Don Pendleton: War Everlasting

“What makes you think they’d announce something like that publicly?” Bolan said. “Especially when they don’t know what they’re dealing with. They’re not just going to come right out and tell you about it.”

“Of course,” Shaffernik said, her complexion darkened by anger. “So...why did you tell me?”

“We were going to be straight with each other. Now you know the full story and why it’s more important than ever that I maintain my cover.”

“So, what could I possibly do to help you? You sure as hell know more than I do about what’s going on.”

“Yes, but you know this island like the back of your hand,” Bolan said. “I have a lead. Now I need to make a connection with someone inside the Onalash Corporation. Know anybody?”

“I might,” Shaffernik said. “I just might. But we have one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s going to look strange if I release you.” She waved at the congregation of officers that were bustling about the central area just outside. “Everyone in my command just observed you brought in on a half-dozen beefs, including violating federal weapons laws and attempted murder.”

“Self-defense,” Bolan reminded her.

“Maybe so, but word gets around quickly. Even if I release you, as I’m not really inclined to do, your cover won’t last long once you’re back on the streets.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

Shaffernik didn’t reply immediately. Then she said, “Look, maybe if I have two officers follow you. I’ll give them a story, that you’re represented by an attorney and I got a phone call from the magistrate advising I had nothing solid to hold you on.”

“You think they’ll believe it?”

“What choice do they have?” she asked with a quirk of her lips. “I’m the deputy chief.”

For the next five minutes she stood up and launched into a tirade, putting on a show and yelling loud enough she could be heard. She even included some nice obscenities just to make the frosting taste all that much better for all of the officers observing her. Then she came around her desk, behind which she’d paced during her angry production, reached down and uncuffed Bolan’s wrist.

“Nice job,” he whispered.

“Thanks.” She pressed her lips together and added quickly, “Let’s just hope I didn’t oversell it.”

* * *

BOLAN USED THE pay phone to call a cab, then placed a second call to Jack Grimaldi.

“So, what’s the gig?” the Stony Man pilot asked.

“I’ll call again once I reach my destination. I’m going to need a resupply.”

“You want it supersized?”

“Better keep it to the minimum, this time.”

“What happened to the other stuff?”

“Don’t ask. Just be ready when I call.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Thanks.”

Bolan hung up and took a quick glance at the central booking and processing area, but everyone appeared to be busy. Two men stood in a corner conversing with Shaffernik. Bolan knew she could sell the plan if she wanted to. That didn’t concern him as much as the fact he’d decided to trust her implicitly. It wasn’t something he could put his finger on—it just... was . The Executioner had learned to trust his gut over the years. Shaffernik was different. He’d meant his remark about her being a quick study.

Only time would tell if his instinct to trust her proved correct.

Bolan’s cab awaited him when he stepped into the street. The light was fading fast, and the temperature had dropped dramatically. The lack of light would last only a couple of hours, so Bolan figured now would be the best time to make the acquaintance of the locals. He found them just where Shaffernik had told him they would be—an old tavern down by the docks short on modern facilities and long on personality—many just off work and still dressed in clothing styles that ranged from uniforms to run-of-the-mill dock wear.

The music in the place had reached a volume that nearly deafened the soldier. It seemed intolerable when combined with the boisterous laughter and shouting of its more inebriated patrons, which Bolan noted most of them were. This was the crowd he’d have to infiltrate, and for a moment he began to wonder if Shaffernik’s words had been a little on the prophetic side. Nothing but a tight-knit crew here, a fact that became obvious when no less than a dozen pair of eyes settled on him as soon as he entered the place.

Bolan kept an impassive, almost tired expression as he sidled up to the bar and ordered a beer on tap. The bartender passed it along to him and shouted to be heard over the noise. “Cash or you want a marker?”

The soldier thought about it for a moment, shook his head, dipped into his pocket and withdrew a wad of bills. Careful to keep the stash covered with his hand, he peeled off a five dollar bill and slapped it on the bar while mouthing “keep it,” before turning to search for an open seat. A dollar tip on a four-buck beer; not miserly but not overt. He figured that ought to solidify his cover some.

There were a decent number of tables crammed into the place, an assortment filling every nook and cranny, and the patrons had every seat filled. Mostly women occupied the chairs and men either sat next to them or hovered close by on their feet. Bolan watched a minute or two, but he didn’t recognize a single face in the crowd, save for the two cops who came through the door a moment later, now dressed in civilian clothes. Bolan watched, noticing that they got the same attention as everybody had given him. The sense of a presence on his right commanded his attention.

Bolan turned and found himself looking into a pair of the darkest brown eyes he could recall seeing. They belonged to a woman who couldn’t have been a day over forty. She had a strong build but how shapely seemed more difficult to determine behind the bulky clothing and reefer jacket. She smiled at him as the song that had been blasting over the speakers came to a close.

“Hi,” she said in a husky voice.

“Hello,” Bolan replied with a nod.

They didn’t say much more to each other, which suited Bolan fine since the music started blaring, and he didn’t really feel like shouting. After a little bit of time, the woman tugged on his shirtsleeve.

“Are you new here?”

Bolan thought about a moment. She was attractive, and as he looked in her eyes he thought he saw just a glimmer of mischief there. He wasn’t sure now would be the best time to let a local latch on to him, but the more he thought about it, the more the idea seemed like a good one. If he could bring her around, a woman the rest of the bar patrons knew, it might be easier to get the crowd to accept him. He could blend in with them—become one of them, really, and that was the whole idea.

“Just got in.”

She nodded in the direction of the two undercover cops who weren’t looking nearly as inconspicuous as they thought they were. “I see you got friends.”

Bolan’s eyes flicked toward the two, then quickly away. He didn’t want to spook them; he needed them distracted for when he made his exit. He decided to play out some line and see who took the bait. “What makes you think they’re here to watch me?”

“Because they haven’t stopped watching you since they came in,” the woman replied.

“You’re pretty sharp,” Bolan said, genuinely impressed.

She laughed. “You look a little out of place.”

“Is that right?”

“I think you’re trying to look like you fit in, but it ain’t working.”

“What would you suggest?”

“You’d have to agree to leave with me,” she said. She waved at his attire, looking him up and down, then said, “Step out of your little comfort zone or whatever it is you’ve got going on here.”