Don Pendleton - Continental Contract

"Perhaps."

"With a red hot barrel."

"How many members of your party?"

"Fifty-seven. We chartered a jet. We'll be going back the same way, same jet."

"When?"

"When the tour is completed. We expect to have fifty-eight goin' back. I gave all the stuff to Roxanne. You see to it we don't have no problems at the airport when we decide to leave. Also I don't know that I dig those Interpol credentials. They look phony."

"The real article often does. I assure you that they are entirely genuine and will be respected by any policeman in France."

"Well allright but you better be damn sure. I ain't leaving no boys of mine in no bastille, Monzoor. It's a lot easier keepin' them out than it is gettin' them out. You remember that."

"Pray that you do not leave any in a grave."

"You let me worry about that. What've you been doing to get yourself all bunged up like that? Arnie told you to lay off."

"Arnie does not command France," Rudolfi haughtily replied.

"The hell he don't. He's got a seat, remember that, and that seat says he commands."

"But that seat does not command the lion, eh?"

"What lion?"

"The lion called Bolan."

Lavagni snickered. "Bolan ain't no lion. Except maybe around pussy cats."

Rudolfi's lips curled back in a sneer. "He has killed twenty good men this day, and they were not pussy cats!"

Quick Tony whistled softly and said, "Twenty? Last count I heard was seven or eight."

"It is now twenty."

"And one branded," Lavagni added solemnly. "Okay, you better tell me about it. No wait — that can wait. I wanta get the boys busy. They're goin' nuts." He swiveled about and whistled at the men at the billiard table. They straggled over to the bar, hard looking men who obviously were not easily excited.

Lavagni began issuing instructions. "Mario — your crew gets the airport personnel. Track down every one of 'em that was on duty when that plane came in last night. You know what to ask and how to handle it. Don't pass up anything, I mean not the littlest hint. We wanta know exactly what happened after that plane landed, right up until two hours afterward. Okay, Sammy — your crew takes the airline bunch, th' plane crew. I don't care where you have to go to find 'em — Rome or Timbuctu — you find 'em. Pilot, copilot, hostesses, the whole smear. You know what we want. Angelo, I want you..."

"I can save you all this trouble," Rudolfi interrupted.

"You ain't savin' us nothing," Lavagni growled. "We're startin' at the start and we're going through with a sieve. Angelo — your crew gets the cabbies, the subway people, the car rental places, airport buses, you know what. Don't overlook the littlest possibility. If somebody farted on a subway, you better know what it smelled like.

"Zinger and Littlefingers, you two divvy up the hotels. There's a lot of 'em, I know, but we gotta hit 'em all. Make it a quick skim, you can't spend too much time on each one or we'll be here a month. Start over on th' crummy side o' town, you know where, and fan through there solid.

"Now you all know what we're after, and I don't have to tell you again how Mr. Castiglione feels about this whole thing. He don't want Bolan's empty sack, he wants the guy hisself — so you know how to play it. Yon don't go jumping the guy, no matter how easy it looks, you don't go making no direct moves at all. We all check in every hour on the hour, you know where I'll be. When we get a sniff, we don't wanta go chasing lost crews around. It's a big town and we wanta be in close touch. Now remember you play it cool. You spot the guy, you lay off and let me'n Wils go in and work the snatch. It's gonna be that simple, so there's no sense anybody gettin' hisself hurt or in law trouble.

"Monzoor has us all covered with the legal stuff, so don't get bashful neither. Throw your weight around on th' frogs if you need to, threaten 'em with arrest, anything you need to get cooperation — but listen — you all know this — we don't dare go home without this Bolan in our mitts. Yon know?"

The hardmen knew. They went out and gathered their crews into the bus and departed. Wilson Brown came inside, went to the bar, and carried a bottle to a couch and made himself comfortable.

Rudolfi sat in a thoughtful silence. Roxanne reappeared with dainty sandwiches and wine on a tray. Lavagni accepted a sandwich and waved away the wine. Rudolfi would not even look at the offering. Wilson Brown graciously accepted the entire tray and placed it on the floor beside him.

Presently Lavagni said, "Well Monzoor, I guess I better cut out. Mrs. Loureau knows where I'll be. I need a car."

"Take the Ferrari," Rudolfi muttered.

"Okay, thanks. Hey — don't be so down in the dumps. We'll get Bolan. And you'll get your cut."

"My cut!" Rudolfi sneered.

"Yeah". Lavagni was giving him a curious look. "What's eating you?"

"My cut is the heart, Lavagni."

"The heart of what?"

"The heart of the lion. I will cut it out of him myself!"

"Th' hell you will. You got the directive, Monzoor. I got six or seven witnesses to that. You better not go off on no cocky..." Lavagni left the warning uncompleted, nodded his head to the woman, and went to the couch to collect his companion.

Brown scooped up a handful of sandwiches, waved to the couple at the bar, and followed his boss outside.

As the Ferrari roared away, Rudolfi told Roxanne, "Tonight I met myself."

"What does this mean?" she asked, her eyes worried.

He brushed the half-finished glass of bourbon off the bar. It hit the tiles of the floor and smashed, the liquid spreading out in quivering streamers from the center of impact. "As that," he whispered. "Smashed — and everything inside spilling out."

"Are you all right? Your hand..."

"The hand will heal itself. The soul, never!"

"Let me help you," she whispered.

"No, I... well yes. There is a detail you may attend. Contact our friend, M'sieur l'Androix. Tell him the House of Celeste, on Rue Galande. All of the girls, all of them, plus the madame, I want them taken to Algiers."

"Thomas, non!"

"Yes. Tell l'Androix — they must go to the most devilish of markets, he will know. And tell him that he must find each of them — leave none unpunished. And tell him that I want this known, I want all to know."

"Thomas, this is..."

"This is justice, Roxanne. But for them, I would have bagged the lion tonight."

"But Thomas... Algiers! It is better that you simply have them killed!"

"That would not be enough. No. I want them taken to Algiers. I want them sold there, and I want them to know why they are being sold there, and I want them to contemplate their sins, and I want all of Paris to contemplate both the sins and the punishment. The example must be made. You will do this, Roxanne, without further question."

"Oui. Oui, Thomas. What else shall I do?"

"Nothing. I will do the rest. Let Lavagni's crew run with the sieve. Rudolfi has the aces."

The fear surfaced and spread across Roxanne's face. "Thomas, let them have him!"

"No. Rudolfi has the aces, and Rudolfi is even now playing a few of them. Rudolfi will bag the lion, Roxanne — or Rudolfi will die."

Roxanne was thinking that perhaps Rudolfi was already dead. This strange man with the wild eyes who would sell young girls on the hideux African slave markets and who defied the formidable powers of America — this man was not her Thomas. Where, she wondered, had he died?

A tired and troubled group of law officers were assembled in a small office in the Paris police headquarters. The ranking officer present, a slender young-old man with graying temples and quick eyes, tilted his chair back and slid a clipboard of reports to the center of the conference table. "We must conclude," he announced softly, "that Mack Bolan is in Paris. Stories concerning L'Americaine Formidable are being whispered throughout the Latin Quarter — and never since the days of the Algerian terrorists has such violence been done in a single day."