sending the on-screen image into overdrive. He stopped it when a light-colored car rolled to a stop outside the hangar. “Not long after Jack arrived,” he said. “Come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing that car come in. Wait, I remember, ’bout that time I went across to the admin building. I got a call from one of the payroll clerks. They messed up my paycheck the previous week, and he wanted to talk to me about it. I locked the hut and went over. Guess I would have been away maybe twenty minutes is all.”
Bolan was watching the on-screen activity. Five men emerged from the car. They were all dressed alike in dark suits and moving like a squad of soldiers.
Score one for Jack’s assessment, Bolan thought. Somewhere along the line these men had received military training. There was no mistaking the precise, controlled movements, the way they carried themselves as they walked to the entrance door, opened it and went inside.
“Damn,” Earl muttered. “If I hadn’t been called across to the admin, I might have seen these people come in.”
“And you might have ended up like Jack. Or worse,” Bolan reminded him. “Move it on.”
Earl sped up the tape until the moment the men emerged from the building. One of them crossed directly to the parked car and opened the rear door. Bolan heard Earl let go a gasp of dismay when he recognized Jess Buchanan being led out to the car. She appeared dazed, having to be supported between two of the men. She was maneuvered inside, the rest of the group quickly following. The last man drew Bolan’s close attention as he took his time to look around before climbing into the car…
White-blond hair, cut short. Taut features, one hand reaching up to touch the left cheek where a dark bruise was visible, cold eyes staring straight ahead. A dangerous man, angry at being resisted, liable to react violently.
Bolan studied the face, stored it away for future reference. Here was a man the Executioner wouldn’t forget, and he also knew that sooner or later he was going to come face-to-face with him.
“Earl, can we see the license plate?”
Earl paused the tape, then used the remote to edge it forward, the car advancing into full frame, allowing them to study the rear end.
“I need to run down that number to see if I can locate that car.”
“I can tell you where it comes from,” Earl said. “Local rental agency. I recognize the number sequence. They have special plates for rental cars. Makes them easy to trace if they get stolen. We get a lot of tourists driving in for flights.”
Earl wrote on a sheet of paper and handed it to Bolan. He had recorded the license number and also the location of the rental agency.
“Thanks for this,” Bolan said. “Earl, if I don’t get to call back, I appreciate what you’ve done.”
“Wish it could have been more. I’ll drop by the hospital some time. Have a few minutes with Jack.”
Bolan stepped outside. There was a cabstand a few yards along the road. Behind him he heard the security hut door open.
“Mr. Belsako, you going to bring Miss Jess home?”
“I’ll give it my best shot.”
Bolan picked up a cab and had it take him back to town and his hotel. As he sank back in the seat, he thought.
It had been a long time since Bolan had dealt with something on such a personal level. Whatever the reasoning behind Jess Buchanan’s abduction, enough in itself, Jack Grimaldi was also involved. Badly hurt and unable to find out what had happened to Jess, Grimaldi was about to learn the meaning of true friendship. As far as Bolan was concerned, he would step in and deal with the matter on Grimaldi’s behalf. It would have been no different if the roles had been reversed. Bolan and Grimaldi went back a long way. Perhaps too far. But there were no questions that needed to be asked once the chips fell.
BACK IN HIS ROOM Bolan took time to freshen up before he put in a call to Stony Man farm. This time he spoke to Hal Brognola.
“You find anything useful?” the big Fed asked. There was a distinct weariness in Brognola’s tone. Bolan picked up on it the moment he heard his friend’s voice.
“There something wrong? You sound like you need a break.”
“Some hopes,” Brognola answered. “I’ve got Phoenix somewhere in the Middle East. Able chasing rebels in Central America. And you ready to go ballistic in Nassau. And there I’m thinking it might be a good weekend to go fishing.”
Bolan smiled at that. “Hal, you’d go crazy trying to land a salmon.”
“Yeah? I’d gamble a few gray cells just to give it a damned try.”
“Anything come through on the information I gave to Barbara?”
“I was afraid you were going to ask that.”
“Complications?”
“We’ve run Doug Buchanan’s name through the military computer banks, and all we come up with is a blank. It’s like he never existed. And Aaron detected some kind of a trace string. It tried to get into his system, but he blocked it.”
“Meaning someone got interested when he flagged up Buchanan’s name?”
“Aaron is trying to follow the trace back to its source. In the meantime the rest of the cyber team is doing what it can to find something about Doug Buchanan from other data banks.”
Bolan filed the information away. Interest in Doug Buchanan seemed to be the flavor of the day.
“Anything on the incoming call from Buchanan?”
“Not yet, but we won’t give up on it.”
“Okay.”
“You find anything at your end?” Brognola asked.
“Picked up something on the people who attacked Jack and took Jess Buchanan. I need a little more time down here before I come home.”
“Striker, are you seeing more than a simple abduction here?”
“Let’s say I’m starting to become curious. I’ll be in touch.”
Bolan cut the connection. He moved to stare out the window at the passing traffic, raising his gaze to the sunlight sparkling on the water of Nassau Harbour.
He took the sheet of paper from his pocket and checked the address of the car-rental agency Earl had written down for him. Using the room phone, Bolan spoke to the desk and asked for directions to the rental company. The desk clerk told him it was no more than a few minutes’ walk from the hotel.
Bolan slipped on his jacket and picked up his keycard. He left the room, took the elevator to the lobby and left the hotel. It was early evening. The sun was warm. A breeze drifting in off the harbor made the day comfortable. Bolan eased into the crowds thronging Bay Street, which ran parallel with the harbor. The crowds were from the great cruise ships that called in at Nassau, disgorging their souvenir-hungry passengers. The vacationers surged up and down the thoroughfare, eager to spend their money and stare at the pink-and-white buildings that were part of Nassau’s appeal.
