The President seemed ill at ease, uncomfortable in Bolan's presence, and the soldier sympathized. But he had called the meet, and he would have to carry it from here.
"I understand that you've been busy since... the last time we talked."
"Yes, sir."
"I wanted to inform you, for the record, that we weren't behind that business down in Texas."
"I'm aware of that, sir."
"You're aware that I've already spoken to your friend about his family."
Bolan nodded, waiting.
"This is a disgusting business. Women, children placed at risk. I've offered full assistance in recovering the hostages."
"Too risky," Bolan told him. "It's a one-man job."
The presidential frown showed more concern than irritation. "So I've been informed, and I accept the judgment of professionals. But you must realize my options are severely limited." The frown was growing deeper, cutting furrows in the famous face. "Considering the other circumstances, evidence of impropriety..."
"A frame-up, sir."
"I understand your feelings, and your loyalty does you credit. Blind faith is a luxury that I'm unable to afford."
"I've got my eyes wide open," Bolan told him, "and my vision's fine. It doesn't take an analyst to see the circumstances are related."
"I agree. But in the absence of supporting evidence on Hal... your friend's behalf..."
"You'll have the evidence you need. What I need now is time."
"And there's the rub." The President was looking past him, through the tinted windows, studying the trees. "I would anticipate that your solution to the problem may involve... extraordinary incidents?"
"It's possible."
"Extraordinary incidents produce extraordinary coverage by the media. Demands for action, for results. A public outcry, condemnation of police officials."
Bolan spread his hands. "I couldn't rule it out."
"That kind of bad publicity could be disastrous for your friend. It wouldn't do to clear him of corruption charges and convict him of consorting with a fugitive."
It was the soldier's turn to frown. "I only know one way to play the game and get results," he said. "I haven't got a lot of time to spare right now, and anything I do is going to happen fast. You've set a Monday deadline?"
"I've done nothing of the sort. Officially, I haven't spoken to your friend, and I most certainly have not been here with you today. If everything is status quo when he returns from holiday on Tuesday morning, fine. If not..."
"Whichever way it goes, it shouldn't take that long," the warrior said.
And in his heart he knew it must not take that long. Once he began to rattle cages in the capital, the enemy's reaction would be virtually immediate. Whichever way it went it should all be settled by this time tomorrow. Any effort to prolong the siege would only jeopardize the hostages, increase the odds against their safe return. Those odds were long enough already, Bolan realized, becoming impatient.
"I'm on a schedule," he informed the President, "so if there's nothing else..."
"Just one more thing." The voice was solemn, soft, almost a whisper now. "For some time now, I've wanted to express my personal condolences about... what happened in Virginia."
''That isn't necessary, sir.''
"I think it is. I feel a sense of shared responsibility for... everything. The lapses in security..."
"Were not your ultimate responsibility," the soldier finished for him.
"Dammit, I reject that categorically. The ultimate responsibility will always rest with me, my office. I make no attempt to shirk that burden."
"Fine, if that's the way you want it." Bolan felt his irritation creeping closer to the surface.
"I believe you should reconsider coming back to Phoenix."
He had been expecting it from the beginning, and he didn't have to think about his answer. "That's impossible."
"I understand your feelings, but..."
"No, sir," the soldier cut him off, "I don't believe you do."
"All right, I had that coming. But I also have a reason for suggesting that you reconsider your decision at this time."
"There's nothing that would change my mind."
"Not even if I told you I have reason to believe that some of Farnsworth's friends are still among us? Still at the CIA?"
The warrior stiffened, one hand on the door handle. Lee Farnsworth was the ranking Agency official who had set the wheels in motion for the strike on Stony Man. He was — had been — responsible for April's death, for all the others, and upon identifying Farnsworth as his enemy, the warrior had eliminated him without compunction. After handing in his resignation from the Phoenix Program, he had executed Farnsworth in the Oval Office, with the President and Hal Brognola looking on.
"Who are they?"
"No names yet, unfortunately, but if you were back in-house..."
"That's negative. I've got a job to do already."
"Well, if you should change your mind, the option's open — but distinctly limited in terms of time."
He got the message loud and clear. If Bolan chose to spurn the offer of another governmental sanction, he could not expect a free ride over and above the business with Brognola. Fair enough. He had been warned, and it was more than he had any right to expect in the circumstances. Bolan recognized the President's dilemma, knew that he could not appear to countenance a wild-assed vigilante tearing up the streets of Washington and sniping at the CIA. Once he had settled with Brognola's enemies, if he was still alive, it would be open season on Mack Bolan once again.
"Good day, sir."
There was something close to anguish in the eyes that met and held his own. "You think about it, son. Don't throw your life away for nothing."
"Sir, it never crossed my mind."
The Secret Service agents watched him closely as he climbed out of the limousine, their shades incongruous in the descending dusk. They let him pass, but Bolan cleared the trees before he began to relax completely, part of him expecting lethal rounds to slam between his shoulder blades at any instant.
He was clear for now, but in his heart and mind the Executioner was far from being free. The mention of Lee Farnsworth and his friends at the CIA, had opened wounds and stirred old ghosts to life again. Those spirits traveled with the soldier, reaching out to touch him, whispering their message as he cleared the park.
Their message of revenge.
And there was suddenly a great deal more at stake in Wonderland than Hal Brognola's family, his twenty years at Justice. Suddenly, the memories of Stony Man, of April Rose, Konzaki and the rest were back full-force. He could not shake them off, and there was only one way that he knew of to appease their hunger.
They would need an offering of blood, and once he had secured Helen, seen Brognola's children safely home — God willing — he would turn his full attention to the hunt for Farnsworth's cronies in the Agency.
10
There is another Washington concealed behind the spit and polish of the nation's capital. In place of monuments to presidents and heroes, shabby houses testify to broken dreams; children run the streets by day and night, collecting into gangs for self-protection, striking out in anger at society's indifference. The alternate reality of Washington is rich in violence, boasting crime rates that have placed the seat of government among the ten most lethal cities in America. From time to time the mayhem overflows its teeming reservoir and laps against the steps of Congress, leaving bloody stains on Pennsylvania Avenue.