Читать книгу Hostile Odds - Don Pendleton - Страница 12

“Move!”

Bolan shoved the waitress away from the charging SUV and followed on her heels. They ran like hell and rounded the corner of the building in time to avoid being run down. Bolan heard the tires grind to a stop on the broken asphalt and crushed gravel of the alleyway, followed by the reports of automatic-weapons fire.

Louise emitted a sudden cry and stumbled, but Bolan caught her before she fell and helped her along the sidewalk. They reached the cover of the building front and then raced across the street. Bolan released her arm when he sensed she regained her balance. He took the lead and commanded her to follow him to his car.

As they climbed into the rental simultaneously and closed the doors, Bolan quipped, “Friends of yours?”

“I thought about asking you the same question,” she shot back.

Bolan bit off a reply as he peeled out to a side street, leaving hot rubber on the pavement. The SUV rolled up on their tail in no time flat. Bolan’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then he glanced at the waitress. He didn’t fail to notice the very nice pair of legs that emerged from the skirt of her uniform. Not the legs of a middle-aged woman. From that distance he could also see there weren’t the usual facial wrinkles, which left him to deduce she wasn’t in her forties as he’d originally guessed.

“That’s a good makeup job,” he said. “Your FBI contacts have real talent.”

“You know who I am?” she asked, although she expressed only mild surprise.

Bolan nodded. “I recognized you from the field office in Siskiyou County.”

“I recognized you, too,” she said. “That’s why I’d hoped you poke around for a few days, get bored and leave.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Bolan replied. “Think you can handle the wheel?”

The back windows shattered under the impact of fresh autofire before she could answer. Glass shards rained onto the pair, but fortunately didn’t injure either of them. When Bolan did a closer inspection of his occupant, however, he noticed her bleeding from her right arm. She’d probably been grazed back at the restaurant when they were fleeing on foot.

“I can do better than that,” she said. “Give me your gun.”

“What?”

“Your pistol.”

Bolan shook his head curtly. “No dice.”

“Listen, mister, I’m grateful for all your help, but this is FBI business.”

“It’s my business,” Bolan said but on afterthought he decided to hand over his Beretta. “Okay, I’ll drive, you shoot.”

“Such a gentleman,” she teased.

She twisted until her knees were in the seat and faced rearward. Bolan could see her level the pistol, expertly using a modified Weaver’s grip, her forearms braced on the top edge of the seat to the right of the headrest. A moment later, she squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession. She followed that with a second volley.

Bolan watched in his rearview mirror as the SUV swerved to avoid the shots. The first volley left sparks on the grille but didn’t appear to have any effect. The latter triburst spiderwebbed the windshield, effectively blocking the driver’s field of vision, and Bolan noticed the passenger’s side spattered with red. Obviously one of the woman’s shots had scored. The Executioner decided to take advantage of the driver’s obscured sight. He rolled down the passenger’s side window and grabbed hold of his new ally as he slammed on the brakes and steered into the deserted oncoming lane.

The SUV shot past them.

Bolan snatched the pistol from the woman as he accelerated and ordered her to take cover. He came parallel with the SUV and thumbed the selector to 3-round bursts before squeezing the trigger. The slide ratcheted obediently—extracted one casing after another—as the warrior put three 9 mm Parabellum rounds in the driver. The SUV swerved off the road, jumped the curb and collided with a massive pine tree. Bolan didn’t even slow down when the engine ignited. They were more than two blocks away when they heard the rumble of an explosion.

“Damn!” the waitress said. “Pretty nice work, mister!”

“Not bad yourself,” Bolan replied. “Now, let’s find some place to talk.”

THE PLACE ENDED UP being a forest preserve about sixteen miles outside Timber Vale. Bolan didn’t mind the drive. It gave both of them time to decompress while affording him the advantage to watch for tails. Once convinced no one followed, he turned onto a road indicated by his companion, stopped in a shaded area near a small lake and killed the engine.

“You want to explain what happened back there?” Bolan asked.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Not much for small talk, are you?”

“Not when someone’s trying to kill me.”

“You’re of no interest to them,” she said. “Besides, you don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll protect you.”

“I’ll bet.”

“So what do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with your real name, because I’m pretty sure it isn’t Louise.”

She extended a hand and replied, “Special Agent Sandra Newbury, FBI. I’m here on temporary assignment.”

“And your handler,” Bolan interjected. “I bet his name’s Kellogg.”

“How’d you know?”

“Same reason I knew you worked for the FBI,” Bolan said. “I recognized you when I was there.”

She laughed—a nice laugh. “Guess I’m getting sloppy.”

“Guess so. What’s Kellogg have you doing up here?”

