Lyons dropped, hitting the floor on his right shoulder and executing a swift roll that kept him in motion and below the line of Fresco’s weapon. He kept the subgun on line and, as he came out of the roll, angled the muzzle up at Fresco. The man’s yell was drowned in the jarring rattle as the subgun fired, sending its burst at Fresco. It caught him just above the waist, the slugs carving their way into his body, angled upward so that they cleaved flesh and organs in a moment of destruction. Fresco fell back. Lyons heard his subgun fire, picking up a startled yell from Killian as a stray slug burned his right cheek.
Killian’s grip loosened as he reacted to the burn and Lyons saw the girl shake herself clear. She had the presence of mind to fall to her knees, exposing Killian in the process.
Lyons fired, the burst hitting Killian in the face, channeling in through his skull and blowing out the back of his head. The former mob goon dropped without a sound.
Getting to his feet, Lyons moved to where Laura crouched. He slipped a big hand under her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“We have to get out of here,” he said, hauling her toward the shattered door.
They cleared the doorway and turned toward the exit.
An armed man lunged into view, moving fast, his momentum driving him into Lyons. Briefly locked together, the pair struggled, Laura being pushed aside as they fought to gain the advantage. The gunman was strongly built under his expensive suit, but he’d met his match in the hard-bodied ex-cop. Neither man could clear his subgun, being so close to the other.
Lyons raised his right foot and slammed it down. He heard bone snap. The wounded gunman pulled away, struggling to stay upright, but his injury held him back. Lyons dropped to a crouch, pushing his weapon against the other man’s torso.
In the second before his adversary fired, the guy realized his position and tried to react. Lyons pulled the trigger, sending a burst into the guy’s lower body. The stream of slugs plowed in and through, severing the spinal cord. The man lost all control, his weightless mass slumping to the floor.
“Behind you!” Laura cried, her warning bringing Lyons around.
He spotted two shooters along the corridor toward the rear of the building. They were headed their way.
“Stay down,” he growled.
Autofire rang out and the advancing shooters were driven to the floor as Charlie Mott appeared behind them. The Stony Man pilot hit the pair hard, his concentrated bursts giving them no chance to lay fire on Lyons and Laura.
Mott advanced, stepping by the downed men.
“That’s a hell of an entrance,” Lyons commented.
Mott glanced at Laura Darrow.
“I always like to make a show for the ladies.”
“You managed that,” Lyons said.
“This is becoming a habit, people having to rescue me,” Laura said. She stood, her hand touching her bruised face. The corner of her mouth was still bleeding. “Tell me you know Cooper. It’s just the way he would have done things.” Then she sobered. “Is my mother all right?”
Lyons nodded. “Recovering in hospital. We’ll get you to her.”
“Is she badly hurt?”
“She was, but she’s had treatment. Laura, she’s going to be hospitalized for some time, but I heard she’s going to make a full recovery.”
“That bad? This is a nightmare. What the hell is happening?”
She glanced at the bodies on the floor, a look of revulsion on her face.
“Uncle Harry has some explaining to do. A hell of a lot of explaining.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Lyons said. “The sooner we get you back to your mother the better I’m going to feel.”
He reached out to take her arm.
“We were supposed to be safe the last time,” Laura quipped.
“I guarantee it this time around. No risks. A federal protection detail,” Lyons said. “No chance of being compromised.”
“Tell me about the two marshals. I don’t remember what happened to them.”
“Trenton died at the scene. The other one, Carson, was wounded.
“He’s in the same hospital as your mother,” Lyons told her, leading the way out of the apartment building.
“Those marshals...” Laura muttered as they made their way across the debris-scattered lot. “They were protecting Mom and me and now one is dead. Jeez.”
As they climbed into the SUV, Lyons noticed Laura had become quiet, arms hugging herself as she stared out the window. Mott, who had joined her in the rear of the vehicle, was talking quietly to her.
Lyons turned the vehicle around and headed for the road. Using his sat phone’s wireless connection, he contacted the Farm. When Price answered he updated her on the situation.
“Is Laura okay?”
“She will be. We’re on our way to the chopper. We’ll take Laura to the hospital.”
“Are you guys okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“Advise Hal of the need for total security. You understand?”
“On board.”
“These people have been through enough. They’ll need twenty-four-hour protection from now on.”
“All set up. Laura and her mother will be under federal protection with a full team from now on.”
“Okay.” Lyons signed off.
* * *
“AARON GOT A hit on Sherman’s credit card,” Tokaido told Bolan. “At that rail station. Kelly’s Junction. It looks like he bought a ticket on a trip that terminates at the border.”
“I’m on my way.”
“There might be a result on that package you believe Sherman sent. It’s not confirmed yet, but you’ll get the word if and when it’s located.”
“Hold it a minute, Akira,” Bolan said. “I think I might have spotted Sherman’s Jeep.”
Bolan rolled to a stop and checked out the deserted vehicle. He noted the damaged suspension then checked the registration slip on the sun visor. It confirmed the vehicle belonged to Ben Justin.
