distinct and separate from Weiss? It seemed unlikely, but Bolan had seen enough of politics in various banana republics to know that anything was possible.
Then again, if the Company was after Weiss, presumably acting in conjunction with the Brazilian government, what had Bones done to provoke their anger? Was it really just a matter of him helping persecuted aborigines, or was there something else at stake?
Bones was a healer. Even in the midst of war, he’d treated wounded soldiers of both sides impartially. His dedication was to mending flesh and lives, not scrutinizing racial pedigrees or weighing ideology. A man of peace, he’d volunteered to serve in combat, where he thought his skills were needed.
Most people found that kind of dedication laudable, until it trespassed on their politics. Healing our side was fine, of course, but hands off the alien-radical-subversive-demonic other side. Under no circumstances could healers help them.
Bones hadn’t toed that line in Asia, and the odds against him heeding it now were astronomical.
But had he tipped the other way at some point, in the years since Bolan saw him last? Had he abandoned his trademark impartiality to join some cause that placed him in the outlaw ranks?
And if so, what could Bolan do about it?
Nothing, Bolan thought.
Not if the doctor’s mind was set.
But he was flying on the wings of guesswork now, and that was reckless. He would wait to see if Marta met him in Cuiabá, if she had the means of putting him in touch with Nathan Weiss. And if she could, he’d find out what Bones had to say for himself.
Until then, the trick was just staying alive.
Belém
“YOU STINK, the two of you,” Blaine Downey said.
“Yes, sir. We came straight back,” Sutter replied. “I didn’t want to phone it in.”
“Straight back from where? The city dump?”
“Almost.”
“Explain yourself.”
“You ordered us to keep an eye on Cooper, sir, and follow him if he left the hotel.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my memory, Sutter.”
“No, sir. Anyway, he did leave the hotel, and we trailed him. Making it obvious, just like you said. He saw us, all right, started boxing the block to make sure, then he led us downtown. Parked on the outskirts of the red-light district.”
“Window shopping?” Downey asked.
“That’s what we thought,” Sutter replied. “We figured if he tried to score a little action, we could break it up and spoil his evening for him.”
“Fair enough. How does that bring us to your tragic choice of aftershave?”
“We followed him a couple blocks from where he parked, and then he ducked into an alley.”
“And?”
“We went in after him.”
“Of course you did.”
“First thing, I thought we’d lost him somehow. Maybe he ducked through a door we didn’t see or something. Then, before you know it, he’s behind us.”
Downey saw where this was going, but he let the flow of words continue.
“Anyway,” Sutter continued, “we had words.”
“Such as?”
“He challenged us,” Sutter said.
“Challenged us,” Jones echoed, speaking for the first time since he’d entered Downey’s office. “Right.”
“Who made the first move?” Downey asked.
“Well…”
That answered it.
Downey refused to let the two incompetents provoke a raging outburst, though the pair of them deserved no better. He preferred to take his time, dissect them with a surgeon’s skill, enjoying every slice.
For all the good that it would do him now.
“I see,” he said. “The target challenged you, and one or both of you attacked him. Did I order you to rough him up, Sutter?”
“You didn’t say—”
“Thank you. I’ll take that as a no. The two of you exceeded your instructions and then, what? He kicked your asses, I suppose?”
Jones fidgeted with eyes downcast. Sutter was fuming, anger radiating from his body like the stench of garbage that surrounded him, but he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut.
“Right,” Downey continued. “So, he kicked your asses for you. Knocked you both unconscious, I presume, since your report is hours late. And from the way you stink, I’d guess he dropped you down a manhole. Were you floating in the sewer all this time, ladies?”
Nothing.
“I can’t hear you.”
The crunching sound from Sutter had to be grinding teeth. His face was red enough to fit a stroke victim. Beside him, Jones reluctantly answered, “A garbage Dumpster, sir.”
“How’s that?”
“He put us in a Dumpster, sir, not down a manhole.”
“I’m relieved,” Downey said. “I don’t think that I could stand another load of shit from either one of you.”
“No, sir,” Jones answered.
“Will you shut up!” Sutter hissed.
“I’m gravely disappointed in the pair of you,” Downey announced. “You’ve turned a simple job into a screwup that’s left the Company exposed on levels you don’t even understand. You wouldn’t catch me lighting any candles if the mark had bled you out instead of marinating you in garbage. Are we clear?”
Apparently, since neither of the smelly two replied.
“My choices, broadly speaking, are to can your asses on the spot or to send you back to Langley for retraining and potential reassignment. That’s if I report your sorry asses for the mess you’ve made.”
“And if you don’t? Sir?” There was something close to hope in Sutter’s surly voice.
“You must redeem yourselves,” Downey said.
“How can we do that?”
“Begin by thinking for a change. What do you think might change my mood, right now?”
“Locate the mark!” Jones said, pleased with himself despite his reek.
