No matter. Both sides were perfectly clear on where they stood. He had tested them and found them wanting, which would be useful to keep in mind in the coming hours.
The patrol car did not stop. He waited until it was out of sight before going back into the hotel.
Up in his room, he dialed Martha’s number. He made arrangements to meet her in the diner on the main drag when she finished work, then brought up the intel he had from Stony Man on his tablet.
There was work to be done. After questioning the reporter, he’d have to complete that morning’s interrupted recon mission.
It was going to be a long night.
* * *
WHEN BOLAN ARRIVED at the diner, Martha was already waiting for him. She was sitting at a table near the window, but he indicated that they should take a booth in the back. She followed him, trying to make small talk, but Bolan met it with silence. A waitress came over and they placed their orders. Martha waited until the waitress had walked away before she spoke again.
“You get me here and then give me the silent treatment? Is this how you treat all your dates, Mr. Matt Cooper? Do you always tell women your name after sending them your number over Bluetooth rather than actually talking to them? Tell me, are you single by any chance? Ever wonder why?”
The last comment made Bolan smile. “Yes, and yes. But then, this isn’t a date.”
“You do surprise me,” she said archly. “So what have you got me here for, then, other than to pump me for information?”
“Call it an exchange.” He shrugged.
“Somehow, not an even one, I bet,” she murmured. “Why did you get me to switch seats?” she asked, changing tack.
“You’re an intelligent journalist—you should be able to work it out. Tell me, have you ever had any trouble with the local law enforcement? Any harassment?”
She looked puzzled. “Why would I? Everyone around here knows what the Examiner is about. Let’s be honest, it pays for this town.”
“And that gives you immunity? Always?”
She seemed puzzled again. “Why would anyone need that?”
“Not just anyone. You,” Bolan said emphatically.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he gestured for her to stop. The waitress put their food down, and Bolan waited until they were alone again before continuing. ‘I had an interesting little road trip with those two deputies from earlier. I got to see quite a lot of the backside of this town while I was at it. I don’t think they were very amused by it, but at least they know that I know they have their eye on me. And if those two are anything to go by, I know I can outpace and outthink them if necessary. What I’m really curious about is this—did they follow me because of me or because of you?”
“I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at,” Martha said, though her tone gave her away.
Bolan chuckled. “You told me you were a coward. Maybe you think you are—”
“Oh, I am,” she interjected. “No Pulitzers for me.”
“But you were still sniffing around Eveland, around the Seven Stars.”
“I told you. I’m wondering why we never mention them, even though they’re on our doorstep. That’s all.”
“So how did you get out there this morning?” he asked. She gave him an innocent look that he didn’t buy. “You haven’t mentioned a car, and if you’d left it anywhere it would have been found by now. And if it had, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”
She paled. “I walked. I like walking. I set out early. Everyone knows I like to hike. What do you mean, I wouldn’t be sitting here?”
Bolan could see he’d gotten under her skin. “I’ll level with you as much as I can. Because I don’t like innocent people getting caught in crossfire...but mostly because I’d like to know what you know, and I really don’t want you getting in my way.”
“I told you, I’m a coward,” she said quietly.
“No, you’re not,” he said, in equally soft tones. “You may think you are, but you followed what your instinct told you, even though it nearly got you shot. And you’d follow it further. No, you’re not a coward. You’re frightened, but that’s a different thing. Not a bad thing, incidentally—fear has stopped many a person from doing something stupid at the wrong moment. You just need to know when to choose your moment.”
“And you do.” It wasn’t a question.
He assented. “There’s someone inside the cult’s compound that I am here to get out. I can’t say who, and you really don’t want to ask. All I can tell you is that this person has such importance, the cult will do anything to hold on to them. Anything. If they know you were snooping around there this morning, then you’re no longer safe.”
“Who are you?” she asked. He could see the fear in her eyes.
“I’m one of the good guys.” He smiled. “You’ll have to trust me on that. I’m going to send you a phone number. If I’m not back here in seventy-two hours, then you call that number and tell them Cooper is missing. They may already know. What they won’t know until you call is whether or not they need to extract you. If I’m not out, then they do.”
“The Seven Stars are a bunch of cranks—”
“That your paper never writes about? That are so wacky the sheriff’s office gets interested in anyone they see snooping around there?”
She sighed. She looked frightened—too frightened to argue. Instead, she said quietly, “They paid for Eveland in cash. They ignored local bylaws in repurposing part of the park. They come into town and collect groceries once a month, and have a charge account with the general store. No one likes them, but no one says anything, either. When you mention them in the office there’s silence. I haven’t found out why, but the Examiner has shareholders who hide behind company names. Now, I know the cult has rinsed a lot of money from recruits and fund-raising. I figure that maybe they launder it through shares. Perhaps because they have a member on the board? Complaints about the Seven Stars are never dealt with by the sheriff’s office. Money talks around here.”
