"We can lay low, too, can't we?" Andromede said.
"Not around here," Bolan quickly replied. "We can't afford to give the L.A. cops that kind of time-factor to work with. Like I said, these guys know their business. Given enough time, they'll find us and they'll nail us. I had allowed five days for this L.A. operation, and that's all. We've already used two."
"What are you getting at, Mack?" Zitka asked worriedly.
"Well ..." Bolan scratched his forehead. "Tonight might be our last chance for a grand slammer. I'd say twenty-four hours at the very most. There's too much working against us now."
"You're saying it's a full-dress Vanh Duc tonight, then?"
Bolan soberly nodded his head. "Either that or a full abort."
"Whatta you mean, a full abort?" Fontenelli growled.
Bolan's eyes fell on Blancanales. "What's the take so far, Politician?"
Blancanales coughed, smiled, and said, "In round figures, the grand total is $147,000."
"Okay," Bolan said. "That isn't nearly enough to make all of you independently wealthy, but it's a better stake than you had forty-eight hours ago. If you decide to dissolve the operation here and now, I'll throw the kitty into the split."
"What're you talking about, dissolve the operation?" Andromede said quietly. "Who wants to dissolve the operation?"
"It might be best," Blancanales observed. "Like Mack says..."
"Best for who? For what?" Fontenelli chimed in.
Every one began talking at once, and the briefing fell into total disarray. Bolan shouted them down and soon restored order. "Wait 'til you get all the facts," he told them. "Now listen to me. I assume that most of you came into the squad because of the money angle. That's just great with me, and I'm thankful to have had your services. But you have to knowthese new pressures have altered the timetable and also the money potential. We've reached the showdown stage of the operation much quicker than I'd expected. All of a sudden the gravy has disappeared, and we're down to the raw meat of the situation. It's warfare now, pure and simple. What I'm saying is, the glory is gone from this operation. All that's left now is the hell. I want you to understand that. And I want to give you the chance to cash in your chips and get out of the game."
"What are you going to do?" Deadeye Washington inquired soberly.
Bolan showed him a grin. "Well... I'm in it for the hell. I'm going to finish the operation."
"By yourself?" Andromede asked.
"He's not by hisself," Washington said quickly, beating Bolan's reply. "Gravy always has been too rich all by itself. I'll take some of the hell, too."
"Hell yes," Gunsmoke Harrington spoke up. "I'm not splitting, Sarge."
"Well, talk it over between yourselves," Bolan said. "Politician will cash you out if you decide to leave. I'm going down to the beach. I'm recessing this briefing for half an hour. When I get back, well plan the grand slammer around what's left of the squad. Thanks and good luck to all of you, leaving or staying." Bolan spun about and walked quickly toward the water.
"Well kiss my ass!" Fontenelli exclaimed quietly.
"It looks like at least three positive makes and two more possibles," Lieutenant Andy Foster reported to Captain Braddock. "The Indian, we're pretty certain, is Thomas Loudelk, a full-blooded Blackfoot from a reservation up in Montana. He knew Bolan in Vietnam. Disposed of his possessions last week and left the reservation. Tried to cash a thousand-dollar telegraphic money order there. Finally had to go into Butte to cash it. That money order was filed from the Western Union main office here in L.A. The sender was a B. Mackay."
Braddock grunted. "I'd say that's positive. Any line on him at this end?"
Foster shook his head. "Not a thing, but we're still working it. Here's another, a real colorful character they called Gunsmoke in Vietnam. He wore old-Western-style six-shooters, one on each hip. Just a kid, but they say the Viet cong were in real awe of the guy. He's been working out at the wild-West park since his discharge, one of those quick-draw artists. Walked off the job one day last week without notice." The lieutenant raised a meaningful gaze to his superior. "Told his boss he'd fired his last blank. Nice kid, they say. Easygoing, likable, good-lookingalways had a bunch of girls clustered around him. Name's James Harrington. Father owns a sheep ranch up in Idaho. Hasn't shown up there, and the old man doesn't seem to care if he never does."
"Friend of Bolan's?"
Foster nodded. "Practically a disciple. He was living down in Anaheim. Moved out of his apartment the same day he quit his job. No forwarding address."
"Call it a positive," Braddock said. '"Who's next?"
"Well ... that's Zitka. The telex from Saigon confirms the make. He was Bolan's right-hand mansniping team, you knowfor more than a year. They worked like a hand in a glove. Zitka was a forward member, the advance recon man. The Viets had a name for him that translates into English as Whispering Death. He's got almost as many decorations as Bolan."
"Let's look at those two possibles."
This one here is Rosario Blancanales. Special-services sergeant, knew the country over there like" a native. Doubles as a medic and an all-around handyman. Does a little bit of everything mechanic, gunsmith, plays a couple of musical instruments. Organized schools for the village kids and even had a baseball little league going over there in unpacified territory. Say he has a genius for organization and administration. Twice he was recommended for OCS and twice he flunked the entrance exams. Just not enough formal education, it seems."
"How would he tie in with Bolan?"
He left special services after his second OCS failure, went into an elite combat unit. Worked with Bolan several times as a guide in enemy territory."
"And where is he now?" Braddock asked.
Foster sighed. "He's just a possible, remember. He was working at the VA hospital down in Long Beach. Gave notice that he was leaving long before Bolan came on the sceneabout a month ago. His supervisor down there told our man that Blancanales was planning on reenlisting in the army. He left his job on schedule, right to the day of his notice, and he left no tracks at all. None. He didn't reenlist anywhere In Southern California, I can tell you that."
"Doesn't seem to fit the pattern," Braddock mused.
"No, but he has disappeared, and he did disappear just after the gunfight out at Zitka's."
"All right. Keep checking. Who's the other possible?"
"Angelo Fontenelli, also known as Chopper. Heavy-weapons man over in Vietnam, another Bolan sidekick. He's married, has a wife and two kids in New Jersey. The wife claims she hasn't seen or heard of him for two years, and furthermore she's had no child support from him since his government checks stopped coming. That's how she knew he'd been discharged. Or so she says."
"What do you have to tie him to Bolan?"
"Nothing except the past association. In Vietnam. He's on the suspect list simply because we can't locate him."