Savannah Swingsaw te-74

by Don Pendleton

  "When did you start with those?"

  "These?" Brognola shrugged, looked a little embarrassed and slipped them into his jacket pocket. "Something I ate."

  Bolan gave him a patient look.

  "Okay, okay. I've been having a little stomach problem for a couple months now."

  "About the same time Stony Man Farm was destroyed. And April killed." Bolan looked sympathetically at his friend. Yeah, things had been tough on the Executioner, but he could see where they might even be tougher on Hal, who was left to deal with the stress of working within the system, yet still helping Bolan underground.

  At least when Bolan got mad, he could get even directly. Grab the AutoMag and blast the bad guys to hell. But Brognola couldn't. He had to keep it all bottled up.

  "I didn't come here to talk about my stomach," Brognola said gruffly. "We have a small matter of assassination to discuss."

  "Go ahead."

  "He's here. Zavlin."

  Bolan's jaw clenched. "Here where? In the prison?"

  "Maybe. He was spotted in Atlanta five hours ago."

  Bolan looked around the courtyard at the other prisoners, scrutinizing each face.

  "That won't help," Brognola said. "He could be any of them, male or female."

  "Yeah, you're right. I know about all that master-of-disguise crap. Expert with makeup and forged documents." Bolan kept scanning the compound. "There are a few things that usually aren't disguised because most people don't pay close enough attention, but...." Bolan saw Lyle Carrew over by a wooden picnic table, talking to a woman.

  They were both staring at Bolan.

  The Executioner felt a strange chill at the nape of his neck. The woman was looking at him with a hard intensity, studying him, not flinching from his gaze. At the same time there was something familiar about her. He didn't recognize her exactly; she had the kind of looks you didn't easily forget.

  Her hair was long and raven black, dipping to a sharp widow's peak on her forehead. She was wearing oversize sunglasses despite a cloudy sky.

  Her mouth was straight, the lips full. The combination produced a pouty smirk that was exceptionally attractive.

  Her body was even more exceptional, not just slim and shapely. What was revealed by her short sleeves and shorts proved to be tanned and toned, with sinewy muscles outlined like a relief map of rough terrain. They looked like long smooth sand dunes along a wet beach. She was perhaps the most striking woman Bolan had ever seen. And she was still staring at him, saying something to Carrew, who was digging into her picnic basket, biting into some corn bread, shrugging or replying to her.

  "You know her?" Brognola said, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice.

  "I know the guy with her. My cellmate."

  "Looks like he knows how to handle himself."

  Bolan nodded. "In more ways than one."

  "Where's Reed?"

  "Behind us about fifty yards. Talking with his girlfriend."

  "How's he holding up?"

  Bolan told him about Rodeo. The fight. The threats.

  "Hell!" Brognola popped another antacid tablet. "...in here one day and you've already got the meanest mother in the place after you. I know you work fast, but..."

  "Couldn't be helped. Put a fresh-faced kid like Dodge Reed in here and something was bound to happen. Besides, it was a good way to get him to trust me."

  "Fine. Only how are you going to bust out of here? I could still pull a few strings, get some official cooperation..."

  Bolan held up his hand. "Won't work, guy. Zavlin could sniff that out in a second. It's got to be real. Don't worry about me. I've got a couple ideas. We should be out by tomorrow."

  "What about Rodeo and his bunch?"

  "I'll try to keep away from them."

  Brognola looked skeptical. "Try hard. As much as I'd like to see that scum scraped away, that kid is our first priority." They both looked over at Dodge Reed, whose hands waved animatedly, his face aged with fear, as he obviously was describing his harrowing adventures. He even pointed at Bolan, and the pretty petite girl turned and looked at him, meeting his eyes and smiling a shy thanks.

  Bolan smiled back.

  Brognola and Bolan discussed a few more details until the buzzer blared the end of visitation. Prisoners and visitors alike were herded through metal detectors, then prisoners were led aside to be bodysearched for drugs or weapons.

