Cartel Clash. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ in the crowd, Bolan cast a keen eye on the scene outside the diner. A number of police cruisers were parked on the street, their lights flashing. More sirens could be heard approaching the area. An ambulance, then a second, rolled in. A couple of minutes later a local TV station mobile unit showed up, and the event turned into a public spectacle. Bolan made sure he remained in the background in case any probing camera was turned in his direction.

      Someone demanded to know what was going on.

      “All we know, ma’am, is there’s been some shooting,” the lanky cop drawled. “Can’t tell you more ’cause we don’t know anything else.”

      A couple of unmarked police cars showed up, plainclothes detectives moving in to take charge. More uniforms arrived, reinforcements to help hold back the crowd that was increasing. Bolan saw the crime scene investigation van roll up. Nothing would happen now until the CSI team had tagged and bagged the scene, outside and inside the diner.

      The young couple Bolan had seen from the motel appeared at his side. The woman held herself close to the man.

      “Did you see those bodies?” she said. “It looked just awful. We only stopped for overnight, and we’ll be glad to leave in the morning.”

      “I heard somebody saying it was most likely something to do with drugs,” the man said. “You reckon it could be so?”

      “Maybe,” Bolan said.

      He turned away and walked back in the direction of the motel. As he crossed the courtyard the manager stepped out of his office.

      “You see what happened?”

      “Looks like some shooting at the diner.”

      “Oh.”

      Bolan made his way to his room and let himself back inside. He quickly packed, conscious of how the situation in town had changed. His closeness to Pilar’s death might easily compromise his presence. If anyone connected him to her, his anonymity might end. He couldn’t afford to come under police scrutiny.

      He ran back over his activity since he and Pilar had arrived at the motel. It had already been dark and he had parked in close to the room, letting Pilar slip into the shadows as she left the vehicle. As far as he could recall, no one had been around when they had walked across the courtyard and onto the street. The only individual who might have seen them was the motel manager as they passed his office window. Their short walk to the diner had been along a deserted street due to the lateness of the hour. Bolan remembered the waitress in the diner. She had seen them together, and she might be able to provide the local LEOs with a description. Bolan knew he was going to need to move on, but he was not going to be able to do that so easily. Not with the local law camped just outside along the street.

      A sudden thought came to him. Bolan crossed the room and turned on the TV. He used the remote to find the local station and found himself looking at the very scene he had just left. He upped the volume and heard a voice-over describing the scene.

      “…have here are multiple killings. Three bodies outside the diner. Inside, the shocking discovery of three more. Two men and a young Latina all shot to death. The diner’s owner and waitress were found locked inside the cold room. I managed a few words with Homicide Detective Clarke Whittington, and he told me that at this moment the police cannot say what lies behind this tragedy. It is too early in the investigation to offer a reason…”

      Bolan clicked off the TV, took out his cell phone and called Stony Man Farm. Brognola answered, admitting he had been watching the incident unfold on TV.

      “Looks like you got trouble down there, Striker. Yeah, we’ve been monitoring the local TV station seeing that you were in the area. I have to admit they’re sometimes faster at reporting events than our sources.”

      Bolan gave a short review of the night’s occurrences.

      “I’m not off the hook yet,” he added. “Especially if anyone recalls seeing me in Pilar’s company. I’m going to have to relocate, but I can’t do much about it until morning. The diner’s a short walk from my motel, and the place is overrun by the local cops at the moment.”

      “We’ll do what we can to scupper any potential threat,” Brognola said. “Aaron’s team will monitor all police frequencies, and the genius himself is trying to access the local computer system even as we speak.” The big Fed was referring to Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman, head of the cyberteam at Stony Man Farm.

      “Any result from that intel I queried earlier?”

      “Yeah,” Brognola growled. “And you’re going to love this. It’s a Moscow telephone number. The Bear couldn’t get much joy apart from the location, so he made a call to your OCD pal, Valentine Seminov. It seems the number belongs to someone Seminov has been chasing for some time. A guy called Vash Bondarchik. He’s a big-time arms dealer, who’s well connected. Russian Mafia. He has clients worldwide. Seminov asked if he could help, and I said I would pass his request on.”

      “I’ll bear that in mind. What about the name on the slip? Calderon?”

      “Hermano Calderon. He works for Benito Rojas, handling technical matters. Weapons and such. Our friends at the DEA have a nice fat file on him, and the Bear somehow managed some cyber sleight-of-hand and downloaded it. Could be the guy to work these missiles for Rojas. Calderon is a little careless with his cell phone calls. Bear got into his call list and it appears he’s made a few to Bondarchik over the past few weeks. Also to the cell phone used by one Tibor Danko. Danko is Bondarchik’s SIC. Seminov knows the guy and says he’s a smart piece of work, which was the closest translation he could offer without resorting to really bad language.”

      “Hell of a mix there,” Bolan said. “Something I can work on. Listen, I’ll move in the morning and make some distance from here. Monitor the situation and update me.”

      “Yeah. Striker. Are you going to be okay?”

      “I’ll be fine.”

      “Sorry about the young woman.”

      “Not as sorry as the bastards who put out the hit are going to be,” Bolan said.

      6

      Marshal Dembrow was in top form, his powerful voice at full pitch as he berated the members of his local crew. Physically he was an impressive figure, topping the six-foot mark by a good three inches, his broad, less than handsome face darkened with his fury. The rest of his body was in proportion to his height. He was a fitness fanatic, working out every day in the expensively equipped gym attached to his spacious house. He also trained in martial arts, so the concept of being able to break bones was well within his ability. Not that he needed to use physical force—he paid people to do that for him. But he had done the deed himself on occasion.

      At the moment, the thunder of his voice had the crew members subdued. They were all tough, but they might as well have been children as they stood ranged in front of Dembrow’s desk. They were his men. He paid them well—very well—and provided whatever they needed. All he asked for in return was loyalty and a commitment to the business they were in. He got it. His people were in for the duration. As ruthless as they were in the pursuit of the Rojas Cartel’s needs, they were cowed as Dembrow ranted at them for turning a simple expedition into a total disaster.

      As his rage subsided and the invective he spewed began to slow, Dembrow felt his СКАЧАТЬ