Shock Waves(43)

Never for an instant did the soldier contemplate a deviation from his plan. The course was set and he would see it through, to victory or death, but still, he could not hide the concern he felt for some of those inside.

The lady Fed would live or she would die. The risks had been no secret going in.

And if she lost it at Minelli's, Bolan would do everything within his power to even up the score. If Sally had been... damaged... it would be scorched earth for Don Ernesto and his company. A firestorm that would make New York sit up and pay attention — for perhaps a day or so.

The city was unfeeling, cold, and there was a monotony about its crime reports — on the rapes, muggings, murders, maimings — that suggested its denizens learned nothing from their mistakes. As each new wave of outrage passed, succeeded by a swell of apathy, the same old attitudes returned, defying predators at large to offer yet more shocking entertainment on the late-night news.

The city bred indifference, a bland disdain for humankind that Bolan found contemptuous in itself. A city boy, he had been raised to know his neighbors, care about their problems, sympathize — and help, if possible. Apathy was abhorrent to him just as disease, starvation and oppression were abhorrent. Indifference was stagnation to the Executioner, indifference was a synonym for living death.

And Bolan was involved up to his eyebrows in the fight to help his fellow man. The soldier long ago had recognized and reconciled himself to the demanding role of his brother's keeper. He could not be everywhere, help everyone, but where he was, he left a mark.

And at the moment, he was in New York.

He had already left his mark upon the Mafia families who had raped the city for so long. They knew him well, and they would know him better before this night was done.

One man could make a difference, with determination, courage, will.

One man could help another, even over protest, if he went that extra mile and risked it all.

One man like Bolan.

And Sally Palmer had learned that lesson well. She was striking blows against the common enemy before she met the Executioner, and there was still a chance...

The Executioner concentrated on the last few miles of highway, pushing it to give himself some extra on-site preparation time. He would need every moment of it before he crashed Minelli's coronation party. And he had a few unscheduled party favors for the honored guests from out of town. The life of the party was coming.

The death of the party was here.

With any luck at all, he would bring the house down. Square on Don Ernesto's head.





19




The woman's eyes were red from crying, and the left one was already swelling shut. Mascara tracked down her bruised cheeks. Her lower lip was split and bleeding freely, crimson droplets soaking through the blouse above one breast.

Ernesto Minelli shook his head and frowned, a parody of sympathy. His eyes were as cold as slate when he turned back to face the man called Lazarus.

"And nothing?"

"Give it time. She's obviously field conditioned, but she'll break. They always break."

The Ace's smile reminded Minelli of a hungry reptile.

"We haven't got the time. If Patriarcca thinks that he can fuck around with me..."

"She doesn't work for Jules."

The bland pronouncement startled Minelli into momentary silence, and he took another long look at the battered lady, bound securely to the wooden chair in front of them. The implication of Lazarus's words took time to register.

"Well, who then? What the hell.?.."

"Who do you know in Washington?"

"In Washington?" The capo's mind went momentarily blank, and he was locked in on a mental image of Seattle. "But you just said..."

"In Washington, D.C."

Minelli didn't like the patronizing tone that Lazarus adopted, but he let it pass, already grasping what the Ace was getting at.

"The Feds?"

"I'd bet my life on it."

"You do that," Minelli growled, recovering, enjoying the suggestion of a flush on the other man's face. "You do exactly that. And if you're wrong, if this one doesn't talk..."

"She'll talk. No sweat."

"No sweat, my ass. If this thing falls apart, we all go down, your precious Aces, everything."

"I'm well aware..."

"I hope so," Minelli snapped, not giving Lazarus the time to finish it. "I hope you're well aware that your head's on the block, right there alongside mine."

"That's understood."

"So do your job and get it over with. Before the meeting breaks downstairs, I wanna know the who and why and all of it. I wanna know what this one had for breakfast on her fourteenth birthday. You got it?"

Lazarus regarded him from under hooded eyelids for a moment, nodding slowly.