Doomsday Disciples

a confrontation, brisk and bold.

He had dressed the part in an expensive business suit, Beretta snug beneath his arm. With any luck, he wouldn't have to use it. Not just yet.

The plan was basic. Bolan would have to milk information out of Carter, planting his own seeds along the way.

Stage one of the Bolan strategy was complete. The enemy had been identified.

Stage two — isolation — was commencing.

Bolan hit the doorbell and held it through a five count, listening to rhythmic chimes inside the house. Another moment and footsteps were audible.

The door swung open and Bolan had his first view of Mitchell Carter. He looked younger than he did in his photograph, but there was a sort of world-weariness around his eyes.

The guy was looking Bolan over with empty eyes, missing nothing, and the warrior gave him time. When Carter spoke at last, his voice was flat, noncommittal.

'Yes?'

'Good evening, comrade.'

Something fell into place in his eyes. A screen of caution.

'Can I help you?'

'You can ask me in, Karpetyan.'

That registered, but he recovered quickly like a pro, his reaction barely noticeable.

'There must be some mistake.'

'Of course.'

Bolan brushed past him. Carter frowned, but merely closed and locked the door.

Taking the lead, Bolan moved into a living room furnished with subdued elegance. Carter followed, keeping his distance, eyes never leaving the intruder.

Bolan made a show of checking out the room. The smile he turned on Carter was a mixture of appreciation and contempt.

'Excellent, Karpetyan. You've captured the perfect bourgeois decadence.'

The lawyer stiffened, frown deepening, and Bolan saw he had touched a tender nerve.

'Who are you?' Carter demanded.

But there was something in the attitude that said he knew the answer.

'Names aren't important,' Bolan replied. 'All that matters is the mission.'

This time, Carter didn't speak. He stood silent, watching Bolan, waiting.

Bolan took his time lighting a cigarette, letting Carter's imagination work. When he spoke, his tone was conversational.

'You've done well for yourself,' he said. 'What have you done for the Party?'

Carter smelled a trap. His eyes narrowed as he answered.

'Everything is happening on schedule.'

Bolan dropped the plastic smile and let his voice go frosty.

'Too much is happening,' he said. 'You're losing it.'

The lawyer tried to be casual, but missed by a mile.

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'That's the trouble,' Bolan told him. 'You've been out of touch.'

'You think so?'

Carter didn't try to veil the sarcasm in his voice.

'I hope so,' Bolan said. 'Otherwise...' And he left the bait dangling there.

Carter snapped it up.

'Otherwise what!'

Bolan jerked the line, securing his hook.

'Well... careless is one thing. Disloyal is something else.'

Carter's jaw dropped, the color drained out of his face. It took a moment for his voice to surface.

'Am I accused of something?'

Bolan shrugged.

''That depends on you.'

'I see.'

But he plainly didn't, which was fine with Bolan. He let the guy sweat as he crossed to a bar in the corner of the room and poured himself a drink. Carter moved toward a chair, thought better of it, and remained standing in the middle of the room.

'The problem... is it Minh?'

Bolan kept the answer vague, his voice impassive.

'Be careful of adventurism, comrade,' he said. 'Asians are... notoriously unreliable.'

Carter's frown deepened.

'I believe Minh's committed to the project,' he said.

'Granted. But on whose behalf?' The Executioner continued patiently, 'Goals change. A survivor learns to read the signs.'

He pinned Carter with his eyes and watched him squirm.

'Are you a survivor, Mihailovich?'

The lawyer found his backbone and met Bolan's eyes, unflinching.

'I'm listening,' he said.

Bolan gave the fish some line.

'You've got friends,' he said. 'They don't want to see you damaged.'

Carter gave a jerky nod.

'I appreciate that.'

Bolan smiled without warmth.

'They feel you need a helping hand.'

Carter saw what was coming now, and he stiffened.

'I organized this project,' he said. 'Who knows more about it?'

Bolan raised an eyebrow, kept his voice distant.

'The Party knows.'

Carter sounded peeved.

'I should have been consulted.'

'You've been told,' Bolan snapped at him. 'If you have some objection...'

That did it, and the guy's response was hasty.

'No, uh, no.' Carter shook his head. 'You have to understand...'

Bolan cut him off.

'There isn't any time to waste,' he said. 'Frankly, I'm surprised to find you here.'

The counselor looked confused.

'Where should I be?' he asked.

'Watching your back, Karpetyan.'

'The name's Carter.'

Bolan spread his hands.

'Will it matter on a headstone?'

'Now, listen...'

'You're marked,' Bolan told him.

'What?'

Carter couldn't seem to grasp his meaning.

'Someone's decided they can do without you. Permanently.'

The lawyer's face was working toward a compromise of shock and disbelief.

'Minh?' he asked.