Shadow Hunt. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ sir, he’s not here and won’t be before the end of the week. He’s at a conference in Washington. Might I suggest that you make an appointment for Monday?”

      Bolan looked over the fidgeting man. “You the assistant DA?”

      “Yes, yes, I am,” he said. “I’m in charge of this office until he returns. Trenton Smythe.” He offered a hand, which Bolan ignored.

      “Then you’ll have to do.”

      Bolan could see the sweat bead on the little man’s brow. He couldn’t have been over five-four, and a 130 pounds soaking wet. He looked like an overworked, underweight terrier. If Bolan hadn’t been watching so closely, he would have missed the catch in the man’s breathing, but not the look in his eyes that said more than any one person could with words. That “Ah, crap,” look that was unmistakable.

      “Of course,” Smythe said finally.

      He turned and walked into the office. Bolan nodded to the secretary as he walked past her desk. The outer office was modern and had clearly been updated recently, but the inner office was typical old Louisiana, dark wood paneling, deep rich carpeting and plaques that showed the DA’s latest and greatest fishing accomplishment. Mr. Smythe sat confidently behind the DA’s hijacked desk.

      “Now how can I help you, Marshal?”

      “There was a U.S. marshal visiting on his vacation here. He’s a friend of mine and has come up missing. I thought I’d check in and see if you had heard anything. His name is Jack Rio.”

      Smythe pursed his lips. “No…” he said, thinking. “I haven’t heard of Marshal Rio, but of course many people come here on vacation. If he wasn’t working, why would he check in with us? Are you certain he came to New Orleans?”

      Bolan nodded. “I’m sure he came here,” he said. “And as for a vacation, well, you know some of us in law enforcement don’t really vacation. From what I’ve heard, he came out this way to look into something on his own time. He’s not the type to just go missing.”

      “Does he have a wife screaming for him or something?”

      “No, but he’s my friend and I know he was working on something here.”

      “Ah, I see,” Smythe said. He chuckled weakly. “A cold case or something?”

      “I don’t know for sure,” he said. “But if he was following a trail out this way, I figure he might have checked in with your office. It’s at least odd that he’s gone missing in your jurisdiction.”

      Smythe stood and went to the door. He peeked out around it before closing it firmly, then returned to the desk. Bolan hadn’t even been in the room with the guy five minutes and he wanted to shoot him. It was obvious he knew something about Rio, and Bolan wasn’t a patient man.

      “You said your friend’s name was Jack Rio?”

      “That’s right.”

      Smythe began to fidget with the antique pen that was sitting in an inkwell. He leaned back against the desk and stared at Bolan, but his entire demeanor had changed into something more cocky and confident. The soldier sensed this man was more than he appeared and at least part weasel.

      “Yeah, all right, now that I think about it, we did have a fella by that name come through here.” He glanced suggestively at the door. “But maybe this isn’t the best place to be talking about it.”

      “Look, Mr. Smythe, this is a missing federal agent. If you have some information, you need to tell me. If I don’t come up with some answers pretty damn fast, you’re going to end up with every federal law-enforcement agency in the country breathing down your neck.”

      Smythe pulled one hand out of his crossed arms and pointed a stubby finger at Bolan.

      “Marshal Cooper, this is New Orleans and down here we do things a bit differently. We don’t rush things that we shouldn’t rush, and this is one of them. Since Katrina, about all we’ve dealt with is the Feds, and most of ’em couldn’t find their ass with two hands, a flashlight and a map.”

      Despite the man’s attitude, Bolan could tell that Smythe was nervous about something. So he simply sighed and nodded.

      “It’s your town,” he said. “What do you have in mind?”

      “That’s smart, Marshal Cooper. Why don’t we meet around seven over at Mosca’s? I’ll have more for you then.”

      “Where might that be?”

      “Oh, you’ll have found it by seven. It’s practically famous. Just ask around, and you’ll find it.”

      A discreet knock on the door interrupted Smythe, and the secretary stuck her head in the door when he called out, “Enter.”

      “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir, but Chief Lacroix is here to see you,” she said.

      A heavily muscled man in a police uniform pushed past her. “Jeezus pleezus, Sally, since when do I need an announcement?”

      He stopped as he crossed the threshold and spotted Bolan. “I apologize, Trenton,” he said. “I had no idea you were in a meeting.”

      Bolan stood and moved away from the two men. The officer’s name tag revealed that his first name was Duke, and more than anything else, he radiated danger. The soldier wanted room to maneuver in the event he had to make a quick exit. New Orleans had a reputation for being corrupt, especially the police department, and while he wasn’t yet sure who was involved in Rio’s disappearance, he’d wager his favorite Desert Eagle that at least someone from the police department was involved. And Smythe obviously knew more than he was letting on.

      The way Lacroix ignored Smythe told Bolan a great deal about who had the upper hand in their relationship. “Who’s this now, Trenton?”

      “Matt Cooper,” Smythe said. “A U.S. marshal.”

      “Is that so?” Lacroix asked. “What brings you to the DA’s office, Marshal?”

      “I’m here investigating the disappearance of another marshal,” Bolan replied evenly. Lacroix was dangerous—Bolan felt that as clearly as he’d feel it from a water moccasin.

      “It’s common courtesy for you boys to check in with the locals before you conduct any investigation in someone else’s jurisdiction. I’m sick of you federales thinkin’ you can come in here as pretty as you please without a little common courtesy.”

      “Oh, you were next on my list,” Bolan said. “As soon as I was done here.”

      “Is that so?” Lacroix said, using the same expression of doubt again. “What’s the name of your missing marshal? I haven’t heard of anything coming our way, and we usually get a flash alert on those kinds of things.”

      “He was off-duty,” Smythe offered. “Supposedly, he was down here on vacation, but he’s gone missing.”

      “Huh,” the police chief said. “Sounds like you’re wasting your time, Marshal Cooper. He probably hooked up with some sweet thing and is taking a couple of extra days. A few hours with a Cajun woman СКАЧАТЬ