"Yes. Trouble?"
"Because I called you in the middle of the night, Hal? Sometimes when you come to the phone, I have to think hard to remember what you sound like when you're immediately lucid." Bolan watched the pink neon Vacancy sign fizzle on and off through the falling rain, then watched the headlights of a car that pulled onto the graveled parking area of the small motel, relaxing when the occupants seemed to take no notice of him.
"Where are you?"
"In Miami."
Brognola cleared his throat. "I hear things are getting pretty hot down that way right now."
"I put a chill on some of it, big guy."
"The new pipeline?"
"Yeah."
"I didn't know you were in town."
"Neither did a lot of other people, but they're going to know it soon."
"I hope you're not planning on sticking around down there."
"Originally I'd scammed this as a one-night hit-and-git mission. No hellzones until I at least felt like I was close to the primary target."
"Did you get close?"
"I closed the books on the pipeline engineer less than a half hour ago."
"That's an impressive piece of work, Striker. I hear a lot of people have been turning over rocks down there."
"I turned one over and let it land on the right people."
"So, what's the problem? Get the hell out of there and let the locals pick up the pieces. If it looks bad in a day or two, I'll put together a package through Justice that should hold up under the kind of scrutiny it's likely to get at that end of the world, and you can jump back in the middle. If that's what you want."
"I've got a handle on the domestic side of the water, Hal, and the target's been terminated."
"Then get back to the Farm for a brief R and R. I've got some stuff lined up that I've been wanting you to take a look at, anyway. Some heat is building up around the globe with Japanese interests here and abroad."
"We'll talk when I get back in Wonderland, Hal. If there's enough there, we'll see. There's too much to do here for me to just sit back and kick up my heels while we wait to see if a few maybes come through."
"I know how you feel, Striker." Brognola sighed. "So, what's happened down there in fun city?"
"The focus has broadened," Bolan said. A layer of fatigue, even more noticeable than the weight of the soaked trench coat, seemed to drape over him. He went on, summarizing the bust at the marina and the information about the Corsini Family and the Death's Enforcers gang in Toronto. Next he outlined the rumor about the biker captain who was supposed to be promoted into the ranks of the Mafia family, then fleshed it out with the distress he'd seen on Piper Silverman's face.
"So you figure the DEA has a ringer planted in the ranks of the Death's Enforcers?"
"Or they've got an informer in there. Either way, things went down wrong at the marina, Hal, and the guy has to know it. If he's an informer, I want to string along and make sure he stays turned in the right direction."
"And if he's undercover…"
"I'll do what I can to protect him."
"This isn't any of your affair, Striker. The DEA is filled with big boys and girls, people who are trained to take care of themselves."
"It's just a gut feeling, Hal. Something's screwy with the whole operation, but I can't put my finger on it. If the Toronto people are setting up buys from the Colombians, I want to nip that in the bud."
"You think they're the internationals Hunsaker mentioned?"
"It's a possibility."
"I can't provide you a cover, Striker. At least not without a running start and a guess at what kind of scope we're dealing with here. You're already talking about covering the whole eastern seaboard."
"I just need some Intel, Hal. I have the feeling it is going to play itself out on the streets, and unless you can manufacture a cover identity that's bulletproof, it's not going to do me much good. Plus I figure I can buy my own way in the enforcement machine backing the Death's Enforcers guy if I have to. I plan to be the joker in the deck in whatever game the DEA is running and stay loose. I'll make my own calls because it looks like whoever they've got heading this thing up is maintaining too much of a distance from their guy. I don't intend to stay back that far."
"What do you need?"
"I'm familiar with the Corsini Family, but I want whatever you can dig up on them."
"I'll give Leo a call. He should be able to give me some quick poop on them. Seems to me that I remember the Corsinis as a young branch of the Mafia just taking over in a big way in Canada."
"I'll also need some Intel on the out-of-state federal people that are involved down here. Special Agent Piper Silverman and her boss, a guy name Judson, but I don't know if that's his first name or last."
"I'll see what I can do, guy, but I'm not giving any promises."
"I wasn't expecting any."
"Yeah, well, this kind of operation usually moves so deep in the shadows that you don't get a whisper of it till it's over."
"There are people down here who are going to be talking about it now."
"I hear you. How am I going to get in touch with you?"
"I'll call."
"Okay. Give me at least an hour."
"You'll have that, Hal. I've got another connection or two to try to arrange myself. Like I said, I don't intend to cool my heels on this one."
"Turning the heat up down there?"
"It's blazing hellfire right now. I'm just waiting for a few of the enforcement teams to pick up the smell of smoke. I'm going to lie low for a little bit and try to find somebody who'll recognize a brief flag of truce."
"I wouldn't be overly zealous about that, Striker. Not if all those drug squad hot dogs are nosing around the area. Interagency cooperation isn't their strong suit."
"I've experienced some of that already," Bolan remarked dryly. He said thanks and hung up, then moved out into the spitting rain. He sat behind the wheel of the rental car and felt the chill of the vinyl soak into him. Taking a plastic cup of coffee from the dashboard, he removed the lid and downed the contents in a few long gulps, surprised the liquid had managed to withstand the night chill as well as it had. Or maybe it was the bleak thoughts filling his head that made him susceptible to the spring weather.
