Very quietly she told him, "Not that one may notice. I 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 breasts from the confining brassiere. She turned the cups out, parted the fabric liner, and removed a small scrap of vinyl material. Reproduced upon the vinyl was a miniaturized identification card, complete with photo and official embossment. Bolan sighed and gave it back to her.
He watched her get herself back together, then he said, "Well, it's been a hell 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 Glass 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 Glass Bay. That failing, I was to attempt to contact you and lead you to San Juan, where you would be forcibly met. But then youcontacted 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 iswhat 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 fashion. 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, "Hell, 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 odd was in a hard sweat and stumbling all over his own breath.
"SenorBolan!" he cried. "I feared you would not come!"
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 Rosalita!"
Bolan groaned, "Oh hell."
"They say they will feed her to the sharks! They say it is a trade, youfor 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 impassive 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, except that I am so fearful for Rosalita. These men are muy malo — verybad."
Bolan could have told the kid that the muy malomen 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 damn 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 triggerman was at least a consistent planner.
"This is a very powerful — what you call a cruiser, a sportfishing 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 shivered. "… they will chop her into little pieces and use her for fishing bait."
"We won't let that happen," Bolan assured 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 shoreline was rocky, the natural harbor was small and shallow, and tourist accommodations in the tiny village were minimal and unpretentious. Puerta Vista was a fishing 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 fishing 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 space, the harbormaster had some years earlier instituted 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 wharfage for the growing numbers of pleasure boats which had lately begun making port calls.
The setup pleased Tony Lavagni immensely. The public dock space was well removed from the market area, and something like a hundred feet of open wharf separated his cruiser from the nearest fishing boat.