and pleading — because they had found nothing to justify their lives and even less to crown their deaths. It had something to do with visions of immortality, Bolan suspected; these guys had no visions whatever beyond their own grubby little noses.
He had to half-carry, half-shove the terrified prisoner to the docks. As their feet touched the gangway, a soft voice from the
The Executioner's death voice quickly warned those aboard, 'Stand loose, sailors. I've got a cannon down your master's throat.'
They boarded, Bolan slamming Tony Danger against the cabin bulkhead with a knee in his belly, the muzzle of the Beretta resting directly between the twitching eyes.
He ripped the tape-gag away and commanded, 'Tell 'em, Tony.'
It took the guy several tries to find his voice. When it came, it was a death rattle. 'Do as
Turtle Tarantini stepped out of the shadows near the main cabin. He was giving Bolan that same fawning look of respect accorded him earlier, under far different circumstances, and it offered Bolan a variation on his numbers.
'Welcome aboard, Mr. Bolan
Bolan snapped, 'Where's your crew?'
'Right here, sir. Behind me. You better tell 'em it's okay to come out. We're not armed, sir.'
'Step forward and stand to the rail for a frisk. I've got nothing hard for you guys, unless you give me something.'
The other two showed themselves, moving carefully, then one by one they came to the rail opposite Bolan's position and presented themselves for the weapons shakedown.
Each one he frisked and sent over the gangway with the instructions, 'Don't even look back.'
Then it was just Mack Bolan and the guy who, with perhaps some weird presentiment, had named this sleek pleasure craft
The man who had fully learned the true meaning of
Bolan gave him plenty of time to get the feel of imminent death, then he pulled the pistol away and sheathed it. 'Get the film,' he commanded.
The guy staggered into the main cabin, Bolan close behind. He slid back a wall panel, fumbled with the dial of a safe, and a moment later dropped a small film cannister into Bolan's outstretched hand.
'That's all?' Bolan asked.
'I swear.'
'If it's not, I'll be back to see you.'
'I
'Let's go,' Bolan said.
They returned to the car — Tony Danger puffing and weaving on unsteady legs.
Marsha Thornton stepped out to greet them.
The deadpan gaze slid the full length of Tony Danger and she said, quietly, 'Just look at that.'
Bolan opened the can of film and passed it over to her. He also handed her a pencil-flash and told her, 'Make sure it's the one.'
She examined several frames, quickly, distastefully. 'Yes. That's it.'
'Burn it.' He gave her a butane lighter.
'Right here?'
He nodded. 'Right here.'
She stripped the cannister, unreeling the film into a loose pile on the cement drive.
As she worked at it, Bolan shoved his prisoner to the side of the car and told the girl, 'When you get home, tell your husband all about it. Tell him the hold is gone, except what he built himself and wants to keep for himself. But tell him this. If he stays held, I'll have to come back. And I'll have to break all the holds, my own way. Do you understand what I'm saying?'
She murmured, 'Yes, I understand.'
'Tell him also that I've located the missing radio gear.' He glanced at Tony Danger, then placed a cigarette in his mouth and leaned toward the girl to light it. 'I'm going to hit it tonight. I'm giving him that much break. He will understand, just tell him that.'
Marsha Thornton, not at all deadpanning anything now, assured the Executioner, 'I'll tell him. Thanks.'
He said, 'Stand back. You'll never get it lit that way.'
He pulled her aside, thumbed off a firestick, and tossed it into the pile of film.
It went up in a puff of brilliant incandescence, writhing and shriveling into the nothingness from which it had come, and he told the girl with the glowing eyes, 'Now take off. And don't look back. Don't ever look back on this.'
She brushed his cheek with moist lips and ran toward her own vehicle.
Bolan told Tony Danger, 'You're some rotten bastard, you know that?' Then he crammed the guy into the Ferrari and they returned to town in silence.
Bolan pulled up in front of the police station.
The returning prisoner, baffled but uncomplaining, told the big cold guy beside him, 'Listen, Bolan, I — '
'Get out of my car, guy,' the frosty voice commanded.
Tony Danger got out and the Ferrari shot forward into the night.
A moment later Bolan pressed the call button on his shoulder-phone, summoning the Politician to a conference.
He told him, 'Find Gadgets and get on him right away. I fed Tony the bait and dropped him off. It's
'I've got something hot from Lisa Winters,' Blancanales reported.
'Save it 'til we regroup. I've got to spring this trap.'
'He really went for it, huh?'
'He went for it, all right. With straining ears and licking lips.'
'Just don't let him get clean away, Sarge. He's the one that burned Howlin' Harlan.'
The Executioner's voice was tensely frosted as it snapped back, 'Are you sure of that?'
'As sure as you were that Howlie didn't burn himself,' Blancanales replied.
'Okay. Get on trap station. Get Gadgets in with all speed. This one is liable to be just one beat off the numbers.'
Damn right.
'This one' would indeed be crowding every number at Bolan's disposal. Plus a few that he hadn't even found yet.
18
Rawhide
John Tatum and Carl Lyons were waiting in a darkened vehicle in a stakeout position outside the police building when Bolan dropped his passenger.
Tatum straightened quickly and declared, 'There she blows. The Ferrari.'
Lyons' attention was riveted to the dishevelled man who had lurched onto the sidewalk. 'That's Tony Danger, eh?'
'The one and only.' The Captain chuckled. 'Looks like he's been through a grinder.'
The Ferrari was already gone, taillights faintly twinkling in the distance. 'That Bolan's a cool bastard,'