“It talks anywhere,” Bolan replied. He was disappointed. Martha’s information confirmed some of his suspicions, but she hadn’t given him anything new or concrete to use. “The bank was raided recently.”
“What would that have to do with them? Surely they wouldn’t be so stupid....” She paused. “The sheriff’s office hasn’t exactly been proactive, though....”
“Now you’re getting the idea. If they can do that this close to home, then you can see how deep it might run. This could be very dangerous for you. Please, do as I say.”
She agreed, and Bolan called for the check. He wanted to get her home, see where she lived, and then call Stony Man. He needed to put a contingency in place to protect her if necessary.
Too many innocents were caught up in this already.
Chapter 7
Bolan led Martha out of the diner. It was now dark, and the streets were lit in a sodium glare, the few people out either window-shopping or heading into the few bars and diners that remained open.
“You came by car?” he asked, looking up and down the street.
“On foot,” she replied. “Some secret agent you are—you should have figured out by now that I go everywhere on foot.”
“I’m not a secret agent,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t have figured you for a nondriver, that’s all.”
“I can drive, I just prefer to walk. It’s a small town and it seems stupid to drive everywhere.”
“You’re being driven tonight,” he said. “Just get in my car and don’t ask questions.”
“Are those questions along the lines of why you had us sitting at the back of the diner? Because I think I figured that one out,” she said as she slid into the sedan.
“You’re smart, Martha. Just don’t be too smart.” He got in beside he
r and started the car. “We were too easily seen and too easily targeted in the window seat. And right now I want to get you home safe. If the cops—or anyone else—have me to follow, then they’ll leave you alone for a while.”
“You’re scaring me,” she said bluntly as he pulled out into the traffic.
“Good,” he replied. “Give me directions, and check the rearview as you do. Tell me what you see.”
She looked in the mirror. A patrol car had slipped into their wake and was following at a distance. There was no traffic, but even so, the deputies made no attempt to conceal their intent.
“Now I really am scared,” she whispered.
“Don’t be,” Bolan said softly but firmly. “I know that’s easier said than done, but they have no reason to move on you if you stay home, go to the office and act normally. They’ll be focused on me. Let me take their attention.”
“It’s not like I have a choice,” she muttered bitterly, before giving him directions in a clipped, frightened tone. He drove slowly, keeping one eye on the cruiser. It stayed at the same distance the whole way, pulling onto the curb when he dropped Martha outside the whitewashed clapboard house. She got out, but turned back before heading up the path. “What about you?” she asked.
“Like I told you, I have a job to do. It’s best you don’t know any details. Just remember what I said, and don’t be afraid to do it when the time comes.”
She paused, as though she was about to say something, but was unsure of the words. Bolan didn’t give her the chance. He gunned the engine, pulling away from the curb with a squeal of tires.
He accelerated down the road. In the rearview mirror he could see her standing on the walk. The patrol car jerked into the road, the driver obviously caught off guard by his sudden movement. Martha watched it go past, then seemed to snap out of her indecision, and ran up the path to her house.
The soldier felt better about that—she was out of the way, and the immediate danger had been drawn off, trailing in his wake. As he negotiated the back roads of Griffintown, aiming for the highway, he slowed momentarily to allow the deputies to get him back in their sights.
The trunk of the sedan was loaded with his duffel bags. This time out, he had decided to take his full arsenal with him.
Whatever was going on inside the compound—whatever plans the cult had for Elena Anders—his need to execute this mission with alacrity had been accelerated by the journalist. The cult would have found the dead man by now. If they had links to the sheriff’s office, then they would have connected the dots between Martha, himself and the corpse. Even if they hadn’t made the link, Bolan had law enforcement breathing down his neck and tracking his every move. He was on a tight timeline, and it was being squeezed ever tighter.
When he reached the highway, the patrol car started to gain on him. He wondered if these deputies were the same duo who had dogged him this morning. After the way he had treated them, they would have a more personal score to settle, which might work to his advantage and make them sloppy.
Between here and the point where he intended to enter the swamplands, he needed to either lose these clowns or deal with them. The question now was how to do this and leave as little trace as possible.
The sedan rocked as a blast from a pump-action shotgun hit the back fender, forcing him to wrestle with the wheel and try to keep the speeding car on an even keel.
They were trying to blow out the tires. If they achieved that, at the speed he was traveling, there was no way he’d be able to maintain control of the vehicle. A second blast was too high, taking out the rear window and spraying fragments of glass throughout the interior. He swore loudly and ducked, managing to avoid anything more than a few nicks.
He wasn’t going to give these cops the chance at a third strike. The highway was empty as far ahead as he could see, and in the rearview mirror, past the careening cruiser, there was no sign of anything, either. He had the space; it was just a matter of if he could pull it off....
