Hostile Odds. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ of sleep. The rest did him well, and he was up and moving by dawn.

      Bolan dressed in his best working-man duds, a pair of jeans and plaid flannel work shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and then drove to the address on the card. He didn’t know what to expect or even whom to ask for, but that didn’t seem to matter; the three large men who met Bolan at the gate had apparently been told to expect him. One man offered to park his car. Bolan agreed without reservation, since he’d elected to pack the Beretta 93-R in a modified shoulder holster that rode high under his left armpit, its bulk concealed by the loose flannel shirt jacket, and nothing remained in the vehicle that would betray his identity. He’d even left some fast-food bags and a few empty beer cans under the seat just to reinforce the cover.

      The remaining pair escorted Bolan to a security guard for sign-in and then handed him a hardhat and hearing protection. He declined the muffs with a shake of his head, but one of the men insisted it was policy. Bolan shrugged and donned the equipment. They continued through the mill, and the Executioner used the opportunity to study his surroundings. The earmuffs did a lot to decrease the piercing buzz and whine of saws cutting through massive logs. A few separate areas were crowded with workers running band saws, jigs and even a couple of lathes.

      At the other end of the mill, the men escorted Bolan up a flight of metal steps to a second-story landing. They followed a catwalk that eventually terminated at a massive office with a large glass overlooking the mill floor below. An old-fashioned potbelly coal stove stood in one corner. The men showed Bolan to a seat where they indicated he could take off the safety equipment and then made their exit through a side door.

      Bolan sat in one of the three chairs positioned beneath the glass window. A young woman with blond hair and blue eyes sat at a computer terminal. He detected a faint clacking sound as the secretary’s fingers almost danced over the keyboard. Other than a single furtive glance and a smile she completely ignored him. Bolan considered speaking to her, but the sound of a door opening distracted him. He looked up to see a large man step out. He had red hair, large lips, square jaw and a broad face. He stood at least six-foot-six with meaty forearms and broad shoulders, and he moved powerfully.

      His face broke into a grin and he extended a hand as Bolan stood. “How ya be, laddie? Come on in.”

      Bolan stepped through the doorway into an expansive office that he could only have described as a first-rate pigsty. Books and papers were strewed across a massive desk and equally large tabletop such that no part of their surfaces went untouched. The garbage can overflowed, and the room reeked of cheap whiskey and cigarette smoke. Bolan took a seat as the man wedged himself into a chair about two sizes too small between his desktop and credenza.

      “The name’s Fagan MacDermott,” he began. The Irish accent when he pronounced his name left no doubts in Bolan’s mind whom MacDermott worked for. “I understand you’re new in town. Maybe lookin’ for work?”

      Bolan showed him a wan smile. “Word travels fast.”

      MacDermott shrugged in way of explanation and said, “No more than usual for a small town like this one.”

      “I noticed you got quite a crew out there. Everybody work for the mill?”

      “Hell, pal, the mill’s what keeps this town running!” MacDermott burst into laughter.

      Bolan considered him uncharacteristically cheerful, but he decided not to push. Not yet. “I’m Matt Cooper. I’ve been on the road quite a bit, doing some odd jobs here and there.”

      “On the run from the law?”

      “No,” Bolan said.

      MacDermott fished a cigarette from the pack on his desk, lit it, then sat back in his chair and studied Bolan through a cloud of smoke.

      The Executioner remained impassive. He got the impression that if he’d said he was on the run, it probably wouldn’t make any difference but he decided not to make it up as he went along. He wasn’t working this one for Stony Man and thus he didn’t have time to put a real cover in place. If MacDermott decided to look into his criminal history, he figured it was better not to state he had one and then have to explain later why “Matt Cooper” not only had no record, but also had no fingerprints on file.

      “It don’t make no difference if you got something to hide,” MacDermott said. “Best to be honest with me, Coop.”

      “I’ve got nothing to hide,” Bolan said with a sigh. “And I’m not running from the law. Just looking for maybe a place to settle down. Sleeping and eating out of my car gets a bit old after a while.”

      MacDermott studied Bolan a moment longer, and then leaned forward and tapped his smoke into a beanbag ashtray. “Yeah, I’m sure it does. Okay, so you’re not on the lam and you ain’t done nothing to be guilty for, and that’s good enough for me. You see, I trust my people and expect loyalty in return. Who sent you?”

      “A guy named Buck Nordstrom.”

      MacDermott took another long drag and then stubbed out his smoke in the overflowing ashtray. “Yeah, Nordstrom’s a pretty good guy for a Swede. Not much for inside milling, but he’s a hell of a powder monkey.”

      Bolan recognized the term for an explosives man. “Done a bit of that myself in times past.”

      “Oh, yeah? When’s that?”

      “Military.”

      MacDermott nodded, but it didn’t seem to impress him one way or another. “Well, afraid I got no use for another explosives guy. How you think you could handle a position as a chaser?”

      “Sorry, not up on these logging terms yet.”

      “You’d work on the yarding line…that’s basically where they bring the logs into the mill here. You’d be responsible for disconnecting the chokers and seeing the logs get onto the right conveyers. It’s a tough job, but it’s what I got and you look big enough to handle it.”

      “I’ll give it a shot.”

      “Fine, pal, that’ll be just fine.” He lit another cigarette before adding, “How you want to be paid?”

      “I prefer cash,” Bolan said.

      That brought a smile to MacDermott’s face. “You know what? I do, too! You’re hired.”

      Bolan stood with him. “Just like that?”

      “Just like that,” MacDermott said. “You’ll find I’m firm but fair. You’ll hear a lot of those in the yard call me Mad Mac. I know about it, and it don’t mean nothing, just a bit o’ harmless fun on their parts. But they don’t do it to my face. You show me respect—I’ll show you respect. You see?”

      Bolan nodded.

      MacDermott came around the desk and crossed in front of Bolan to open his office door. “Now, you give your details to Sally out there, and she’ll make sure you get on the payroll.”

      “Okay, but how much?”

      “You want to know the pay. Don’t worry about that, you’ll be well-compensated…more, much more than I think you’ll be expecting. Just go out and talk to Sally there and she’ll take care of you. Okay?”

      Bolan СКАЧАТЬ