Shock Waves(21)

The soldier wondered who he might have missed by not confronting Lazarus. It was an alias, of course, perhaps the handle of the highest-ranking Ace in residence. And if Minelli had one Black Ace in his camp there might be others.

It was an opening, but it could not be overused. As Omega, he had already stretched blind luck about as far as it would go before it reached the breaking point.

When Bolan passed this way again, it would be as himself, and heaven help whoever tried to block his way.

He reached the burned-out tanks and raised a parting hand to soldiers who were laboring to clear the drive. They were using a little tractor-mower to drag a blackened hulk across the grass, plowing furrows as they went. Bolan grinned, wishing he could hear Minelli when the capo saw their handiwork.

He reached the gate, but this time through, the gunners in street clothes scarcely glanced at him.

He let his breath escape between clenched teeth. So far, so good... but it was far from over yet.

He worried about the lady Fed inside Minelli's camp. She was a pro, but this time her job had brought her to ground zero on the Bolan firing range.

Bolan hoped that he could spare her when the showdown came.

It would be chancy, when all the delegates had crowded into Don Minelli's compound, beefing up the ranks of human targets. That much more difficult to spot the friendly face or two among the hostiles when the battle smoke was everywhere and there was time only to kill or die.

He would watch, also, for Tattaglia when it began. The soldier knew that failing health and trouble with the courts were keeping Carlos Narozine home in Baltimore, but he would still be represented by a team of crack lieutenants, Nino chief among them.

Yet another headache when it came down to marking targets in the midnight hour.

But he was mixing up priorities, and Bolan reined his thoughts in, focusing on first things first.

Like Dave Eritrea.

He still had no idea precisely where the former capo was sequestered, and he needed that much before he turned the thunder loose around New York. Eritrea was the key to everything, and if the Executioner fell short of that objective...

No.

He had already made Don Minelli and his West Coast guests suspicious of one another. In time, the same technique would bring him what he sought — or bring the house down trying.

Right.

In time.

The one commodity that he was shortest of.

And the soldier knew that there was none to spare as he accelerated in the direction of Manhattan and the predetermined target zone. If he could not find Dave Eritrea, he would turn the heat on where it mattered, rattle cages until something dropped out, right into his waiting hands.

The Executioner was blitzing on, and God help any savage in his path.

God help New York.





10




The rapping on his study door roused Don Minelli from his private reverie. He swiveled in the padded desk chair, scowling at the door.

"Come in."

Lazarus was muscular, six-foot-four, and handsome as a movie star. The face was understandable, of course, considering the fact that he had picked it out himself and had it customized to meet his needs.

It was a living, breathing mask, and sometimes Don Minelli felt that he could tap one cheek and watch the whole thing crumble like a shattered mirror, leaving Lazarus without a face to call his own.

The Black Ace found himself a chair and settled into it without waiting for an invitation, regarding Minelli across the broad expanse of desk.

"What is it?"

"We just had a visitor."

Minelli did not grasp the meaning of his words. "Explain yourself."

The mask-mouth curved into a patronizing smile.

"We've been invaded. Infiltrated. Compromised."

Minelli's stare was blank, and Lazarus continued.

"Some hero came right in through the front gate, past your guards. He showed an Ace and made them think he was one of mine. Dumb bastards."

"How are they supposed to know, the way you're in and out all hours?"

"Someone should have phoned the house."

Minelli had no good answer for that, and he sat silent, waiting for Lazarus to finish.

"A coupla soldiers spotted him out back, by the bungalows, talking to Don Patriarcca's lady friend."

Minelli raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe he was asking for directions."

"Maybe."

And the soldier's tone left no doubt to his skepticism.

"You think Jules brought muscle with him?"

"I wouldn't rule it out."

"Your own damn people?"

"Hey, you know the score. Since Pat and Mike, since Barney bought it, our communications haven't been for shit."

"That's reassuring." Don Minelli made no effort to conceal his sarcasm. "Would one of Patriarcca's people try to hit him here?"

Lazarus shrugged. "They didn't try too hard."