Patriot Play. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ off the catches from the small fleet, tourism and associated businesses.

      Bolan and Lyons arrived in midafternoon. The narrow road leading into the town brought them to a point overlooking Tyler Bay, which had an Old World charm to it. The road led through the town with a few cross streets intersecting.

      “Nice enough spot if you want to stay hidden,” Lyons said.

      Bolan didn’t respond. He drove the car down the slope that brought them into Tyler Bay along the main street. Beyond the town the Atlantic stirred restlessly. A steady breeze pushed the gray water toward shore, frothing whitecaps on the waves. Rooms had been booked for them at the Tyler Grand Hotel. It was set in the middle of town, on a cross street, and Bolan drove off the street and eased the vehicle into a slot on the hotel parking lot.

      Misty rain was starting to drift in from the curving bay. When Bolan opened his door he felt the chill in the air. Lyons turned up the collar of his jacket and grimaced at his companion.

      “I’ll take Malibu anytime,” he rumbled.

      Bolan popped the trunk and removed his bag, slinging the one with their weapons over his shoulder. There was a second, smaller bag alongside Lyons’s, which held a big-screen laptop. They made their way to the front entrance and up the wooden steps leading inside. The lobby was spacious, and looked as if it came from an earlier era, but the bright-eyed young woman behind the desk was definitely from the twenty-first century.

      “Welcome to the Tyler Grand, gentlemen. Would you be Mr. Cooper and Mr. Benning?”

      “Yes, ma’am,” Lyons said, his mood lightening for the first time since leaving Stony Man.

      The woman smiled. “Miss, actually.”

      “Don’t mind him,” Bolan said. “He’s really just an old-fashioned boy.”

      “Straight off the farm?”

      “In a manner of speaking.”

      The woman pushed the register across the desk for them to sign in. She watched Bolan sign and write Washington in the home column. Lyons did the same.

      “Vacation?” she asked.

      “We just needed to get out of the city,” Lyons said. He patted his bag. “And take some pictures and write an article on Massachusetts for our magazine.”

      “Sounds interesting.”

      “You’d be surprised how city dwellers enjoy reading about places like Tyler Bay.”

      The woman handed them keys. “Really? Oh, nothing happens here. Now you go up the stairs to the first landing, turn left along the corridor. Is there anything you need?”

      “Pot of fresh coffee for two would be nice,” Bolan said.

      “I’ll have it sent up to your room, Mr. Cooper.” The woman found herself staring into Bolan’s blue eyes. A faint flush colored her cheeks for some reason. “About ten minutes? Will that be satisfactory?”

      “Fine,” Bolan said, smiling gently.

      BOLAN LEFT HIS DOOR open while Lyons took his main bag to his room, then returned with the laptop.

      “That was a fast move, Mack.”

      “Sorry?”

      “That girl at the desk was hooked.”

      Bolan shook his head. “Carl, are you developing a wild imagination?”

      Lyons grunted and crossed to the oak desk near the room’s window, which overlooked the street. He unzipped the bag and took out the laptop and a compact color printer. When Stony Man personnel had booked the rooms, they had asked for ones equipped with Internet access. Surprisingly the Tyler Grand had them in all rooms. Lyons connected the laptop and printer and opened the e-mail.

      “I’ll check with Aaron,” Lyons said. “See if he has a data update.”

      Bolan stowed the bag holding their weapons in the wardrobe, then opened his clothing bag and took out the slim leather folder that rested on top. Inside were sheets of paper with the Stony Man-created American Routes logo on the top, the magazine he and Lyons supposedly wrote for. He placed them on the writing table, along with a few pens and a compact digital camera.

      Lyons watched him. “Very professional.”

      “In case anyone gets curious.”

      “Uh-huh. You mean like Little Miss on the desk.”

      “Like covering our backs. Small town, Carl. Visitors are fair game. Something to talk about and talk can get overheard.”

      “CHIEF HARPER? IT’S ME. Those two guests just booked in. They’re in rooms 8 and 12. Cooper and Benning. What do I think? Something about them doesn’t gel. I mean, they’re supposed to be writers for some travel magazine but I don’t know. Very assured. Confident. To be honest I think you should keep an eye on them. They’re in a black late-model Crown Victoria. It’s parked in the hotel lot. Yes, I’ll let you know if I find out anything else.”

      The young woman replaced the handset. As she did a teenage girl walked by the desk, carrying a tray with a pot of coffee and cups.

      “Room 8?” the girl asked.

      “That’s right, Lana.”

      LYONS SCANNED THE TEXT from Kurtzman. He was about to call Bolan over when there was a knock on the room door. The coffee had arrived.

      “You ordered coffee, sir?” Lana asked as Bolan opened the door.

      The soldier reached for the tray. “Thanks. Carl, you got any cash?”

      “No need, sir, it’s my pleasure. Enjoy your coffee.” Lana reached out to pull the door closed as she moved away.

      Bolan placed the tray on a side table and poured two cups. He took one to Lyons, who pointed at the message on the laptop:

      Been running satellite sweeps. Checked Gantz’s place. The house overlooks the beach. A motor cruiser has been anchored in the bay near the house for the last few hours. Managed to get visuals of the cruiser’s name. Running a check on who owns it as a precaution. Still pulling in any intel I can find to do with the Brethren and any names that come up, especially Gantz. Feed you whatever looks interesting.

      Lyons erased the message, then pulled up a two-page document that featured Tyler Bay. The article was in unedited text and ended halfway along a sentence. He left it on the screen.

      “So what do we do now?”

      “Wait until dark then check out the Gantz place,” Bolan said. “Hey, this coffee is okay.”

      Lyons had wandered over to the window, cup in hand. He leaned forward as something caught his attention. “Mack, take a look at this.”

      Bolan joined him and they watched a blue-and-white police cruiser roll into the hotel parking lot and stop next to the Crown Vic. Bolan saw the uniformed driver lean across СКАЧАТЬ