Bolan sighed and broke contact with those troubled eyes. 'Okay,' he said tiredly. 'You do have one option. But it could be even more dangerous than the other.'
'Options? I'll take them,' she said. 'Besides, what could be more dangerous?'
'Me,' he said quietly.
'Huh?'
'You can stay here a while. It's safe, for the moment. But everybody with a gun in this town will be looking for me. You could find yourself in the middle of a very hot war, which is contractee times a hundred. Also, the same conditions will apply. You're to show yourself to no one. You'll be a prisoner of this van.'
Those eyes were beginning to dance again. She said, 'Prisoner, eh?'
'Prisoner at large,' he replied, smiling soberly.
'How about prisoner of love? Think we could work in something along those lines?'
'Don't bet on it,' he told her gruffly. 'I'll be a very busy soldier from here on.'
'But I will bet,' she said with a whispery laugh. 'What do I have to lose? I like your option, Mr. Bolan. War and all, I like it very much. But you really didn't have to scare the pants off of me just to — '
She noted the glint of despair in Bolan's eyes and cut herself off with a grimace.
'Hey, I'm sorry. Really. I was just clowning. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean that. It really is a pretty tough deal, isn't it? I mean,
'It's pretty tough,' Bolan admitted. 'But I dealt the hand, Dianna. It's my game. Make no mistake about that. Don't start building romantic fantasies about what a poor, misunderstood soul I am. It's my game. And I play for keeps, too. It's
She shivered and reached for him.
'It's mine, too — now,' she whispered.
8
Domino
It was raining as it can only in Seattle. A brooding nimbostratus lay over the entire coastal region, sending down a steady torrent which had not let up for two drenching hours. Bolan could have closed his eyes and imagined that he was back in 'Nam during monsoon — except for that clammy chill settling into his bones.
A cape-style raincoat had kept him relatively dry from the shoulders down to just above the ankles — and the rain itself, heavy enough to substantially restrict visibility, provided pretty good cover for a surveillance mission. But that was about all the good that could be said of the situation. His feet were awash and the persistent moisture of nature's universal solvent had discovered pathways into the cape and down his neck.
The time was two o'clock in the afternoon; the place, just outside the small suburban office building that housed the headquarters of Pacific Northwest Associates — Nyeburg's outfit.
Bolan had been on station since noon, positioned for surveillance of both entrances to the building. PNA was the only occupant. Dianna Webb had sketched the interior layout for him; he knew the building as well, probably, as anyone who'd ever been in there. It was a small, squarish structure — single story. Built originally to serve as a branch bank, it sat off to the side of the parking lot for a large shopping center. A drive-up window remained in service — Dianna explaining that Nyeburg conducted 'quite a bit' of business via that handy device.
No 'business' had been conducted there during the past two hours. Bolan had abandoned his vehicle — a rented Fairlane — ten minutes into the stakeout, electing to take the weather in exchange for a reliable surveillance.
But nothing had moved in or out of that building for two hours, and Bolan was beginning to wonder. He stepped into a phone booth, fed in a dime, and called the cops.
He got a switchboard operator. He asked her, 'Do you have a public information officer on duty?'
She asked him, 'Who's calling, please?' 'Peterson, United News.' 'One minute, sir.'
Bolan lit a soggy cigarette and marked twenty seconds by his watch before the operator returned. 'Thank you for waiting, sir. The press liaison Captain Parris, will take the call. One moment, please.' Two clicks later, Bolan was talking to his man. He said, 'Afternoon, Captain. Just got off the plane from L.A. What's your principal resource up here? Water?'
The guy chuckled. 'You came in with the rains, Mr. Peterson. Sure you didn't bring it up with you?' 'No way,' Bolan replied cordially. 'We need it all down there, to strain the smog. I brought a lot of excitement, though. We heard about your Executioner war. I drew the stick for combat correspondent.'
'You should have called ahead,' the Captain said, still amiable. 'Maybe I could have saved you a trip. Uh, uh, dammit — I realize I should know your whole name, but I talk to a lot of — '
'Harry — Harry Peterson, United News Service.'
'Oh sure, sure — heard that name a lot, of course. All to your credit.'
That was nice. Bolan hadn't. He told the PLO, 'I'll be coming right into town but thought I'd check into a hotel first if nothing really electrifying is happening at the moment.'
'Electrifying, no. Like I said, I could probably have saved you the trip. You and about a hundred more of your fellows who are presently pacing the corridors outside here right now.'
'You're saying there's no war?'
'Well... it's not definite either way. That's what we're saying for quotes.'
'Why are you saying that? Word came out of here this morning early that — '
'First and foremost, uh Harry, there has been but a single strike. That isn't like Bolan. I mean, it's been — what? Almost twelve hours? Usually by this time the guy would have the whole town reeling. Right? Well, nothing's reeling, Harry. Then, too — Seattle's a pretty clean town.'
Bolan laughed into the transmitter.
'No, really. We've cleaned up the little embarrassments we had in the past. It was all penny-ante stuff, anyway. There's no substantial organized crime activity in the area. Not the sort of stuff to bring Bolan onto the scene.'
Bolan/Peterson chuckled and said, 'You're sure of that, eh?'
'As sure as anyone can ever be.'
'Well I'm interested in the Expo 74 angle.'
The guy sighed. 'So's everybody else. Look, Harry, we'd appreciate it if you boys would play down that angle. They're having enough trouble getting this thing launched without having to combat an avalanche of rumors that — '
'Sure, I understand. But there does seem to be a connection. If the mob isn't into it, who is? Who's smuggling the guns?'
'We're investigating, uh — the federal boys, of course, that's their prime jurisdiction. We're more interested in — '
'What about Nyeburg?'
'Unfortunate, very unfortunate.'
'What is?' Bolan really wanted to know.
'Nyeburg is a respected businessman in this state. We got our tit in a ringer over that damn press release this morning. Nyeburg is not involved in any way. Evidently someone knew that he was an Expo official, authorized to receive foreign exhibits. It made a good cover — but very unfortunate for Nyeburg. We're issuing a statement clearing him of any suspicion in the matter.'
'Sure you're not being premature again?'
'Sure we're sure.'
'I'd wait if I were you.'
'Uh, look, Harry — I'm going overboard with all you people in the interests of, uh, factual reporting. My office is prepared to cooperate with the media in every way possible. But you can't do our work for us, you know.'
