Death Squad

'Okay, so I'm oversensitive,' Fontenelli said grudgingly. He glanced at Washington and smiled.

Washington winked at him. 'They let black people in that Mafia?'

Fontenelli chuckled. 'Well, they used to call it The Black Hand.'

'Oooo-eee! They gonna have to integrate all of me, man, not just my black hands.'

Bolan was glad for the brief personal exchange. It had released some tensions. But time was growing short. 'Okay, back to the war,' he said. 'And back to Zitter's question. I doubt that we'll need to worry about the interior of DiGeorge's house. If they retreat into the house, we will not go in after them. We'll just strafe hell out of it and then abort the mission. Can't take the risk of trying to smoke them out, because the cops will be on the scene damn quick—I feel sure of that. So...'

Gunsmoke Harrington said, 'You're basing our strategy, then, on them breaking and running right after we make contact.'

Bolan nodded. 'Or soon after. There's a ... well, here's my reasoning. The word is out, see. These people know that the police are planning a rousting operation, to begin tomorrow morning. Now. What's the purpose of this council tonight? First, I figure, is to set the strategy for a counteroffensive against us. The second item of business will undoubtedly have to do with the police threat. I just can't believe that they will want to go on home and wait for the cops to begin the harassment. A lot of these people are living highly respectable roles, and they don't like their names in the police news any more than any other respectable citizen would.

'So here's what I think they'll decide to do. I think they will decide to join forces against us. I think they will decide to leave home for a while. The best possible place for them to achieve both objectives at the same time is at their hard site. I know damn well they have one somewhere in the area. In three different recorded conversations today, Varone mentioned 'the family home.' They have one—and we want to help them decide to go there. Okay?'

'Sounds reasonable,' Zitka commented.

'Okay.' Bolan stepped over to a portable blackboard, on which was drawn a rough sketch of the DiGeorge neighborhood. 'First I want to set the positions. Then we'll run through the individual missions. Deadeye and I will be on this hillside to the west, with the long pieces. Bloodbrother is above us, on the rim of the hill, eagling. Chopper and Gunsmoke at the rear, here . . . and here . . . flanking with the automatics. Zitter and Boom on tracking stations, here ... and here ... I may have to call you in if things go sour, so be ready for a fire mission. Flower Child on the south flank, rear. Get your grenade launcher, Flower, and stake out a good spot to fly from.'

Andromede grinned and wet his lips.

'Chopper will cover you when you begin your grenade assault. Now—Gadgets will be inside the horse, Politician driving. Keep that big mother moving, Pol, and don't get in too close. Gadgets will be monitoring the police radio nets and keeping us posted on their activities. I want every man In radio harness and his ears open. This could be...'

'I've been doing some thinking about this,' Gadgets Schwarz said, interrupting Bolan. 'And I'm worried.'

'What's worrying you, Gadgets?'

'I've been wondering if these cops have the ability to ECM us. If they do, that van could become a Trojan horse in reverse.'

'What is ECM?'

'Electronic counter measures. Electronic spying, in other words. Like on our spy ships and spy planes. Remember the Pueblo? Well...'

'Are you talking about radar?' Zitka asked. 'How the hell could radar do them any good in a crowded area like this?'

'Naw, hell,' Schwarz said disgustedly. 'I mean...'

'Radio direction finders,' Bolan muttered.

Schwarz nodded. 'Yeah, the same principle, only they got some mighty damn sophisticated stuff out now. They can scan-through and lock onto another transmitter in nothing flat.'

'How do they do that,' Bolan asked musingly, If they don't know what frequencies are being transmitted on?'

'I said they scan-through,' Schwarz replied. They don't need to know your frequency. They find your frequency with a scanner. Then, just like a computer, they lock on a couple of peripheral stations and get an automatic triangulation on you.'

'Suppose you're moving? Damn fast?'

'Then they ECM you every time you transmit, and they track you. They plot a course, speed, the whole bit. Just like radar from that point on, except they're depending on your transmissions to trigger their equipment.'

'It's pretty sophisticated stuff, Gadgets?'

'Yeah. Damn sophisticated. I don't guess these cops would have anything like that. Wouldn't have that much use for it.'

'Suppose they did,' Bolan said. 'Could we counteract it?'

Schwarz shook his head. 'Not with the stuff we have. Our only defense would be to keep quiet as much as possible. Keep transmissions brief.'

'How brief?'

'Three or four seconds at a time. That brief.'

'All right,' Bolan said. 'We'll play it that way. The radios will be used only when absolutely necessary. We will not acknowledge each other's transmissions. Rely on code words as much as possible. Don't say anything that may give away your position or route. Okay.' Bolan had drawn on a troubled frown. 'I want every man in nightsuits, blackface, and as light as possible. You flankers will provide covering and diverting fire only. Trackers, I want you to...'

The man of the squad listened in silence to the balance of the full-scale combat briefing, interrupting only to quietly request a clarification of some detail, each one clearly realizing the importance of a complete understanding. Each man present was fully aware that this was a rehearsal for the death game.

* * *

'Listen, you get plenty of boys out in the open,' DiGeorge instructed Zeno Varone. 'I want them everywhere, all over the place. Out front, out back, on the street, I want 'em swarming all over the place. If that guy is keeping tabs on us, I don't want him getting any ideas to make a hit on this place.'

'You think he's watching us, Deej?' Varone inquired solemnly.

'If he's as smart as they say—sure, he's watching us.' DiGeorge stepped to the edge of the patio and gazed off toward the distant hillside, darkly skylined against the starry night. 'Maybe from up there someplace, if he's all that smart. With a good pair of binoculars, he could look down my kitchen sink.'

'Maybe he'd hit us from over there,' Varone observed nervously.

'Hey,' DiGeorge scoffed, If he's that good, we don't need to kill 'im, we need to convert 'im. Eh? Don't be an old maid, Zeno. Don't go looking under your bed and in your closet every night, eh? This Bolan is just a guy, like any other guy. He thinks he's hell on wheels, though—a boy commando or something. When he hits, he hits with thunder and lightning. Eh? Look at the way he handled 'Milio. Both times, eh? Thunder and lightning, eh? He can't do anything like that from a half a mile away.'

'I guess not, Deej.' Varone was still gazing nervously toward the hills.

'So get the boys out where he can see them, in case he's curious. I don't want no thunder and lightning around here. I don't need that kind of publicity.'

'Leonardo's arrived,' Varone said, looking toward the house.

'Yeah, okay, take his boys too. Make sure they understand, I want them to be seen. It's about time to start. Go on, now, get those boys spread around.'

Varone jerked his head in an obedient nod and set off quickly toward the house. DiGeorge walked slowly along the edge of the patio, his eyes absently searching the darkness at the fringe of the lighted area. He chuckled to himself and decided that he should listen to his own advice. This guy Bolan would not be so dumb as to try a hit