Detroit Deathwatch

consequences of a Mack Bolan invasion into that situation.

A special federal liaison officer briefed the conference on the 'life and war' of Mack Bolan, with particular emphasis on general modus operandi and 'profile goals.'

The fed said, 'Contrary to much rumor and speculation, the federal government has given no secret sanction to this illegal crusade. The U.S. Department of Justice regards Mack Bolan in the same light as any other fugitive from justice. Law enforcement officers must not stake their lives on the romantic notion that this highly dangerous fugitive has never shot it out with the law and therefore never will. In fact, a recent profile by a convention of noted medical psychologists indicates that this subject has already progressed well beyond the breaking point of sound physical endurance — that he is probably in an advanced state of psychosis and should be regarded as totally out of control. In other words, he is capable of committing any act. A man of such awesome destructive capabilities must not and cannot be allowed the freedom of your streets.'

The speech by the fed was recognized by many lawmen present as a plea for rank-and-file professionalism in the campaign to get Bolan. It was no great secret that many police officers sympathized with the man's crusade and would, in fact, turn their backs if they encountered Mack Bolan on the street.

John Holzer had his own private opinion of the federal 'briefing.'

'Bullshit,' he said disgustedly to a man at his table. 'Bolan is the sanest man in town right now. Deadly, yeah — insane, hell no. I wish I had a dozen cops with half that much sanity. Maybe I'd catch the dude.'

The general plan that unfolded through the police conference involved close surveillance of all known crime luminaries in the area — and there were plenty of those — with the jaws of a massive police trap set and ready to spring the moment another Bolan 'hit' materialized.

'It is our chief advantage,' said Skipper Garvey, 'that we know most if not all of the probable targets. By concentrating surveillance on these known elements, we narrow the field of police detection and increase the probability of direct contact with the subject. This is our chief advantage.'

Holzer muttered, 'It's also our chief shame. If we know them, why the hell are they running around loose?'

'Knowing is not touching, John,' replied the cynic at his elbow. 'I gave up trying years ago, about the time they pinned the ass's tail on Pimlico.' The reference was to a former Detroit police crusader.

'Nobody pinned no tail on George Pimlico,' Holzer argued.

'Then why's he tucked safely away in Lansing instead of busting their asses on the streets of Detroit?' the guy sneered.

'That was a kick upstairs and you know it,' Holzer said.

'How many convictions has he gotten from Lansing?'

'More than he ever got around here, bet your ass.'

'You still can't touch those people, John. You just can't touch them.'

'Tell that,' Holzer snarled, 'to Mack Bolan!'

The meeting was over, and had deteriorated into clutch groups rehashing the Alert Plan. Holzer pushed angrily out of the group at his table and beat it to the relatively clean air of the corridor.

Tim Rossiter, a young sergeant from his home detail, awaited him there. Rossiter came over with an owlish look to report, 'Favorini checked himself out of the hospital at ten o'clock.'

'Who's on him?'

'Powell and Chardan. He went straight back to his place in the Woods.'

'Any movements yet?'

'Naw,' Rossiter replied. 'Just a lot of phone calls. He's calling in all his guns.'

'Figures,' Holzer said. 'Okay. Let's keep a full crew on that guy. If anybody decides to go after Bolan, it will be Charley Fever. I, uh, will have to handle this by remote, Tim. I got the damned contingency unit on this Alert Plan.'

'Contingency for what?'

'Full riot conditions. We're in full mobilization.'

'What the hell!'

'You tell me,' Holzer replied, grimacing. 'Aw. Be fair, they have a right to be jumpy. A guy like Bolan can catalyze a lot of simmering pots. They just don't want anything getting out of hand.'

'Hell, it's your case, Lieutenant,' Rossiter complained. 'What the hell do they mean putting you on — '

'Hey, it's everybody's case,' Holzer said gruffly. 'Anyway, it gives me more freedom this way. I can nose around everywhere.' He jotted a series of radio frequencies on a note pad, tore off the sheet, and handed it to Rossiter. 'These are the specials. Beat it back to the Pointe and get these capabilities plugged into your communications. I'll be spending the next twenty-four hours either right here or in my vehicle. Keep me advised.'

'Will do.' The sergeant grinned soberly and hurried away.

Holzer lit a cigarete and paced the corridor until he'd smoked it to his fingers, then he went back inside.

His 'mad' was over. Why shouldn't a veteran cop get cynical? It was true. You really could not touch those cruds, except on wrist-slapping offenses.

But somebody could.

The guy had come.

And he was slapping more than wrists.

And, now, these same cynical cops were being asked to shoot that dude on sight, to treat him like a mad- dog psychopath — the sanest guy in town.

Yeah. It was a crazy world, Holzer's was. And he simply did not know what to do about it. But he'd a damn sight rather get mad than cynical. Cynicism was just another way of getting bought — and there was enough of those around, as it was.

Crazy, yeah. A hell of a crazy world.

Those who could not be touched were being used as bait to trap the one who could not be seen — so that the trapee could also not touch the baitee who could never become the touchee by an other apparent manner.

Crazy, sure. But it was the only world John Holzer had. And it just beat the pink frosted shit out of becoming the boughtee.

He returned to the bull room and found the place in chaos.

Holzer grabbed a harried uniformed officer and asked him, 'What the hell is going on?'

'It's that damned guy!' the cop replied, marveling. 'He just hit an assembly plant over near Willow Run!'

Holzer swore under his breath and hurried on to the operations center. The detail leaders were grouped about a command console, watching an automated display taking shape on an electronic deployment screen. Holzer nudged one of the men and quietly inquired, 'What's the score?'

'Indians ten, cowboys zip,' the guy growled.

'What happened?'

'Nobody really knows for sure, yet. A shop steward, guy named Kazini, was the apparent target. No one knows how Bolan got in or out. Suddenly he was there, and Kazini was suspended from a hook above a dip tank — screaming bloody murder. Security people arrived in force but the blue-collars mobbed them — neutralized them. Apparently Bolan was in there for about ten minutes after that, talking to some of the workers. Then he disappeared.'

'What about Kazini?' Holzer wondered.

'They hauled him down, safe and sound. Plant security contacted us and requested Federal Narcotics out there quick. And they shut down the final delivery line, quarantined all the finished vehicles on hand.'

'What?'

'Yeah,' the cop growled. 'Sounds like a distribution point, huh. Pretty sweet, at that. How many million bucks worth of horse do you figure could be built into a new car?'

'The Canadian connection,' Holzer muttered.

'Yeh. What a setup. What a damn sweet setup,'