The hands that had rolled destiny's dice had also dealt Bolan a perfect hand for this play at McCarran. The rest would be up to him, and he felt ready for the betting to commence.
The nine wheelmen over by the mob vehicles had unclumped and gone to their cars. A big man whom Bolan could not recognize through his binoculars was arm-waving them around and getting the reception party ready.
And then there was the big bird, swooping in over the approach lighting system and settling onto the far end of the runway.
Bolan lay into the Weatherby and acquired the target in the high-resolution vision field of the scope, then tracked it into the range he wanted. He heard the powerful engines whining into the reverse-thrust as the plane reached the runway intersection, signaling the beginning of the braking action.
A fat rubber wheel rolled into the cross-hairs; Bolan acquired and held, tracking along for a few seconds to get a feel of the rate of closure, then he found his adjustment and sighted into the pull.
The Weatherby roared and bucked and sent an official greeting sizzling toward the war party. He rode the recoil and sent another, then another, before lifting off the eyepiece.
The plane staggered and went into a crab. A wing whipped around and the big bird was sliding sideways momentarily, then the landing gear collapsed and down she went in a pancake on the runway, spinning with a terrible screeching and groaning, and continuing on toward Bolan.
Pandemonium erupted in the vehicle area, the wheelmen leaping from their cars in a frenzy of helpless observation of the staggering event.
The big guy was leaping around and pointing toward Bolan's fire base. Even at this distance it was obvious that he was yelling his head off. Three of the wheelmen began running uncertainly toward Bolan's end of the. runway.
He swung the Weatherby into the secondary target area, acquired a darkly frightened face in the crosshairs, and squeezed off. The face abruptly disintegrated and disappeared from the vision field. Bolan looked up from the eyepiece to evaluate, and saw that the message had been received and understood. The other two were showing the Executioner their backsides and hastily returning to the security of the group.
The group itself had disappeared, and an ineffectual crackle of handguns was emanating from behind the line of vehicles.
Meanwhile the aircraft was spinning on down the pike and beginning to disintegrate, leaving a trail of debris behind. A wing fell off, then the tail section collapsed and the wreckage spun off the runway settling in a cloud of dust a few hundred feet from Bolan's fire base.
Flames were licking up through a pall of dust and smoke, and Bolan could hear the shrieks and yells of panicky humanity trying to fight their way clear of the death trap. Then reeling figures began to emerge from the clouded wreckage.
Bolan again leaned into the Weatherby, then changed his mind and lifted off. It was enough, for the moment. The wailing alarms of emergency vehicles were being heard now and Bolan was crowding his time factor. It was okay; they'd gotten the message.
He sent a couple more sizzling rounds into the crew wagons, simply to sound a final discouraging note, then he quickly withdrew.
Welcome to the war — that was the message. A hot welcome — coldly sent, jarringly received.
And, at that very moment, another aircraft was landing at Nellis Air Force Base, just a few miles away. It bore decals of the United States' government and it carried a contingent of U.S. marshals and FBI agents. It carried, also, a very grimfaced justice department official and an executive order to end that very war.
The Executioner was crowding his time factor a bit more than he realized.
Chapter Ten
The problem
Guys were lying all over the ground. Some were sitting up and feeling around to see if anything was missing, and a few were standing around and dazedly watching the crash trucks trying to smother the fire in the demolished airplane.
Joe Stanno found the Talifero brothers in a quiet consultation with the crash chief. He had a hard time recognizing them and for once they did not look exactly alike. They looked like hell, is what they looked like, and Stanno was surprised that they looked that good.
The monster pushed the crash chief out of the way and growled, "Go talk to th' pilot, he's laying over there by the ambulance."
The guy looked at Stanno, started to protest and changed his mind, but stubbornly stayed where he was.
Stanno showed his bosses a woebegone face and told them, "This is the awfullest thing I ever saw."
One of the Taliferi, Joe never could tell which, replied, "It's a miracle that any of us got out alive, Joe."
The other was dabbing at a congealed cut on his forehead with a handkerchief. He said, "The chief here was just asking us about gunshots. He says some people here on the ground thought they heard something that sounded like gunshots just before the accident. What did you hear, Joe?"
Stanno took the cue line and replied, "Yeah, it sounded like gunshots. But it was just those tires blowing."
"That's what I was just suggesting when you came up."
The crash chief said, "The towermen thought they heard shots after the crash… or during it."
Stanno growled, "What the hell does anybody know at a time like that, with so much happening? Just what're you trying to make here?"
The guy replied, "I'm just trying to ascertain the facts, that's all."
"The facts" Stanno snarled, "are that your goddam lousy runway tore up our airplane. Now get outta here!"
The chief calmly replied, "Well, we'll see," but he got out of there.
The Tailferi watched the official walk away, then the one with the cut head asked, "Okay, what's the straight on those shots?"
"Straight as hell, sir," Stanno replied wearily. "It was Bolan, with a big rifle. He shot your wheels off."
Someone sighed loudly and someont else said, "Well, what about Bolan?"
"I sent some boys down to roust 'im. He cut down Bingy Bigelow on about the third step I guess. The othei boys come running back, and I can't blame them, There's no cover out there, and that guy is murder with a big rifle. By this time that airplane is asshole over appetite and that's about all I could think about."
"How'd the guy know we were coming in?"
"Damned if I know," Stanno growled.
"He's been in contact with some fink."
"Well, I — yeah, by God you're right, he's been in contact. I come over here straight from th' Duster. The guy had busted in there and I..."
"What the hell do you mean? He busted into our own place?"
"Yessir, he went in there and rumbled Vito and..."
"I somehow find that impossible to understand, Joe."
"Yessir, me too, and anyway..."
"I told you to fold this town in squarely."
"Listen, sir, there ain't no folding that bastard in anywhere. I got more than two hundred boys running around this damn town, and that son of a bitch just comes and goes as he pleases. He's been..."
"What was that about Vito?"
"I don't know for sure. I didn't have time to get it all. Had to get this convoy out here to pick you up. Anyway, the guy comes in and talks to Vito. Vito manages to cold-deck him somehow, and the guy leaves."
Someone made a scoffing sound and someone else said, "Don't you believe it, Joe. Nobody cold-decks Bolan."
Stanno said, "Well, I…"
"I guess we should go talk to Vito, eh?" someone said.
Someone else said, "I can't understand such loose security. There should have been some boys covering this airport, Joe."
"Well, yessir, there is, but..."
"But not out here on the runways, eh, Joe? Why the hell not?"