Don Pendleton - Patriot Play

“You think so?” Lyons snapped. “Get out of small-town U.S.A. and smell the real world, Chief.”

Bolan stood between them. He put a big hand on Lyons’s shoulder. “Doug, go and cool down, okay?” He met Lyons’s anger with a calm manner that stood the Able Team leader down. He turned aside and crossed the room to stare out the window.

The soldier faced Harper. “You heard about the bombings and saw the TV reports cut and dried for public viewing. We had the official versions. No hiding the results of those explosions. Every little detail. Men, women and especially the children. Innocent victims. Americans like you and me, Jason. Going about their business and not expecting what happened to them. It doesn’t leave us much room for pity when we realize this was done by Americans to Americans. We have to deal with the aftermath, and have done so before. There are times it’s hard to distance ourselves. Sometimes we succeed. Other times we don’t.”

Bolan’s quiet explanation had its calming effect on the cop. Harper drew a hand across his tired features, staring into the blue eyes of the big man who seemed to have total control of anything that came his way. He was unaware it was the way Mack Bolan dealt with tangled emotions. The ability to move away from crisis moments and bring his natural skills as a mediator into a tense situation. It served Bolan well. He employed the same emotion to clear his own anger when faced with a mental struggle.

Over his years of conflict he had learned long ago there were times he needed to detach himself. Not to completely forget the evil his enemies employed, but to put them on standby while he refreshed his mind and body. The things he had seen he would never fully forget. That was an impossibility even for the Executioner. It was not something he wanted to forget. As long as he had his memories of the terrible things witnessed in the past, he remained strong for his battles in the future. Mack Bolan was human. A caring human being. He understood the deep and dark acts his enemies were capable of. He was also aware of his own strengths, which kept him fighting his War Everlasting.

Harper glanced across to where Lyons stood at the window, shoulders hunched and taut as he struggled to contain his anger. “Could be maybe I have been here in Tyler Bay too long. Backwater town. Nothing much happens. Worse thing about it is, I like it that way.” He looked at Bolan. “Hell of an admission for a professional cop.”

“You keep it that way, Jason. So we can all remember there are places like Tyler Bay. That there are still sane and safe places in the middle of the madness. That’s something we all need to hang on to.”

“I guess so.” Harper went across to Lyons. “Rough night for us all, son. Best excuse I can come up with right now.”

Lyons turned to face him. “No sweat, Chief. I blow hot too fast sometimes.”

“Way I hear it, you got more right than anyone to do just that.”

Incoming mail made itself heard on the laptop. Bolan opened the message.

Boat was on a charter from a marine rental company up the coast. It was paid for with plastic. I accessed the details. It was charged to a company in Philadelphia. South Star Investments. Operated by a guy called Arnold Petrie. Hope you are sitting down for next piece of info. It took me some time unraveling all the strings but I came up with a name that rang dim and distant bells. Ran it again until a name came through. Thin link, but the guy fronting the Philly company has a connection, albeit skinny, to the Eric Stahl Corporation. You owe me big-time, big guy.

IN THE MORNING, following breakfast, Bolan and Lyons checked out and drove to a final meet with Chief Harper.

“I was going to give you a call,” Harper said as they walked into the station house.

“Good or bad call?” Bolan asked.

“I figure it depends how you feel on the subject. I just spoke with my officer at County Hospital. Gantz died around 2:00 a.m.”

“Can’t say I’m heartbroken. Not after what the guy did.”

“I guess not,” Harper said. “Bad way to die though.” He glanced at Lyons. “No offense meant, Agent Benning.”

Lyons shrugged. “You sow what you reap,” he said, and that piece of philosophy got him a puzzled look from Bolan.

“I got the number you gave me,” Harper said. “If anything comes up I’ll pass it along. Likewise if anyone comes asking about Gantz. By the way, I’ve got the house sealed off if any other agencies show up. Like you told me, I’ll refer them to your contact.” Harper reached down and opened a drawer in his desk. “Almost forgot. One of my deputies found this in the pocket of one of Gantz’s jackets.” He held out a plastic bag containing a slim cell phone. “You must have interrupted his visitors before they made a full search of the house. Think it might be useful?”

“We’ll know that after I send it to our people.” Bolan held out his hand. “Missed it myself. Appreciate your help, Jason.”

“Any time, guys. Tyler Bay always likes to give visitors a welcome.” He grinned. “Your kind of visitors, I mean.”

“You sure as hell did that, Chief,” Lyons said.

“Take care,” Harper called as the two walked out of his office.

Watching them go, Harper shook his head. Some night, he thought, then realized he’d forgotten all about his date with Callie. He grabbed his hat and hotfooted it to the diner.

Liam Seeger liked to believe he had been born a rebel, despite being born into a wealthy family. Since early childhood he had fought against authority, and as the years passed he’d developed this persona until it was like a second skin. He joined any group if it had a hint of being radical. In school, then university—those years had been his best—he battled the establishment wherever it existed, doing everything he could to embarrass it and his family. He had only been twenty-three when he became involved in a subversive movement that saw conspiracy in all aspects of government policy. He read articles, he watched documented evidence and he spoke to antiestablishment figures, steeping himself in the lore. His conversion to becoming a dedicated antiestablishment figure came during marches and rallies that denounced government policies and the fragmentation of America. Seeger saw this happening across the country. Dissatisfaction. Mistrust. The betrayal of the nation by a cynical and manipulative administration that ran rife through all levels of society.

His own struggle against the administration became personal when he was involved in a violent demonstration against America’s foreign policy. During the physical struggle against an overwhelming police presence, someone fired a gun and the police responded. Seeger was hit when a riot shotgun was discharged. He took part of the blast in his face and left shoulder and arm. The aftermath was that he lost his left eye from the injury and his arm became partially disabled from the wound. Worse he developed an antisocial attitude and became a recluse. He ran his battle against them from the basement of his house. The authorities closed ranks against his claim for personal injury, and his claim for compensation was thrown out of court. It was not for the money. It was the principal of the matter and to simply prove to Seeger that his theories were justified. The attitude of the establishment demonstrated to him that he had been correct all along. The result catalyzed his struggle against them, and he threw himself into aligning himself with groups working along the same lines. It brought him into contact with diverse members of the antiestablishment community. Seeger met them, heard their stories and threw himself fully into the struggle. He created the Brethren from a small, struggling militia group, using the not-inconsiderable money that had come to him after the early deaths of his parents. He gained more money when he sold off the family tool-and-die company and plowed it into building his reclusive home in the Colorado mountain country and establishing a permanent base for the Brethren in even more isolated Colorado high country.