groups to the right bidder. It had been on Bolan’s list to check out for some time, but either other more pressing ops had come up at the same time, or the Farm had followed artfully disguised trails that had led them nowhere.
“Why do you think it’s a no-go?” Bolan asked as he leaned down to survey the screen.
Tokaido leaned back and interlaced his hands behind his head. “Because, how would a low-life L.A. gangbanger get access to the triple-encrypted website that allows potential attendees access and the chance to put down their fifty-thousand-dollar advance reservation fee?”
“Fifty grand?” James whistled. “Damn, that’s one exclusive club.”
“That’s not the half of it, brother.” Tokaido tapped more keys. “From what I can tell, that’s only half of what someone needs to pony up to attend this little party.”
“Wait a sec—you’re telling me Araña had access to the site, that he was in, for all intents and purposes?” Bolan asked.
“Near as I can tell, yes. I’ve been tracking down every bit of conversation he’s had regarding this, and from what I’ve gathered, MS-13 was planning to attend. They’d put down their money, and were awaiting confirmation of their account being created, as well as the second part of the password to wire the second half.”
Bolan and James exchanged glances. “In for fifty grand, in for a hundred,” the lithe black man said.
“Akira, I assume you can masquerade as Araña and finish the transaction?”
“Well, I had already begun setting up a slave system on his smartphone to see just how far down the rabbit hole I could go. I was just waiting for authorization—”
“Which you just got.” Bolan straightened as his own cell phone buzzed. “Stay on this, and gather as much intel as possible. Cal, notify Phoenix to be on standby. If it’s going down in the next few days, we may have to scramble to get wherever it is on time.” He flipped his cell open. “Yeah.”
“It’s Hal.” Bolan’s long-time colleague and friend usually sounded either disgruntled, disgusted or dyspeptic, but this time his voice carried none of those overtones. Rather, Hal Brognola’s voice carried an undercurrent Bolan had hardly ever heard—nervousness.
“Are you all right?” Bolan asked.
“Yeah, everything in Foggy Bottom is as per usual—gridlocked and logjammed. Striker, I have a favor to ask you. How soon can you get to JFK?”
“Jack’s sacked out, but Charlie’s available. What’s this about?”
“I can’t talk about it like this, even over a secure line. Just get there as soon as you can, and call me. I’ll direct you the rest of the way once you’ve landed in New York City.”
“Hal—” Bolan turned away from the other men and lowered his voice “—you’re all right?”
“Yeah, this has to do with the circles I run in. Just get up here, would you? It would mean a lot to me.”
“I’m on my way.” Bolan hung up and speed-dialed Charlie Mott, Stony Man’s second pilot. “Charlie...yeah, it’s me...prep the jet for a flight to JFK...leaving in the next hour...thanks.”
James was watching him as he headed for the door. “What’s up?”
“Hal needs me in NYC. I want you to take over Araña’s
interrogation. Find out everything he knows about the Sale in the Sands, and anything else MS-13’s up to. I’ll call in once I’m in New York.”
“You got it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Xiang Po bolted upright in the bed, the soft cotton sheets puddling around his body as he choked off his shout of fear. Heart hammering in his chest, he looked in every corner of the small stateroom, searching for the furious, black-haired ghost that had been crawling after him, its bloody hands reaching for him from beyond the grave....
A dream—it was only a dream, he thought. He cocked an ear, listening for any sign that his outburst might have been heard by the other pirates. When no fist hammered on the door, he leaned back against the plush headboard and sighed in relief. He stared at the opulent room he’d been given as a reward for his part in taking over the yacht, taking in the soft carpet, the real wooden furniture, the faint smell of some kind of floral fragrance that had filled the room when he had first entered. All of this, as well as a wonder he had scarcely believed when he had first set eyes on it.
Just thinking about it made him shiver in anticipation. Xiang slipped out of bed, carefully drawing up the covers again—it would be a crime to leave such a luxurious abode unkempt. He grinned as he thought about the first night they had stayed aboard, when he had tossed and turned on the soft mattress, unused to such comfort, until he had wrapped himself in the topsheet and slept on the floor, which had still been more comfortable than any other bed he’d ever been in. Over the next few days, he had moved to the bed, and his rest had never been so peaceful—except for the damn dreams.
He crossed to the private bathroom, marveling again at how his bare, callused feet sank into the soft, ivory-colored carpet. Sliding open the narrow door, he gazed at the object of his desire—the small, tiled shower stall. When Xiang had first found it, he had stayed under the fresh, clean spray for fifteen minutes, using up almost all of the water on the boat. The other pirates had wanted to beat him for his mistake, but their leader, Lee Ming, had instead made him responsible for maintaining the desalinization system for the yacht as long as they were on board, which he had done scrupulously ever since. Xiang had overheard a conversation between Lee and another pirate, and learned that they might remain onboard for as long as a week, maybe ten days. It wasn’t their normal operating procedure, but was to be followed until the next phase of their plan was to be put into motion. He didn’t mind; this was the best he’d ever had it in all of his twelve years.
At least he thought he was about twelve years old; the truth was, he had no idea of his birthday, or where he had been born, or who his parents were. The pirate life was all he’d ever known, and he did what he had to do to survive among this band of criminals.
In the shower, he had just gotten the water adjusted to his comfort when a heavy fist pounded on the door. “Xiang! Where’s breakfast?” a familiar voice demanded in guttural Cantonese.
“Shit!” The boy turned the water off and grabbed the nearest towel, wiping himself down and leaping for his clothes. Scrambling into them, he reached for the door just as the fist hammered on it again, making the entire frame shake.
“Coming!” He slid the door open to see the leering face of Guong Ho staring down at him, making Xiang’s buttocks clench involuntarily. “I’d better get up there, otherwise the others will be mad at me, too.” He tried to slip by the stocky, muscular man, but was stopped by a thick arm blocking his way.
“Why the rush, Po?” The man’s stubby fingers combed through the boy’s wet hair. “You look so much better cleaned up.”
Xiang ducked under his arm. “You asked where breakfast was. I need to get to the galley to make it.”
The large man hip-checked him into the wall with surprising agility. His thick fingers grabbed Xiang’s neck as he leaned
