voice came over the line.
“How’s it going?” Kurtzman said.
“I started with a real bang,” Bolan quipped.
“Well, your man Jack’s been here for a couple of hours now, chomping at the bit. You want to talk to him?”
“Sure.”
“What’s shaking, Sarge?” Jack Grimaldi’s voice greeted him. Grimaldi was Stony Man’s ace pilot and a Bolan ally.
“Hey, Jack,” Bolan replied. “Thanks for being on standby. I know you just got back from a mission.”
“Hey! You know I’m always ready to fly a mission for you, Sarge. You keep things interesting.”
“Don’t I. Hal gave you the rundown of the mission parameters?”
“He did,” Grimaldi said. “I imagined you had your hands full right at the moment, so I figured to get a couple hours’ sleep before heading to Dulles. I’ll be ready by the time you want to leave for Los Angeles.”
“You read my mind, ace. I’ll call when I’m on my way there.”
“Understood. Okay, Hal and Barb are waiting in the ops center for you, so I’ll transfer you now.”
The men said their goodbyes, and then Brognola’s voice came on a moment later. “What happened to that dull roar?”
Bolan couldn’t see Brognola’s expression, but the kidding tone caused him to receive the statement as nothing more than a good-natured jibe. “I only blew up one car.”
Brognola laughed. “That is pretty mild in comparison to most of your fireworks displays.”
“Agreed. I’m sorry to report Mario Guerra wasn’t among them, but then I wouldn’t expect a weasel like that to get his own hands dirty.”
“We heard about your run-in with Smalley,” Price said. “You need us to run some interference?”
“No, we’re good. Smalley’s actually not difficult to handle once you get to talking with the guy. Basically he wants the same thing we do.”
“Peace in the valley?”
“Right.”
“What about the increased gang activity of late?” Brognola asked. “Did he have any explanations?”
“It looks like a matter of sheer numbers. This Northern Virginia Gang Task Force has lost much of the funding they had early on, which tells me once the crackdown started MS-13 chilled out until some of the heat was off. He also said they’ve had a big influx of illegal immigrants into the area lately.”
“What’s lately?” Price inquired.
“Last couple of years or so,” Bolan replied. “My guess is that MS-13 has something to do with that, as well.”
“You think it’s a diversionary tactic?” Brognola asked.
“Possibly, Hal, although I wouldn’t put it past them to use it as a way of subsidizing their more illicit activities. There’s been more focus on illegal immigration down on the border than in any other part of the country. If they flood the market with the poor and hungry masses, they can effectively choke the resources of the system. Before the government knows it, it’s got an epidemic on its hands with insufficient resources to combat such a disaster.”
“And under the scramble and panic, MS-13 can get busy once again with little interference,” Brognola concluded. “And the increased criminal activity would be blamed on the immigration problem.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s ingenious,” Price stated.
“Which tells me Marciano’s theory about someone calling the shots in El Salvador has merit. In fact, I’d be interested to know how many of the immigrants that have been detained by INS or incarcerated for criminal activity are from that region.”
“We can get Aaron and Barb on that pronto,” Brognola said.
“We’ll get started on it right away,” Price said. “Take care of yourself, Striker.”
“Wilco,” Bolan replied and then continued, “Hal, you might want to pull some strings and see what you can do about getting additional protection assigned to Marciano’s kids. If MS-13 tried to hit them once, they’ll try again and I don’t think Smalley has the manpower or resources to do an effective job of security with all the other things weighing him down right now.”
“I’ll make it happen,” Brognola assured him. “What else do you need?”
“That’s it for now. There’s no rush on the intelligence data regarding the immigration problem here. I’ve picked up some good leads from Smalley about Guerra’s area of operation here, and now I’m going to blitz them and see what I can churn up. Smalley’s agreed to run interference for me in the meantime, take some of the smaller piles off the streets so I can follow the trail of leftovers back to Guerra.”
“Fair enough,” Brognola replied. “We’ll get things happening at this end, and I’ll inform the Man you’re on the path to taking care of business.”
“Roger. Out here.”
Bolan disconnected the call and then set about the task of checking his equipment. Smalley had released the weapons and ordnance back to him without a fight, since his warrant only blanketed him for a search and a number of interagency memorandums of understanding precluded him from seizing anything he found.
Bolan stripped out of his dress clothes into a different kind of suit, one he knew to be most appropriate for the activities he planned over the next twenty-four hours. The skintight blacksuit and combat boots transformed the Executioner into an imposing figure. A military web belt encircled his waist, held in place by a pair of load-bearing suspenders. Various implements of war dangled from the harness, including the .44 Magnum Desert Eagle in a hip holster, a garrote, Ka-Bar fighting knife and several M-67 fragmentation grenades. The Beretta 93-R nestled in a shoulder rig, and ammo pouches along the belt with magazines of 9 mm ammo completed the ensemble.
Bolan packed the rest of his belongings into the waterproof equipment bag, which he stowed in the trunk of the Mustang. He climbed behind the wheel—a tight squeeze given all the gear he wore—and then headed for a tavern that the intelligence computers of the NVGTF had advised had a back room where MS-13 conducted illegal gambling operations and sold narcotics.
The Executioner was headed into the den of troublemakers, and he planned to collect a debt.
In full.
4
Bolan seemed like a ghostly specter as he passed through the doorway of the tavern and walked calmly across the grimy floor headed directly for a back door marked Fire Exit ONLY!
Most of the patrons were seated at the door with their backs to him and so, under the din of happy hour, didn’t even notice the wraithlike form that moved past them with instruments of war dangling from every part of
