Firebase Seattle

He knew their values, the things they revered, the prices they were willing to pay for success. And they would pay any life but their own.

If not already too late, he meant to see that Dianna Webb did not become part of that price.

Bolan checked the lady into a Holiday Inn under an assumed name, paid for the room cash in advance, and spirited her into the room wrapped in a blanket — with promises that she would remain until contacted and 'play no more games.'

Then he went to work on the warwagon, changing a few color panels to present a new 'design' — replacing the license plates — rearranging various exterior dummy appurtenances.

The hour was nearing eleven when he wheeled the sleek 'new' motor home to an address in Seattle's east-central sector. It was a high-rise complex in a parklike setting overlooking Lake Washington — an elite neighborhood for fashionable cavedwellers — security conscious, with electronic door interlocks at each building entrance, uniformed patrols on the grounds between the buildings and in the parking areas.

One building in particular did not seem overly confident of the normal security precautions. It was the address in Bolan's warbook. A car was parked at the yellow zone curbing just down from the lobby entrance, two guys in the front seat. Four more guys in well-fitted suits stood in a clutch at the entrance, chatting.

Not the usual mob guys, no. Soldiers nonetheless. Each of those four would have looked more natural in shiny combat boots and the spiffy trappings of the Military Police. That was Bolan's gut reading, at any rate.

He donned the yellow nightshades, pulled on to the curb directly opposite the entrance, and opened his window.

It was as good a time as any to probe the depths of Dianna Webb's defection.

Four pairs of eyes took that vehicle instantly apart, but none of the troops moved another muscle.

Bolan called over, 'Pardon me. Which building is forty-two?'

One of the guys peeled away from the pack to take a couple of paces toward the curb. 'This is forty,' he replied in a not unfriendly tone. 'Go back around the circle and take the first right. That should put you into forty- two.'

Bolan said, 'Thanks,' as another of the four moved forward and squatted to peer at his undersides.

'That's quite an RV,' the new one commented, coming out of the squat to flash a grin at the man at the wheel. 'How's she do in the mountains?'

'I'll find out tomorrow,' Bolan replied, grinning back. 'Taking her up Olympus.'

'I'd be interested in how she does,' the guy shot back. 'You live around here?'

'Not yet. Buddy of mine lives over in forty-two. We're spending the night here, taking off early tomorrow morning.'

'What's his name?'

'Thompson. Know 'im?'

'Wish I did, no.'

'Come in and take a look around if you'd like,' Bolan grandly offered.

Genuine regret registered there as the guy flashed a sheepish glance toward his companions. 'Some other time, I'd love to. How much it set you back?'

'God I hate to look at the papers and see,' Bolan said, grinning. 'It started out at thirty, basic. I just closed my eyes and signed my name. I'll look at the final price after I see how she does.'

The guy laughed and stepped back. 'I'll look you up when you get back.'

'Do that,' Bolan said, and moved on away from there.

No — not standard mob guys. These 'boys' were all business — in a polished military manner. A high percentage of that friendly banter had been business-oriented. The guy dug the rig, sure — but he'd been primarily interested in establishing the status of it. Apparently Bolan had passed the inspection. Just as apparently, Dianna had betrayed his confidence.

He circled on to the next building and into the parking area separating the two, found a good spot for surveillance, and parked.

Thirty thousand, hell. Start at a hundred thousand, soldier, and work up from there. She quietly boasted the most sophisticated of electronic and optic systems developed during the space age; no expense had been spared toward that consideration.

She could 'see' for more than a mile with telescopic/stereoscopic clarity, night or day, and she could 'hear' flies buzzing at two thousand yards — unaided by any exterior devices. With exterior implantations in the target area, the bonus baby to Bolan's war effort could scan through walls of buildings and record conversations in a dozen simultaneous operations. And that was far from all.

But it was all the use Bolan had in mind for the present, and it was time for the battle cruiser to go to work.

He went to the console and activated the audio surveillance system, directing the concealed barrel pickups to a point near the very peak of 40 Washington Towers, then turned on the 'nitebrite optics,' an infra-red system coupled with laser techniques for pencil-flash or broadflood selectivity.

Minutes later, he had a rather valid understanding of the problem confronting him.

The Franciscus apartment was the penthouse suite — the only dwelling at that level. There were no exterior approaches. Through a crack in a small half-window — probably a bathroom — he'd picked up the muffled sounds of a television program mixed with occasional bumps, movements, and footfalls somewhere within — a couple of live' male voices and two audible words: 'Johnny said.'

He worked up a graphic projection of the building on the plotting board and experimented with several 'breach plans' before finally going to the mobile phone and calling his friend the mob flyboy, Jack Grimaldi.

The guy must have been sitting on the telephone. He answered at the first crack of the bell with a breathless, 'Yeah, Terrifying Flying Service.'

Bolan chuckled and said, 'Jack, how soon can you lay hands on a windmill?'

'Had one standing by all day. Thought you'd never call. What's the job?'

'Remember Dallas?'

'Oh God. That again. That was daylight, buddy.'

'So you try a little harder this time,' Bolan suggested. 'It's only about four hundred feet, though, Jack. Will the weather allow?'

'Depends on where you are. Over on the coast it's zero-zero right now. Mountains have most of it blocked but it's seeping down Juan de Fuca and spilling down along the Sound. If you're — '

'Western shore of Lake Washington, Jack.'

'That's different. Just a minute.'

Grimaldi was 'gone' for a full minute. Bolan marked time by studying his projections. The pilot returned to say, 'Okay, it looks hopeful if we move right quick. You've got a ground layer of thin stuff with tops at about two hundred feet. The Naval Air Station over there at Sand Point says it's acceptable but subject to change very rapidly. Then there's another deck at one thousand and already descending. There's no way to know how long it will take to close solid — you know what I'm saying? We could have a zero-zero condition over there from a thousand feet on down if those two layers decide to marry.'

'We'll have to risk it, Jack. Let's at least go up and eyeball it from the top.'

'Right. Where do I get you?'

'Come down to the Union Bay bridge. Then keep south and put on your infra-red specs. Look for a beacon. I'll be at the bottom.'

'What if I can't see the damn beacon?'

'It's laser-focused. You'll see it. Just in case, though — give me a comm channel.'

'Okay,' the pilot soberly replied, 'let's see ... how about 126.7 megs? You have that?'

'I can plug it in, yeah. That's a standard aero freq, isn't it?'

'Well sure. That's all these buggies come with. Just watch what you say. You're Low Boy. I'm High Boy.'

'Right. Radio silence, though, unless you get lost.'

'Right.'

'How soon, Jack?'

'Let's see ... what will I need?'