Miami Massacre

Matador. This would be the suicide mission.'

'Who has to make that decision, Toro?'

'You are correct,' Toro replied unhappily.

'Starlight Palms. Beach Hacienda. You know of these?'

Bolan said, 'Yes, I know them. You have one hell of an intelligence network, amigo.'

Toro delicately shrugged his shoulders. 'We are everywhere, Matador. A piece here, a piece there, it comes together as a whole picture.' He frowned. 'But we do not deserve such praise.'

'No?'

'No. A something is missing. Some of your enemies, it is said, are going to a boat, a large boat, and I have not the name of this boat.'

Bolan stood up and snapped the suitcases shut, then turned to Toro with a thoughtful gaze. 'Some one else mentioned a boat to me today, amigo. A party boat. Something like that?'

Toro shrugged again. 'Perhaps. Did this someone also mention the name of this boat, senor? '

'Yes, but I guess I wasn't paying enough attention.' He shook his head, then snatched up the suitcases and headed for the door, Toro followed closely. 'I have to get moving, amigo. You'll never know how much you've helped me. In many ways.'

They went on out to the car. Bolan put the luggage in the rear seat. Toro seemed uncomfortable. Bolan hoped he wasn't about to bring up the money. He closed the gap of silence with, 'You going to let me out of here without a blindfold?'

Toro grabbed Bolan and embraced him, saying, 'Para siempre hermanos — brothers forever, yes?'

'Siempre,' Bolan soberly repeated. Then he smiled and added, 'Does that mean no blindfold?'

Toro's eyes were watery. He shook his head. 'No blindfold for our Senor El Matador. God walk with you, Mack Bolan.'

The emotion embarrassed Bolan. He opened the car door and slid in behind the wheel. Then he noticed the brown satchel on the floorboards, and he understood why Toro had made no further mention of the money. He sighed and picked up the satchel and dropped it through the window onto the ground.

The Cuban said, 'Amigo, it is too much. We cannot accept your own war chest.'

'It's a revolving fund, Toro. There's plenty more where that came from, just waiting to be picked up. You get yourself some weapons, amigo, and you walk the length and breadth of your Cuba with them. Which way to Miami, hermano?'

Toro's face was a study in restrained emotion. The eyes were watering freely and the lips trembled between a smile and a frown. He swung his gaze toward the veranda and a small figure detached itself from a chair in the shadows and stepped into the dim nightlight. It was Margarita, once more in the tight fatigues and with the businesslike .45 strapped to her waist. Toro leaned into Bolan's window and said quietly, 'Margarita demands the right of guide, or I would lead you myself. Follow her, Matador, she will take you to the highway. And Mack, in god's name, take care. Do not die in Miami for the sake of nothing.'

A final clasp of hands and then Mack Bolan, now El Matador del Causa de Cuba, was following the jeep back across the darkened compound, silent men lining the roadway and waving a quiet farewell. They were passed through the gate without a challenge, and some twenty minutes later the jeep executed an arc in front of Bolan and halted, facing back the way they'd come. Bolan pulled alongside and reached into the jeep to squeeze the girl's hand. 'Gracias, soldada,' he said soberly.

She stretched up and leaned into his vehicle to place a warm kiss on his lips. 'Vaya con dios, Matador,' she whispered.

Bolan swiped at his eyes and went on to the highway junction, several hundred feet beyond. He stopped there to unbutton his shirt and withdraw the Luger, performed a final inspection, then replaced the gun in the sideleather and eased onto the highway. The glow of Miami was in the sky, far ahead. He tossed a final look behind him, to a place where he had found friendship . . . for so brief a time.

'I go now with death, soldada,' he muttered, and sent the Chevy hurtling back toward the battle line.

Preoccupied with what lay ahead, he did not see the small vehicle without lights that pulled onto the highway behind him. He went, also, with Margarita.

Chapter Fourteen Of death traps

Captain Hannon rose ominously from his desk and fixed Stewart Dunlap with an angry gaze. 'What the hell do you mean, lay off?'he asked in a thick voice.

The Justice agent's ever-present smile hung on as he explained, 'I'm just passing the word, captain — relax. The official request is coming down through channels. I just thought you'd like to-'

'Well you can think again,' Hannon rumbled. 'The Dade Force is not laying off.' He grabbed for his pipe and thrust it between his teeth, then pulled it out and jabbed it toward his visitor. 'Wholesale murder has been done in this town, Dunlap, and no self-respecting cop can turn away from something like that. Our chief, by the way, is a highly self-respecting cop.'

Dunlap shrugged and said, 'It's not for Bolan's benefit, John. There's a hell of a delicate angle to this thing, and we . . .'

'I'm listening,' Hannon prompted him.

Dunlap's smile lost the battle. He dropped into a chair and soberly inspected his fingernails. 'A five-year undercover operation may be at stake. Brognola says he'll get cooperation if he has to go clear to the President.'

'Uh-huh, Brognola's behind it,' Hannon observed. 'Okay, so now you're going to tell me that Bolan has a CIA license or something.'

The agent doggedly shook his head. 'Hell, no, I told you this wasn't for Bolan's benefit. But we've got a man in there, inside La Cosa Nostra, John. We're just trying to protect him. Wouldn't you?'

'The best way to do that would be to apprehend Bolan, wouldn't it? Does Bolan know who this guy is?'

Dunlap's frown deepened. 'He does and he doesn't. I mean, if he meets him face to face, yes, he'll recognize him. We're not afraid of our man holding his own against Bolan. We're afraid of him getting pinned into a Bolan-police firefight.'

'Who's been telling me,' Hannon asked sarcastically, 'that Bolan never shoots at cops?'

'He hasn't in the past,' Dunlap quietly replied. 'In a fire fight, though, one guy looks pretty much like another. You go busting into Bolan's war, especially with a bunch of non-uniformed officers, most anything could happen.'

'Well,' Hannon said, sighing, 'you're talking to the wrong man anyway. I don't make these decisions.'

'I know that, John. I was just advancing the word.'

'If the chief says lay off, I'll have to lay off. If he doesn't, I'll be going in with everything I've got.'

'Yes, I know that, too.'

'How high up is this inside man of yours?'

'He has Family rank.'

'What Family?'

Dunlap sighed. 'You know I can't tell you that. He has an Eastern territory, I'll tell you that much. And,