Kill Squad

by Don Pendleton

  “Mom didn’t say anything about a delivery.”

  Cushman gave a shrug. “I don’t know about that. I just deliver what I’m given.”

  He offered the package. The young woman, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, hesitated for a few seconds before taking the package. She moved back into the kitchen to place the package on the work surface and turned to go sign the delivery sheet.

  Cushman had already stepped inside and had closed the gap between them. He had pushed the sheet of paper back into his pocket, producing a knife that he held out at the young woman.

  “What are you—”

  Cushman grabbed her arm and moved her from the kitchen and through open French doors that led to a family room.

  “Hey,” she snapped, “I don’t know what you want but—”

  “I want you to shut your mouth until I tell you to speak,” Cushman ordered. “I ask a question, you answer. Tell me what I want or I’ll cut your face to ribbons.”

  The young woman stood there, silently defiant.

  “Okay,” Cushman continued. “Where’s your uncle? Harry Sherman.”

  * * *

  GWEN DARROW LIVED in a town house in West Des Moines. It was a nice area. Big houses on a pleasant residential street. Mack Bolan cruised by the Darrow residence. It was late morning when the soldier made his pass, noting that the majority of drives were devoid of cars; at this time of day most people were already at work. He circled the area, also noting the absence of vehicles parked on the street. Bolan fixed the address in his mind and drove on.

  A quarter mile down the road the residential area gave way to a small shopping mall. Bolan drove the Suburban onto the rooftop level of a parking garage and eased the vehicle into a vacant space. Turning off the engine, he retrieved his weapon from the glove compartment. He donned the shoulder rig and checked the Beretta 93-R, then shrugged on a leather jacket, knowing it would conceal his weapon. After securing the SUV, Bolan made his way out of the mall and retraced the route to the residential area. He moved at a steady pace, observing his surroundings.

  The Darrow place was a couple of houses away when he saw the blue van parked in the drive behind a red Volkswagen Beetle. It had not been there when he had passed by earlier. The panel van had no company logo on its sides. Bolan took out his sat phone and called Stony Man. He wasted no time on small talk, simply quoting the van’s plate number and asking for a vehicle check.

  He got a call back minutes later.

  “The plates are from a stolen vehicle,” Kurtzman told him, “taken six months ago. They’re from an SUV. Not a panel van.”

  Bolan put his phone away and increased his pace, his hand sliding inside his jacket and easing the 93-R from shoulder leather. He flicked the selector to single shot.

  The Executioner had spotted the silhouette of a man sitting behind the van’s wheel and kept him in mind as he moved up the driveway. The side of the house was on his right, a privacy fence on his left cutting him off from the neighboring house. Bolan was halfway along the side of the house when he picked up the sound of footfalls coming up behind him.

  Bolan allowed the guy to get within a few feet before he came to a sudden halt and turned to face him. The move caught the guy by surprise. He wore coveralls and had a pistol in his hand. He made a halfhearted attempt to pull it into firing position. Bolan raised the Beretta and slammed the weapon into the guy’s exposed throat. The impact stunned him, his eyes bugging open in shock. He stumbled back against the house, offering no resistance when Bolan snatched his pistol from his hand. The gunner clutched at his throat, choking as his crushed larynx restricted air flow. Then he slumped to his knees.

  Bolan pulled a pair of riot cuffs from his pocket and tightly secured the guy’s wrists and ankles, rolling him off the driveway and into the shrubs lining the fence.

  He stuck his acquired pistol into his web belt then continued to the rear of the house, emerging onto a paved patio. The back door, which was open, led into a large kitchen. There was also a set of French doors that gave access to what seemed to be a family room.

  Bolan recognized Laura Darrow from the photo Kurtzman had displayed.

  A man in a pair of coveralls had his back to Bolan. The guy had a long-bladed knife in his right hand and was using it to make threatening gestures at the young woman. As Bolan quietly entered the kitchen, he picked up the verbal threats, too. Almost as an aside he noted the stubborn expression on Laura Darrow’s face, caught the defiance in her voice as she answered back.

