That mistake, whatever it would be, could be Bolan's handle onto this thing.
He brought up the compact transceiver from under his jacket and depressed the transmitting button. The unit linked Bolan to Stony Man Farm via a government ultrahigh-frequency band expressly forbidden for public use. The transceiver was locked into a D.C.-area scrambler station, which gave the transmissions airtight security and additional range.
"Striker to Stony Man. Come in, Stony Man."
The transistorized crackle of April's response carried a brightness of profound relief.
"This is Stony Man, Striker. Go ahead. Are you all right? Over." Her voice was lively, but her questions were efficiently procedural.
"Alive and kicking," chuckled the big guy in black. "But this thing is twistier than it looked. I need some information."
"Name it, Striker. You should know that Hal and I are looking into some rough connections both sides have. We'll report soon. But go ahead."
"Run a check through police channels for anything you can get on a shooting at Canal Park," said Bolan. "It happened about a half-hour ago. I also need anything you can give me on a man named Minera. He's the security chief out here. I've got a hunch about this one. Check him out with the Org Crime Bureau downtown. I also need a license number ID'd." And he recited the license number of the blue Datsun.
"Roger," April acknowledged crisply. Then a hint of something else crept into her voice. "Striker, what kind of shape are you in?"
Bolan's own voice softened. April was, yes, a most important person in this warrior's life. He had his close buddies in this cause — men like Brognola and Jack Grimaldi, who had made sacrifices that easily matched his own and who were united with him in this new cause — but April alone offered Mack Bolan the strength and friendship that these men did, plus the compassion, comfort, and understanding that can only be supplied by the female of the species.
"Don't worry about this guy," Bolan assured her. "Everything is running smoothly so far. Anything from the Potomac authorities?"
"They're operating full strength," April's voice replied, its cool professionalism once again intact. "They're patrolling for any unusual signs of activity, but nothing so far."
"It's a long shot anyway," Bolan said. "This hit team will outmatch any local suburban force, no matter how good the force is. Tell them not to engage Yazid's group if they do locate them. Just pinpoint them for us, if possible."
"Roger, Striker. We'll advise if they spot anything unusual heading your way."
"Now I'd better get back into the action around here before I'm missed," said Bolan. "Get that information together as quickly as possible, April. I'll make contact again in sixty minutes — unless things are popping. Over and out."
He deactivated the unit and replaced the transceiver at his belt. Then he left the trees and resumed his approach to the main house.
The place was as secure as possible, sure.
But something was wrong.
To Bolan, every one of the security guards had looked like nothing less than a transplanted Mafia street soldier. He knew the type by heart, and these were the type. And that went for Minera, too.
A nest of vipers, yeah.
Bolan knew that not all of his problems would be coming from beyond that wall tonight.
8
Nazarour's brother stood in the shadows of the house and watched the big American approach. Colonel Phoenix had materialized out of the darkness from the direction of the front gate and guardhouse. Dr. Mehdi Nazarour had never seen a human being move with such economy or such compatibility with his surroundings.
As the big American in black strode past him toward the front door, Medhi stepped from the shadows, speaking softly.
"Uh, Colonel. May I have a word with you?"
The American swung around, iced-over eyes scanning the darkness, making sure the speaker was alone.
His response came in the same low whisper.
"Hello again, Doctor. What can I do for you?"
"I must speak with you on a matter of utmost urgency, Colonel. Please. Step back here where we won't be seen."
Dr. Nazarour returned to where he had been standing, and the American accompanied him.
All the while it was obvious to Medhi that the big man was keeping his fingers only inches from the butt of the impressive weapon that rode low on his right hip.
"Yes, Doctor, what is it?"
Medhi Nazarour felt drops of perspiration beading along his forehead, in spite of the chill.
"I, uh, only wanted to say, Colonel, how much my brother and I appreciate you lending your time and expertise to insuring our protection."
"You could have told me that inside," replied the man in black. "You'd better get to the point, Doctor, before we're missed and people come looking for us."
"Yes. Yes, of course. I only wish to say that — well, that you have many enemies here this night... if you understand my meaning."
Medhi Nazarour inwardly cursed the shivers that were coursing through him, causing him such difficulty in speaking. But he could see that the real meaning of his words had gotten through. The American's eyes glinted with interest.
"You suspect there's a traitor among you?" asked the man called Phoenix. "Are you talking about your brother's wife and Rafsanjani? Or about Minera down at the gatehouse?"
Medhi felt his shivers intensifying. "Please. I can say no more. But be warned. Expect trouble from any quarter."
He began edging away, anxious to end this confrontation. He was already wondering if he had made a terrible mistake.
"One moment, Doctor." Medhi felt himself frozen to the spot by the authority in the American's voice. "I'm glad I ran into you out here, away from the others. I'm curious. I haven't seen your brother's wife since I got here. Not even when Rafsanjani took me on a tour of the place. Where is she? Have you seen her?"
Medhi Nazarour wanted to hurry away, but instead he heard words escape his lips. "I was told by my brother that Carol had been through an unsettling experience. I was... instructed to administer a sedative."
"And did you?"
"Yes. She's asleep in her room."
"How long ago was this?"
"Shortly after you arrived. About forty-five minutes."
"How long does it take for the sedative to take effect?"
"Approximately fifteen minutes. It's a... very powerful sedative."
The American's eyes were now colder than before. So was his voice. "How was the sedative administered? What was Mrs. Nazarour's reaction to all this?"
"The sedative comes in tablet form. She understood that it was her husband's implicit order that she take the tablets or face some sort of punishment. This has happened in the past. Rafsanjani has had to... to deal with her several times. Tonight he locked her into her room after I had given her the sedative."
"Locks? Punishments? That sounds more like a living hell than a marriage, Doctor."
Medhi's mind was screaming to him, You must go! Be gone! He began moving backward again, melting in deeper with the shadows, away from this American giant and his fierce glare, back toward the side door by which he had silently left the house.
"Please, Colonel. I must return before I'm missed. I simply wanted to warn you."
"Then one last question, Doctor. Why are you telling me these things? What is your motivation in this?"