“It’s a long story.”

Bolan frowned. “I have time.”

Newbury blew out a breath through pursed lips, then laid her head against the headrest and stared at the lake. “I was assigned here by Washington. I’m what they call a flip. I travel a lot, take undercover cases and then once the job’s done I move on. I specialize in fitting into particular areas or groups, but I’m never in for any long-term gigs. You probably hear or even know of the ones who go under for months and months, many times even years, and then after that they do regular fieldwork.”

Bolan nodded. He’d known many in the law-enforcement community who did such work—even a few he counted as friends.

“Anyway, I was assigned to get inside the Timber Vale community,” Newbury continued. “It’s gone a lot longer than maybe it should have. We’ve long suspected corruption by organized-crime elements up in this neck of the woods, and what I’ve seen in recent weeks makes me think more and more we’re right.”

“You’re talking about Mickey Gowan and clan.”

“Right again! Sounds like you know your way around here. You work for Washington also?”

Bolan shook his head. “No, but we’ll get into that later. Right now, I need to know everything you can tell me about Gowan’s operations up here.”

“Afraid I can’t tell you much,” Newbury replied with a shrug. “Especially since I don’t even know who you work for or your clearance level.”

“Much higher than yours. I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me on that and everything else I tell you. I don’t have any credentials with me to prove what I’m saying, not that I feel I have to.”

“Then what makes you think I should cooperate with you?”

“Mainly because I saved your tail back there,” Bolan countered. “That should be enough proof I’m on your side.”

Newbury’s resolve seemed to melt some, as did her defensive expression. “I suppose I do owe you one on that count. How about at least a name?”

“I gave it to you last night. Cooper.”

Newbury nodded. “Cooper it is, although I’m betting it’s a cover. Anyway, it was just luck of the draw you came along when you did. Thanks.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it. I’d planned to follow up on a lead I got with you, once I realized who you were and where I’d seen you before.”

“A lead on what?”

“About a week ago, a pair of F-15s was shot down at Kingsley Airfield.”

Newbury nodded and said evenly, “I heard about that. My brother happens to be a pilot for the Texas Air National Guard. I’m a little more sensitive when I hear about those kinds of things. It reminds me just how short life is.”

“It can be,” Bolan replied.

“But I thought that was ruled an accident,” she said.

“That’s what they’re telling the press. In reality, we think the Earth Liberation Front might have been responsible.”

“Doesn’t sound like their MO. And besides, what does any of this have to do with Mickey Gowan and my case?” she asked.

“I’m coming to that. My intelligence on Gowan shows he’s funneling monies through the local businesses all along this region for the ELF. Giving them a place to store their cash, launder funds, the works. Neither the Justice Department nor the IRS would look hard at a community of this size, particularly if the growth rate wasn’t significant. Timber Vale’s the perfect place for Gowan’s operations.”

“Okay, but for what purpose? If Gowan allows the businesses around here to get hurt, that’s only going to look bad on him.”

“Not if he’s using those business to pipeline cash but making the individual business owners sign receivership,” Bolan said. “Think about it. He fronts the ELF’s money to the business owners. He can show those as legitimate business transactions to the ELF, make them think he’s doing it to protect their funds. Then somebody defaults and he lets it get back to the ELF the receivers have stolen the money. The ELF then takes it out on the individuals and Gowan gets away squeaky clean with the embezzled funds.”

“And after it’s over, he then comes in and restores the thing at a quarter of the cost,” Newbury concluded. “Nobody’s the wiser!”

“Right.”

Newbury looked at Bolan with utter surprise. “It’s ingenious if true.”

“That’s a big if right now,” Bolan admitted. “What I need is some corroborating evidence. And I need you to help me get it.”

“How?”

“Keep doing what you’ve been doing,” he said.

“That’ll be tougher now that Gowan’s people are onto me,” Newbury replied.

“Those weren’t Gowan’s people,” Bolan replied. “They were too well-trained and -equipped. Gowan’s men are thugs and hoods, nothing more. Those guys weren’t maybe the brightest of the bunch, but they were definitely experts in their field.”

“But why would the ELF come after me?”

Bolan had to admit he didn’t have an answer to that question. He didn’t have any proof the men who attacked Newbury weren’t from Gowan, but his instinct told him otherwise and Bolan always listened to it. No, those men were after more than the rent money.

“What kind of questions did they ask?”

“They wanted to know where Earl was, who owned the place…stuff like that.”

“Mickey Gowan doesn’t own that restaurant?”

She shook her head. “Too small. I actually got hired there by Earl about two months back. Earl did all the resupply, ordered things whenever I asked him, signed all the checks. I just assumed Earl owned the place, so I figured it was a good place to keep my cover while I poked into other business ventures.”

