a dangerous game,” Bolan said. “I’m not going to scale back my mission to accommodate the sensibilities of a by-the-book FBI agent.”
“There’s where we catch a break,” Price had told him. “I’m transmitting the file to you now. Jennifer Delaney, thirty-four. Been with the Bureau for the past ten years. A decorated agent, but also one who’s been disciplined more than once. You can read the details yourself, but I’ll sum it up for you—she has a recurring problem with authority and no compunctions about bending the rules to get things done.”
“But she’s still with the Bureau, which doesn’t tolerate loose cannons.”
“True,” Price said. “Which means she’s a very good agent, for all her willingness to be pragmatic in the field.”
“I can live with that,” Bolan said.
“We don’t know who talked to whom in the Bureau, but Delaney has a personal stake in Twain and has been pursuing him since the incident in Virginia. Her partner, a Paul Sander, was the lead on the investigation that eventually saw Twain and his outfit popped before they could plant their explosives. A couple of them went down, but Twain and his key people got away. Twain shot both Sander and Delaney in making his escape. Sander died.”
“So she’s looking for payback,” Bolan said. “Can I trust her?”
“She wants Twain,” Price said. “Wouldn’t you? But there’s no indication it has interfered with her work. There have been no disciplinary actions in her file since then, either, if it makes a difference to you.”
“I can understand.” The file was coming through on his phone. The digital photograph of Delaney showed an attractive red-haired woman with high cheekbones and green eyes. She had a small scar on her chin. According to the statistics appended to the file, she was five foot nine, with an athletic build. She’d twice won commendations for bravery in service to the Bureau. Bolan skipped the disciplinary flags; he wasn’t interested in the second-guessing of bureaucrats, who were only too happy to criticize after the fact the split-second, life-and-death decisions men and women of action were forced to make in the field.
“Delaney is en route and will meet you in—” Price paused to check something “—Kansas City. Jack tells me you’ll reach Eastern Iowa Airport momentarily, and that you plan to hit the facility in Kansas City after that?”
“That’s the plan,” Bolan said. “It’s the next logical location, geographically, on the priority list. Until something breaks free, I intend to keep the pressure on, keep blitzing Trofimov’s assets until he screams. I can’t verify the timing, though.”
“It shouldn’t matter,” Price said. “By the time you’re done in Iowa and moving to Kansas Delaney should get there not too much before you do.”
“We’ll make sure not to miss her. How much can I tell her?”
“While her interest is primarily Twain, the folks at the Bureau aren’t stupid,” Price said. “Hal chose to share some off-the-record intel with them. She’s going to be at least vaguely aware of the Trofimov connection. Officially, there’s no FBI interest in Trofimov, but unofficially you can bet they’re every bit as concerned about murderous, possibly even seditious actions taken by an American citizen to undermine the United States military. You know how much they have to dance around these days, pretending not to peer too closely into the lives of private citizens. There’s just been too much public outcry over things like the domestic wiretapping program, civil rights violations by Homeland Security, that sort of thing. The Bureau wants to know what Trofimov is up to as badly as we do, but they can’t admit it right now.”
“Meaning they’ll be happy to take the credit once I’ve found all the loose ends and burned them down,” Bolan said.
“Possibly,” Price admitted. “Hal will be only too happy to let them, too, given how the Sensitive Operations Group’s cover has to be kept out of the public eye. We can operate, at least partly, under the aegis of FBI ownership of this thing, if it plays out well.”
“It’s going to get ugly enough behind the scenes, once the body count grows. I assume Hal has worked the phones and okayed my involvement.”
“As usual,” Price said.
“All right, then,” Bolan said. “This Delaney can ride along. Make no mistake, though, Barb. I’m not going to let her get in my way. My priority is Trofimov and whatever programs he’s running to kill Americans and interfere with the military.”
“Understood,” Price said. “I doubt that will be a problem. You have goals in common. The implication here is, of course, that Twain and his people are working with Trofimov, and probably have been for some time.”
“Yes,” Bolan had agreed. “The activists, the amateurs with the guns, were obviously being run by someone else, and that someone in this case was apparently Kwok and whoever he works for. If Kwok is known to work for Gareth Twain, we likely have a winner. Twain is just the sort of gun for hire that someone like Trofimov would use. Given Twain’s history, and Trofimov’s deep pockets, it’s likely Trofimov is using Twain and his organization extensively.”
“Taking out Gareth Twain would do a lot of people a lot of good.”
“Don’t worry, Barb,” Bolan said. “I won’t leave anyone out. Anybody connected to Trofimov, everyone involved in the killings of U.S. service people and in Trofimov’s antimilitary operations, is going to answer for their crimes. What have you heard about this videotaped massacre TBT is shouting about?”
“Nothing beyond the reports so far,” Price replied. “We’re checking. So far our contacts within the armed forces are drawing blanks. The Pentagon is stonewalling, saying only that it will conduct a full investigation.”
“Which means they have no idea what’s going on.”
“Exactly,” Price said. “That’s the response they give when they’re caught flat-footed. So far, we have no confirmation of the incident itself, or even of the identities of the soldiers supposedly involved. The quality of the tape is poor. It’s going to be hard to get facial recognition, and the names on the soldiers’ uniforms are too blurry to be readable. Bear did uncover some data traffic indicating the Pentagon is trying to run some enhancement on the tapes, to get to the bottom of just who is doing what to whom. Nothing so far.”
“How bad is it?”
“Really bad, Striker,” Price said. “The foreign press is screaming bloody murder. Our own people are just as loud. The massacre is the talk of every cable news show, radio program and major network broadcast. It’s on every channel and it’s twenty-four hours a day.”
Bolan said nothing; his fists clenched in anger as he considered the implications. “All right. Let me know if anything changes.”
“Understood. Everything’s uploaded. You have all the data now,” Price said. Bolan checked his phone and confirmed that. “We’re still working on the phone number you gave us. It has several layers of redundant encryption protecting it. Bear has Akira running a back-end trace to try to find it through the network in which it’s hidden.”
“Understood,” Bolan repeated. Price was referring to Akira Tokaido, one of the Farm’s computer geniuses. “The fact that someone wanted the Patriotism Riders there, just to make sure they were
