that could ever redeem itself in you.”
“You got what you wanted. You happy?”
“Not exactly happy,” Bolan said. “But at least satisfied for the moment.” Then he hit the man on the side of his head with the butt of the Beretta, knocking him unconscious.
Bolan took the cell phone from Soames’s pocket and put in a call to Miami-Dade PD. He told them where they could find the bodies and a consignment of stolen military hardware, plus a weapons dealer who was ready to talk. He also fed them the information about the Orin Cage and military connection, then cut the call. A search of Soames’s jacket provided Bolan with a fat wallet and another cell phone. He put the items away for later examination and bent to pick up the satchel of money. It would help to finance his upcoming mission. He had a long drive ahead of him. Destination Chicago. The Windy City was going to experience an Executioner-style gale that would hopefully sweep away some of its seedier trash.
Bolan made his way back to his parked rental and took the back roads until he was well clear of the area. He made a wide, circuitous drive back into Miami and his hotel. In his room he packed his belongings and called down to the desk, asking for his account to be readied for checkout.
He recalled the wallet he had taken from Soames’s body and emptied the contents on the bed—a couple thousand in cash, multiple credit cards and a single business card. It told Bolan that Guido Bertolli worked out of Chicago with an office in the city. Bertolli’s profession was financial adviser and his office address was displayed below his title, along with his telephone and cell number. Handy information, Bolan decided. It gave him a starting point once he reached Chicago.
Soames’s cell phone offered nothing but a list of stored numbers. The one Bolan found interesting was listed under the name Quintain.
BOLAN MADE his call to Harry Quintain as he traveled the I-65 through Kentucky.
“Quintain, how’s it going?”
“Who the fuck are you? How did you get this number?”
“From the late Roy Soames. I imagine you’ve already heard.”
“You understand that wasn’t a wise thing to do.”
“Is this because I screwed a deal and lost your cargo to Miami PD?”
There was a considered silence. Bolan imagined Quintain working things through.
“I’ll find you and kill everyone you care about,” Quintain finally said.
Bolan thought about Stony Man and the people associated with it.
“Good luck with that,” he said. “Just one last thing, Harry, I know where you live, too. One day I might come calling.”
Bolan switched off the cell phone. A few miles farther on he exited the I-65 and drove into the small town he’d located. He parked close to the post office, wiped the cell phone clean of any prints and dropped it into the padded envelope he’d purchased earlier. It was addressed to Gary Loomis, Miami-Dade PD. Bolan went into the post office and mailed the envelope. Loomis might find the phone’s contact numbers interesting. Even useful. The soldier stayed in the town long enough to have a meal before rejoining the interstate and continuing his journey.
He had checked the distance to Chicago after leaving his hotel. Miami to Chicago was around thirteen hundred miles, a run of approximately twenty hours. Bolan made it in easy stages, with a motel break to catch up on sleep. He placed a single cell phone call from his room and made contact with Barbara Price.
“You still on R & R?”
There was a hint of something more than just asking about his health.
“Shouldn’t I be?” Bolan said.
“Let’s say a certain incident in Miami aroused my interest.”
“Incident?”
“The kind that sort of has your signature on it. Something I should know about?”
“This is not an SOG issue,” Bolan said. “Flying solo. But I need to talk to the Bear.”
“Okay. Hey, you watch your back, soldier. You want to reconsider the lone-wolf status on this one?”
“Thanks, but no, thanks. This is something I need to do without dragging you guys in.”
“Kind of personal, huh?”
“Kind of.”
“I’ll patch you through.”
“Catch up with you later.”
Bolan heard the soft click as the call was transferred to Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman’s cyber lair. A moment later the recognizable, gruff sound of Kurtzman’s voice came on.
“Hey, big guy, haven’t heard from you in a while. You having an extended vacation?”
“Not any longer,” Bolan said. “I need some intel.”
“Sure,” Kurtzman said. “So what can I do for you?”
“Find out background details on a Chicago lowlife named Fredo Bella, head honcho in the trafficking of stolen arms in the area. A source said Bella’s strings are pulled by a Lou Cameron based in New Mexico. I’m driving to Chicago in the morning, so call my cell when you get the goods. I also need intel on a guy by the name of Guido Bertolli. According to his business card, he runs a financial advisory service in the city. Could be legit, but I found it in the wallet of a dirtbag named Roy Soames. And information I got suggested Bertolli is linked to Bella. I just need you to confirm.”
“You got it, Striker. Anything else?”
“No,” Bolan said. “Just the intel. And pictures if you can find them. Leave it until morning if you get anything. And thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Bolan put the cell phone on charge before he turned in. Last thing he needed was the phone going dead on him if Kurtzman was trying to send him information.
“YOU PICKED a prize specimen,” Kurtzman said over the cell phone.
Bolan was eating breakfast in the diner down the road from the motel. “So enlighten me,” he said.
“Fredo Bella. He’s forty-two years old and heads up one hell of an organized crime business. Arms dealing is one page in his dossier. The guy will buy and sell anything as long as he can make a profit. This is a slippery character, Striker. The Chicago PD and the Feds have been on his case for years, but the man knows the game too well. He’s lawyered up to the ears. Pays very well and expects the best protection. He’s been charged a number of times, but nothing ever gets beyond that. The guy’s been suspected of a couple of homicides, and I stress the word ‘suspected’ as in legally. CPD know he did them, but they haven’t been able to take it any further. Witnesses have a habit of disappearing, if you get my drift. And Bertolli does have connections with Bella. Looks like he could be the local money guy for the organization.”
“Understood. That’s the intel I got myself.”
“There’s
