could not be the Executioner's immediate priority.
Hal's family took the honors there, and while their lives were hanging in the balance, Bolan could not rest. He had a job to do.
"I'm coming in."
"Be careful, Striker. Someone thumped the hornet's nest, but good."
"What else is new?" He grinned into the mouthpiece of the telephone. "You still around the same old place?"
"Things never change."
"I've noticed."
"See you?"
"Bet on it."
Bolan cradled the receiver and returned to the rental car. As he sat behind the wheel, he spent a moment pondering the strange events in Wonderland. More details would be needed before he even tried to put the pieces together to complete the puzzle. At the moment he was sure of two things only: that Hal Brognola's family was in danger, and that Hal himself was being framed, set up to take a mighty fall for something he had never contemplated, let alone achieved.
The notion of Brognola working with the enemy was laughable, ridiculous. In other circumstances, Bolan would have seen the humor in it instantly. But with "evidence" behind the accusations, there was nothing funny about his friend's predicament. Hal needed help — a "specialist," damn right — and Bolan fit the bill precisely.
Wonderland was calling him to come and join the dance of death. For once he would not be the guest of honor, but the Executioner would not have missed it for the world.
6
Brognola pounced on the telephone before it had the chance to ring a second time. His palm was moist and sticky as he lifted the receiver to his ear.
"Hello?"
"You made it. Good."
"My family can't help you."
"They already have. We're talking, aren't we?"
"If you harm my wife or children..."
"What?" There was a challenge in the tone. "You gonna track us down?" The caller chuckled to himself. "That's bullshit, man. We're on your back like white on rice, and you
will
do exactly what you're told."
Brognola took a breath and held it briefly, finally allowed it to escape between clenched teeth. He had been on the verge of threatening this faceless enemy, a foolish move that could have jeopardized his wife, his children. Already chilling out, he recognized the need to take things easy, without provoking any violence on the other end.
The caller was correct, of course. Hal's bluster had been that and nothing more, an empty challenge, totally devoid of substance. He could never hope to find them on his own, retrieve his family and dole out retribution single-handedly. Even if he knew the bastards' names and their whereabouts, there would be little he could do. As long as Helen and the kids were held as hostages, his hands were tied.
"I'm listening," he said at last.
"That's better." Triumph, gloating in the other's tone. "We're going to need a meet."
"Just tell me where and when."
"Relax, old man. Don't be too eager. You've got chores to do before it gets that far."
"What kind of chores?"
"We need some information from you. You've got sources and it's time to share."
"Be more specific."
"Names and places ought to do for openers, okay? Protected witnesses, your people under cover, shit like that."
The pit was opening beneath his feet. He had to stall. "I don't have access to that kind of information."
Sudden anger. "Bullshit, man! You set the system up yourself. I've done my homework, see?"
"You didn't study long enough. I've been suspended, as of ten o'clock this morning. They only let me in the office to retrieve some personal belongings."
"What the hell..."
A hand was clapped across the mouthpiece, muffling a heated conversation, and the man from Justice knew that he had scored. Whatever the apparent link between his dual calamities, the gunners who had snatched his family appeared to have been kept in ignorance. That could be good or bad, Brognola realized, depending on their boiling point and how he handled things from here on out.
Another moment, and the sullen voice was back, the tension evident in every spoken word.
Hal's family took the honors there, and while their lives were hanging in the balance, Bolan could not rest. He had a job to do.
"I'm coming in."
"Be careful, Striker. Someone thumped the hornet's nest, but good."
"What else is new?" He grinned into the mouthpiece of the telephone. "You still around the same old place?"
"Things never change."
"I've noticed."
"See you?"
"Bet on it."
Bolan cradled the receiver and returned to the rental car. As he sat behind the wheel, he spent a moment pondering the strange events in Wonderland. More details would be needed before he even tried to put the pieces together to complete the puzzle. At the moment he was sure of two things only: that Hal Brognola's family was in danger, and that Hal himself was being framed, set up to take a mighty fall for something he had never contemplated, let alone achieved.
The notion of Brognola working with the enemy was laughable, ridiculous. In other circumstances, Bolan would have seen the humor in it instantly. But with "evidence" behind the accusations, there was nothing funny about his friend's predicament. Hal needed help — a "specialist," damn right — and Bolan fit the bill precisely.
Wonderland was calling him to come and join the dance of death. For once he would not be the guest of honor, but the Executioner would not have missed it for the world.
6
Brognola pounced on the telephone before it had the chance to ring a second time. His palm was moist and sticky as he lifted the receiver to his ear.
"Hello?"
"You made it. Good."
"My family can't help you."
"They already have. We're talking, aren't we?"
"If you harm my wife or children..."
"What?" There was a challenge in the tone. "You gonna track us down?" The caller chuckled to himself. "That's bullshit, man. We're on your back like white on rice, and you
will
do exactly what you're told."
Brognola took a breath and held it briefly, finally allowed it to escape between clenched teeth. He had been on the verge of threatening this faceless enemy, a foolish move that could have jeopardized his wife, his children. Already chilling out, he recognized the need to take things easy, without provoking any violence on the other end.
The caller was correct, of course. Hal's bluster had been that and nothing more, an empty challenge, totally devoid of substance. He could never hope to find them on his own, retrieve his family and dole out retribution single-handedly. Even if he knew the bastards' names and their whereabouts, there would be little he could do. As long as Helen and the kids were held as hostages, his hands were tied.
"I'm listening," he said at last.
"That's better." Triumph, gloating in the other's tone. "We're going to need a meet."
"Just tell me where and when."
"Relax, old man. Don't be too eager. You've got chores to do before it gets that far."
"What kind of chores?"
"We need some information from you. You've got sources and it's time to share."
"Be more specific."
"Names and places ought to do for openers, okay? Protected witnesses, your people under cover, shit like that."
The pit was opening beneath his feet. He had to stall. "I don't have access to that kind of information."
Sudden anger. "Bullshit, man! You set the system up yourself. I've done my homework, see?"
"You didn't study long enough. I've been suspended, as of ten o'clock this morning. They only let me in the office to retrieve some personal belongings."
"What the hell..."
A hand was clapped across the mouthpiece, muffling a heated conversation, and the man from Justice knew that he had scored. Whatever the apparent link between his dual calamities, the gunners who had snatched his family appeared to have been kept in ignorance. That could be good or bad, Brognola realized, depending on their boiling point and how he handled things from here on out.
Another moment, and the sullen voice was back, the tension evident in every spoken word.
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