Caribbean Kill Part 10

"Sanctuary, eh," Bolan commented.

"Yes. And you have heard of the syndicate money man who has taken sanctuary in Israel?"

Bolan nodded. "Who hasn't?"

"Well, couriers travel frequently between Tel Aviv and Port au Prince."

Bolan's eyebrows went up. "You aren't speaking of official government couriers."

"No."

Bolan said, "I see."

"My department fears a choking network of influence reaching from the Mediterranean to the Caribbean. And all centering about this untouchable Sir Edward Stuart."

"You're not suggesting that the Israeli and Haitian governments are cooking up-"

"Of course not. This is entirely a syndicate matter, not a political one."

"I have the feeling you're trying to sell me something, Evita," Bolan said soberly.

"But no, I am selling nothing. It is right that you should head for the home ground, as you say. Caribe will keep for another time."

She was wearing an entirely new hat now, Bolan decided.

He said, "Sure."

She said, "I speak, of course, from the greatest confidence. Sir Edward Stuart is the new Meyer Lansky of the western world. I thought you should know this. And that he enjoys the protection of the Haitian borders. He cannot be touched by any law, anywhere."

"Except one, eh?" Bolan replied, sighing. She smiled and said, "Yes, except perhaps one."

"You're absolutely certain of the game?" She soberly nodded her head. "The game is absolute."

Bolan fiddled with "the safety of the Thompson. "Okay," he said gruffly. Til look in on Haiti on my way out."

She gazed into the palms of her hands and said, in the now familiar mimicry of Bolan's gruffness, "Okay. And good luck."

And Bolan knew that he'd been had by an expert. He said, "You told me earlier that you had friends in high places. How high?"

She smiled and replied, "High enough." High enough to set up an executioner. Sure. He said, "There are no police lines at Puerta Vista, are there."

Very quietly she told him, "Not that one may notice. I I am the police line, Mack Bolan." am the police line, Mack Bolan."

He sighed and said, "I guess it's about time you proved that."

Smiling rather sadly, she opened her blouse and freed the sculpted b.r.e.a.s.t.s from the confining bra.s.siere. She turned the cups out, parted the fabric liner, and removed a small sc.r.a.p of vinyl material. Reproduced upon the vinyl was a miniaturized identification card, complete with photo and official embossment. Bolan sighed and gave it ack to her.

He watched her get herself back together, then he said, "Well, it's been a h.e.l.l of a war game, hasn't it. You couldn't have set it up all the way, though. You've been playing it by ear, haven't you."

She said, "Yes. From the moment I realized that you were at Gla.s.s Bay. I spoke the truth, however, concerning the strike force. They are present, and they do strongly desire your body. I was ordered to do whatever possible to insure that you met death at Gla.s.s Bay. That failing, I was to attempt to contact you and lead you to San Juan, where you would be forcibly met. But then you you contacted contacted me me, and in a most dramatic manner." She tapped her breast. "I also have certain discretions which I may employ as the occasion may demand. If this is is what you say playing by ear..." She shrugged and looked away. what you say playing by ear..." She shrugged and looked away.

He told her, "You do a great bedroom scene, Big Eve. Another discretion?"

"I will admit that it began deliberately," she replied. "But it did not continue in that fas.h.i.+on. You must remember that."

Bolan would never forget. He smiled soberly and said, "Well, from one pro to another, I have to admire your footwork. So okay. You think I should hit the guy in Haiti. Can I rely on your identification?"

"Positively."

"But this is not an official request from the government of Puerto Rico."

"No. This is an official suggestion from one pro to another."

He grinned. "Do your discretionary powers allow another farewell kiss?"

She threw herself into the embrace, melting against him with a new high of fervor. After a moment he pulled away and told her, "h.e.l.l, Eve, that's not farewell."

Before she could reply, the windmill sounds of a rotary wing aircraft stole between them and sent them hurrying to their stations.

There had been no further opportunity for personal communications throughout the next few minutes, and the tense journey to Puerta Vista had been marked by a brooding silence on the part of each, except for the terse commands required for the success of the mission. *

And then they were down, and hurrying forward to the rendezvous with Juan Escadrillo. Bolan found himself appreciating this new hat of Evita's as much as any of the others.

She was an Eve measuring considerably larger than life.

She was, In a sense, a female Executioner.

The ldd was in a hard sweat and stumbling all over his own breath.

"Senor Bolan!" he cried. "I feared you would not cornel" Bolan!" he cried. "I feared you would not cornel"

Bolan squeezed the boy's shoulders with both hands and said, "What's the panic, Juan? Couldn't you get the boat?"

