Four,” he announced casually. ”Nothing here. Another farm shanty. It's clean.”
”Air One, okay,” came the noisy reply. ”But stay close to the d.a.m.n radio, eh? Go on to the next checkpoint.”
Bolan was gambling. He showed Evita crossed fingers and thumbed on the transmitter again. ”Bulls.h.i.+t,” he snarled. ”It's d.a.m.n near dark and all we've done so far is roust a bunch of peasants. I say we're wasting it.”
”So you got something brighter in mind?” was the response from the chopper.
”Yeh, and I can see it from here,” Bolan's street voice replied. ”There's a strip mine just up into the hills. Can you see it?”
”Air one, naw, we're running the beach right now. You got a feeling about that place?”
”I got so much feeling I'm getting hard,” Bolan reported.
The guy in the helicopter chuckled and said, ”Okay, follow your needle, tiger. Call in as soon as you get up there.”
”Ground Four, right, you'll be the first to know.”
Bolan threw the mike onto the dashboard and turned a worried face to the girl. ”Well now we'll see,” he told her.
”That was very clever, learning his position,” Evita commented. ”You act very well, Mack Bolan. You could have made it in Hollywood.”
He grinned and said, ”Yeah, just another wasted life. Where did Mack Bolan go wrong, eh?”
”More men should be so wrong,” Evita said soberly, then the she spun about and marched to the jeep, climbing in without a glance at the cargo behind her.
Bolan sighed and slid into the Chevy.
Yeah, already Fairyland was far behind them. Big Eve knew it. And she'd found another corner of h.e.l.l to hang her hat on.