“I know Gowan owns the mill,” Bolan said.

Newbury nodded. “As well as the mercantile, bank and just about everything else in Timber Vale. He doesn’t do much with the small businesses, but he’s got his teeth into all the major capital ventures.”

“Good,” the Executioner said with a nod. “I’ll need a list of those as soon as you can get them to me.”

Newbury batted her eyelashes and said, “Still not going to tell me who you work for?”

Bolan shook his head. “No, and I’d appreciate if you don’t ask me anymore.”

“Fine,” she said. She folded her arms and said, “So what now?”

“You have someplace safe you can go?”

She nodded. “I can wait at a friend’s house until Kellogg gets up here.”

“Not good,” Bolan said. “I don’t trust Kellogg, and I think it’s better if you don’t contact him.”

“He’s my handler,” Newbury protested. “I have to call him.”

“I don’t trust Kellogg,” he repeated.

Newbury sighed. “You think he’s in bed with Gowan.”

“Yeah. You?”

Something in Newbury’s eyes betrayed she had similar feelings. Bolan had wondered why the inaction on Kellogg’s part.

“I don’t have a shred of proof but…well, I’ve suspected for some time. It’s hard not to get a pretty clear picture of what’s going on in smaller communities like Siskiyou County or up here in Timber Vale. Kellogg knows a lot of people, and he seems to have trouble keeping a low profile.”

“Likes to be in the limelight,” Bolan cut in.

“Exactly. And when you mention you don’t trust him, then that just seems to confirm my own suspicions and tells me I’m not crazy.”

“So for now I’d say keep quiet and don’t rattle too many cages,” Bolan said as he started the car.

“We’re leaving?”

“I’ll drop you off at my motel, and then I’ve got a few more things to take care of before I start work tomorrow morning at the mill.”

Newbury scratched at her head and finally yanked off her wig in unceremonious fashion. Bolan could see the cause of her discomfort. She’d used an assortment of rubber bands and metal clips to wind her dark hair against her head. She began to pull them loose one by one as Bolan pulled onto the road.

“So you convinced MacDermott to give you a job.”

“You know him, eh?”

She nodded. “He comes into the diner all the time.”

“You trust him?”

“Hell no!” Newbury popped a stick of gum in her mouth before adding, “Mac’s a braggart and a loudmouth. He’s also known for tipping them back a little too often.” She made a drinking gesture.

“That should prove helpful,” Bolan said. “Heavy drinking’s a weakness. Maybe I can use it to get under his skin.”

“Just be careful you don’t get too deep,” she said.

“I can take care of myself.”

“Maybe…but keep your eyes open anyway. The MacDermott fan club has quite a membership.”

“Is he on Gowan’s payroll?”

“Better believe it.” Newbury completed the task of removing the hair restraints. She tossed her head back and forth and lowered the window, and her long, thick strands of red-brown hair blew easily under the high-speed breezes.

Bolan thought he smelled something like apples or strawberries, but the scent quickly faded. “What’s his angle?”

“Mac’s a piece of work. I know he resents working under Mickey Gowan. He’s been heard mouthing off about that more than once. I know he went toe-to-toe with one of Gowan’s right-hand men a few months back, a guy by the name of Billy Moran.”

“Yeah, Moran’s no longer with us.”

Newbury looked at Bolan in shock. From her expression she knew good and well what Bolan meant by the comment. He looked for something more there, but he didn’t get anything. He still had no real reason to trust Newbury, but for now he only needed her for information.

“Like I said,” Newbury said more quietly, “Mac hits the sauce pretty often and pretty hard. And he likes his women, too. Considers himself somewhat of a ladies’ man. He’s even hit on me a few times at the restaurant. Usually it’s after the bars close and he’s been out most of the night. I always just tell him I have a boyfriend and that seems to satisfy him.”

“Well, if you need somebody to actually stand in for the part, give me a call.”

Newbury burst into laughter. “You know, that’s about the most gentlemanly offer I’ve had in quite a while. Say, you mind if I ask you something?”

Bolan shook his head.

“This other business you have to do. What exactly is it?”

Bolan considered the question a moment and then shrugged. “When I went to the mill for my little job interview this morning, some of MacDermott’s guys searched my vehicle. I expected they would, so I didn’t leave anything incriminating inside of it. Still, that tells me they’re up to something. I need to find out what it is, make sure if I get chummy with this MacDermott I’m not going to get blindsided.”

“Okay, sure, but what exactly are you going to do?” Newbury pressed.

“Simple. I’m going to do exactly what they’re hoping I’ll do,” Bolan said.

“Which is?”

“Pick a fight.”