"Si, I have the boat. But..."

"But what?"

"They have my Rosalital"

Bolan groaned, "Oh h.e.l.l."

"They say they will feed her to the sharksl They say it is a trade, you you for for her her."

Calmly, Evita said, "Tell us what happened, Juan."

The boy's eyes dropped and he replied, "I did not follow the instructions. Rosalita did not wish to go to my uncle's without me. She insisted upon remaining with me and waiting in the truck while I conduct the business." The agonized gaze lifted in a search of Bolan's impa.s.sive face. "I allowed her to do so. It is my fault, all of it."

"What do they want you to do, Juan?" Bolan asked him.

"They wish that I go on as though nothing is changed. I am simply to meet you and take you to the boat." The eyes fell again as he added, "They would not have learned these arrangements from me, senor senor, except that I am so fearful for Rosalita. These men are muy malo-very muy malo-very bad." bad."

Bolan could have told the kid that the muy malo muy malo men would have learned, with or without Rosalita. The girl simply provided them the delightful free kicker, the insurance ticket men would have learned, with or without Rosalita. The girl simply provided them the delightful free kicker, the insurance ticket Evita commented, "Why did they not simply spring the trap here? Why take the chance with Juan?"

She was not that familiar with the Mafia mind. Bolan was.

It was another example of super-care, super strategy for the super kill. When they could control a situation, they controlled it to the finest detail. The one thing they had not taken into account was Juan Escadrillo's monumental faith in Mack Bolan. The kid was placing the whole thing in Bolan's hands, confident that he would handle the situation to Rosalita's best advantage.

Bolan asked Juan, "How did they get onto us?"

"They are watching every one, every where. I did not know this, but they have enlisted spies from the men of the village."

Bolan nodded. "Okay, I should have known better. My goof, Juan, not yours, so stop hating yourself. I gave them too d.a.m.n much time. All right, Juan, what's the plot?"

"The plot is this. I am to take you to the fisherman's wharf, at the center of town. This is the market place, and also the place where the sporting boats and the commercial fishers are kept. The boat I have hired for you has been moved to the end of the wharf. Next to this is the other boat, the one in which they hold my Rosalita."

Bolan was thinking of Monte Carlo and a very similar setup involving Tony Lavagni. The old trig-german was at least a consistent planner.

"This is a very powerful-what you call a cruiser, a sportfis.h.i.+ng boat. We will have to walk directly past it in order to reach your boat."

"And they have Rosalita aboard the cruiser," Bolan commented.

"Si. They tell me to be very careful, and my Rosalita will not be harmed. Otherwise..." The boy s.h.i.+vered. "... they will chop her into little pieces and use her for fis.h.i.+ng bait."

"We won't let that happen," Bolan a.s.sured him.

"Rosalita sends this message. She says you should not think of her, nor of me, but that you should guard your own treasures, Mack Bolan."

Bolan's eyes were glinting crystals of ice.

He said, "That's exactly what I'm going to do, Juan."

Chapter Eleven.

BREAKOUT.

Puerta Vista was located in one of the less scenic areas of the Caribbean coast. The sh.o.r.eline was rocky, the natural harbor was small and shallow, and tourist accommodations in the tiny village were minimal and unpretentious. Puerta Vista was a fis.h.i.+ng village, and most who lived there made their living from the sea.

The community wharf area reflected this state of existence. It was primarily a marketplace and the center of local activity. The wharf itself fronted the entire central district and provided mooring facilities for the local fis.h.i.+ng fleet. A small area at the west end was reserved for "public" boats-the occasional non-commercial yacht or cruiser which might put into Puerta Vista for fuel or supplies.

To conserve docking s.p.a.ce, the harbormaster had some years earlier inst.i.tuted the "Mediterranean moor" as the docking method at Puerta Vista. This is a stern-to technique, with the boats backed into the dockage and secured by stern lines to the wharf, bow lines to buoys. Using this method, Puerta Vista had managed to accommodate her local commercial fleet while maintaining open wharf.a.ge for the growing numbers of pleasure boats which had lately begun making port calls.

The setup pleased Tony Lavagni immensely. The public dock s.p.a.ce was well removed from the market area, and something like a hundred feet of open wharf separated his cruiser from the nearest fis.h.i.+ng boat.

The old salvage rig which had been hired for Bolan's escape was tied up right next door, to the west of the cruiser, and these were the only two boats in the public dock.

