Deadly Command. Don Pendleton
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Mr. Cooper. Can I arrange for something to be sent up?”
“Coffee and sandwiches would be nice,” Bolan said.
The woman stared into the warm blue eyes and decided that Mr. Cooper was a nice man. “Well, I hope your evening was successful.”
Mack Bolan nodded briefly. “It was,” he said. “Extremely productive.”
BOLAN PLUGGED the laptop into the room’s electrical outlet, powered it up and watched as the wireless internet connection set up. He opened the program and studied the saved files. They appeared to be in some kind of code that defeated Bolan’s limited IT skills. He used his cell phone to call Stony Man Farm. The call was eventually routed to the Computer Room, and he explained his problem to Akira Tokaido.
“No problem,” the computer hacker said. “Let me download those files and I’ll take a look.”
Bolan’s room service order arrived, so he left Tokaido to his computer code breaking. He had barely finished when his cell phone rang.
“Nothing difficult, Striker. The guy used a simple coding scheme to hide his files. Overseas bank accounts. Usual stuff. Some big amounts of money being handled here. I could quit and live off the interest these guys are making.”
“Anything else?”
“Telephone numbers, contact list, delivery dates.”
“Current details?”
“I can only tell you what I see. I can’t make sense of any of it.”
“Just give me what you have,” Bolan said. “You’re doing fine.”
“Latest information has an upcoming transaction at South Auto Salvage in Newark. Due midnight tomorrow.”
“You got any information on who runs South Auto Salvage?”
“Nicky Costanza. I checked him out. He’s a career criminal who’s into all kinds of rackets. Not a nice dude.”
“If they were all nice dudes, Akira, we’d be out of a job.”
“I guess so. I’ll transfer the information to your laptop. With pictures and GPS coordinates to land you right at South Auto Salvage’s front door.”
“Thanks for this,” Bolan said. “Tell Aaron I said you can have a raise.”
Tokaido laughed. “Do I get that in writing?”
“You wish.”
4
McQueen County, New Mexico
Tony Lorenzo watched Lou Cameron’s eyes. He knew his boss well enough to be wary. Cameron had a mercurial capacity for mood changes. He could lash out in an instant, not giving a damn who he hurt in the process, and bad news was a sure way of incurring the man’s wrath. Lorenzo had seen Cameron kill without hesitation because something had gone off track. He struck out in a simple reflex reaction to setbacks. So bringing Cameron the information about the hit on the Chicago deal was a risky piece of business. Which was why Lorenzo studied the expression in Cameron’s eyes very carefully.
As usual, Cameron was dressed in a well-cut suit and a white shirt open at the collar. Tall, with a lean build, he looked more like a banker on a break than a career criminal who had graduated from petty crime to his position as a premier supplier of illegal arms. With his youthful, handsome good looks and sandy hair, Cameron could have earned a good living as an actor. The letdown was his eyes. They were sharp and cold, the kind that instilled caution in anyone thinking of defying him.
A brief silence followed the report. As Cameron’s hand gripped the whiskey bottle, his knuckles turned white. It was the only indication of his anger. He leaned forward and filled the tumbler, placed the bottle on the glass table, then sat back with the drink in his hand. It was very quiet in the room. Not one of the six men present wanted to be the first to speak.
“Has anyone figured out who made the hit?” Cameron asked. “Cops? Feds? Some local opposition?”
“Bella was the only survivor. He was pretty badly cut up and burned, and had slugs in both legs. He came through with some information when our contact visited, but all we got was a single hitter,” Lorenzo said, “well-armed, dressed in black and knew exactly what he was doing. Like he came out of nowhere. He took out the guard, then went inside the warehouse and blew everything all to hell. Used some kind of phosphorous grenades to burn up the merchandise.”
“Then it doesn’t sound like local cops or the Feds. They go to the fuckin’ john in pairs. And destroying evidence doesn’t fit the rule book.”
“If it was a local hit, why would they wipe out the merchandise?” one of the group asked. “That was a high-price consignment.”
Cameron nodded. “Good point. Let’s check this out. Contact Chicago. Get some muscle to make the rounds—kick down some doors and bruise some asses. Spread some money. Find out who this joker might be and if he does work for somebody. If it turns out to be some home group, they’re dead.” He tossed back the whiskey and waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s go, people.”
“You figure this is the same guy who hit the exchange in Miami?” someone asked. “Can’t be a coincidence coming so close together.”
“We have to consider they might be connected,” Cameron admitted, “which is why we get local people on the streets asking questions and pushing hard.”
The man who had asked about the destruction of the consignment said, “If we get our hands on this guy, do we put him out of his misery? Or do you want to talk to him?”
“Oh, I want to talk to him. Now, I don’t mind if he gets a little bruised on the way, but I want him breathing and able to speak. Let’s get to it, boys.”
Lorenzo waited until the room had cleared. He closed the heavy door and turned to face Cameron.
“Pretty expensive mess, Lou,” he said. “The cargo in Miami and now Chicago. Vehicles. Bella’s BMW, still with the new-leather smell. And seven of our guys.”
Cameron nodded, waiting. When Lorenzo didn’t continue, he said, “Bella ran the Chicago team. He shouldn’t have let this happen. He got sloppy and paid the price. What concerns me more is the way this is going to look. Two hits like this is a loss of face.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to push it too far by mentioning that.”
Cameron slumped back in his leather armchair, drumming his fingers on the padded arms. His eyes wandered around the expensively decorated room.
“Can I have a drink?” Lorenzo asked, a slight hesitation in his tone.
“Go ahead.” Cameron watched his man fill a tumbler and take a swallow. “Hey, you know how much that stuff is a bottle? I’m only asking because the way you’re slopping it down it might as well be tap water.”
“Yeah. I must be nervous,” Lorenzo said. “I get like that when I start adding up cash loss.”
Cameron smiled. “Tony, forget that. We can stand the loss from Miami and Chicago. It’s a pain in the butt, sure, but I’m more concerned about the how and the why. I don’t give a damn about Soames’s spot. He isn’t that important. Just a middleman. But Bella’s warehouse was supposed to be safe. That’s our part of the hood. Like church grounds. Consecrated. Off-limits. No one walks in off the fucking street and takes down one of my places.”
“Looks like this guy didn’t know that.”
“That’s stating the obvious. So this is how we play it. I want you to take charge, Tony. I mean the whole nine yards in Chicago. You’re the new boss. If anybody doesn’t like it, you get them to talk to me. Get things back on track. Make your mark, Tony. You earned this.”
“Thanks, Lou, I won’t let you down.”
“Kick