Patriot Play. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ go-between, Stahl learned about the Brethren’s command structure, the people within the group and how it worked. Stahl read about and watched on television the results of the group’s indiscriminate strikes. He was also able to witness the dismay, the anger and the frustration of America’s people. Faced with these savage acts they turned to local and national representatives, demanding something be done. Which only encouraged the Brethren to commit more destructive acts, emphasizing how ineffectual the administration had become. America was under siege within its own borders, and no one seemed to be able to even point their finger at who was behind the strikes, let alone stop them.

      Police units were deployed as show of force. There were localized riots against these units, purely from frustration by members of the public who had no other way of showing their emotions. Racial attacks increased as rumors spread that the strikes were the responsibility of extremist terrorist groups within the U.S. These attacks were repelled by the police, and it soon developed into American against American. The Brethren found its membership increasing as individuals responded to the call, as did many other militia groups.

      Much of the rumormongering was initiated by the Brethren itself, though the group was careful to only issue statements espousing its shock at the cruel strikes. There was never any suggestion the Brethren was involved, only that its members were repulsed by such attacks against America. But its spokesperson reminded the public it had been warning of such violence. The propaganda was cleverly worded, designed to discredit the government and to raise the Brethren’s credibility as a group to be listened to.

      Eric Stahl devoured the reports with relish. He was finding his shadowy participation with the Brethren to be paying off handsomely. His covert activity was bringing his day closer. That time was not due yet. Not until the voice of America demanded a change. When the great mass of the people became overwhelming, then he would put into motion the second strategy.

      CHAPTER SIX

      Clear of Tyler Bay, Bolan headed for the interstate and picked up speed once he was on the highway. He estimated a four-to five-hour drive, depending on conditions.

      “Apart from the disturbance last night, that was a nice town,” Lyons observed.

      “You’ll tell me next you could live in a place like that.”

      “Why not?”

      “Too cozy for you, Carl. You need noise and color. A place where the action buzzes.”

      “Whoa, whoa, where do you come up with that profile?”

      “Carl, I know you too well.”

      “Yeah? Well there’s no need to spoil my illusions so early in the damn day.”

      “Okay.”

      “By the way, are we being politically correct today? Or are we going in hard?” Lyons asked.

      “The Brethren has already shown its disregard for law and order,” Bolan said. “How high does the body count need to go before we get the message?”

      “I’m getting the feeling it’s leveling out already, Mack.”

      “Carl, no illusions on this. We’re in a war situation here. Plain and simple. The Brethren has declared that, so we respond in kind. Search and destroy. Go for everything that has the Brethren written on it.”

      Bolan glanced at his partner. His expression told Lyons all he needed to know. The Able Team commander settled back and checked the Philadelphia city map he’d taken from the rack back at the hotel.

      “Pedal to the metal, Chief. Let’s go see a man about a boat rental.”

      Bolan handed Lyons the plastic bag holding the cell phone. “See if you can get anything from that. It’ll give you something to do and stop you from making funny remarks about my driving.”

      Lyons switched on the phone and began to go through the various functions. In the phone number list there were no more than half a dozen saved contacts. The recent call list only had three registered. Lyons used his own phone and contacted Stony Man. He spoke to Price and quoted the information from Gantz’s cell.

      “Have Aaron check these numbers. See if he comes up with any names for us.”

      “Will do. Anything else?”

      “Let you know. We’re on our way to Philly. Update when we make contact.”

      IT WAS EARLY AFTERNOON. The sky over Philadelphia had a sullen, cloudy aspect. It didn’t promise a great deal, but then Bolan and Lyons weren’t in vacation mode. Both were aware that the Brethren could launch another attack anytime, anywhere within the United States. That very thought motivated them as Bolan drove into and through the city, Lyons guiding him from the Philadelphia map he had open.

      South Star Investments was painted on the door, directly above the name Arnold Petrie, CEO. The office suite was on the fourth floor of a building that housed a collection of business enterprises with less than exciting prospects in their immediate futures.

      “This place makes tacky look good,” Lyons muttered as he and Bolan emerged on the landing from their walk up the stairs.

      “You never learned that appearances don’t always tell the full story?”

      Bolan leaned on the handle and pushed the door open. There was an outer and an inner office. The outer office held a desk, chair and a row of filing cabinets that looked straight out of the showroom. On the desk a computer showed a dead screen. Papers were strewed across the desk, a pen dropped in a hurry lay on top of them. A nameplate sat at the front edge of the desk: Val Paxton, Assistant. The door to the inner office was ajar and hurried movements could be heard coming from the room beyond.

      Lyons closed the main door behind him and locked it. He took out his Colt Python and held it down by his side. Ahead of him Bolan, Beretta 93-R in hand, stood at the door to the inner office. He extended his right foot and nudged the door wide open.

      Arnold Petrie’s office was well furnished. Everything looked new: thick carpet on the floor, pale wood desk large enough to act as a dining table. The executive chair behind it was the best money could buy. A large-screen laptop sat on the desk beside two telephones.

      The lone man in the office was throwing files into a box. A wood filing cabinet against the wall had all its drawers pulled open.

      “We seem to have chosen the wrong day to make our investments, Mr. Petrie,” Bolan said conversationally.

      “Sorry, we’re closed for business,” the man said over his shoulder.

      “You are Arnold Petrie?”

      “No, I’m Homer fuckin’ Sim—”

      Lyons heeled the office door shut with a bang.

      Petrie spun, saw his visitors and the weapons they were carrying, and froze. The man was haggard, pale and unshaved, heavy dark rings beneath his eyes. His striped shirt was half unbuttoned, and the tie he wore hung askew. Arnold Petrie was displaying the symptoms of a man haunted by events and scared the aftermath was about to catch up with him.

      “Sleepless night, Petrie?” Bolan asked.

      “Must have something СКАЧАТЬ