LITMIR.BIZ

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the bottom where he lay motionless.

      Bolan returned to Sebring’s office. He found the photographer slumped on the floor beside his desk, a bloody hand clutched to his shoulder. The receptionist was on the phone, calling for assistance. When she saw the gun in Bolan’s hand her eyes widened in alarm.

      He put the gun away. “Take it easy,” he said. “I’m on your side.”

      He crossed to check the gunman. The man was still clutching his face, moaning softly. Then he went back to Sebring. The photographer, pale-faced and sweating, glanced up at the Executioner.

      “You always bring guests to the party?” he asked.

      “Never invited ones,” Bolan said grimly.

      “Next time, Cooper, just bring a bottle.”

      The receptionist put the phone down. “Police and ambulance are on their way.”

      Bolan turned to her. “Got any towels we can use to stop the bleeding?”

      The young woman nodded and left the office.

      “This has to do with Maggie?” Sebring asked.

      Bolan took the items from the envelope and dropped them into his pocket. He glanced at Sebring. The photographer sensed what Bolan was silently asking and gave a brief nod.

      The receptionist came back with some towels. She helped Bolan get Sebring into his chair. The Executioner wadded one of the towels and placed it over the wound.

      “Hold that in place, miss.”

      She nodded and said, “The name’s Carrie.”

      “Just keep good pressure on that towel, Carrie.”

      Bolan crossed to the door, taking out his phone. He punched in his contact number for Brognola. When the big Fed answered Bolan calmly explained what had happened.

      “I can’t walk out until Miami P.D. arrive. There’s one perp on the floor and another outside the building. I won’t leave and put these people in the way of further harm.”

      “When they arrive let me speak to the head honcho. I’ll square things,” Brognola said.

      “Thanks.”

      “Any good going to come out of this?” Brognola asked.

      “I don’t know yet but tell Bear to get ready because I’m going to send him some information.”

      “Okay. Get back to me for your get-out-of-jail-free card.”

      Ten minutes later the office was a busy place. Police and paramedics vied for space. Sebring was given treatment prior to hospital transport to have the bullet removed from his shoulder. The gunman Bolan had put down was cuffed before his own ride for treatment. He’d said nothing, mostly due to the fact that his jaw was shattered and his nose badly crushed. The second attacker had vanished by the time the cops arrived. He had left blood behind on the concrete at the bottom of the steps but he’d disappeared. Carrie sat on a chair in one corner of the office, absently rubbing at the bloodstains on her dress but physically unharmed.

      The Executioner stood to one side, waiting while the cop in charge had his conversation with Brognola. The cop ended the call and returned Bolan’s phone to him.

      “Looks like you’re off the hook, Agent Cooper,” he said amiably.

      Lieutenant Gary Loomis was a lean, tanned cop in his thirties. His boyish face belied the things he had seen during his tenure with the Miami-Dade force. Despite the heat he wore a suit and tie. He stood in front of Bolan, hands on his hips, studying the big man.

      “So what brought you to Sebring’s office again?” the cop asked.

      “Just following up on information received,” Bolan recited. “An ongoing investigation. Sebring was pegged to answer a couple of questions. He isn’t a suspect.”

      “Yeah, yeah,” Loomis said. “Need to know and all that crap.”

      “Sorry, Loomis. If I could tell you more I would.”

      Loomis grinned. “Hell, don’t sweat it. I got enough local crime to keep me busy. Last thing I need is another pile of paperwork to wade through. That yahoo you gave us is going to use up a whole tree’s worth of forms by the time we get him processed.”

      “Any idea who he is?”

      Loomis shook his head. “Maybe when we run his prints we’ll get lucky.”

      “I’d appreciate hearing about anything you turn up.”

      Loomis handed Bolan a card. “Call me.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Anything for the Feds, Agent Cooper.”

      “SO WHERE TO NOW?” Brognola asked.

      Bolan was behind the wheel again, heading out of the city. His only lead was the origin of the package Maggie Connor had mailed to Sebring.

      “Riba Bay. Have Bear check the place out. See if there’s anything Maggie might have been interested in. And tell him I’m going to download the contents of the memory card and flash drive as soon as I can.”

      Bolan ended the call.

      He saw a shopping mall and eased off the highway, taking a parking spot close to the entrance. He made his way through the mall until he saw a computer store. Inside he asked for the manager. When the man arrived, looking all of sixteen years old, Bolan showed his Justice identification and explained what he wanted. Minutes later he was seated at a work station in the manager’s office, downloading the memory card and flash drive to send to Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman, the communications expert for Stony Man Farm. An acknowledgment e-mail came through saying the material had been received. Bolan erased it. He found the store manager, thanked him for his cooperation and returned to his SUV.

      He had been driving for just under thirty minutes when he spotted the car tailing him….

      3

      The Executioner was at least an hour from Riba Bay. All he had to go on was the postmark on the package Maggie Connor had sent to Sebring. It was hardly much in itself, but it wasn’t the first time Bolan had started out with almost nothing. But now he had company.

      He spotted the tail car again in his review mirror, watched it as it narrowed the gap and kept edging closer.

      Too close.

      He checked the road ahead. For the past few miles he hadn’t seen another vehicle. The road was clear in both directions. Bolan checked that his seat belt was secure, then hit the gas pedal and sent the big SUV surging forward. The force pushed Bolan back in his seat. He saw the tail car recede.

      That wouldn’t be the end of it, Bolan knew.

      He was on a straight road, with no discernable turnoffs. There was no way out of this, except to keep driving and wait for something ahead to change things.

      That something did show up a few miles along the road. But not in the way Bolan had hoped. He saw a distant configuration spanning the blacktop. At the speed he was traveling it only took a short time before he was able to identify it.

      A full-size fuel tanker was stopped across the width of the road, blocking it completely. The road on either side dropped away into drainage ditches, offering no avenue of escape.

      The tail car was coming up behind him, relentless in its pursuit.

      Bolan realized someone was panicking enough to set up the roadblock. They were desperate enough to step out in public in order to stop him.

      What, he wondered, had Maggie Connor uncovered?

      He eased off the gas, stepped on the brake and steadied the SUV as the tanker loomed larger. Armed figures stepped into view. There were three. One opened up with a submachine gun. Slugs scored the asphalt in front

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