“The vehicle had a breakdown,” Bolan advised the cyber whiz.
“Sherman probably hitched a ride to Kelly’s Junction.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Bolan said.
17
Bolan crossed the rails and stepped up onto the platform. He felt his sat phone vibrate as he headed into the office to check the schedule. It was Grimaldi.
“I’m ready to join you when I get the call,” he said.
“Stay tuned.”
“You spotted our boy yet?”
“Still on the lookout,” Bolan replied.
“Watch your six.”
“And all the other numbers.”
Bolan made his way over to the ticket counter. The clerk seemed only too willing to help a Justice agent when Bolan discreetly flashed the badge he carried, courtesy of Stony Man. He also recognized Harry Sherman as the man in the photo Bolan showed him on his phone.
“That guy...” the clerk said. “I couldn’t help but notice him. He was kind of jumpy, you know? Kept checking his watch like he was worried he might miss his ride. Soon as the train pulled in he was on board.” The man leaned across the counter. “Is he some kind of criminal?”
Bolan shook his head. “Just someone we need to have a word with. All pretty routine.”
“He didn’t look like anyone desperate. Kind of like a nice guy. Quiet-looking, you know?”
“Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. Nothing much happens around here, so a little something out the ordinary is welcome.”
You’ll never know, Bolan thought as he left the office for the platform.
The locomotive’s whistle sounded. As Bolan stepped up to enter the car i
n front of him, he saw two figures detach from the shadows at the far end of the platform. They climbed aboard the last car. There was something about them that put Bolan on alert.
If he had spotted a couple of the opposition, it was possible there might already be others on board. If that was the case, they would all be on the hunt for Sherman—just as Bolan was. The difference was in the bottom line.
Bolan was there on a rescue mission.
The Conte crew would have a different agenda, one that would promise nothing but grief for the accountant.
The locomotive blasted out its harsh sound again. Bolan felt the car vibrate as the train jerked into motion. It picked up speed as it eased away from the station, pushing clear and heading north. Bolan slid his hand inside the leather jacket, feeling the textured grips of the 93-R. He had a full 20-round magazine in the pistol and two extra in the leather holder on his opposite shoulder. That and a razor-sharp lock knife were the only weapons in his arsenal. He had left his full complement of weapons with Grimaldi, so what he was carrying was going to be his limit.
His priority was to locate Harry Sherman and convince him that he was one of the good guys. The soldier hoped the man would fall in with anything he offered. Sherman was going to be decidedly nervous. Bolan could relate to that. From the moment he’d stepped away from Conte and the mob, Sherman had become a moving target. He would remain as such as long as the team of shooters stayed on his tail. Bolan had no idea what the intention was—to take Sherman alive or to terminate him. Whichever, Sherman was going to find himself caught in a trap unless Bolan could keep him close.
He stepped into the car. He was going to have to check each one, searching for Sherman and keeping an eye out for the opposition, who would be doing the same.
There were two cars ahead of Bolan and three behind. He eased along the aisle, checking the seated passengers. The car he was in had no more than six occupants. None of them was Harry Sherman. Bolan kept moving, through into the next gently swaying car.
He slid the zip of his jacket down to allow himself easy access to his Beretta if he needed it. He was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary to draw his weapon. Gunfire inside the restricted area of a rail car was not something Bolan wanted. He also realized he might not have a choice. Conte’s men might not be concerned with such niceties. It was the difference between them. They didn’t care much about collateral damage. Bolan did, and that could place him in a difficult position. Involving innocent civilians was not on Bolan’s agenda. He would willingly place his own life on the line to keep others safe. The opposition had no such worry.
Bolan felt the car sway as the train eased through a wide curve. He braced himself as he continued his deliberate trek along the aisle, reaching the end of the car without identifying Harry Sherman. That left one more car ahead before he would need to retrace his steps to check the cars behind him.
Easing through the connecting doors, Bolan entered the final car.
There were more passengers in this one. Bolan counted at least a dozen heads.
And Harry Sherman was one of them.
The accountant was seated alone and facing in Bolan’s direction. He was recognizable from the image Stony Man had provided, though the expression on his face showed a different man from the photograph. The strain he was under had drawn dark lines under Sherman’s eyes and it looked as if he had lost a few pounds. The way he was hunched in his seat told Bolan of the pressure the guy was under.
That was no surprise to Bolan. Since the moment of the shooting, when Conte’s man had tried and failed to eliminate Sherman, the man had been on a constant run for his life. The strain was showing.
Bolan moved along the car. He adopted a casual stance, not wanting to alarm Sherman. In the man’s present state of mind, it wouldn’t take much to panic him. Even as he approached the accountant’s seat, Bolan could see the suspicion in Sherman’s expression. His body had tensed up, and it appeared that the guy was ready to leap to his feet and take off.
Coming level with Sherman’s position, Bolan sat in the facing seat, both hands in plain sight. He saw Sherman pull back, pressing against the seat, color rising in his cheeks.
