Part 16 (2/2)
They headed across the grounds toward the north wall, and the eastern horizon was glowing reddishly when Mr. Clean decided to risk a confrontation with his captor.
He came to a halt and turned a haughty gaze upon the man behind him.
And then the eyes wobbled, and that board-chairman jaw dropped, and Sir Edward gasped, ”My G.o.d! It's Mack Bolanl”
”That's who,” Bolan replied coldly. ”The bells tpll for thee thee, Edward.”
”Now just one moment! You have allowed yourself a hasty and dangerous conclusion!”
The guy was trying to dazzle him with his good-liness.
Bolan said, ”And what's that?”
”I am not a.s.sociated with the Mafia!”
The graveyard voice told him, ”Of course not The Mafia is a legend, it doesn't exist.”
”Oh it exists, Mr. Bolan. Believe me it exists. But my G.o.d, man, surely you can't believe I I could be mixed up in anything like that!” could be mixed up in anything like that!”
Bolan's stomach rolled. He shoved the guy toward the wall. ”Move,” he commanded.
The image was falling apart before Bolan's eyes.
The face went mean, the gaze crafty, and the voice turned to pure oil. ”All right, then, let's be realistic. You're a grown man, Bolan. What do you want? From life, what do you want? I'll get it for you. Your heart's desires, riches beyond imagination, power beyond measure. Women! The most beautiful and desirable women in the world, Bolan-a sultan's harem! Think of that! Think of-”
”Shut up,” the voice of death commanded. ”I've got what I want.”
”My G.o.d, man, be reasonable!”
”I didn't come here to judge you, Edward. I came to execute you.”
The dissolved image was pleading, ”I can give you-” when the Parabellum punched through the bridge of the nose and expanded into the brain, and another evolutionary backslider seceded from the three-dimensional world.
The Executioner stood over the sorry remains, and he dropped a marksman's medal onto the still chest, and he said, ”You can't give me a d.a.m.n thing, Edward.”
As he scaled the wall, Bolan could hear the sentry dog whining somewhere off to the front, and he could hear the comforting sound of a rotary wing churning up the atmosphere in the very near distance.
He threw a final look at ”the mansion in the rocks” -and it looked much more impressive in the dark.
He grunted, ”h.e.l.l, it was easy,” dropped to the rocks outside, and hurried off for a meeting with a good honest wop.
EPILOGUE.
”We're clear,” Grimaldi announced as the forbidding mountains receded to their rear and the little chopper sped on into the rising sun.
They were the first words to be spoken since lift-off.
”You're worth your price, Jack. Don't sell yourself so cheap from now on.”
The pilot chuckled and said, ”I guess you're not going to tell me how it went, eh.”
It went,” Bolan replied. ”The big one is gone.”
Grimaldi sighed and turned his attention to his instruments. A moment later he said, ”There'll be another one before they can get him planted.”
Bolan sighed also. ”Well, I'm still around,” he said.
Grimaldi laughed nervously. ”Don't pay me any mind, Bolan. You're doing a h.e.l.l of a job on the mob. You'd never know how good unless you were on the inside looking out.”
”Thanks.”
”You're welcome.”
There seemed to be little more to be said.
Presently Bolan s.h.i.+fted about in his seat and requested, ”Keep your eyes open for a Chris Craft deep sea cruiser, eh.”
”You expecting one?” Grimaldi asked, sliding a sidewise gaze toward his pa.s.senger.
”I don't know. Just keep your eyes open.”
”I can drop lower.”
”No, this is okay.”
”I, uh, I sort of had the idea that those numbers you sent down from Gla.s.s Bay were coordinates. Is it still a secret?”
Bolan smiled and told him, ”A lady was worried. I had to promise her a final report.”
Grimaldi rolled his eyes as he replied, 'If it's the lady I'm thinking of, I'd promise her anything.”
Bolan chuckled and said, ”Especially with a gun in your throat, eh?”
Grimaldi laughed, ”Yell. You're really expecting a rendezvous, eh?”
”Just by radio. And... she may have decided to h.e.l.l with it”
”Maybe not. Look away at ten o'clock-about, uh, ten degrees from horizon.”
Bolan lifted the binoculars and scanned the area suggested.
A grin creased his face and he said, 'Tut me on international distress.”
”You're on.”
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