Exit Code

by Don Pendleton

  “Yeah, out of New York,” Bolan replied. That was a safe reply, because everyone who was anyone knew DeLama.

  “Well, Mr. Lenzini’s got DeLama’s son working with one of our guys and just so you know, the kid ain’t real bright. We’ve got him doing something easy, babysitting some government broad in Texas. Just in case you hear something about it, I didn’t want you to be surprised. Keep quiet, do your thing, and I’m sure you won’t have nothing to worry about,” Grano said smiling.

  Bolan nodded, but his mind was working quickly. Lenzini had ties with the NIF, and now he had a crew watching a government woman from Texas. That was too much to cast aside, and Bolan would have to find some way of getting word to Stony Man, since there was little doubt in his mind that Grano could only be talking about Tyra MacEwan.

  Yeah, things were about to heat up big time.

  Amarillo, Texas

  TYRA MACEWAN HADN’T SLEPT well. Following her hasty trip to town, she had returned to her home and tried to act normal. True to Bear’s words, nothing much happened.

  Someone was having her watched, but obviously they were under instructions not to harm her in any way. MacEwan began to run through the possibilities, but came up empty on everything she thought of. If was her government, Cooper’s people would have known about it. If the NIF had found her, she would be dead. If her tails were members of a foreign government, and meant her harm, they would have made their move by now—she’d given them plenty of opportunities.

  No, MacEwan was smart enough to realize that the best thing she could do was exactly what Bear had told her to do. She would sit tight and wait for some kind of support to arrive, although as she sat at the kitchen table and played a game with her mother, she had no idea when or how that support would come. She had checked outside, and the house was still being watched by the same crew.

  Suddenly, there was a knock at the back door just off the family room. MacEwan looked toward the door, and then at her mother, who was watching her daughter intently from across the table. The older woman raised an eyebrow and studied MacEwan suspiciously.

  “Are you expecting company, Momma?” MacEwan asked her mother.

  “No,” her mother replied, “but I think you are.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Call it a mother’s intuition,” she said, smiling. “I know you too well, Tyra. You’ve been acting strangely ever since you got back from the store last night, and I think you’re trying to protect me. Now is the person at that door friend or foe?”

  “I don’t know. I’m hoping friend.”

  “Then you should open it, while I get your daddy’s shotgun.”

  MacEwan nodded and her mother immediately disappeared into the den. She cursed herself, biting her lower lip as she went to her purse, withdrew the .38 and walked to the door. She looked back toward the den, and she could see her mother now standing in the doorway with the shotgun up and held at the ready. MacEwan let her hand relax, holding the pistol just out of sight, and turned toward the door. She took a deep breath and shook off as much of the tension as she could. The door didn’t have a peephole, and the ornate glass-work in it sat too high for her to be able to look out. Well, at least it was early daylight, and she’d be able to see whoever it was clearly when she opened the door.

  She barely had it open when the first of three men stepped through. He was tall and blond with cold blue eyes. One hand pushed her roughly to one side as the other grabbed the pistol and twisted it from her grip with a blinding and practiced ease MacEwan had never thought possible. The second man through was older looking, with salt-and-pepper hair and muscular arms, and he was immediately followed by a third, who had a pistol in hand and came through the door backward obviously covering their rear.

  “All right, you creeps!” Sally MacEwan shouted as she pumped a shell into the chamber. “Let her go or I start shooting. And I’m a pretty good shot!”

  The good-looking guy with dark hair and a mustache laughed as he holstered his pistol. “I’d watch out, Ironman. She might shoot you in the ass just for the hell of it.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” the tall blonde said. “But if it’s all the same to you, Mrs. MacEwan, we’d prefer if you leave fighting bad guys to us.”

  He released MacEwan and handed the pistol back to her butt-first. MacEwan took it from him, glanced at each of the men in turn and then wheeled on her mother and put up her hand.

  “It’s okay, Momma, you can relax. Put away that shotgun.” She turned and glanced once more at the blonde. “These are definitely friends.”

