in an area directory. It was listed and matched the address on the license in the young woman's purse.
He drove west on Constitution, through the moderate night traffic. Cruising at the legal speed limit, he took the Roosevelt Bridge across the dark expanse of the Potomac into Virginia.
The blonde in the blanket and nothing else batted her eyes open as Bolan swung south in the direction of the general's home in the upper-class suburbs of Alexandria.
Kelly Crawford said nothing to Mack Bolan. She glared straight ahead into the night as he drove, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, not even acknowledging the man beside her with a glance.
Bolan could see nothing of General Crawford in the girl's physical appearance. She must have taken after her mother.
Retired Brigadier General James Crawford and his daughter lived in a neighborhood of winding streets, the homes set back from the streets on manicured lots separated from each other by trees and evergreen hedge.
A porch light went on when Bolan wheeled the Lancia to a stop on the half-circle gravel driveway in front of a sprawling bungalow.
The door opened and General Crawford stood there.
The girl in the blanket ran past her father into the house, out of sight.
Bolan stepped in and punched off the porch light. He closed the front door.
The general watched the big man with steady eyes, noting the AutoMag holstered at Bolan's hip.
'Colonel Phoenix, would you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?'
The general's warm Arkansas drawl was taut with concern.
This man was the closest thing Bolan had ever had to a father figure, after his real father.
Sam and Elsa Bolan had instilled in their son the basic morality of right and wrong that inspired Bolan to this day.
General Crawford had taken a green young recruit and made of him a combat-hardened veteran. The general made a soldier out of Mack Bolan in Vietnam.
Crawford visited Bolan in the earliest stage of the Phoenix program when Bolan had been holed up recovering from the plastic surgery that had transformed The Executioner into John Phoenix. There had been some briefings after that, but Bolan had not seen General Crawford from then until this moment.
Bolan nodded in the direction the general's daughter had taken.
'You've got some trouble, General.'
'I've had trouble with Kelly since the day Lucy died eleven years ago. Come in, Colonel. Drink?'
'I could stand some coffee.'
'In the kitchen.'
Crawford led the way.
They sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the coffee to perk.
'I've only got time for a quick stop,' said Bolan.
'Tell me what happened.'
'Kelly has rough friends.'
'A black guy?'
'Three of them. Two of them are dead. Datcher and Brown, if it matters.'
'It doesn't. One got away?'
Bolan nodded. 'Wounded.'
'That would be Jones. Were they... harming my daughter?'
Bolan told the general what happened.
The general registered no outward emotion as he listened. He stood and prepared the cups of coffee.
'Tell me about Jones,' Bolan requested when he finished his report.
The general handed Bolan a cup of coffee.
'Grover Jones. He started calling himself Damu Abdul Ali a few months ago.'
'How long has Kelly known him?'
'A few months. I expressly forbade Kelly to see him again. She decided it was because he was black.'
Bolan knew the general better than that.
'What was the reason, sir?'
'I told Kelly what I found out,' said Crawford. 'Jones was a GI stationed in Germany until eighteen months ago when he was busted as the head of a full-scale drug operation he operated on the base where he was stationed. The murders of a German national and a Turk were involved, but it was never proved that Jones pulled the trigger. None of it was ever proved, as a matter of fact. But there was enough circumstantial evidence to get Jones bounced out of the service with a dishonorable.'
'How did he meet Kelly?'
'Jones fought the proceeding right to the end. He was stationed in D.C. while his appeals went through. Kelly was working as a cashier at a PX snackbar.'
'Jones may have changed his name, but he hasn't changed his style,' said Bolan. 'The men I took out were hired hands to do the dirty work while Damu Abdul stayed out of the rough stuff with Kelly.'
'What rough stuff?' asked Crawford. 'What did Kelly get mixed up in?'
'Have you been briefed on the Stony Man situation, sir?'
'I, uh, know of the difficulties you're having with Lee Farnsworth.'
'That's not what I mean.'
Bolan told the general about the sabotage of the Farm's communications system and the blood hunt that had taken John Phoenix to the Mafia, the Armenians, the CIA and Grover Jones and his pals.
He explained to the retired officer that he still did not have any answers as to who was behind the sabotage that so endangered Able Team and put a good man in a coma.
'The only way it plays is that Jones subcontracted a hit on me,' finished Bolan. 'Whoever wanted me hit knew about the CIA surveillance on those Armenians. They knew enough to figure that I would try for the Armenians on my own because their arrival in the city coincided with the sabotage.'
'The someone you want seems to know a lot,' said the general. 'Do you think Kelly would know who hired Jones?'
'If Jones is big enough to subcontract a hit, he's smart enough to keep that kind of information to himself,' said Bolan. 'If he did have a name, it'd be just another middleman like himself.'
'You must have some ideas.'
'Some,' acknowledged Bolan. 'That's another reason I brought Kelly home to you, sir, instead of dropping her off somewhere. I could use your help.'
'In what way, Colonel? I had a hand in designing the Stony Man and Central Foreign Bureau operations, but security requires that I keep my distance from both units.'
'That's why you're the man, sir. I want a full rundown on Lee Farnsworth. Everything that didn't make his 201 file. There should be a lot. He's been in covert operations a long time.'
'Farnsworth? You don't think he's behind the sabotage?'
'There's as good a case against the CFB as there was against those Armenians,' growled Bolan. 'The timing is right.'
'Colonel, believe me, Farnsworth is as much a patriot as you are.'
'Then you won't turn up anything. You had access to that information when you considered Farnsworth for the job, didn't you?'
'Let me get this straight,' said Crawford. 'You're suggesting that the head of the Central Foreign Bureau is a mole out to destroy the Stony Man operation?'
'I'm suggesting nothing,' said Bolan. 'I'm still looking. And I can't afford to slow down.' He got to his feet. 'You'll have to excuse me now, sir. I'll keep in touch.'
The general stood and they left the kitchen.
'I'll do as you ask, certainly,' said Crawford. 'I've known you a long time, soldier. Long enough to trust your judgment. I just hope you're wrong this time. About Farnsworth and the CFB, I mean. I feel the same way about that outfit as I do about you and the bunch at Stony Man.''
The two men faced each other at the front door.
'I'll try to pick up Jones's trail,' said Bolan. 'Any idea where the guy hangs out?'
