"Just as well. I haven't got the time for a reunion ."
"Bastard."
"Definitely."
Sally's voice went soft, the cutting edge dissolved. "I... I've missed you."
"Goes both ways," he told her honestly.
"You owe me a briefing, soldier."
Bolan felt the smile growing and headed it off at the pass. The numbers were running, and he had pushed his luck already, just by being there.
"Another time," he answered.
"Sure."
"Jules must be getting soft in his old age."
"Don't you believe it. He just... likes me, that's all."
Bolan read the embarrassment in Sally's face, and in another place, another time, he might have reached for her and let her know he made no judgments on her way of waging war.
Sally was an undercover agent, using every tool at her disposal to complete her mission. If the skillful application of her sex, her charms, could get the job done, then she would have been a fool to let the opportunity slip by.
The lady was a pro, damn right. A good one. With her angel face, her dancer's body, she could infiltrate the hostile camp in ways the Executioner could never hope to emulate. And the intelligence she gathered, all the secret blows she struck against the enemy, were vital to the war at large.
He read a hint of the old self-contempt in her face, there and gone in an instant, and there was nothing he could do to ease her mind. It had to be enough that Sally knew he thought no less of her. That he respected — hell, admired — her for the war she waged against their common enemy.
"It's lucky that you're here. I may need someone on the inside," Bolan told her.
"Wait a second, guy. I'm strictly gathering intelligence, not playing smash and grab."
"There may not be a choice."
Her frown bespoke more curiosity than irritation. "You obviously know about the sit-down, right? So, what's the big emergency?"
He scanned the grounds, alert for any sign of hardmen drawing near, but saw none closer than the swimming pool, some forty yards distant. "It's more than a sit-down. Try coronation."
She nodded shortly. "Right. I've heard that. Jules and Cigliano aren't convinced Minelli has the makings. Some others are inclined to agree."
"How many of them do you think would change their minds if he gave them a sign?"
"That depends on the sign."
"Try Dave Eritrea."
The lady Fed went blank for just a heartbeat, but recovered swiftly, holding her poise. "Well, damn it!"
"Yeah."
"What happened?"
Bolan risked a casual shrug, his eyes still on the poolside loungers. "Something leaked. Who knows? The point is that Minelli has him now."
"That changes things."
He nodded. "Maybe you should take a leave of absence."
Sally bristled, her spine stiffening. "Forget it, Captain Chivalry. I'm in for the duration."
Bolan knew that he had touched a nerve. "Okay. But just don't sit too close to Jules, all right?"
"I'll make a note."
A couple of the gunners by the pool were watching with more than casual interest as the unfamiliar face made time with Patriarcca's girl. The Executioner was betting that Minelli's troops at large were not acquainted yet with members of the Patriarcca-Cigliano entourage.
"We've got an audience," he told her, raising one arm to point in the direction of the house. "I'm showing you the kitchen."
"And I'm showing you the gate," she said, giving him a dazzling smile before she turned away.
"Stay hard," he told the lady Fed's retreating back.
"You, too," she answered in a whisper, never turning.
Bolan backtracked toward his rental car, long strides devouring the flagstone path. When he was almost there, he saw the houseman who had spoken to him earlier walking toward him. The soldier did not try to outmaneuver him. Instead, he slowed his pace to let the other guy catch up.
"You can see Mr. Lazarus now," the houseman told him, drawing even.
"No time," Bolan countered gruffly. "I'm late as it is, and I've got two more stops before I meet the next crew at Kennedy."
"Well, say..."
The soldier turned on him, voice going stony in an instant. "Say what, guy?"
Instinct and training took over, forcing the gunner to pull back. "Uh, nothing, I guess."
"You guess right. I'll check in when I can."
He slid behind the wheel and turned the engine over, letting the houseman watch out for himself as he powered the rental out along the drive. The guy just stood there, dwindling in the rearview mirror, and Bolan knew instinctively that he had made the license plate.
So be it.
He had come this far, but the infiltration of Minelli's stronghold was a minor operation, carried out on the spur of the moment. The next penetration would require careful planning. He would need the cover of night, and man-made thunder on his side to clear the way.