Part 8 (2/2)
So had Bolan. He was about out of ammo for the Thompsons-and they were hardly worth the trouble of dragging around. With a coordinated air-ground search by Lavagni plus the unknown quality of police threat awaiting him at Puerta Vista, the gauntlet seemed to be shrinking in around him.
The jeep pulled up beside him and the girl showed him a tense smile. ”I want you to know,” she said, ”that I agree with your choice. Perhaps I am the bad cop. But I must follow my conscience. And my conscience tells me that the good cop would help you, Mack Bolan, not conspire for your death.”
Bolan said, ”Thanks. I like this hat too, Eve.”
Her smile brightened then abruptly disappeared, and the jeep leapt forward.
Bolan see-sawed the Chevy into the turnaround and plowed on after her.
Yeah, she'd found a new corner of h.e.l.l, all right.
Where had Mack Bolan gone wrong?
Somewhere between h.e.l.l and paradise, in a lost corner of that great jungle called life.
And he absolutely would not have had it any other way.
Chapter Nine.
PAYDIRT.
They arrived at the mining site in the waning moments of twilight and Bolan drove the Chevy right through the flimsy gate. Evita swung in behind him and they proceeded along the dusty road to a lip overlooking the ugly white gash in the mountainside.
He parked on the overlook and scrambled out for a quick recon of the area. Heavy equipment stood idle here and there along the strip. No lights were showing and there was no evidence of a watchman.
Evita joined him at the front b.u.mper of the jeep and told him, ”The spot is perfect. Send them over from here. They would not be discovered until morning.”
He replied, ”No, let's get all the mileage out of this thing we can. Listen... I can handle what needs to be done here.” He pointed to a small building, constructed of cement blocks and snuggled into the lee of the mountain a few hundred feet downrange. ”That should be their explosives storage. Shoot the lock off if you have to but get inside there, Evita. Look for dynamite, in sticks. Get me four or five. And pick up blasting caps, fuses, you know.”
She said, ”Yes, I know,” and took off on a run for the blockhouse.
Bolan swung about to the rear of the vehicle and started dragging out bodies. One of them he placed in the driver's seat and slumped him over the steering wheel. The others he scattered about the landscape and placed weapons in or near their hands.
Then he returned to the vehicles and went to work on the Thompsons, specifically on the ammo drums. Between the bunch, he hoped to be able to come up with at least enough of the heavy Affs Affs to reload one drum almost to capacity. to reload one drum almost to capacity.
By the time Evita returned from her errand, panting but glowing with success, Bolan had his stage set and he was ready for the next big gamble.
He kissed her, sat her down on the ground and brushed the dust from her nose. ”Okay,” he said. ”Now here is what we are going to try.”
Charlie Dragone was seated irritably in the transparent bubble of ”Air One” and closely watching the rocky sh.o.r.eline as it slipped past several hundred feet beneath him. He pressed the throat-mike and asked the pilot, ”How're we doing on fuel?”
”About ten minutes left,” Jack Grimaldi replied. Tor all the good we're doing, we might as well-”
”Shut up!” Dragone snarled.
They had hit it off wrong from the very start. Dragone did not like wise-guy n.o.bodies who didn't know their place.
He punched in the radio command channel and said, ”Air One to Ground Control. It's almost dark and it's been nothing but zip. Whatta you think? Do we keep it up?”
Quick Tony Lavagni's voice returned immediately, vibrating excitedly into the earphones. ”I was just about to give you a call, Charlie. Listen, I think I got something going down here on the waterfront. See if you can reach Latigo and tell 'im to close on Puerta Vista.”
Latigo was in Air Two, screening the west side of Gla.s.s Bay and out of radio range of the east side surface vehicles.
Dragone replied, ”You mean him and all his ground scouts?”
Teh, let's get 'em all together. At least headed this way.”
The chief triggerman acknowledged the instructions, then he punched into the other communications channel and relayed the word to Earl Latigo in Air Two.
This had hardly been accomplished when an excited voice swirled in faintly on the air-to-ground net. ”Air One, Air One, can you hear me?”
Dragone busily punched his transmitter into that channel to reply, ”Yeah, I hear you. Who's this?”
”Ground Four. And s.h.i.+t man I hit it!”
”You hit what? Talk straight out, buster!”
”a.s.s, man, a.s.s! It's in a jeep and full of juice!”
”This is Ground Four? Where are you? At that mine?”
”Yeah. Get it up here, eh?”
”Well wait a minute! Are you sure? The boss thinks he's got something, too, down here on the coast. I'm sending all the cars his way!”
”Great, you do that,” replied the exultant voice. ”I don't need no help anyway. I got this guy boxed in tight, and man his juice is all mine!”
”Well now wait a minute!” Dragone cried.
”Ground Four out, and don't bother calling for awhile. I'm gonna be busy.”
”I said wait a minute, dammit!”
There was no response.
The future right hand of a future Capo Capo threw a perplexed glance toward his pilot and muttered, ”G.o.ddammit, feast or famine! How the h.e.l.l do you like that?” threw a perplexed glance toward his pilot and muttered, ”G.o.ddammit, feast or famine! How the h.e.l.l do you like that?”
Grimaldi was searching his chart. He pressed his throat mike and said, ”I've got the place. There's just about enough gas to run up and look, if you'd like.”
”I dunno,” Dragone muttered. He punched the channel selector again and tried to raise Lavagni, without success. ”I wish people would stay at their G.o.dd.a.m.n radios,” he complained.
”Do we go or don't we?” the pilot wanted to know. ”Make up your mind while we have some light left. I can't pick up landmarks in the dark.”
”We got enough gas for the round trip?”
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