  “...haven’t seen my uncle for months. And even if I had, I wouldn’t tell you...”

  Bolan crossed the kitchen and moved through to the family room.

  The attacker swung the knife back. As his right arm reached the apex of his swing, Bolan grabbed his wrist, yanking him off balance and kicking him behind a knee, taking him to the floor. As the guy went down, Bolan kept a solid grip on the wrist, twisting it hard until he heard bone crack. He raised the Beretta and slammed it across the guy’s skull. There was enough force behind the blow to lay the guy out on the carpet. Blood seeped from the deep gash in his head. Bending over the unconscious man, Bolan secured him with plastic cuffs as he’d done to the first guy—wrists and ankles.

  “What the hell is going on?” Laura Darrow shouted.

  Bolan held up a warning hand. “Later,” he said. He took out his sat phone and punched in the number for Barbara Price’s direct line. When she answered, he gave her a quick rundown on the situation.

  “What do you need?” she asked.

  “There are two perps at Gwen Darrow’s home that need to be taken care of as soon as possible. Only Darrow’s daughter was at home.”

  “What about Laura?”

  “She’s unhurt. I’ll keep her with me for now. I need to locate Gwen. She might be next on the list.”

  “I’ll tell Hal and alert the local PD,” Price said. “I assume the men are immobile?”

  “I cuffed them both. The one in the house may have a broken wrist, so send medical help, as well.”

  “On it.”

  Laura Darrow was in his face the moment Bolan ended his call.

  “Yes, well...” she said, “I guess I should say thanks for what you did. But what is this all about? Guns. Knives. Why do these guys want my uncle Harry? Has he done something wrong?”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Bolan said. “Do you need a coat? Your purse?”

  The young woman stared at him for a moment then shook her head, turning to cross the room. She picked up a shoulder bag and a windbreaker.

  “Okay? You want me to bring pajamas and a toothbrush, too? Maybe a book to read?”

  Bolan almost smiled at her feisty attitude. It was evident Laura Darrow wasn’t the kind to rattle easily.

  “We need to move, Laura.”

  Bolan led the way out of the house.

  She glanced at the secured guy on the side path as she stepped around him. “Any others you haven’t mentioned?”

  “No.”

  She followed Bolan as he retraced his route to the mall.

  “Don’t you have a car? Are we going to take a bus?”

  “I parked at the mall,” Bolan replied. “I didn’t want to draw attention.”

  “Really? You made quite an entrance back there.”

  “No choice.”

  “Was that man was going to hurt me?” Laura asked, keeping in step.

  “He was.”

  They might have been a couple out for a stroll, having a casual conversation.

  “Let’s start again. You know my name. Who are you?”

  “Matt Cooper.”

  “Who—what—are you, Matt Cooper? You didn’t want to stay around until the police came. That’s curious, so...?”

  “So we need to get to your mother. I
didn’t want to stay around and have to answer too many questions.”

  She turned to stare at him. “Nice try, but I think there’s more to it, Cooper.”

  “You need to call your mother. Get her to meet us somewhere away from her office.”

  Bolan took out his sat phone.

  “I have my own cell,” she said, producing it from her shoulder bag.

  “Give it to me,” Bolan said. “It’s important.”

  Laura swapped phones. She watched as Bolan opened the back of her phone and took out the SIM card. He snapped it in two, dropped the pieces in a trash can as they passed and then removed the battery.

  “I can’t believe you did that. You think my insurance will cover the damage?”

  “Somebody might be listening in or tracking you.”

  “Look, Cooper, before we go any further you have to tell me what this is all about. And what it has to do with Uncle Harry.”

  “Call your mother first. Get her to leave her office and go somewhere public where we can pick her up. A place you both know without having to describe it over the phone. She needs to do it now. Without telling anyone.”

