eliminating his competitors, making examples of them to the world at large. The man in charge, Khalil Nazari, rarely left Afghanistan. In fact, he rarely left his fortress compound in the desert west of Kandahar, where he lived under double guard by his own thugs and mercenaries from a private outfit also known for its extensive contracts with the CIA and the U.S. Department of Defense.
Call him untouchable...unless he could be lured out into the open somehow for an unexpected meeting with the Executioner.
It was something to think about, but in the meantime there was New York City, where Wasef Kamran ran the show for Nazari, moving in on Wah Ching territory with no apparent concern for collateral damage. If they’d just been killing one another, Bolan might have been content to let the bloodbath run its course, but that was not an option in a metro area with twenty million innocent bystanders.
The Farm’s computer files contained whatever information was available on the Wah Ching Triad and the Nazari syndicate from sources including the DEA, FBI, NYPD, Interpol, Britain’s MI-5, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and Afghanistan’s State Intelligence Agency, the Khadamat-e Aetla’at-e Dawlati, or KHAD. Some of it was contradictory, and some was out of date, but the archives showed Bolan faces, some with home addresses, and gave him directions to known or suspected syndicate properties. There would be no shortage of targets, and the soldier guessed he would find others as he went along, by one means or another.
The key was focus, and accepting tough realities. He’d never stop the trafficking in drugs from Southeast Asia or the Golden Crescent, obviously. Wiping out the Wah Ching’s membership was clearly an impossibility, and taking down Nazari at his Afghan stronghold posed a list of difficulties that included forcing Bolan to contend with U.S. troops. When those ideas were taken off the table, what remained?
His brand of blitzkrieg, for a start, refined in battles with the Mafia, with criminal cartels and terrorists around the world. The opposition would be tough, determined, and they’d pull out all the stops to keep from losing any ground, but neither side had any practical experience with the phenomenon Hal Brognola once labeled the “Bolan Effect.” Long before some White House ghostwriter dreamed up the buzz words “shock and awe,” the Executioner had honed those methods to a razor’s edge and taught his enemies to spend their final hours in fear.
Unfortunately, humans being what they were, that was a lesson that required unending repetition. Each new wave of predators seemed to believe they were immune to repercussions for their actions. There were always new ones to replace the fallen, endlessly recycling common themes of plunder, savagery and exploitation. They were doomed by ignorance and arrogance to replicate the errors of their predecessors, until someone knocked them down with force sufficient enough to ensure they would never rise again.
Someone like Bolan, who would do the job because he could.
* * *
BOLAN WAS STRIPPING for a shower when a rapping on his door stopped him. Shirtless and half expecting Price, he moved to let her in and was surprised to find Grimaldi standing there.
“Bad time?” the pilot asked.
“Just washing up,” Bolan replied. “It can wait.” He stood aside for his friend, then shut the door and slipped his shirt back on, leaving it loose, unbuttoned.
“I was thinking we should talk about tomorrow,” Grimaldi said. “New York, that is.”
“Okay.”
“I’m thinking we can fly directly there,” Grimaldi said, “unless you need to stop somewhere beforehand.”
“That’ll work,” Bolan agreed. “I’ll borrow what I need out of the armory.”
“Newark’s the closest airport, if you want to call about a ride.”
“Will do. You want a car?”
Grimaldi thought about it, then shook his head. “I’ll stick to wings for now. If we need a second vehicle for anything, I’ll pick one up along the way.”
“I expect New York won’t be the end of it,” Bolan warned.
“That’s the feeling I get, too. While you’re redecorating Chinatown, I’ll make arrangement for a bird with greater range. The Feds have got some business jets they’ve confiscated. I can probably get one of them on loan.”
“Flying in style.”
“The only way to go. Depending on our final destination, there’s a chance I can finesse some kind of gunship.”
“We can wait and see on that. It might be overkill.”
“Just food for thought. I’d rather have some rockets and a twenty-millimeter I don’t need than wish I had ’em when they’re nowhere to be found.”
“You’ve got a point,” Bolan agreed.
“So, any thoughts on where to start?”
“Find an informant if I can, first thing,” Bolan replied. “If one side or the other has a shipment due, I’ll try to take it down and go from there. Play one against the other if it feels right. Rattle cages. Blow their houses down.”
“Same old, same old.”
“Hey, if it works—”
“Don’t fix it,” Grimaldi said, finishing the thought for Bolan. “Right. I hear you. Want to get a beer or three?”
“I thought I’d catch up on my sleep.”
“Okay. I might try that myself,” Grimaldi said. “A little change of pace. What time tomorrow?”
“Six?”
“I’m there.”
Alone once more, Bolan shrugged off his shirt and had one leg out of his jeans before the knocking was repeated. Opening the door again, he felt his frown turn upside-down.
“All clear?” Price asked.
“Good timing.”
“Not so good,” she said, brushing past Bolan. “Jack was waiting for the elevator. I almost ordered him to wipe the smirk off his face.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean—”
She cut him off, saying, “You didn’t have to dress all fancy for me.”
Bolan glanced down at his blue jeans. “These old things? Just something I threw on.”
“You want to take them off?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“But listen, if Jack—”
“Let’s just pretend Jack wasn’t here.”
Their intimate relationship was not a secret, in the strictest sense. They didn’t advertise it; tried to be discreet within the limits posed by their surroundings and the strict security imposed at Stony Man. The rooms weren’t monitored, but there were CCTV cameras in the corridors, as well as on the grounds outside. No one would question what went on between Bolan and Price,