He tried to fit himself into the minds of the other players in the unnamed game in which he'd become an unknowing participant. From what he had seen at the marina, their plans hadn't been too well thought out, or the wrong players had been enlisted on the teams. Either way, ten million dollars' worth of cocaine was busy finding its way north — if he let it get that far. One way or another, even if he had to deliver the message himself, he wanted the buyers to know the Miami shop was out of business.
He started the car and engaged the transmission, sliding out onto the highway as he waited for the blower on the heater to kick into life. He was familiar with undercover officers' word for being undercover, and he idly speculated on whether or not the Death's Enforcers guy had any idea of just how "deep" he really was. Remembering the emotion that had shown on Piper Silverman's face, he reflected that at least one of the members of the deep team was all too aware of it.
In Bolan's mind, being deep was like being stranded on the wrong side of the DMZ with a BB gun as the only armament permitted. It didn't work unless you had a pat hand. And something told him the guy working the DEA end of things from the inside wasn't even being given a look at his cards.
* * *
"That Belasko guy didn't check out with the Coast Guard," Judson said in a harsh voice.
Silverman closed the door as she entered the small room the Miami PD had grudgingly loaned to them as a command post. She resisted the urge to make a scathing remark, because emotion was still running high in her from the confrontation with Baskins out in the hall. "What do you mean?"
Judson sat behind a folding table covered with phones, papers and maps. His eyes were bloodshot and almost matched the color of the crumpled tie to hi
s left. "I mean the Coast Guard denies having anyone named Belasko on their payroll. Evidently this guy you turned up blew in from nowhere, then blew right back out again without anyone even checking his ID."
The emphasis on the word anyone told Silverman that Judson had included her. At the top of the list. She resisted the impulse to ask her superior why he hadn't thought to ask for the man's ID. Shrugging out of her coat, she laid it across the back of a chair facing the table and put her purse on the seat. Too wound up to sit, she crossed the room to the coffee maker and poured herself a cup. She considered being polite and offering Judson a refill, then dismissed the idea at once, knowing the man would only view it as subservience. Judson hadn't wanted her on this operation from the outset, had he? He had been vocal about his doubts concerning her abilities, too. Maybe she'd even confirmed those doubts. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away with effort.
She wished she could get out of the wet clothes. If Judson had allowed it, she would have dropped by the hotel room for a change of clothes. And maybe a bath, even a short one. God, the thought was appealing. Too appealing. Was it the thought of a long, hot bath, or was it the chance to be alone, to face her fears in private? She didn't know. Her hands trembled, and she had to use both to steady the coffee cup.
"No one made the guy?" she asked, meeting Judson's baleful stare.
"No." Judson shook his head irritably. He examined his empty coffee cup in frustration, then got up out of the folding metal chair to fill it himself. "The bastard was nervy, though. You got to give him that. Not only did he walk into the middle of our setup and give everybody the impression he belonged there, but he also wasted Duncan, then liberated a prisoner from one of the uniforms and boosted an unmarked car to take her away in."
"And no one questioned him?"
Judson gave her a thin grin, one she had seen him wear only during intradepartmental politics when someone Frank Judson disliked was getting the short end of the stick. "Yeah, they questioned him. He dropped my name like we were buddies and kept pushing till he got what he wanted. This was one nervy son of a bitch, I'm telling you."
"Nobody has an idea of where Belasko came from?"
"Oh, they know how he got on the scene. One of the police snipers mentioned to his watch captain later that he wished I hadn't neglected to inform the SWAT teams of the man I had stationed on the roof because he almost took the guy out."
"The only DEA people on the scene were you and me and Baskins. We didn't have anyone on the roofs."
"The sniper got the general idea that Belasko was one of us from the way he palled around with you."
"Was he also the guy who got the idea to open fire before Thornton cleared the vicinity?"
Judson waved it away. "That's another topic."
"It's the one we need to be concerning ourselves with, Frank. I don't think it was just an itchy trigger finger that got that biker killed. I think the local cowboys were looking to pull off this bust by themselves. No matter who got hurt."
Reseating himself behind the folding table, Judson nodded. "Maybe. Maybe you're right, Piper. And maybe there's more to this Belasko character than meets the eye. What if it was Belasko who dropped the biker?"
"The shot came from the rooftops."
"Belasko was on the rooftops."
"It came from the SWAT guys, Frank. Are they trying to sell you on Belasko being the trigger man? Because if they are, it's only to pull their own asses out of a sling."
"Could be," Judson admitted. He sifted through the pile of papers before him.
Sipping her coffee, Silverman tried to absorb the warmth from her cup, holding both hands around it and trying not to shiver. She knew from experience that Judson was nudging the conversation in whatever direction he had chosen. The only defense she had managed to come up with during their association was to sit back and relax, waiting for whatever traps the man had set to snap at her.