Grunting with the effort of hauling the wheel on the standard transmission sedan, he pulled a hand brake turn, bumping wildly as he took the vehicle across the rumble strip between lanes. He tugged on the brake and jerked the stick shift so that the grinding gears squealed over the whine of the engine, spinning the car so that it was facing back toward town. Bolan pumped the gas and slammed the stick so hard that it jarred his wrist up to the elbow, trying to prevent the sedan from stalling, and force the kind of acceleration usually reserved for the pros.
Gunning the engine, he took the Ford past the cruiser as it sped by on the other side of the highway. The driver threw his car into a skid to try and turn quickly, and as it slewed across the road, spinning, Bolan continued on for five hundred yards before once again throwing a hand brake turn. This time he was able to take it a little easier, having bought himself a second or two with the element of surprise. The patrol car had flipped over—whether from the initial skid or from trying to compensate for Bolan’s second turn, he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t detect any movement inside. As he sped by, Bolan put in an anonymous call to Griffintown’s emergency dispatcher from his burner phone, reporting a single-car crash on the highway.
As much as he’d wanted the deputies off his tail, he hadn’t meant to cause them any serious injury. It was Bolan’s policy never to lay a hand on those who defended the law. Even if this county’s sheriff’s department was under the Seven Stars’ thumb, these two were probably just doing what they’d been told, and what they thought they had to do to protect their community.
Once the wreckage was out of sight, Bolan slowed down, testing the vehicle. He might still have to use the car after he extracted Elena Anders from Eveland, and he could ill-afford a dead engine.
The road was silent and empty as he traversed the last few miles to the turnout he had used that morning. The motor coughed and spluttered as he drew as far into cover as he could. He took the duffel bags from the back of the sedan. He had managed to pull the car into the verge of the swamplands, and took a few moments to draw more leaves and branches across it. If anyone should stop at the turnout, they would easily stumble on the vehicle, but from a distance, or even on a drive-by, this cover would serve until morning.
His original plan had been to recon in the morning, plan his ingress, attack and flight, and then execute the plan overnight. Now, he had no choice but to improvise; he had intel to work from, but would have felt happier with an on-the-ground knowledge of the park and the cult’s activities. He would be carrying a passenger, and he couldn’t predict what physical or mental state she’d be in. The more he could cut down the risks, the better.
Bolan took the same route he had that morning, circling the swampier ground, moving close to the clearing that ran parallel to the access road, and keeping a watch for any patrols. When he reached the spot where he’d taken down the guard and rescued Martha, he noted that the body had been retrieved. There were signs of it having been dragged through the undergrowth and back toward the access road.
Unlike that morning, Bolan had left his hotel for the diner wearing a blacksuit under his loose shirt and pants, which he’d discarded in the sedan. He had also darkened his face with combat cosmetics, to better blend in with the inky shadows on his route.
He was now, he figured, running parallel to the security fence around the old park. As he advanced, the foliage began to thin out, providing less cover under the glare of the gibbous moon. He would have preferred a darker night with more clouds.
On the other hand, the guard he had encountered earlier in the day had done nothing other than confirm his suspicion that the Seven Stars were not a well-trained bunch of fighters. A few criminals with some willing acolytes seemed, so far, to be the sum total. Not that he would take that for granted...
Bolan’s progress had been rapid and unimpeded so far. He had expected some kind of regular guard patrol, po
ssibly increased as a result of that morning’s casualty. The complete lack of a security presence puzzled him. It made no sense, from a soldier’s point of view.
Unless, of course, they had another means of defense. He now stood a couple yards from the fence, the skeletons of the deserted and derelict rides looming over him in the night sky.
So far, he hadn’t used the night vision goggles, since the moon had given him enough light to go by. But as he prepared to enter the playground of the damned, he slipped the goggles over his head and secured them.
He could see the fence much more clearly. It looked unprotected, and a quick test for electrification showed that it was dead. He noticed one of the posts had recently been replaced. Very recently. He shook it and found that the concrete anchoring it to the earth had not yet set. Beyond, the jagged outlines of the buildings and rides seemed dark and lifeless. He must be a long way from where the cult congregated.
That was good. Provided the security was as lax inside the park’s perimeter as it was in the surrounding swamp, he’d be able to sneak in without being disturbed. Slowly and carefully, he pushed at the pole anchoring the fence, twisting it in its moorings to loosen it. The tension of the wire fencing stopped it from crashing down.
When the post sagged sufficiently, he climbed it, letting his weight push it down to the ground on the inside of the park. He jumped off, landing softly as the wire fence sang gently in the night air and the pole sprang back up.
Bolan turned and pushed it back into place, so that to the casual observer it had never even moved.
He was in. Now to locate the target.
Chapter 8
When they came for her again, Elena Anders would be ready. Her body ached all over, and she could feel the rips and tears in her muscles swelling. Dirt from the floor had ground into open scratches that would soon become sores. Her only consolation was that Duane seemed to take great delight in inflicting pain, but had no sexual desires to gratify. Unless, of course, that was the next step.
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