  Some couples clung to each other, wringing the most from their last kiss for another week. Reed and his girlfriend were one of those couples. Bolan could see the tears tracking along her cheeks and felt sorry for both of them. To his credit, Reed gave her an encouraging smile and assured her he'd be fine. Lyle Carrew and his female companion had already gone through the doors, but Bolan could still see her lingering with the crowd, watching him, making up her mind about something. By the time he and Brognola went through the door she was gone.

  "Take care," the Fed said sincerely. "And remember. He could be inside already."

  "Yeah," Bolan said. "I'll be looking for him."

  * * *

  "You ask too many questions, man."

  Bolan shrugged. "I've got a curious nature."

  "In here that could be a fatal condition," Carrew warned.

  "I simply asked who the woman was you were talking to."

  "Simple, hell. I'm trying to avoid any fallout that might come from being your cellmate. If you turn out to be a snitch, they might think I knew something about it."

  Bolan didn't bother denying anything. Carrew was too sharp to bullshit. Let him think what he wanted. Within the next two hours, with a little luck, he and Reed would be out of here. He'd worked out most of the details in his mind. The one problem: getting Reed to go along. Bolan hadn't yet explained anything to the kid. What good would it do? Even if Reed believed him, would he risk busting out of jail? Probably not. So Bolan was going to have to take him along anyway. By force.

  "Why all this interest in her, anyway?" Carrew asked.

  "She looked vaguely familiar, that's all."

  "Yeah? You think because we had a little fireside chat about my past we're buddies now? Forget it, man."

  Bolan shook his head. "I just asked her name, Carrew."

  "Funny thing," the black man said, frowning. "Because she asked yours, too."

  Bolan waited for more, but Carrew didn't offer anything. "What'd she say when you told her?"

  "Said she could be wrong, but you reminded her of someone else, someone she knew a long time ago."

  Bolan tried to think, picturing her gorgeous face, the trim body. A name hovered in the distance, out of sight. He had to stop thinking about it, concentrate on the escape. There were too many things that might go wrong for him to allow any distractions. He retied his shoelaces in double knots. There would be some running tonight.

  "Said she didn't recognize the name, though. Damon Blue."

  "I've used lots of names," Bolan said. "She think what name she knew?"

  Carrew returned his concentration on the book he was reading when Bolan interrupted him.

  Outside the cell, men milled back and forth. The cell doors were open for all the minimum security prisoners, giving them a chance to mingle before lights-out for the night.

  Bolan headed for the open cell door. "See you later, Lyle."

  Carrew looked up. "I wouldn't go out there, man. You're marked."

  "Rodeo's not minimum security. He's supposed to be locked up."

  "Big difference between "supposed to be" and "is."

  Bolan knew that, but he had to check on Dodge Reed, make sure the kid was okay for the next couple of hours. "Thanks for the warning."

  Carrew shrugged. "Just looking out for myself."

  "Yeah, right."

  Bolan was about to leave when a shark-faced guard blocked the doorway, chewing gum noisily.

  He slapped his baton into his palm and nodded at Bolan. "Come with me, Blue."

  "Where?" Bolan said. He recognized the guard as the one who
'd exchanged glances with Rodeo out in the courtyard, the one who'd ignored the fight.

  "You don't ask no questions around here, Blue," the guard barked. "You do what you're told. Now haul ass, mister."

  Bolan started for the door, tripped over Carrew's wheelchair and fell sprawling to the floor next to the chair.

  "Shit, man," Carrew complained, almost getting knocked over.

  "Sorry," Bolan said, climbing to his feet, his hand pressed against his chest as if he'd bruised something.

  "Don't get nervous now, Blue," the guard taunted with a chuckle, chewing his gum rapidly. "We ain't going to no gas chamber."

  "Aren't you?" Carrew said.

  "Watch yourself, Carrew. You don't want none of his trouble, do ya?"

  Carrew stared angrily at the guard, then looked up at Bolan. "Like I said before, man. You'll have to help yourself."

  "I just did," Bolan said. His back was to the guard as he opened his fist clutched to his chest. In it was Carrew's shank, which Bolan had taken from the wheelchair when he'd fallen. He stuffed it down his shirt.