"It also could be that Belasko is some kind of out-of-town talent. A report landed on Carruthers's desk almost two hours before the bust at the marina went sour concerning a handful of bodies in a local biker bar managed by the Outlaws."
Silverman shifted, feeling the wet leather of the shoulder harness chafe her uncomfortably. "What's the connection?"
"The guy who hit the bar matched the description we got of Belasko in a lot of ways."
"He's not the only big, dark guy in town."
Judson scowled his irritation, tapping a sheet of paper with a thick forefinger. "I know that, damn it. But these bikers were the Outlaws. Thornton made his deal for the cocaine through the Outlaws, remember?"
"And you think because their bar got hit tonight and Belasko turned up at the marina that the two things are somehow connected? That's a pretty thin assumption, don't you think?"
"Hell, yes, I think it's pretty thin. The problem is, that assumption shouldn't even exist. And to thicken it a little, the guy who hit the bar took a prisoner. Some hardass named Cullen, who, Carruthers tells me, has been known to do business with Duncan for the Outlaws. Neither the guy nor Cullen have turned up yet."
"Why is Carruthers being so helpful all of a sudden? When we first touched down here a few days ago, the man didn't even want to give us the time of day."
"I think he figures Belasko as belonging to us somehow and is hanging back to see if this blows up in our faces. Then he can step in to pick up the pieces. He's still pissed about the quantity of cocaine found aboard the Swift Tiger. Small busts don't count for shit in this town."
"Carruthers isn't hanging back very far on this one," Silverman said. In terse sentences, she briefed Judson on the conversation she'd had with Baskins out in the hallway, telling the man of the headhunting party Carruthers had unofficially set into motion.
"Thornton can take care of himself," Judson said when she was finished.
Silverman felt the anger flare inside her too quickly to sidestep it. "Ryan's been taking care of himself for a long time, Frank. Too damn long. You can't leave him on his own with this kind of pressure coming down."
Judson spoke slowly and deliberately. "I can and I will. We're so close to making this case I can smell it. I'm not going to back out now."
"Jesus Christ, Frank, will you look at what we're facing here? Ryan Thornton has been deep for almost eight months. That's too damn long. It would be even for somebody who hasn't been through everything he's been through."
"It was Thornton's decision to stay involved," Judson replied.
"He shouldn't even have been allowed the choice, Frank. Can you even imagine all the shit that has to be going through his mind right now? All the guilt?"
Judson remained silent, fastening an impenetrable stare on her.
She tried to return it, willing away the confusing haze of emotions that threatened to sweep her control away. But she broke eye contact because she couldn't stand the knowledge that lay in the hard glint of Judson's eyes.
"If Thornton is feeling any burdens of guilt about anything connected to this operation," Judson stated, "I have a clear conscience because I know I didn't put it there."
His words burrowed deep and hurt, just as she knew he meant them to. God, why couldn't she have been stronger — for Ryan, for herself? Why did the bad things only seem to happen to the best of people? And she knew she wasn't thinking of herself when she thought of those best of people. She fought back the tears, tasted them harsh and bitter across the roof of her mouth. How much did Judson really know and how much was he only guessing at? She didn't know, but every time she glanced at a mirror, she couldn't help but see it in her face, her eyes, in the way she carried herself.
"I want Belasko found," Judson went on, "and I want to know who he's working for. You're not going to tell me this bastard just wandered in off the street and accidentally found his way to the scene of a major DEA operation, snuffing an important vice prisoner during his stay. I won't buy that, and Carruthers isn't buying it, either. Only I know this guy isn't playing on our side of the f
ield."
"What about Thornton?" she asked when she could trust her voice.
"He stays out there while we try to wrap this thing up in Toronto."
"He might not make it to Toronto."
"He'll make it," Judson said stubbornly. "Thornton's a resourceful man."
"Maybe he was once," Silverman said. "But you haven't sat through the last two meetings with him. Losing his family has taken a lot out of him."
"He wanted to stay in. It was his choice."
"Only because he didn't have anywhere else to go. He's hiding, Frank, hiding from himself and everything that's happened. There's no telling what he's thinking after nearly being shot down by the people he's supposed to be working with."
"It's a tough racket, Silverman. Thornton knew that going in."
"And what if he decides not to come out when the smoke clears, Frank?" Her words hung heavy and still, and she wished she could take them back. But the image of the despondent figure Thornton had become in the last month weighed heavily in her mind, an image that truly gnawed at her conscience.
"You mean goes rogue?"
"Yes."
"What makes you think that?"
Unable to hold the knowledge back and consider it wise to keep her own counsel anymore, Silverman said, "He missed the last meeting with me."
Judson's interest was evident and immediate. "Any explanations?"
"No."
"It may be nothing. He could have gotten tied up finalizing the cocaine deal for the Corsini Family and simply couldn't make it."
"I know." She considered what would make Judson understand her feelings about what was happening. The man was too wrapped up in the end result of the operation he was heading up, too sure the end justified the means. If she did try to push to make her feelings known, wouldn't he only throw them back in her face and tell her they were only feelings? She felt torn, not knowing which way to go. Baskins's insight about Thornton had struck too deep and made her foundation seem shaky.
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