Don Pendleton - Dying Art

Grimaldi’s weapon cracked three times.

Bolan saw that this target was another bad guy. He dropped to his knees beside Grimaldi, who grinned.

“See? Another terrorist bites the dust, courtesy of yours truly and SIG.”

They were wearing GunSport–PRO electronic earplugs that allowed them to converse in normal tones, yet blocked out any sudden noise over 500 decibels.

“Better do a combat reload before we move,” Bolan said. “By my count, you’re down to your last two rounds.”

Grimaldi dropped the magazine from his gun and verified that Bolan’s assessment had been correct. A solitary round sat atop the magazine. “How the hell do you do that? I can’t keep track of my own rounds, much less my partner’s.”

Bolan said nothing, but they both knew the answer was training and practice. He slapped Grimaldi’s shoulder, signaling him to move across the street. “Go.”

Grimaldi grunted and tore around the rear of the Lincoln, staying low as he ran, his weapon held close to his chest with both hands, ready to shoot as he moved.

Another target popped into the doorway. Bolan couldn’t take the shot because Grimaldi veered left into the field of fire. The Stony Man pilot’s SIG Sauer barked numerous times and a plethora of holes pierced the target’s chest, but this time it was a woman holding a grocery bag. Grimaldi groaned and shook his head at the rare mistake, and his pace slowed as he completed the last few steps to take cover on the right side of the doorway.

Bolan was already moving to his next position, keeping the Beretta trained on the various openings on the building’s front.

No new targets popped up, and the Executioner got to the opposite side of the doorway.

Before they could enter the building, the buzzer sounded, indicating the session was over, followed by a loud Bronx cheer over the speaker system from the range master.

Grimaldi swore and jammed his pistol into its holster.

“All right, all right, so I shot an alleged noncombatant. But I’ll bet you a ten spot she had a big, old .357 hogleg hidden in that grocery bag.”

The range master’s laugh sounded over the speaker. “Not hardly, Jack. But considering what a lady’s man you are, why don’t you give her a nice kiss to see if you can bring her back to life?”

Bolan allowed himself a ghost of a smile as he holstered his weapon.

Grimaldi shook his head and smirked. “Nah, she doesn’t look like my type.”

“Make that a lady-killer, then,” the range master said. “Anyway, Hal called. Needs to see you, guys, ASAP.”

“Good,” Grimaldi said. “Maybe he’s got something for us. All this training is giving me a case of the ass.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Bolan said as he headed toward the exit pathway.

“Hey,” Grimaldi called. “Hold on a sec. I got something neat to show you.”

Bolan stopped and turned around.

Grimaldi reached into his pants pocket and took out a black rectangular object that was about the same size as a stack of credit cards.

“I got credit,” Grimaldi said. He held up the object, then with a quick move he pushed a latch and the bottom section flipped down displaying a trigger and a handle. Grimaldi pulled a small rectangular section back and whirled, pointing at the target.

A subdued pop sounded, and Grimaldi turned back to Bolan with a sly grin. “Told you I had credit.”

He held his hand out, and Grimaldi gave him the weapon.

“Just picked it up. It’s called a LifeCard .22LR. Single shot .22 long rifle. Stores four rounds in the handle.”

Bolan checked the action and then handed it back to Grimaldi.

“Don’t leave home without it,” he said.

Fifteen minutes later they were walking into the War Room in the main building. The huge wall screen had been lowered and muted images from a cable news show danced across it. Hal Brognola, who was on the phone, indicated that they should sit with him at the conference table.

“Hey, look,” Grimaldi said, pointing at the screen. “There’s our buddy Sergio!”

An unlit cigar dangled from Brognola’s mouth as he emitted a series of nearly inaudible grunts. Grimaldi grabbed the remote off the table before he sat down and played with the buttons. The volume came on and Brognola shot him a dirty look. The pilot muted the sound, pressed a few more buttons, and enabled the caption function.

Bolan watched with interest as the white-on-black letters began appearing in a box at the lower right section of the screen.

...And security was extremely heavy this morning as reputed drug kingpin Sergio de la Vega was brought before a federal magistrate in downtown Chicago.

Sergio, in an orange jumpsuit, stood in front of a judge.

“Hey, I like his wardrobe,” Grimaldi said with a chuckle. “Looks like a leftover from Orange Is the New Black , doesn’t it?”

Brognola, who was continuing to speak quietly, snapped his fingers at Grimaldi, who stopped talking.

This was the first appearance de la Vega has made since his initial arraignment two months ago when he was mysteriously taken into custody at a remote location in Southern California by DEA agents.

“Ha,” Grimaldi muttered. “All those DEA guys did was score a touchdown with the ball we handed them at the goal line.”

De la Vega, who was accompanied by his lawyers, was once again remanded to custody without a bond being set due to his international ties and infamous reputation regarding the Bajos Diablos drug cartel. It was decided that the case will be held at the Dirksen Federal Building in Chicago, since the US Attorney’s Office filed an indictment at that location. De la Vega’s lawyers reiterated their claim that their client was illegally abducted from Mexico by clandestine government operatives working in conjunction with the Mexican authorities, and was therefore being detained unlawfully, having been denied the right of extradition.

“Extradition.” Grimaldi snorted. “Yeah, right. So his old man could’ve had time to bribe one of those crooked judges down there?”

The picture shifted to a clip featuring the US president shaking hands with the president of Mexico as the white-on-black letters kept scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

The presidents will both be in Nogales for the upcoming Unity Day meeting. When asked to comment on the lawyer’s charges during the White House press briefing, the assistant press secretary quoted the president as having said, “We will go to any length, cross any border, do whatever is necessary, to bring to justice the wrongdoers who continue to poison the youth of our country with the scourge of drugs.”

Brognola ended his call, then said, “That was interesting.” He leaned back in his chair and twirled the cigar. “Hard to hear with all the conversing going on, but interesting.”

“You wanted to see us, so I assume the call is about a mission?”

“Yeah, but first off, the Man wants you both to know that he’s very pleased with how smoothly the mission to bring in Sergio de la Vega went.”

“Well,” Grimaldi said, “I guess that’s a compliment.”

Brognola held out his hand for the remote. The Stony Man pilot slid it across the table to him. After he pressed a few buttons, a breaking news story came on the big screen. The sound was still off, but the caption feature flashed a report of several murders at the newly opened plush San Martin Resort near Cancun, Mexico.

Two of the victims are purported to have been Americans. Authorities declined comment at this time, and this report could neither be confirmed nor denied.

The screen froze and Brognola turned to them. “It’s confirmed. Two dead Americans.”