  "You mother," Carrew said, groping under the seat of his chair, finding nothing. He looked angry enough to lunge at Bolan, but the Executioner was already failing in step next to the gum-chewing guard. The other prisoners looked away as the two men marched by, as if they didn't want to be able to testify later.

  Once they were out of sight of the open cells, the guard threw Bolan up against the wall, pressing his baton into the base of Bolan's skull as he frisked him. He pulled Carrew's shank out of Bolan's shirt. "Beena bad boy, Blue."

  "Just something to sew my torn shirt."

  He shoved Bolan ahead of him as they continued down the hallway. Bolan watched the guard unlock the door to the corridor for solitary confinement cells. They were hardly ever used to lock up prisoners, though they were a popular spot for boozing, shooting up or just passing a joint around.

  "What's this all about?" Bolan asked innocently.

  "Whaddya think, fish?"

  "Maybe my pardon came from the governor?"

  "Yeah," the guard snorted, "I want ya to meet the governor and his staff." He prodded Bolan ahead of him down the dim hallway. The doors on either side began opening. Three rough-looking men with shanks stood sneering at Bolan. And finally at the end of the walkway, Rodeo stepped out, his fists fitted with heavy brass knuckles with sharp one-inch spikes protruding from each knuckle.

  9

  "Wait outside," Rodeo told the guard, who grinned and left. The door closed behind him with a hollow thud.

  Bolan was silent. He eyeballed each man carefully, analyzing from the way they moved what their strengths and weaknesses were. He didn't find many weaknesses.

  The three men faced Bolan in the narrow corridor like a wall of malignant flesh, their hard thick bodies tense and bristling. The flat, crudely made blades shone dully in their hands.

  Behind them, Rodeo chuckled.

  There was no way out. On the other side of the door, their bribed guard was waiting. On this side, three armed bone-crushers and one bald giant with spikes on his knuckles.

  Some choice.

  "You boys can cut him up some," Rodeo was telling them, "but I want him alive." He hoisted his studded knuckles. "For these. My tenderizers."

  Bolan fell into his combat stance, feet apart, weight evenly distributed. The corridor was too narrow for any fancy moves, but if he could get the knife away from one of those guys, he might just have a chance. Slim, but a chance.

  The first to step forward was the heavy one with the matted hair on his arms and neck, the one whose face Bolan had ground to guacamole dip earlier that day. The nose was pushed to the left now with blood crusted darkly at each nostril. Raw tracks swirled across his face where the skin had been raked away.

  "Easy, Bradley," Rodeo cautioned.

  "Watch him." Bradley lumbered forward, his long blade stabbing the air in front of Bolan.

  Bolan backed up, keeping a few feet between him and Bradley. He watched the hands, the shank flipping back and forth between them as the man with the raw face tried to catch Bolan by surprise. "Get his nuts," one of the other guys encouraged. The third man nodded, but didn't say anything. He was the one whose teeth Bolan had kicked out. Bolan glanced over his shoulder at the thick glass window in the door. The guard who'd escorted him here had his face pressed against the glass. He was grinning, chewing his gum excitedly. He reminded Bolan of those guys who like to watch dogfights, cheering the dogs on until one has gnawed through the other's throat, leaving his dying body convulsing in the dirt.

  "Come on, big man," Bradley said. His eyes looked huge and white set in that pulpy skinless face. His knife tattooed the air in front of Bolan's face.

  The Executioner backed up another step, but there was only three feet between his back and the door.

  He didn't want to get cornered here, so he had to make his move. Soon. He feinted to the left, then kicked up his right foot, trying to catch Bradley's knife hand. But this time the heavy man was ready. He pivoted away from Bolan's foot and slashed at it with his shank. The knife caught Bolan low on the shin, slicing through his heavy pants and socks, plowing open a furrow of skin all the way to the bone. Bolan felt the blade's bite, the blood soaking into his sock.

