Don Pendleton - Chicago Vendetta

For 99 percent of residents, it was just another crazy twenty-four-hour period in the circle of life on the mean streets of the Windy City. But it did capture the attention of one man. Mack Bolan was convinced the events were related, that someone had gone on a killing spree to eliminate Chicago’s finest. The man known as the Executioner was determined to learn the truth about these incidents.

Whatever the cost.

Chapter One

Johnny Gray—born Johnny Bolan—shouldered his way through one of the glass doors of the Chicago PD headquarters building on Michigan Avenue.

The blustery cold of the early morning swirled in behind him, biting at his skin even through his cotton slacks. It made a striking difference from home in Southern California. When his brother called and asked for his help, Johnny dropped everything and hopped aboard the first flight to O’Hare.

Mack was convinced the recent murders of the police weren’t a coincidence. He needed Johnny to check things out on the ground. With the help of Hal Brognola, the director of the Sensitive Operations Group—and the rest of the team at Stony Man Farm in Virginia—Mack arranged for it to look as if his brother and Detective Rich Walburn had been longtime friends. Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman, Stony Man’s computer ace, had used his skills to fake the dossier beyond reproach, complete with photos of Johnny and Walburn together at various ages. It should get Johnny inside the cop shop, after which the rest was up to him.

Johnny welcomed the assignment. He so rarely got a chance to work in concert with his older brother—or to see him off the job for that matter—it was worth the risk.

When Mack called, Johnny knew action was in the wind.

After getting cleared through security, a desk sergeant showed Johnny to the offices of the Internal Affairs Division, which was attached to Intelligence. Within a few minutes, he found himself seated in a cramped office that was too hot and narrow because it was apparently occupied by two detectives. The magnetic plate against the side of one desk had HILLMAN, C. DET. SGT., and the other read RUSCH, L. DET. SGT. in the same block letters.

Johnny got out his laptop and began to boot it. Within ten seconds it had powered up, signed him in and begun communicating securely with a satellite tied directly to the computer uplink at Stony Man Farm in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Within a minute, a black man with close-cropped hair and about Johnny’s height entered the office followed by a petite female. “Mr. Gray?”

Johnny cradled his laptop in one arm as he stood and shook the man’s hand. “Johnny, please.”

“Very good. I’m Sergeant Hillman.” He jerked a thumb toward the woman and said, “This is my partner, Sergeant Rusch.”

He shook hands with the cute young black woman, whose dark eyes seemed to sparkle in the lights. She had a nice smile, more than cordial, and an electric personality that seemed almost palpable.

“My pleasure,” Johnny told her.

“Have a seat, please,” Hillman said.

When they were comfortable, Johnny said, “I appreciate you agreeing to see me on such short notice. As I explained over the phone, and in my follow-up email, Rich Walburn was a close friend. I want to help find the bastard who killed him and his family. Maybe there’s a connection to the other officers’ deaths.”

“Well, I hope you haven’t wasted a trip,” Hillman replied. “We’ve already looked at this from every angle, and we don’t see how there could be any tie to the particular incidents that came to your attention. In fact, we’ve already gone around and around with inspectors at both the Illinois State Police and the FBI.”

“Understood. But frankly, Sergeant, when you have no less than four police personnel murdered within a short period of time, you can begin to understand why it looks more than a little curious.”

“Um, who was it you said you were again?” Rusch asked.

Johnny pulled a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “I’m a private investigator, now based in California. Rich and I grew up together. I sent Sergeant Hillman the photos of us in my email. Rich was one of my closest friends. I owe it to him to look into this. I’m extremely good at my job and can find out things others can’t. I also have powerful connections in the right places. I’d be an asset to your team.”

Rusch looked at the card, gave Johnny the once-over, then turned to Hillman. “I think we ought to read him in, Chuck.”

Hillman produce a deep sigh. “Damn it, Lakea, we talked about this—”

“He only wants to help.” Rusch slapped her hand on her desk. “Jeez, Chuck, you’re acting like he’s one of the bad guys. Rich was his friend. These bastards killed Taylor and Brett. They were our friends, damn it!”

Hillman’s voice took an edge. “I know who they were, Lakea. Mick and I joined the force together.”

“Uh, did I strike a nerve?” Johnny asked.

Hillman’s eyes had visibly reddened, and his expression gave him the persona of a man who’d been beaten down and was utterly exhausted. “You’ll have to just cut me a little slack, I’m afraid. It’s been long hours around here.” His chair creaked as Hillman leaned back in it before continuing. “I only just came over to IA. I used to be strictly Intelligence.”

“Why the transfer?”

“Happened after two of the guys on the warrant squad were killed.”

Johnny nodded and then referred to his laptop. “That would have been Sergeant Mick Brett and Detective Reggie Taylor. Correct? They were gunned down by someone with a sniper rifle, but the perpetrator was never apprehended.”

Rusch looked at Hillman, who just nodded, and said, “Chuck was on the detail that was first to arrive less than a minute after the warrant officers were gunned down.”

“They were on standby to serve a warrant I’d just had signed,” Hillman went on, “and I was riding shotgun in the BearCat. I talked to Mick just maybe a few minutes before that and told him we were on the way. He and Iggy got into position ahead of time so we could breach as soon as we showed up.”

“According to the forensics reports, both of them were wearing vests,” Johnny said. “And yet they were killed by someone firing a .308 rifle. I also understand the shooter killed both of them when it was dark, and from an estimated distance of about five hundred feet.” Johnny looked from his laptop at each of the cops in turn and shook his head. “It isn’t likely that a thug like Madera would pay for the services of someone having that kind of skill.”

Rusch frowned. “How do you know all of this? We just received that report.”

“I told you, I’m a good investigator with good sources. This was a professional job, and whoever did it knew you were coming. That much is obvious.”

“You see?” Rusch said. “I told you someone else outside the department would figure this out when they started sniffing around. This was never going to be a secret for as long as we’d hoped to keep it.”

Hillman leaned forward, elbows on knees, and leveled a stern gaze at Johnny. “I don’t like private investigators, but over the years I’ve found they can be handy at times. I’m trusting you because you were Rich’s friend. But you need to understand something before we go any further. Everything we’re about to tell you is strictly confidential. Understand?”

“You’d be pretty surprised to know some of the secrets I keep, Sergeant.” When Hillman didn’t say anything, Johnny added, “Yes, confidential...understood.”

Hillman cleared his throat. “There’s a good reason I got transferred to IA. We’ve pretty much figured out the same thing you have. The brass sent me here because they suspect someone on the inside piped the information to whoever was responsible for sniping Mick and Iggy. As for Walburn and James, their deaths occurring around the same time could not be coincidence. The guy who bombed the Italian café had to know Rich was going to be there, and Kendra James’s house fire was ruled as arson.”