  6

  San Francisco, California

  As soon as the plane arrived in San Francisco, the Executioner headed for the nearest pay phone. He hadn’t wanted to risk a call to Stony Man before leaving Boston, since it was possible Lenzini had him under surveillance. His job for Lenzini was important to the syndicate, for sure, but Bolan still felt like there was some omission in Grano’s orders. From where he stood, it didn’t seem like Pescia presented much of a threat to Lenzini’s operations. That left him feeling like they had sent him on a suicide mission rather than risk one of their own. What was it about honor among thieves? Well, whatever it was, Bolan was pretty sure whoever had coined the phrase hadn’t spent any actual time with these animals.

  What Bolan couldn’t determine were the reasons behind Lenzini teaming up with the New Islamic Front; it didn’t make a damn bit of sense and, other than financial security, which Lenzini already had, Bolan didn’t see what he stood to gain. No, there had to be something else behind this, and Bolan suspected it was something extraordinary.

  Why the whole facade with an impostor, while the real deal hid behind thick concrete and steel—a frail old man in a wheelchair. Bolan knew he couldn’t underestimate Lenzini. The guy could sure as hell still plot from that chair, and there was no question he was as brutal and merciless as his reputation warranted. The Executioner figured that Lenzini didn’t want to show the NIF that he was a man with weaknesses.

  Kurtzman answered on the first ring. “Hey, Striker. How’s it going?”

  “They sent me to San Fran,” Bolan said.

  “Ah, the City by the Bay.”

  “Yeah, his number-two guy sent me here for Pescia, but it’s not a hit job, at least not yet. And the guy we all think is Nicolas Lenzini isn’t Lenzini at all.”

  Kurtzman replied to Bolan’s explanation by whistling softly. “That’s interesting indeed, and definitely some juicy tidbits to add to our files.”

  “Yeah, he’s got a double to stand in for him at all of those public appearances and charity events. But let’s keep the information internal for a while. I don’t want outside agencies apprised until we know what’s really going on.”

  “Understood. Hal’s on now.”

  “Striker, we’ve had an incident,” Brognola said quickly. “It’s about MacEwan.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ve put Able Team onto it. Carl just called and says everything’s under control. It’s nothing serious.”

  “Not to sound flippant, Hal, but if you had to put Able Team on it I wouldn’t say that sounds like ‘nothing serious.’”

  “We got a call from her last night. Bear had it set up so if she ran into any type of trouble, or if she even thought she might have trouble, she could call us. It seems someone’s had her under observation.”

  “Could it be one of our own?” Bolan asked. “You’ve got a woman who works in a highly sensitive area of DARPA, disappears into a foreign country and then returns suddenly without any explanation. That would certainly put her under suspicion by Homeland Security, not to mention her own people.”

  “We provided the explanation for her,” Brognola reminded him, and Bolan nodded in remembrance that Stony Man had taken care of covering up the reasons for her absence. “After the debrief with us, she was approved for return to work. She elected to take some time off, though. We couldn’t very well stop her.”

  “
Well, if it’s not our people who are watching her, who is it?” Bolan asked.

  “Carl says they haven’t had time to find that out yet. They only got there about an hour ago.” Brognola chuckled and added, “Guess they almost had quite a fight on their hands. Both women were packing and ready to defend the house to the end.”

  Bolan smiled. Yeah, that sounded like MacEwan: feisty and spirited and not willing to go down without a fight. “So, what’s Carl want to do?”

  “He thinks because this crew watching her hasn’t made its move that it’s not NIF terrorists,” Brognola replied.

  “Agreed. And if it were a government op, I’m sure you’d know something about it by now.” Bolan took a risk and decided to tell Brognola about what Grano had said. “I have a feeling I know who’s watching her.”

  “Who?”

  “Lenzini’s people, along with some help from the DeLama Family out of New York City.”

  “Why would Nicolas Lenzini be interested in tailing MacEwan? For that matter, how would he even know about MacEwan?”