  Bradley's eyes lit up when he realized he drew blood. Bolan could swear the man began to drool as he grew even hungrier for more. He plunged forward, a little too anxiously, his shank flicking upward toward Bolan's face. The Executioner yanked himself back just as the blade hissed by his right eye. Then he ducked under the knife, knocked Bradley's arm into the wall and drove his fist straight into the fat man's throat. Bradley managed to tuck his chin down enough to deflect much of the punch's power, but still he staggered back from the blow, flopping against the door of one of the solitary confinement cells.

  He clutched at his throat with one hand, rasping while his other hand swung his knife at Bolan like a scythe. He moved toward Bolan on unsteady legs, his knife arcing back and forth, sizzling through the humid air. Bolan was backing up again. The shank nipped closer and closer to his stomach. Behind him, the door was only two feet away, the guard grinning through the glass. Bolan looked up from the probing knife into Bradley's savaged face. The scab tracks made him look even wilder, almost deranged. C'mon, Bolan thought, this isn't where it all ends. Not yet. Not here. Too much to do. For Hal, for April. For himself. The Executioner shrugged off the defeatist thoughts. He parried a quick thrust from Bradley and decided he'd played the guy's game long enough.

  With no weapon and no place to run, he took a giant step back, his shoulders bumping into the door, then slid under the chopping blade, knocking Bradley's thick legs out from under him. The knifer toppled over and Bolan was on him like flames on gasoline. He twisted the shank out of the dazed man's hand, lifted the blade over his head with both hands and plunged it into Bradley's chest, puncturing the heart. Blood sprayed up over his hands and along his forearms. The struggling body went flaccid beneath him and he yanked the bloody knife out and faced Rodeo and his two men.

  They stood unmoving.

  Bolan glanced over his shoulder and saw the guard was no longer peering in the window. Had he gone to get help? No time to worry about that now. Bolan still had three armed men to face, and they weren't going to make the mistake of coming at him one at a time.

  The door behind him burst open and Lyle Carrew sat there in his wheelchair, shaking his head at what he saw. "A party and no one invited me?" He rolled through the door, his wheels running over the hands of the unconscious guard.

  "Stay out of this, Carrew," Rodeo said. "Ain't none of your business."

  "I don't know about that, man. This fella stole my shank, then lets your bozo guard take it away from him. Guy like that needs a lesson."

  Rodeo smiled, fingered his braided hair. "Just what he's about to get. You welcome to join in, get a piece."

  Carrew tapped his shank against his palm, thinking.

  "Nah,
I guess not. Guess I'll just take him back to the cell and handle it my way."

  "No way," the toothless henchman growled.

  "Boone's right, Carrew. You best get your ass the hell out of here. Otherwise you're buying his trouble. That what you want?"

  "Nope. It surely isn't." He backed up into the doorway, his wheelchair holding the door open, but blocking any exit. He dropped his shank into his lap, then began tugging at the armrest of his chair. It popped free. "I told this big dumb guy that he was on his own. That you'd be eating his liver for dinner."

  "What're you doing?" Rodeo asked, stepping closer.

  "I warned him. Didn't I warn you, Blue?"

  "You warned me," Bolan said.

  Carrew nodded. "See? I warned him." He pulled a piece of the aluminum tubing free from the chair. It was about a foot long. Then he began dismantling some of the spokes from the large wheel of his chair. They popped right out. "Me, I'm only in for a few days, maybe a few weeks, depending on how pissed that judge is that I yelled at. Contempt of court, no big deal. Am I right?"

  "He's right," Bolan said to Rodeo.

  Carrew twisted the spokes into six-inch lengths.

  They looked to Bolan as if they'd been specially made that way, to break into those sections. Carrew leaned over the side of his chair and pried the unconscious guard's mouth open, probing inside with his fingers, then smiled when he found what he was looking for. The wad of chewing gum.

  "What the hell you doing?" Rodeo snarled.

  "Minding my own business, man. The only difference is...." He tore a hunk of gum from the wad, rolled it into a ball between his thumb and fingers, then stuck it on the end of one of the wire spokes. He inserted the spoke into the cylinder, put the tube to his mouth and pointed it at toothless Boone.

  Carrew sucked in his breath, and puffed his cheeks out as he blew into the tubing. The makeshift dart whooshed down the corridor and pierced Boone's throat just below the Adam's apple.