  “My God, you’re serious about this. Tell me your code name isn’t 007.” Laura tapped in a number and waited until it was answered. “Mom, it’s me. Laura. I want you to listen and do what I tell you. And no questions. Walk out of your office. Don’t say anything to anyone... No, Mom, this is not a joke. Just do what I ask. Go straight to our favorite place in town. Don’t say where, just go. I’ll meet you there. Go. Now.”

  She handed back the sat phone, took hers and stared at it for a moment before dropping it and the battery into her bag.

  “You realize you’ve lost all my contacts, Cooper.”

  “Better than losing your life.”

  “Okay, mister, it’s time you told me what this is all about. No more stalling.”

  “Tell me about your uncle.”

  “What’s to tell?” the young woman said. “He’s some kind of money man, an accountant. He handles business for some casino in Vegas. We don’t see him much and he doesn’t talk about his job when we do.”

  “Harry Sherman is an accountant,” Bolan said. “The man he works—worked—for heads a local crime syndicate. Your uncle got into trouble with this man—Marco Conte. Around nine million dollars disappeared. It had nothing to do with your uncle, but someone framed him. He was marked for a hit, but the shooter screwed up. He didn’t get Harry, but others were killed and injured. Your uncle took off and he’s been missing ever since.”

  Laura missed a step then recovered and stopped. Her face pale, she stared at Bolan as if he’d sprouted a second head. “It has to be true,” she said. “No one would have any reason to make up something like that. And the shooting in Vegas was on the news.”

  They reached the mall and Bolan led her through the parking garage and to the Suburban. Laura slumped in the passenger seat as he fired up the engine and drove to the barrier, paid the fee to the man in the booth, then drove out.

  “Which way?” he asked.

  Laura gave him the directions and Bolan merged with the traffic. Ten minutes later he pulled in at the curb across from a coffee shop on Mills Civic Parkway.

  “She’s there,” Laura said. “At that sidewalk table.”

  “Let’s get her in the car,” Bolan said.

  He made a U-turn and pulled up at the opposite curb. Laura climbed out and went to the woman Bolan recognized from the image Kurtzman had displayed. He saw Laura speak to her mother and point at the SUV.

  Although Gwen Darrow appeared reluctant, she followed her daughter and they got into the rear of the SUV. Bolan eased away from the curb and merged with the traffic again.

  “Someone had better tell me what is going on,” Gwen said.

  “Do you have a cell phone?” Bolan asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Give it to Laura.”

  “Now, listen here...”

  “Give me the phone, Mom. It’s important.”

  Laura took the cell phone and repeated Bolan’s actions. The broken SIM card was slipped out through the SUV’s window; she gave the battery to Laura.

  “That was—”

  “Mom, listen to what Cooper has to tell you.”

  Bolan gave her the full story, with occasional comments from Laura, bringing the woman up to date.

  “Are you all right?” Gwen asked her daughter. “You’re not hurt?”

  “Thanks to Cooper, here, I’m okay.”

  “But they came into our home? Threatened you? We should inform the police.”

  “Already done,” Bolan said. “The men who invaded your home should be in police custody by now.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  “I can arrange it so you and Laura will have protection.”

  “You believe these people will try again?”

  “Your brother is on the run. He’s been targeted. The people looking for him don’t give up.”

  “This is insane,” Gwen said. “A short while ago I was at my desk working. Now I have to listen to you telling me my brother is being chased by gangsters and our lives are in danger.” She stared out the window for a moment. “You know what’s ironic? I don’t have any idea where Harry might be. We don’t talk very often and I certainly don’t know who his friends are.”

  “I tried to tell that to the guy who came into our house,” Laura said. “He said he didn’t believe me. Then he started waving a big knife at me. If Cooper hadn’t showed up, I might be dead.”

  6

  Bolan drove them out of the cityscape and into the open countryside until he spotted a roadside diner. He pulled into the parking lot and escorted the two women inside to the diner.

