close to that. So worried, in fact, that he has already formed a counter-coalition.'
'Who with?'
There's a dime-store hood here called Franco Laurentis. Know him?'
'That guy. Yeah. Crazy Franco. They call him that because he's always had a Napoleon complex. Thinks he was born to rule the world or something, or so the story goes.'
'Perfect,' Bolan said.
'Yeah, well, he's also DeMarco's enforcer.'
'Even better yet. He's pulling something cute on the old man, Leo. It sounds like he's trying for a takeover — or something very close to that. Uh, get this name now, Daniel Wo Fan.' Bolan spelled it. 'Local Chinese honcho, very strong ties with Taiwan. He and Franco have been cozying it. They're interlaced in various projects around the bay area. I believe Franco has made an agreement with Wo Fan... to kill the ChiCom trade.'
Turrin whistled across the connection. There was a momentary silence, then he said, 'The guy must really be crazy if he's trying to cross DeMarco. The Don is old, but he's a hell of a long ways from dead. He's eaten guys like Franco Laurentis for casual snacks.'
'That's the whole idea, Leo.'
'Yeah, yeah, I get the drift. Well... hell, it's a great idea, Sarge. I would guess that Franco is the head torpedo in charge of stopping you. If, uh, if he's thinking of crossing the old man, this would be his golden opportunity.'
'Exactly what I'm thinking. You know what to say to Marinello now, Leo?'
Sourly, Turrin replied, 'I do. I just wish I could be out there to see the results.'
Bolan said, 'Well... if I get luck, Leo, I'll give you a blow-by-blow account.'
'Do that. Listen, wait, don't hang up yet.'
It was coming now, the trouble in Leo Turrin's voice. Bolan asked him, 'You ready to tell me about your problem now?'
'Yeah. I've, uh, got something disturbing to tell you, but...'
'But what?'
'I don't want you to get all upset. I mean, maybe it's nothing at all.'
A chill chased itself down Bolan's spine. He said, 'Let's have it.'
'Well, Johnny and Val have taken off somewhere.'
Something ticked loose in Bolan's brain. He said, 'Since when?'
'Since I tried to get in touch this morning. I wanted them to know I'd talked to you. They... just aren't there, Sarge. No one at the school remembers seeing either of them since early last night.'
Bolan's guts were coming unglued. 'Their clothes, Leo, what about...'
'Hard to tell. They left some behind, yeah, but there's no way of knowing if they took any away with them. I mean...'
Bolan's ears were roaring. Woodenly, he said, 'You mean they could have been snatched.'
'It's possible. But there are a lot of other possibilities, too. You remember I told you Val was agitating for a meet. They could have bugged out of there early this morning. The Frisco news was all over the television — you know how the home town follows you. I mean, I think maybe they're headed that way, Sarge. I think Val just decided, hell, to set up her own meet.'
Bolan muttered, 'I don't believe Val would do that. Not with Johnny along, anyway. She knows what a risk it is. No. I can't buy that, Leo.'
The panic was edging clearly into Turrin's voice now. 'God, I've been living with my ear to the ground all day, Sarge. I haven't heard a rumble from the boys. Not one. If somebody got to them, then they're being mighty damn quiet about it'
Bolan's voice was very cold and lifeless as he said, 'Leo, please keep that ear busy. If you hear anything, the tiniest whisper, get word to me immediately.'
'Okay, you know I will. What's the best path?'
'Call that television correspondent in New York. We have an arrangement. Just tell him it's a windmill emergency. He'll understand, and hell get the message on the network newscast. You know the guy?'
'Yeah, I remember.'
'Okay.'
'Sarge... Mack... Goddammit. I'm sorry.'
'Not your fault, Leo. I guess I've always known this might happen someday. I...'
'We don't know for sure it's happened yet.'
'Right, you're right. Uh, thanks for — thanks, Leo. Keep alert, eh?'
'I will. And I'll get this other thing into Augie Marinello right away.'
'I'll appreciate it'
'Yeah.'
Bolan hung up. He stared thoughtfully at his hands for a moment, then he left the phone booth and rejoined Mary Ching on the sidewalk.
Her eyes searched his face, then she slipped a hand into his and said, 'It didn't go well.'
'It went swell,' he told her.
'But you're wearing the death mask.'
'I am?'
'You are. Was it a hard sell?'
'It was an easy sell,' he replied quietly.
'What, then?'
'A personal matter. Forget it, let me do the worrying.'
'Nothing's changed?'
'Nothing,' he assured her, 'is changed. The hit is on.'
'What's next?' she wondered aloud, still giving him the searching gaze.
'The porno girls.'
'What? — oh! The kids.'
'Yeah. I just want to reassure myself about them. It can be a hell of a tough world for kids.'
She whispered, 'Yes, it can.'
Something, Mary Ching knew, was very much out of place inside Mack Bolan. It was like, suddenly, he was a total stranger. Cold, hard... deadly.
She pressed against him as they went up the street, and she told him, 'Hey, tough guy, I wish I knew what that contact said to you on the phone.'
Bolan did not reply.
She tried again. 'I mean, okay, you sold him your package. But what did he sell you in exchange?'
'He sold me,' Bolan quietly told her, 'the idea that this is one hell of a lousy war. Especially for women and children.'
Whatever that meant. Mary felt a prickling at her scalp. It wasn't what Mr. Tough said... it was the voice he said it with.
In a small voice, she asked him, 'After you've reassured yourself about the kids... what's next after that?'
'Brushfire,' he said.
'What?'
He showed her a smile which was more like death stretching itself. 'A Brushfire is next after that, Mary.'
She knew it was an understatement. What was next, she was convinced, was a roaring conflagration.
15
The Save
