Nightmare in New York

low on the eyebrows. Beneath all that he wore the shoulder harness with the silent Beretta, a short stiletto with a needle-sharp point, and a .38 revolver was thrust casually into the waistband of his trousers. He carried a bulky canvas bag over one shoulder and he was humming an Italian wedding song as he walked casually across the grounds toward the big building.

One of the patrols, about ten feet off Bolan's path, raised a hand casually and said, 'Ay.'

'Ay,' Bolan said back to him. 'Jesus I'm too cold to fart.'

'Me too,' the patrol growled.

'Well, try to relax,' Bolan called over his shoulder. 'This can't last much longer.'

'God I hope not.'

Bolan heard another voice in the darkness call over, 'Hey, what'd he say?'

'Said it won't last much longer,' the first guy replied.

'If those guys had to palaver out here,' complained the invisible speaker, 'it'd been over ten hours ago.'

'You ain't shittin',' said his companion in suffering.

Bolan grinned to himself and went on to the back door of the main building. A soldier in an overcoat was standing just inside the kitchen with his back resting against the glass panel of the door. Bolan pushed on the door and the guy moved away.

Speaking from outside, Bolan growled, 'Hey what the hell are you doing in there?'

'Warmin' my toes,' the guy replied defensively. 'Hell I thought I'd lost 'em.'

'Well, you better get some coffee to these boys out here. Their turds are freezing inside of them.'

'Yeah, sure,' the guy said.

'And put something stiff in it'

'I thought the boss said no — '

'Bullshit what th' boss said. These boys are turnin' into statues.'

'Okay,' the guy said, the surly face breaking into a wide grin.

'Get 'em something to chew on, too.'

'Christ they just had supper a hour ago.'

'I don't give a shit if they had it ten minutes ago,' Bolan snapped. 'Get 'em something to chew on.'

'Well like what?'

Bolan snorted disgustedly and replied, 'Like anything. Jesus do you have to have somebody hold your dick when you pee?'

The guy moved away muttering to himself. Bolan closed the door and went on to the corner of the building, smiling over his private joke. Laced coffee and Italian pastries would get the outside men pretty well relaxed and diverted, he guessed. He stepped into the shadows at the rear for a close inspection of the main power box, a facility which he had noted during his recon of the previous night.

He set the canvas bag on the ground and removed a glob of plastic explosive, carefully molded it around the cable where it entered the box, inserted a detonator-timer, and went on.

Bolan circled the house, muttering a greeting to a sentry on the porch in front. 'Ay, stay alert there,' he told the guy.

The sentry eased up from a chair and stretched his back. 'Let's all go to Miami for the winter,' he suggested humorously.

Bolan kept to the shadows and replied, 'Freddie catches you sittin' down on the job, you might go to Miami for permanent.'

'Maybe you have to worry about Freddie,' the guy said. 'That's your problem. Augie ain't that stiff.'

The reference was to Augie Marinello, until very recently regarded as the strongest boss in New York. Bolan tried his luck and told the sentry, 'You better worry about Freddie until this meet is over. He's the man with the say.'

The sentry coughed, and walked to the edge of the porch to spit. Then he told Bolan, 'Yeah, I guess you're right.'

The Executioner suggested, 'Go on back to the kitchen. I got what's-his-name gettin' up some stiff coffee and snacks for you outside boys. Go on, you better get yours before he forgets you're out here.'

The guy was trying to get a clear look into Bolan's face. Between the upturned coat collar and the brim of the hat, there was little more to see than a pair of eyes. That curious code of Mafia ethics prevented the common soldier from asking the simplest of all questions. He merely nodded and asked Bolan, 'You covering for me here?'

Bolan said, 'O' course. But don't be too long.'

'Okay.' The guy hurried down the steps and disappeared around the corner of the building.

Bolan went on up to the porch, opened the screen doors, and inspected the massive double doors that guarded the sanctorum. They were made to swing together, like the doors of an old-fashioned vault, and the locking mechanism was as good. The hinges at either side would have held a Cadillac together. Bolan went to work with his plastics, wedging in a thin trail along the hinges and around the entire jamb area. A little bit of this stuff, he realized, went a hell of a long ways. He completed the job and went on, leaving the sentry post 'uncovered.' Let the wise guy worry about it, he thought.

He crossed to the armory building, looked in through the windows, saw nothing moving in there, and stepped inside. There were cases upon cases of ammo, of all sizes and types, and racks of hand weapons of every description. All was under lock and key, and Bolan meant to keep it that way. Again he made plastic molds, placed them liberally, and got out of there.

Three patrolmen were standing in a little clutch behind the building, quietly talking and relaxing over coffee and pastries. Bolan went over to them, maneuvered his back to the nearest light and said, 'I see you got the stuff.'

'Oh you'rethe guy,' someone said. 'You're a real gentleman, I gotta say that. I was startin' to think nobody knew we were here.'

'Don't you worry,' the Executioner replied. 'Somebody knows.'

'Ay, this coffee hits the spot,' another one remarked.

Bolan laughed and said, 'And that's exactly the spot you want to hit, right?'

The three patrolmen guffawed appreciatively and a tall skinny one remarked, 'There's another spot I wouldn't mind hitting. Have you seenthose broads Freddie brought out here?'

Bolan chuckled and said, 'Musn't touch, boys.'

'Yeah that's Freddie's private reserve,' another commented. He gave a dirty laugh and added, 'He's savin' them for a special party with Mack the Bastard.'

'Ay, have you heard the latest about that nervy shit?' the skinny one piped up. 'Tony got it on his transistor awhile ago, that cocksucker is tearin' up Manhattan again. He got Payday Jake and some of Manny's boys, I hear.'

'I hear he knocked over Paoli's Poolhall,' another remarked in a subdued voice.

'I guess I just as soon be out here, freezin' iny ass off,' a guy murmured.

'Freddie oughta give 'im back those broads,' the skinny one said. He winked and added, 'Slightly used, o' course.'

Bolan laughed. 'O' course. Well that's what I came out for.' He laughed again. 'No, not to slightly use 'em, but I wouldn't mind that neither. I just got to look in on 'em.'

'Ay, tell Freddie we're keeping good eyes on 'em.'

Bolan chuckled and went on to the front of thehouse. Curtains were drawn across the windows but he could see all there was to see. It was a single large room with a small toilet visible through an open door to the rear, a couch, several chairs, card tables, the usual provisions for common soldiers.

Paula was lying on the couch, a forearm draped across her face, the ripe bosom staggering somewhat as though she were having herself a quiet cry. The muscles bunched in Bolan's jaw and he stepped to the other window for a better view of Rachel. She was wearing slacks and a clinging blouse and she was seated on the floor, facing a corner in a Lotus position, unmoving, to all appearances undisturbed and unharmed. Both girls looked okay. He sighed and went on, passing back by the clustered patrol and tossing them a wave as he passed.