“Easy, Harry,” Bolan said. “I’m a friend of Leo’s. He asked me to help. Right now I’m all you’ve got.”
Sherman made no concession to relaxing. His whole attitude was tense, his eyes flicking back and forth, a man seeking a way out, an escape, and knowing there was little he could do to achieve that.
Bolan kept his voice low, his tone level.
“I know what you’re up against, Harry. That Conte is searching for you. He’s already made moves against your family.”
“What? Are they okay?”
“They were in a car crash when Conte tried to have them snatched from US Marshals. Gwen was hurt and Laura kidnapped. Your sister is in hospital. My people took Laura away from the kidnappers, and they’re both in protective custody now. Harry, they’re safe. But you’re not. That’s why I’m here. To make sure you stay clear of Conte’s people.”
“You have backup?”
“No, there’s just me. I work alone.” Bolan made a quick show of his Justice credentials.
“What do I call you?”
“Cooper. Now listen to me, Harry. We have company on this train. I already spotted two and there might be others.”
“How did they find me?”
“We’re talking about the mob. They have ways. Right now that isn’t important. We need to concentrate on dealing with the situation we’re in.”
“Did they get to Ben? He helped me.”
“They got to him. He’s hurt but alive.”
“It looks like I’m making a lot of trouble for people, Cooper. All because Conte decided I tried to steal from him and put me on the spot.” Sherman shook his head. “This has to end. Cooper, I found computer files that will put Conte and his whole organization in jail. I found the information by accident, but right now it’s my only way out of this. We have to get hold of it.”
“Leo told his superiors about that. You don’t have it with you?”
“No. I sent it to a safe place.”
“Which is why you want to reach Canada?”
“Yeah. I was hoping I could shake Conte’s people and get my hands on it.”
“Then that’s what we need to do, Harry.”
“It’s as easy as that?”
“I don’t think so, but we’ll try. I want you to do what I tell you, when I tell you. No questions. Understand me? Conte’s men are not here to keep you healthy. Remember that.”
“I figured I could get away. Take this train and lose myself.” Sherman shook his head, seemingly resigned to whatever might happen to him. “I’ve been kidding myself. Conte isn’t going to let me go. He’ll follow me to hell and back.”
“No, we’re not going to let him do that. Look at me. I don’t run with the losing team. Conte isn’t going to come out on top. We won’t let him.”
“So what do we do?”
“We make our way to the rear, through each car, until we can’t go any farther and see if we attract interest.”
“Make targets of ourselves?”
“It’s called being proactive, Harry. Let’s see if we can draw Conte’s men out into the open.”
“You mean moving targets?”
Bolan stood. “Let’s go. It’s time to shake the tree.”
“Great,” Sherman said. “Hell, I never expected to live forever. Just a little longer than the end of the day.”
Bolan looked over Sherman’s shoulder and saw a tall figure moving forward from the far end of the car. The guy had a look on his face that told Bolan he wasn’t looking for the toilet. The guy had his right hand under his coat and when he fixed his gaze on Bolan, the silent signal was obvious. He stopped short of Sherman’
s seat.
“This goes one of two ways,’ he said. “The easy one is for you two walk to the far end of the car and through the door. Right through to the rear of the train. That, or I make a lot of noise and people around us start getting hurt. I’m guessing you don’t want that to happen. Now, me? I wouldn’t lose any sleep if that did happen.”
The guy had read Bolan right. There was no way he was about to create a situation where other passengers might get hurt. Bolan kept his hands in sight, lowered to show he was staying calm.
“Just walk ahead,” the guy said. “We can handle this with no fuss.”
Bolan could see through the window of the connecting door to the last car. Beyond that was the baggage car.
“Hey, don’t make this a day trip.”
Impatience made him move up close and place his free hand against Bolan’s spine, which became the Executioner’s moment to react. As he felt the hand press against him, Bolan spun on the soles of his shoes, letting his arms follow the action of his body. He had turned to the right, and his left hand dropped to close over the gunman’s right hand where it was concealed by the folds of his coat. Bolan levered down, preventing the guy from pulling his weapon. In the same moment the Executioner’s right, edge on, slammed into the guy’s neck. The blow was delivered with every ounce of his strength, the force behind it crunching in below the jawline.
Suddenly the guy found himself unable to breathe. He stepped back, his eyes wide with shock as he struggled, and failed, to suck in air. Somewhere down the car a man protested—he was ignored as Bolan hauled the gun hand into view. He snatched the pistol from his adversary’s hand. It took no effort. The hood was too concerned with trying to breathe to offer any resistance.
“Cooper,” Sherman said.
He pushed Bolan to the side a second before the window of the connecting door shattered. The window was glass, and splintered shards flew everywhere. The slugs meant for Bolan and Sherman slammed into the helpless hood, pushing him back. Someone yelled in panic. Passengers scrambled from their seats, crowding one another as they pushed through the connecting door at the opposite end of the car.
Kill Squad Page 10