Firebase Seattle

Gruffly, he replied, 'Of course not. As long as you're here, though, you could be of help. I need to know what you were doing at that warehouse.'

She sniffed and said, 'Allan's bullycats dragged me down there. Made me show them where the stuff was.'

'What stuff?'

She shook her head. 'I don't know what it was. I never know. They're moving stuff into this country by the shipload. By air, too, I believe. But I don't know what they're doing with it.'

He asked, 'Why should you have to show them where it is? How would you know?'

She tossed her head and showed him a wry smile. 'I didn't know until very lately, but I guess I'm their inside person. Allan got me this job with the exhibitor's council — Expo '74, you see. Stuff moving into the fair for exhibition enjoys duty-free status, you know.'

'So?'

'So they've been moving this stuff in under Expo licenses for months. Smuggling, I guess — I don't know for sure. I work in the transportation section. It's my job to see that all the stuff coming into the Port of Seattle for storage pending exhibit is received and properly stored. This is a big thing, you know. It could be chaos if we couldn't keep track of the exhibit materials.'

Bolan commented, 'Yeah, I guess it would. So where does Nyeburg enter all this?'

'He got himself named as an advisor to the Expo board of governors. And he worked a deal with several of the foreign exhibitors — to act as their agent in this country during all the complexities of getting this fair together. Spokane is — well, you know — it's not a very large city. This is all quite a giddy experience for them.'

'Back to Nyeburg,' Bolan prodded.

'Oh sure. Well he's a rat, that's all. I found out that half the stuff coming through this port with his name on it has nothing whatever to do with the fair. His bullycats have been coming down here and taking the stuff out of storage and spiriting it away somewhere. Then he expects me to dummy the records. I believe they're running narcotics, or something. I really do. I confronted Allan with my evidence last week. He laughed right in my face. Told me I'd better be a good little girl and keep those records straight. Otherwise he'd drag my mother through all the mud in Seattle.'

'How would he do that?'

'He incorporated a legitimate company. It's called Pacific Northwest Associates. My mother is recorded as one of the officers.'

Bolan said, 'I see. I know about PNA. And he's right. He could implicate her. But you say they dragged you to the warehouse. Do you mean that literally?'

'I sure do. I told Allan to go to hell with his little crooked games. Told him I'd keep quiet about all the stuff in the past, but I was walking out of the rest of it.

'Good for you,' Bolan said.

'Not good enough, I guess. They had this real hot shipment that they were all going crazy over. It was supposed to have arrived several days ago. Nobody could find it. But one of the darned warehousemen called, right in the middle of my little scene with Allan, to say that the shipment had been located. I had to tell him where to put it. Allan's gang of thieves went right down to get it, but the warehouse was closed. They broke in and still couldn't find it. So late last night, the bullycats came knocking at my door. They threw me in their car and hauled me down there to find the shipment for them. I played as dumb as they were for a while, then they got tough. The head cat called Allan from the warehouse and told him I wouldn't cooperate. Allan told him to slap me around some — those were the exact words that were relayed to me. The man didn't want to hit me, or so he said. But he told me that he would, rather than go back empty-handed.'

The girl sighed. 'I decided I wasn't all that heroic. I found the darned crate for them. I guess you know the rest.'

Bolan did. He told her, 'Your life isn't worth a nickel right now.'

Fear flickered in those cool eyes but the voice was casual as she asked, 'Why not? I gave them what they wanted.'

'You also saw what they wanted,' he pointed out. 'Worse, you can tie it all back to Nyeburg — and puncture his claim of ignorance.'

'I didn't see inside those crates,' the girl protested.

'That's the least consideration now,' Bolan told her. 'The police know, now, and you — dear heart — are a very vulnerable spot in your stepfather's armor. The stakes are too high in this game, Dianna. Nyeburg won't hesitate for a moment to take you out of play. He has probably been planning it since the moment you began to oppose him.' That shook her. She mused, 'I believe he would.' 'Sure he would. This is a mob operation. And not just a local mob. Nyeburg is fronting a worldwide crime syndicate. Whatever they're up to here, you can believe they have millions invested and a whole world to gain. They'd snuff you like a fly at a picnic table.'

'That sounds pretty far out,' the girl said, still shaken but trying to argue the point. 'Allan? Head of a James Bond bunch of heavies?'

'He's not the head, he's just the face. And these guys have probably never heard of James Bond. In the movies, Dianna, everybody gets up and has a drink together when the shooting is over. This bunch plays for keeps. Nobody gets up when the shooting is over.'

'Yes,' she agreed, shuddering, evidently remembering the gunplay of a few hours earlier. 'I never realized that such... awful things happen to a person when — when they get shot like that. It's like an explosion, inside of them. I mean gushing and ... and ...'

'That it is,' Bolan said, sighing. 'Look, Dianna — I'm not just trying to scare you, but I do have to impress upon you the very grave nature of your predicament. I don't want you running back to Nyeburg with a pair of scissors in your hand. It's a different game now. You have to understand that.'

'Yes, I — I'll go to the police,' she whispered. 'Mother will just have to — God! She's in as much danger as I am!'

Bolan shook his head. 'Not yet. But you can't go to the cops, for another reason.'

'I will! I'll just — '

'No, Dianna.'

'No?'

'It would increase your visibility ten-fold. Even if you requested protective confinement, you could still be had. Many contractees have died while neatly penned up in a jail cell, or in a hotel room under police guard.'

The girl shuddered. 'Contractee?'

He had to level with her. 'Yeah. I'll give you odds at a million to one that your name is already on a death contract.'

'Oh!'

'Scary, isn't it?'

'Yes. What can I do?'

'Stay low. Don't go near anywhere you've ever been before. Contact no one — not by phone or otherwise. Don't use any credit cards. Don't write any checks. Don't use your driver's license or social security card. Don't drive any vehicle that could be traced back to you. Change your whole life-style, clothing, everything. Even the color of your hair.'

'I'm a free citizen of a free country!' she said defiantly, angered now.

'So are the others,' he pointed out. 'They're free to kill. You're free to die.'

'I just can't believe this,' she muttered angrily.

'You'd better. I've been believing it for a long time now, Dianna. I remain alive. You can, too, by believing — and acting accordingly.'

'My God,' she said miserably.

'It may not have to last long. If I can break the thing up, quick and hard, there'll be no contracts left for anybody.'

'That's your thing, isn't it,' she said.

He nodded his head. 'It is.'

The full import of the situation was settling in on the girl. 'But where would I go?' she cried. 'I don't know where to start! I even left my purse — I don't have a dime! How do I ... ?'