Jody glared at him in fury, then motioned with his bandaged hand. "Down here."
The Executioner followed him through another room to a closet. Warren leaped on a brass pole and slid through the floor.
A fireman's pole!
The Executioner grabbed the pole and dropped into the blackness below.
There was no light, absolutely none at all.
Bolan guessed he had landed in a second-floor room on the far side of the hallway. He held his breath.
Hearing a movement to the left, he drew the silenced Beretta and fired three single shots.
Then the Executioner snapped on his cigarette lighter. The small flame revealed a figure cowering in the corner.
"Nice try, but you're still a dead man, Jody. Now how do you turnoff the juice?"
"It's on a timer."
"Where is the door in here?"
Jody pointed to the right in the flickering light.
"Open it."
Warren rose and opened the door. He looked into the hall. The slick, electrified surface seemed unchanged, except that now a charred wooden chair lay on the floor.
"Juice is off," Bolan said. "It must have burned out your reset."
Then Warren dashed into the hall, ran past two doorways and through a third.
Bolan caught the slamming door and stopped six steps behind Warren, realizing they were in the mechanical dart room with the patchwork linoleum floor.
Bolan watched the pimp and loan shark hopscotch across the floor, and followed exactly in his footsteps. Then his quarry burst into the mined room, tripped over the retaining wall and fell into the sand. He turned to Bolan with fear on his face.
Bolan stopped at the door, the Uzi up, amazement on his face.
"How the hell did you miss the mines?"
"I didn't. There's only one in here that's live. The rest are practice mines with no charges."
"Let's find the live one," Bolan said, triggering the Uzi into the sand, hoping one of the slugs would detonate the mine.
"No! That's not fair!"
"Tell Charlotte Albers about fair, you bastard." Shielded by the door, Bolan moved his fire to the other side of the room.
One slug found the right spot and the room exploded with a deafening roar that slammed the Executioner back into the dart room. He felt a sting on the arm that had been exposed, and saw a four-inch gash where shrapnel had penetrated. A red stream poured out.
He returned to the door. The mangled, bloody remains of Jody Warren were strewn near the far door.
"That one was for Charlotte and Charleen," Bolan said.
The electricity was still off in the hall. Bolan hurried across it to the end room, and found the black girl dressed in street clothes, waiting for him.
"Glad you won," she said. "I got everybody else out. Just the girls in trouble were here. I told them never to come back. I don't care about the bitches upstairs. We better split, cause the cops gonna be here in a couple of minutes."
Bolan nodded. He let the Uzi hang on its cord, and they paced out to the street.
The black girl looked at him.
"Don't know who you are, but thanks for the vermin extermination." She paused. "Hey, if you ever..." She stopped and shook her head.
"No way, girl. This man don't ever have to pay for his loving."
She grinned. "Been nice," she said. "Thanks again." She walked away into the Portland dawn.
As the Executioner got into his Thunderbird, the rain began again, soft and cleansing.
14
It was after 5:00 A.M. when Mack Bolan unlocked his hotel door and entered the room. He sensed someone there and crouched, then snapped on the light.
Johnny slept on the bed, fully clothed.
He sat up, rubbed his eyes and grinned.
"Guess I dropped off to sleep."
"Yeah." Bolan went to his suitcase, took out a first-aid kit and broke it open. Johnny was beside him in a minute, checking the slashed left arm, taking over. He cleaned it with a wet washcloth, doused it with antiseptic, put a compress over it and bandaged it tightly.
Mack Bolan inspected his wound, then put on a clean black jersey and looked at Johnny. "When is that ship due to dock?"
"At 13.30 hours, one-thirty, at Terminal One, berth fifteen."
"So it'll enter the mouth of the Columbia about daylight. I should be able to find it along the Columbia on the way."
"You need help?"
"I need two hours sleep. Then I'll be ready to go. See if any of the helicopter rental agencies are open yet. See if you can find one that has a pilot who flew choppers in Nam, and find out about renting a bird from eight o'clock to about noon, cash in advance."
Johnny nodded and turned to the phone book. Before he found what he was looking for, the Executioner was asleep.
At nine A.M. Bolan and Scooter Roick slanted down the Willamette River from the Portland International Airport. Both were scanning the water. They were flying a Bell Jet Ranger, with enough speed and power for the job.
Scooter Roick was a lean man of about thirty-five. His eyes danced when Bolan told him that what they were about to do was highly illegal but that Scooter would be only marginally involved.
"Damn, just like Nam. Most of what we did there was a little wild, too!"
"Some guys on deck may shoot at us with handguns or rifles," the Executioner said. "Are you still game?"
"Hell, yes! I haven't had any fun in years. You want me to set you down on the fantail of some freighter?"
"Right. She'll be moving upstream at maybe ten knots. Get me within eight or ten feet of the deck, and I'll go down a rope. There might be some guy wires or cranes on this thing. I don't know."
"Man, I'll put you down so you can step off."
"This freighter is smuggling a load of arms and ammunition to the Mafia for terrorist training. It's my job to stop the shipment from getting to port."
They talked about Nam for a while as they flew along the Willamette to the mouth of the mighty Columbia River as it flowed toward Astoria and the Pacific Ocean. They spotted a freighter coming upstream, but it showed a Dutch flag and was riding high in the water.
They continued downstream. Ten minutes later they saw another freighter.
"Japanese flag," Bolan said. They came down for a closer look. The name on the bow was Karatsu Maru. "That's our baby, Scooter. How does she look?"
"Piece of cake. There's that short mast right on the stern, but there aren't any cranes or lines stretched around. I can get you within three feet of the deck."
Bolan nodded. "We go on downstream until we're out of sight, then turn and come back at them low over the water."
"You got it!"
They continued downstream, made a sweeping turn over green woods and fields, and returned at reduced speed, barely above the river.
Bolan checked the Uzi, hung around his neck.
His combat harness was filled with the usual gear and two smoke grenades. Big Thunder clung to his thigh and the Beretta 93-R nestled in shoulder leather.
"Let's do it!" Bolan said.
The chopper raced up-current, came around a bend and found the black stern and churning wake of the Japanese freighter three hundred yards ahead.
Bolan looked down and saw water no more than two feet below. He hoped they did not hit a sudden downdraft.
He checked the latch on the outward swinging door.
Scooter looked over and grinned. "In another thirty seconds I'll lift our nose up and come over that fantail, then drop down, almost touching the left-hand side of the deck. You ready?"
Bolan unbuckled his seat belt.
Scooter momentarily scrutinized the controls, then the water and the black hulk ahead. "Now!" he yelled. The craft lifted like an elevator and nosed over the thirty-foot wall of steel.
Bolan slammed back the door and jumped. An instant later he rolled onto the deck of the Karatsu Maru.
He ran behind a small shack near the center of the big deck. At once the chopper lifted and headed downstream at full throttle. Bolan had seen no guards or seamen. No shots had been fired.