"I was, uh, thinking out loud, I guess," Bolan replied. "Chopper and I had a little encounter with a plainclothes cop out at Tri-Coast tonight."
"Yeah, we heard about it," Andromede said.
That cop was bad news—plenty bad news, I'm afraid. Did, uh, any of you get a good look at the cops we boxed off the freeway this afternoon?"
The men exchanged glances. None volunteered a reply. "I did," Bolan said, after a moment of silence. "They were right alongside me for a few seconds there, you know. And I had 'em in my rear view for damn near a full minute."
Another short silence followed. Bolan seemed to be lost in thought. Presently, Zitka said, "So?"
"Well, so the cop who was breathing on Chopper and me at Tri-Coast tonight was also in that tail car on the freeway this afternoon."
"What does that prove?" Zitka wanted to know.
"Well now, look—cops are like troops. I mean, a guy in Dog Company is not likely to be found over in a Charlie Company firefight. A cop who's on a routine stakeout over at Giordano's at three in the afternoon isn't likely to be found on a routine investigation out at the edge of Burbank at midnight that same night. They just don't play that way."
"Unless the guy is in some elite squad," Zitka muttered thoughtfully.
"Exactly. And the police response was quick. Damn quick. They were all over that place in no time at all."
"Like they'd been just sitting and waiting for someplace to run to, eh?" Blancanales observed.
Bolan showed him a faint smile. "Yeah. And this cop called me by name."
"Hell, he called me Bolan, too," Fontenelli remarked.
"Makes it even a worse case," Bolan replied. "It wasn't a matter of personal recognition. It was a case of expectation. He went there expecting to find me."
"Hell, you're a celebrity," Harrington piped up, grinning.
"Goes deeper than that, Guns," Bolan replied. "It looks as though the police have set up some sort of special unit. A unit that is directed squarely against us."
"Screw "em," Fontenelli sneered. They haven't showed me anything yet."
"We don't get off that easy, Chopper," Bolan said thoughtfully. "It pays to know your opposition. If those people are gearing up to bring us down, then we damn sure have to do some gearing of our own. I don't like it. All of you know what can be accomplished with just a little bit of close-order organization. We've been successful so far because we've been playing it to a cadence count. Now if the cops are playing that same game, then I'd say we'd better come up with a counterpoint."
"The sarge is right," Andromede said. "We need some intelligence. Who's our intelligence officer?" His gaze fell squarely upon Gadgets Schwarz.
Schwarz merely smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
A momentary silence followed; then Loudelk said, "I've tried everything else. I guess I could try infiltrating copsville."
Bolan smiled wanly. "We'd better look at the idea pretty close. Could be a suicide mission."
"It'd be just like sending Deadeye to Montgomery," Zitka growled, "to infiltrate the triple K."
Deadeye snickered and rolled his eyes.
"Gadgets and me could figure something," Loudelk insisted stubbornly. His eyes were on BoIan, but he was speaking directly to Schwarz. "If I got you into range, couldn't you come up with something?"
Andromede snapped his fingers and sang a little tune to the words "In the fuzz's hall, well give our all, for a bug or two on the men in blue."
"Cut that crap out," Fontenelli growled.
Bolan was returning Loudelk's direct stare. He was thinking about it. "What do you say, Gadgets?" he asked in a barely audible voice.
Schwarz also was thinking about it. "There are several ways to go about it," he replied slowly. "We could monitor their radio frequencies, and that would be the safest and the easiest, but..."
"But?" Bolan prompted.
"Well we really do need to have a monitor on their radio nets, but it will take some inside work to just find out what those frequencies are."
"All right, consider that as an objective," Bolan agreed. "We want their radio frequencies. That should be an easy mark. Any radio amateur could probably give us that. But they probably have some special radio net for their elite unit. We'll need that, above all. Go on, Gadgets."
Okay, that would be in the nature of just routine intelligence. These people don't tell their secrets over the radio, though, bet on that. So we need some way to monitor their telephone conversations, their official discussions, and their bull sessions. That means we have to get inside or..."
"Or what?"
"If this elite squad has a ... well, they have to have, don't they? A honcho, a guy in charge. We need to know who he is and where his headquarters are located."
"The L.A. cops operate out of the Hall of Justice, don't they?" Harrington put in.
"I don't mean just the damn building," Schwarz said. "I mean a particular room or office."
"You're really serious?" Fontenelli asked, "You'd try to get in there and plant bugs, right in the damn police station?"
That may not be necessary," Schwarz replied. "I might be able to use a directional mike."
Bolan and Zitka exchanged thoughtful glances.
"I made a pickup once from a quarter mile," Schwarz told them. "Of course, it was in quiet countryside. Noise level is much higher in a city like L.A., with a lot of diffusion of sound waves. Generally, without too much diffusion, you can trap a sound from anything you can see."
Bolan sighed. "Give it a try, Gadgets. You and Brother get down there as soon as you feel ready and scout the layout. See what you can figure out, but don't make any actual move until I've reviewed your plan. We'll give this a top priority, and we make no further hits until our intelligence apparatus is functioning. While you're out, pick up that tape from the Varone drop. I'll want to know his reactions to tonight's hit." He showed Loudelk a grim smile. "I'm depending on your instincts, Brother, to keep this play safe. If it can't be done without undue risk, well just get along without it. Okay?"
Loudelk smiled. "Okay."
"I'll have to build a mike," Schwarz added.
"You have all the stuff you need?"
"I think so. If not, I can pick up what I need in any electronics shop."
Bolan shifted his gaze to Blancanales. "We've used the vehicles long enough, Politician," he said crisply. "Better drop them and get some more. Be very discreet. Include my "Vette—get me something else. Anything that's got some fire. Maybe a Porsche, eh?"
"You don't mean the horse, too?" Blancanales asked, frowning.
"No, but see what you can do about some new paint and decals. What about license tags?"
"No problem there." They're scared to death you were going to make me rig up a new horse."
Bolan chuckled. "We might have to drop the horse idea entirely after another strike or two. They're bound to tumble to it sooner or later, and then that big mother becomes a dead liability. Be thinking about a new gimmick."
Blancanales' frown deepened. "My nightmares are gettin' worse all the time," he groused.
The remark produced laughter from around the room. Andromede leaned over to place a hand on the Politician's shoulder and loudly announced, "My nerves, man, I wouldn't have your job..."
"Yeah I know," Blancanales sourly interrupted, "Between a nympho's tits."
"No, I was going to say, in a confession booth in a cathouse."
When the good-humored eruption had quieted, Andromede added, "And I'm ready for some R and R."