  They took an empty booth and let the waitress fill their cups with coffee. Bolan could see both women were trying to come to terms with the revelations about Harry Sherman, so he allowed them time.

  “They do say that sometimes it’s the people close to you who can be strangers,” Gwen said. “Harry and I had times when we didn’t get on. There were harsh words, too.”

  “Mom, Uncle Harry can be difficult but you don’t hate him.”

  Gwen smiled at her daughter. “There was never hate. Just a clash of personalities. Harry was never one for the conventional life. He could have had his own accountancy business, but after working for a number of companies he chose what he considered a more exciting challenge.”

  “Working for a casino?” Bolan ventured.

  “Yes. Harry thought working in Vegas, with all the gambling, the excitement, would give him what he wanted. He saw it as something glamorous. I was never convinced. You hear so many stories about that kind of place.”

  “In some instances,” Bolan said, “those stories are true.”

  “This Marco Conte...” Laura began. “He’s a criminal?”

  “He works for a syndicate back east headed by a man called Serge Bulova.”

  “A Russian?”

  “Not a nice guy,” Bolan said. “It appears Harry stumbled onto what goes on behind the scenes. To Harry’s credit he talked to the Feds, tried to work a deal in exchange for protection from Conte. That was when the shooting incident took place. Harry was lucky. He got away.”

  “But others didn’t,” Gwen said. “Am I being selfish when I say I’m glad Harry wasn’t hurt?”

  “No. He’s your brother. You feel for him.”

  “Cooper, can you help him?” Laura asked.

  “If I can find him.”

  “I haven’t seen Harry for almost eight months,” Gwen admitted. “We were having one of our separations. I didn’t call him, he didn’t call me. I guess we were both stubborn. I was always going on at him to get out of his job at the casino.”
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  Laura listened but didn’t say anything for a while. She pulled her coffee mug close to her face, eyes down. Bolan noticed her attitude and suspected she was doing some thinking, wanting to get her facts straight before she spoke.

  “Mom, you remember that man Uncle Harry used to talk about? The one he was in the service with?”

  Gwen took a moment to recall the person. She nodded. “Justin... Ben Justin.”

  “Yes. A weird kind of guy. He only ever talked to Uncle Harry if he called on the phone. We’ve never actually met him,” Laura told Bolan. “Harry used to fix up visits with Ben. He has some place out in the back country. Pretty isolated. He likes to be on his own. It’s in upstate Nevada near a small town... Callisto. That’s it. Callisto.”

  “Harry said he liked going out there because it was so different from Vegas. Quiet, with no blazing, no glaring. It was somewhere he said he could clear his head,” Gwen said. “Do you think...?”

  “It’s worth a look,” Bolan told her. “First, though, we get you two settled.”

  Laura stared at him. “This is bizarre, Cooper. A few hours ago we were fine. Now we’re going to be hiding like fugitives.”

  “I don’t suppose we have a choice,” Gwen stated.

  Bolan had his phone in his hand again. “For now there’s no other way,” he said. “These people won’t give up looking for Harry. They’ll see you as a way to get to him. So we take you out of the picture until this is all over.”

  “But what about work? People will want to know where I am. I can’t just drop out of sight and—”

  “Your disappearance will be handled. These things happen. There are procedures in place. Once everything is settled you can go back and pick up your lives,” Bolan said. “But until we know it’s safe, you and Laura are going to have to stay below the radar.”

  “If I refuse to cooperate?” Gwen queried. “You can’t force us to run and hide.”

  “No, I can’t,” Bolan admitted. “The choice is yours to make. If you want, I can drive you back home right now.”

  Laura reached across the table and gripped her mother’s hand.

  “We have to do what Cooper says, Mom. I know it’s not what either of us wants, but believe me, if you’d been there when that man was in the house... Mom, he said he was going to carve up my face. You really think I want to go through something like that again?”