A warehouse of corrugated sheet metal stood between this end of the wharf and the town. Bolan would have to walk along the entire western side of the wharf in order to reach his boat. He would also have to pa.s.s behind the cruiser. The only other way was through or over the warehouse, and Quick Tony had made provisions for that route also. As for swimming in-forget it. Quick Tony Lavagni was not born yesterday.

So he was ready, the taste of victory strong on his palate. Even if somehow Bolan should manage to get past them and onto his boat, he'd never make it out of the harbor. This "Med moor" bit was tailor-made for a fast getaway. The guy had told him that the U.S. Navy used the method for its Sixth Fleet operations in the Mediterranean, so they could haul out of port on a moment's notice, without all the d.i.c.king around with tugs and c.r.a.p trying to get underway.

Bolan might like the setup too, naturally. As long as he didn't think there was any chance of a hot pursuit out of that place. The cruiser could run rings around that falling-apart salvage boat, so just let the hotshot b.a.s.t.a.r.d try some of his razzle-dazzle around here. He'd find out d.a.m.n quick how far he could get with it.

Tony had six guns on the cruiser itself, and two of those were heavy automatics. He had two boys up on top of the warehouse with shotguns, and two more inside. He had boys spotted all along that wharf, mixing it up with the local yokels and ready to fall in behind Bolan and plug any escape out the back door. And he had a boy stationed on the salvage rig, just for the ldcker. Bolan, Quick Tony was absolutely certain, would never set a foot on that boat It was a lot different here than at Monte Carlo. If it hadn't been for police interference, Lavagni would have nailed Bolan at Monte Carlo and ended all the anguish once and for all.

But there would be no such interference here. The village had one hick constable or something, sheriff maybe, a real comedian with a uniform like a Manhattan hotel doorman and about the same police ability.

Also, Tony had this time been given plenty of time to set the thing up properly. He had Bolan right where he wanted him, by the b.a.l.l.s that's where that's where, and Quick Tony could hardly wait to start squeezing.

Nothing could go wrong, nothing. Even if the kid suddenly lost his mind and tipped the thing to Bolan-even that wouldn't change anything.

Bolan fancied himself as a Sir Galahad or something when it came to the dames. He had even put his head on the block for a bunch of d.a.m.n French wh.o.r.es-if the guy had a weak point, that was it. He couldn't walk away from a dame in trouble.

The pregnant kid broad meant nothing at all to Tony Lavagni. He didn't let himself get involved with people that way. She wasn't a people people at all, she was just a at all, she was just a tool tool, and he'd use her any d.a.m.n way he could. He's shove a hook up her a.s.s and dangle her from the yardarm if he thought that would bring Bolan around.

Bolan knew that, too.

And Bolan was a sucker for people.

The guy had a real people problem.

And he was going to lose his G.o.dd.a.m.n head over that problem. His first mistake was in sending that dumb hick lad in to do a man's job. Lavagni couldn't understand Bolan pulling a stunt like that, unless the guy was really getting desperate. Or unless...

Quick Tony began to fidget. Maybe the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was just setting him up. Maybe he never intended to actually use that boat. Maybe he'd sent the Idd in as a diversion, nothing more. Maybe he was sucker-ing Tony into concentrating everything at Puerta Vista while he slipped out some other way.

Lavagni tried to dismiss the idea. h.e.l.l, he had to play the hand that was there, didn't he? Bolan was no G.o.d, he was no superman. Everybody made dumb mistakes now and then, even cagey s.h.i.+ts like Mack Bolan. Still, Quick Tony couldn't help wondering about...

He looked around and caught the eye of Joe Fini, crew chief on the cruiser. "Any word yet from Charlie?" he asked him.

Fini shook his head and replied in a near-whisper. "We been trying to raise him ever since we got docked. Maybe something's gone wrong with the radio. You want me to go down and try the car radio?"

Lavagni emphatically shook his head no. "Not now, h.e.l.l. What about Latigo?"

"We ain't heard nothing from him for two hours, since he went west."

"I told Charlie to send all those boys to Puerta Vista."

"Well they was covering a lot of territory," Fini whispered. "I guess it takes awhile to get 'em all back together. This radio stuff ain't all it's cracked up to be."

"What the h.e.l.l are you whispering about?"

Fini laughed self-consciously. "I guess it's just the mood around here. I feel like tip-toeing when I walk."

Lavagni growled, "Well tiptoe in there and see how our little madonna is making out. I don't want her losing her mind yet, I might need it"