  “NIF probably told him. You heard about the trouble in Boston?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was being tailed by someone DARPA sent. It seems MacEwan’s boss, Dr. Shurish, sent someone to find me because I was MIA from duty.”

  “We tidied everything up with that,” Brognola said angrily.

  “Yeah,” Bolan replied. “That’s why I think the story he gave this investigator was a bunch of crap. I was a contractor, but it doesn’t sound like Shurish had ever mentioned that to the investigator I caught tailing me. The way this guy talked, he thought I was an employee gone AWOL. Now, outside of us, the only other person who knew where MacEwan would be is Shurish.”

  “Her boss,” Brognola interjected.

  “Exactly,” Bolan replied, “and I don’t think Shurish asked that investigator to find me because he was concerned about my safety. I think he wanted to keep tabs on my movements, and report those to the NIF.”

  “So you think Shurish is working for the NIF?”

  “It’s entirely possible, Hal. Think about it this way—I’m sure when the NIF got wind that Rhatib was in custody in the U.S., they contacted Lenzini to let him know they were going to come for their sacred cow. After all, they probably need him because he’s really the only one who possesses the technical expertise to finish the job.”

  “And you think they’ll come for MacEwan, just as a bonus?”

  “Why not? She’s their consolation prize if something happened to Rhatib,” Bolan said.

  “Sounds like maybe we’d better move both of them.”

  “Yeah, and keep moving them around until I can get things wrapped up here.”

  “What is the story on that end? I caught a whiff of your conversation with Bear…something about San Fran?”

  Bolan said, “Yeah. I’m here to find Pescia. It looks like Barb was on the money about this guy. When I had that run-in with him at the Garden of Allah, I didn’t get the impression he was much more than a sniveling worm. But apparently he’s gathered friends while supervising Lenzini’s remote station operations, and now they think he’s going to start a full-scale war against the NIF.”

  “I hope he’s not planning to start it in San Francisco,” Brognola said.

  “I hope that’s exactly what he does. In fact, I’m counting on it. My plan is to get inside his system and shake him up. Then, I’ll turn the tables on him, make him believe I’ve had a change of heart. I can work the angles much better that way, and it will allow me to give him more reasons for hating the NIF. Whether he or the NIF start this war, I’m going to finish it.”

  “I know you’ll do everything you can to minimize innocent casualties.”

  “I’ve got a lot of targets to hit in the next forty-eight hours. I’ll do everything I can to minimize the risk, Hal.”

  “I know,” Brognola replied with a sigh. “I guess to ask anything else would be unrealistic. I trust you.”

  “I appreciate it. For now, I’d suggest you get MacEwan away from home and move Rhatib. I have a feeling the NIF is going to be looking for both of them. I’ll contact you again once I’m on the move.”

  “Good enough.”

  “Hey, Hal?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell Ironman to take it easy. In fact, if he can get MacEwan out of there without them even knowing it, that would be better for me. I don’t want to raise suspicions right after Grano told me about their operation in Texas.”

  “I’ll let him know to avoid contact if at all possible.”

  “Thanks. Out here.”

  Bolan dropped the receiver into its cradle, then headed for the exit. He’d grab a taxi to the downtown Bay area and start poking around until he found Pescia. He thought he had a pretty good idea where to start looking. Profiles and intel on Pescia were excellent, and Bolan knew the mobster had two weaknesses: girls and more girls. He also had some local jobs moving designer drugs around certain of the wealthier clientele along the Bay. Anybody who knew anything about San Francisco knew exactly where to go for that kind of action, and the Executioner had been to this city more times than he could count.

  Yeah, he knew where to start looking. It was time to go to work.

  HE WATCHED THE GIRL undulate in front of him, the sheen of her body a combination of oils and sweat radiating under the yellow-red haze of stage lights. Gino Pescia felt a sudden, white-hot throbbing in his pants as he thought of how she’d look in his bed doing exactly what she was doing right that moment.

