Lethal Vengeance. Don Pendleton

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ in absentia—that’s a thing down here, no double jeopardy—and he was convicted, but they still haven’t found him. Meanwhile his victim’s mother was assassinated by an unknown gunman while picketing the governor’s palace—shot once in the head at point-blank range.”

      Bolan rarely swore but now said, “Sounds like a steaming crock of shit.”

      “And still continuing today, although most of the press in Mexico has tried to play it down,” Price said.

      “Sounds like they need a wakeup call.”

      “I’d say. And then some.” She frowned and asked, “What are you packing?”

      “Flying in from LA?” he replied. “Not a thing.”

      “Just as well. We’ve got a friend at the US Consulate in Ciudad Juárez. He’s CIA, name’s Tim Ross.”

      As she spoke, Price handed Bolan what appeared to be a passport photo of a white man, late twenties, with hair a little on the long side and a well-trimmed Vandyke. Bolan committed the face to memory and passed the photo back to her, asking, “What does he know?”

      “Nothing about the program, you or Hal. He helps us out from time to time with hardware, paperwork, whatever. He pulled two tours in the sandbox with the 1st Battalion, 5th Marines before he joined the Company, but I’d discourage getting him involved beyond delivery of gear when you arrive.”

      “You’ll make the contact?”

      “That’s affirmative. Just let me have your wish list.”

      There were cocktail napkins in a slot beside the folding table. Bolan took out a pen, filled up half of one and then handed Price his list.

      She read it over. “You’re pulling out all the stops.”

      “I don’t see any other way to play it.”

      “Right,” she said. “You’re driving over, then?”

      “I’ve got a rental in the airport’s short-term parking lot.”

      “Okay. I’ll set a meeting on the other side for you and Ross, then text you an address.”

      “Sounds good.”

      “Thoughts on the process, once you’ve gone across?”

      “No suspects and no motive,” Bolan said. “The only way I see to play that hand is to bet the limit and keep raising until somebody folds.”

      “You know we can’t help with the federal or state police across the line. Even if we could tell them what you’re doing over there, who knows which officers are trustworthy?”

      “I know of at least one. But for this mission I’ll figure none of them and work from there,” Bolan replied.

      It was, he knew, a decent rule of thumb for Mexico. The federales were divided into two departments. The Federal Judicial Police, founded in 1928, was disbanded in 2002 due to its own rampant corruption and criminal activity. It was replaced by the Federal Investigative Agency and attached to Mexico’s Secretariat of Public Safety as a “preventive” force against crime. Its counterpart, the Federal Ministerial Police, an investigative force tasked with fighting corruption and organized crime, was created in 2009 along FBI lines, directed by the Attorney General’s Office. Bolan would be ignoring the country’s third federal force: the Mexico City Police, which had no national reach, its officers confined to handling matters inside the Federal district. It would take a crystal ball to tell which members of the policing agencies were also drawing paychecks from the drug cartels.

      “If you’re successful—” Price began, then caught herself. “When you’re successful, if there’s too much heat for you and Hal to handle on your own, Tim Ross can likely help you with the exfiltration.”

      “Good to know. As long as he’s not privy to my moves beforehand.”

      “Not a chance,” she answered back.

      “And while we’re on that subject, I agree with you not sending Jack along.”

      Grimaldi, that would be. Bolan’s literal wingman since his first campaign against the Mafia in Las Vegas. The go-to guy for all things aerial.

      “I nearly didn’t go that way,” Price told him. “But then I thought about the built-in problems, flying out of Mexico and back across the border without one or both sides scrambling gunships, fighter planes or ground-to-air missiles.”

      “You’re right. The last thing I want to do is get shot down or blown out of the sky with Hal, after...whatever he’s been through.”

      Price leaned across the fold-down table, taking one of Bolan’s hands, eyes locked on his. “I know you well enough to have no doubt you’ll find him. What I’m not sure of is whether you’ll find him alive.”

      “Well, now...”

      “You know it’s true, Mack. Nothing’s guaranteed. If he was snatched by one of the cartels, they’ll have lines of communication to the DEA, maybe to Justice, too. They’ll know the heat is coming down, big-time, and hanging on to him would be the ultimate in stupid. We should all be ready if this thing goes south—no pun intended.”

      “I’ve lost good friends before,” Bolan reminded her. “No one’s immortal, and me least of all. But I won’t think Hal dead until I’ve seen him dead or have enough forensic evidence to seal the deal.”

      “Agreed. But then what?”

      “Then I do what I do best,” Bolan replied, “and make the bastards pay with every drop of blood they have.”

       Chapter Two

      Bridge of the Americas

      Despite its name, El Paso’s Bridge of the Americas actually included four bridges: two with four lanes each bearing passenger vehicles north and south, with sidewalks for pedestrians; and another pair with two lanes each for trucks alone, one flow of traffic headed each direction. The city’s newest international bridge, completed in 1998, channeled southbound traffic from I-110, routing the northbound tide from MX 45. Together the bridges transported an average of $650 billion in international trade, moving 4 million passenger vehicles, 5 million trucks and 400,000 pedestrians.

      It was easy to get lost in all that traffic. Bolan counted on it heading south, although he had nothing to fear from customs or cops on either side of the border so far. His passport and driver’s license were impeccable—though false. He had the proper rental contract for his Toyota RAV4 compact SUV and nothing in the vehicle as yet should excite any drug-or explosive-sniffing dog.

      The worst part about crossing was the time required. Each minute passing on the RAV4’s dashboard clock reminded Bolan that his oldest living friend was running out of time—assuming that he still had any left.

      Barbara Price appeared to trust his contact on the other side, Tim Ross from Langley, even if she kept him in the dark and at arm’s length. Their meeting, time approximate and flexible, was set to СКАЧАТЬ