Don Pendleton - Dark Alliance

“In Miami you caused us a great deal of trouble. A number of our people died because you refused to back away. You made it clear you would refuse to stop searching for Maggie Connor. Congratulations, Cooper, you have found her.”

Santiago pushed the door, then stepped aside so the Executioner could be shoved toward the opening.

It was another cell. A cold and hostile place.

Bolan was staring at Maggie Connor. Or what was left of her.

Bolan saw, wanted to deny the evidence, but let it soak into his mind.

“You want to join her? That can be easily arranged if you refuse to speak to me. I will hang you on a hook next to her while you still live.”

Santiago’s soft words penetrated the white hot buzz that was rising inside Bolan. He knew he had to act within seconds.

“Bring him over here,” Santiago snapped. “If he refuses to talk we will have to persuade him to change his mind.”

Bolan felt Noriamo and Ricco grip his arms tightly as they moved him away from the open door. He offered no resistance, feigning weakness, head sagging. They turned him around. Santiago stood in the center of the cell, flexing hands that were encased in leather gloves. Slowly he reached beneath his coat and drew out a knife. It had a slim blade. Santiago stood waiting, savoring a cigar, until Bolan was dragged close enough for him to use his blade.

Turning his head slightly, Bolan saw the Uzi hanging from Noriamo’s skinny neck.

He planted both bare feet down hard, hauling himself to a dead stop. His action caught the handlers off guard and allowed him to break from their already loose grips. He half turned to his right and head butted Ricco full in the face.

The guard’s crushed and broken nose suddenly gushed blood. As he stepped away from Bolan he failed to see the American’s hard swerve to the left and behind the dazed Noriamo.

Bolan’s arms encircled the man’s lean torso and gripped the dangling Uzi. He brought the weapon up to put Santiago in his line of fire and triggered it. Brass shell casings chinked as they hit the floor.

Santiago spun, his chest erupting in a mess of blood and shredded clothing. He screamed as he tumbled to the floor. The sound stopped when a second burst ended his life. The Executioner dropped the Uzi and gripped Noriamo’s head with his powerful arms. Noriamo had no time to protest before Bolan snapped his neck. Bolan turned back to the stunned Ricco, who was still reeling from the savage blow that had smashed his nose. He grabbed the man’s shoulders and spun him around. He looped his arm across Ricco’s neck and hauled him off balance. As Ricco fell back, Bolan dropped, bracing himself on one knee. He slammed Ricco across his rigid thigh. The force was enough to snap his neck and Bolan pushed him to the floor.

It had taken no more than a few intense seconds. But it was enough to end the lives of three men so that the Executioner could continue the mission that had started with Maggie Connor. He thought about what he’d learned.

Stony Man Farm, Virginia

“MAGGIE CONNOR HAS FED me information more than once,” Hal Brognola said. “She’s a damn fine investigative journalist. She’s also one of the most generous people I know. Okay, she wants her story but if she comes across information that might help stall an injustice she passes it along. Her tips have always pointed us in the right direction.”

“A journalist with a conscience,” Bolan said.

“I can’t knock that, Striker. She’s helped Justice break a couple of hot investigations.”

“What’s the difference this time?”

“Maggie has been working an in-depth probe into the illegal supply of weapons to one of the cartels operating in and around Valledupar.”

“That’s cowboy territory,” Bolan said.

The border territory between Colombia and Venezuela was a haven for smuggling of all kinds, from automobiles to electrical goods to drugs. Valledupar was the pivotal spot, where deals were done and the local gangs operated with impunity.

“Maggie told me she’d stumbled across details of a nasty operation. She gave me the bare bones because it was all she had at the time. Seems her Colombian subjects were having meetings with a couple of Cubans. Maggie was sure these guys were in government. She had managed to get some photographic evidence. She was being tight with what she told me. I think she was frightened, and that wasn’t like her. Maggie is tough. She doesn’t scare easily and she isn’t reckless,” the big Fed said.

“You guessed there was more to it?”

“Yes. But all she mentioned were the Colombians and the Cubans.”

“How did you leave it?”

“Maggie said she was on her way back home. She said she’d contact me after she followed up a couple of leads here.”

“Did she?”

“Once to say she was back and to wait for her to call again.”

“But she didn’t?”

Brognola shook his head. “I gave it a couple of days, then called her. Nothing. Maggie is never away from her cell phone. I had Bear run a trace on it. He finally locked on to the signal. It was weak but still active. I had Miami-Dade P.D. check it out. They located her car at the Miami airport, parked in one of the passenger lots. Maggie’s cell was in the glove box.”

Brognola handed a file to Bolan. “The cops ran more checks across the state. They came up empty. When they went to her Miami home her housekeeper said she was on an assignment. She hadn’t been in touch but that was normal. Cops said they’d keep Maggie on file but there wasn’t much more they could do.”

“She’s disappeared and you’re thinking the worst,” the Executioner said grimly.

“Striker, you and I know how these perps work. They’ll go to any lengths to protect themselves and their territory. We’ve both seen what they do to anyone who poses a threat. If Maggie crossed the line and they picked up on it she would become a target.”

“Hal, she could already be dead,” Bolan said.

“I know. But if she has some information about these people they might have snatched her to force it out of her.” Brognola hit the table with his fist.

“If that’s the case she’d be better off dead.”

“I know that,” Brognola admitted. “But she could still be alive. I can’t ask for official help because I’ve protected Maggie’s identity. It was a one-to-one arrangement. I want it to stay that way until I’m satisfied no one had a trace on her.”

“You think there’s a leak?”

Brognola was in a delicate position. He suspected there was a break in department security that might have compromised Maggie Connor’s safety. Bolan saw the look in his old friend’s eyes. Brognola was caught in the middle. Wanting to protect his source. Determined to expose any covert activity within the Justice Department. Bolan understood the big Fed’s dilemma.

“You don’t need to ask, Hal. Let me read the file. I’m on board.”

MAGGIE CONNOR’S HOME was in a quiet residential district that lay east of Miami’s historic Biscayne Boulevard.

The reporter’s home, smaller than some, was still spacious. Bolan swung his rented SUV off the road and came to a stop at the closed gates. He checked the grounds. Pristine. Empty. There was no movement. That wasn’t unusual in itself. The occupants, if they were home, could be inside the house, or in the backyard.

Bolan’s knowledge that Maggie Connor was missing gave him reason to think otherwise. He checked the gates. They weren’t locked. He pushed them open and drove through. Once inside he returned to close the gates behind him, then drove up to the house.

He stood beside the SUV, his hand sliding inside his jacket to loosen the Beretta 93-R. His presence did not seem to have alerted anyone. At the front door he tested the handle. He wasn’t surprised when the door opened, moving on smooth, balanced hinges. Bolan toed it fully open, drawing the 93-R. The entrance hall was bright from the sunlight streaming through numerous windows.