Patriot Play. Don Pendleton

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      IN HIS QUARTERS Bolan geared up, packing clothing in one bag and his weapons in a larger, leather holdall. He phoned Barbara Price and she set in motion orders for paperwork and credentials that would identify Matt Cooper as a Justice Department special agent. With Bolan’s alter ego already in the system it took only a short time for his package to be produced. He was on his way back from the armory, with extra clips of ammunition for his weapons, when Price intercepted him. She held a manila envelope out to him.

      “Your secret agent kit, Mr. Cooper,” she said, falling in step beside him. “Tell me something—do you live up to your cover qualifications?”

      Bolan smiled. “Miss Price, what do you think?”

      “Me? Oh, above and beyond the call of duty from what I can recall.”

      “Personal recommendations always welcome.”

      Brognola was approaching from the other end of the corridor. “You two better come with me,” he said without a trace of humor.

      Bolan fell in beside the big fed, Price close behind.

      Brognola was fumbling in the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a pack of antacid tablets. He eased one from the pack and put it in his mouth, which meant he was fretting. He led them to Kurtzman’s Computer Room where the cyberteam was gathered at their boss’s workstation. There was someone else Bolan recognized—Carl Lyons, commander of Able Team.

      As Bolan stepped up to the workstation Lyons glanced up.

      “Carl.”

      “Looks like I called in on a bad day,” Lyons said.

      “This came in a short time ago,” Kurtzman told them.

      On the wall monitor was a replay of an earlier TV report. The picture was of a fenced compound, identified by the rolling text at the bottom of the picture. It was a National Guard depot in southwest Arizona. The metal mesh gates had been breached and when the camera panned around it showed smoking buildings and bodies lying on the ground.

      “Two of our anonymous panel trucks,” Brognola said, “drove in through the gates and up to the buildings. Only a four-man squad of National Guardsmen manned the site. When they confronted the trucks they were cut down by autofire. The panel trucks must have been left outside each of the storage buildings and set off remotely. Vehicles were stored inside one building. The second was the armory. Both were razed to the ground by the truck bombs. It’s already been established that the explosive used was the same as the previous attacks.”

      “Makes you wonder where they’ll hit next,” Huntington Wethers said.

      “Hard to figure,” Carmen Delahunt replied.

      “Is there a deliberate plan to show they can go for anything they choose,” Brognola asked, “or are these just random hits?”

      “Hey, look at this.”

      They all turned at Akira Tokaido’s call. He indicated a TV news flash. Two more attacks had taken place at National Guard bases. One in Oregon, the next in Nevada. The strikes had the same MOs as the Arizona site.

      “The only difference here is the fact they gunned down their victims rather than letting the bombs kill them,” Bolan said.

      He turned to Price. “Is transport ready?”

      “Mack,” Lyons said, “you got room for a partner?”

      “Barbara, can you organize some more cover documents?” Bolan queried. “For both of us in case we need to stop anyone being nosy.”

      “Go to it,” Brognola said. “Carl, you up for this?”

      “Able’s on stand-down. I’ve nothing that can’t wait.”

      “This could be a hot one.”

      Lyons smiled. “You know how I hate the cold, Hal.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      Bolan was behind the wheel of the black Crown Victoria from the Farm’s motor pool. Lyons had the Stony Man file on his lap, going through the mass of documentation Kurtzman had prepared. He had been reading for the first hour of their drive, saying very little and falling silent as he went through the photographs of the bombing victims. Bolan left him to absorb the data until Lyons was ready to talk.

      “The Brethren looks to be more organized than most groups. Upmarket compared to your usual militia-survivalist gathering.”

      “Yeah. They have a lot to say. Their rallies pull in big crowds. Seeger is known as something of a recluse. He only shows his face in public at meetings, but he has his finger on the public’s pulse. He knows exactly what to say to get a positive reaction. From what Aaron dug up, the Brethren always come away with sizable cash donations.”

      “I guess it has to be said there are a lot of unhappy people out there,” Lyons commented.

      “We have dead and injured people now,” Bolan said, and left it at that.

      Kurtzman’s data had provided them with a location for Jerome Gantz. The man hadn’t been active in the past few years. He’d either quit the anarchy business or he had simply been keeping his profile under the radar.

      If Gantz hadn’t been building bombs, where did he get his money from? Kurtzman posed. According to his financial records, Gantz had been living on welfare and handouts—which wouldn’t enable the man to afford his current home. The cyber warrior vowed to dig deeper.

      Gantz had rented a house on the Atlantic shore of Massachusetts just outside a small hamlet called Tyler Bay. The area was well off the main highway, a slumbering spot that once had a thriving fishing industry. Large fishing СКАЧАТЬ