  Oh, yeah. He would have enjoyed that immensely.

  Pescia turned his attention away from the woman as she started her routine on the pole, and checked all entrances to make sure his men were still in place. His most trusted bodyguard had told him that it wasn’t wise for him to be in public, especially since it was likely Nicolas Lenzini had a contract on him. But Pescia had to keep up appearances for his customers.

  “The profit I’ve made from the sniffers and snorters pays my salary and yours, so I wouldn’t knock it,” he’d told the bull. “You just keep your opinions to yourself, and do what I’m paying you to do.”

  Pescia couldn’t believe the nerve of his people. Hadn’t he always taken care of them? Sure, he hadn’t been around for a while—having to babysit the rag heads for Lenzini all that time in Washington—but he was back now and they were bellyaching. What his people didn’t know—because Pescia had decided to keep it to himself—was that Lenzini was a crippled old man who talked tough, but in reality he didn’t have any balls. Besides, after the trouble he’d run into in Washington, nearly getting killed by the big creep with the dark hair and the cold blue eyes, he didn’t think there was too much more Lenzini could do to him.

  Those cold blue eyes…shit. Pescia couldn’t even concentrate on the girl anymore. He turned and walked to the back of the club, to a doorway that opened onto a narrow hallway. Lenzini’s office was at the end of the hall, with a staircase that led to a second floor. The area was set aside as Pescia’s living quarters. Pescia had decided to live above the club, for the convenience and the unobstructed view of the girls—both onstage and in the dressing rooms—through a sweet setup that included sound and video feed. Pescia figured some of them had caught on, because any girls who had complained about his come-ons were usually gone the next day, and those remaining had gotten smart and kept their mouths shut.

  Pescia moved through the darkened office, not even bothering to turn on the light. Actually, it seemed a little odd because he hadn’t even remembered turning it off last time he walked out. Of course, that had been earlier in the day, and the cleaning staff might have shut it off, although usually they left everything undisturbed. Maybe one of his people had been in there. The door that provided access to the upper floor, however, was ajar and light spilled out of it. Pescia was certain he had not left it open.

  Just as he reached the door, he realized the fatal mistake he’d made not turning on the lights in the office. There wa
s a click behind him, the unmistakable sound of a safety being released on a pistol. A firm hand gripped his shoulder and the gun was pressed to the back of his neck. Pescia didn’t recognize the voice, because the man spoke in a whisper.

  “Try something, make a move to run, or even cry out and I’ll kill you,” the man said.

  “What do y-you want?” Pescia stammered.

  The man spun him, and even in the darkness the second Pescia saw his face his stomach began to churn. “You.”

  “That’s right,” the cold-eyed stranger replied. “I can see you didn’t take my advice, Gino. You were supposed to take a message back to Don Lenzini. You didn’t do it. That’s not good. And now I can see you’re not as faithful to the cause as you pretended to be. That means your time’s up.”

  “But you…you don’t work for Don Lenzini. In fact, you sent me back to warn him.”

  “It was a setup, Gino. Lenzini needed a fall guy, and you were it. You don’t think he’d allow anyone to tie him to a terrorist group, do you? There’s a good reason he had you involved in all of his business, running around the country and buying up all those folding companies. You actually think he’d take the fall on that stuff? Why have you do something he was better off doing himself? Why have the body double, and make all of these sham investments? He set you up, and he set up his friends, and now he wants me to finish the job.”

  “Then go ahead and do it,” Pescia said, a lump forming in his throat.

  Pescia didn’t give a damn anymore. He could see the game was over, and he could tell that this stranger—who had now twice gotten the drop on him—knew it was up as well. He prepared for the guy to point his pistol and squeeze the trigger, thereby ending Pescia’s misery as the man suddenly smiled. It was a cold, calculating smile and the guy let out a mirthless laugh before holstering his pistol.

  The gunman slapped Pescia on the shoulder. “No, I’m not going to do it,” he said.

  Pescia was stunned. “What? Are you nuts or something, man?” he asked.