Recovery Force

Bolan remained impassive.

Hall continued, “You realize I can arrest you right here just on the suspicion that you were involved in today’s incident?”

“As long as you realize I’m the one who spared your wife and kids a lot of grief today,” Bolan said.

“That’s the only reason you’re not in handcuffs yet.”

“You don’t want to do that.”

“No. And why not?”

“Let’s just say that we’re on the same team.”

“How do I know that? You a cop?”

“Not exactly.”

“Work for the government?”

“Sometimes.”

Hall chuckled and sat back in his chair a little, although Bolan noted he still hadn’t let down his guard. The Executioner didn’t doubt Hall had a gun in reach. “You care to show me some kind of identification to prove that? An authorization signed by the FBI or Justice Department, perhaps?”

Bolan smiled. “Let’s pretend for this moment that I’m telling you the truth. Give me five minutes to explain. After that, if you’re not convinced, you can do what you like.”

“Why should I?”

“The intelligence you got on that meet today was bogus,” Bolan said. “The Sinaloa cartel was setting a trap and you walked right into it. If I hadn’t intervened when I did, you’d all be dead. That enough reason?”

Hall sat in stony silence for a while before finally saying, “Fine…you got your five minutes.”

“Hector Casco wasn’t going to be at that meet,” Bolan continued. “In fact, I doubt there was any meet at all. I got there before you and I marked five scouts, two above, three at street level.”

“It was you at the diner?”

Bolan nodded.

“Yeah, you were a real hit for the waitress there,” Hall said matter-of-factly and scratched his neck. He smiled at Bolan and then said, “You care to elaborate on how you know about Hector Casco?”

“I have sources of my own,” Bolan said. “I called one of them right before your raid went down. My source told me that this was some of the best hard evidence you’d obtained since the beginning of this year. When I heard that, I figured you’d be itching to jump on it and that you’d do whatever was needed to obtain a warrant. Problem is, Hector Casco had already figured that out.”

“So you still haven’t answered my question,” Hall said. “What do you know about it?”

“A lot. Casco’s recent activities here make it obvious he’s trying to take over the pipeline from Nogales. Only trouble is, he’s playing for keeps, which means he’s not looking to take on partners or put up with the competition.”

“What’s your point, Cooper?”

“That you’re about to get in over your head,” Bolan said. “Take Ann-Elise McCormack. You think that was about ransom money?”

“Why not?” Hall asked. “What happened this morning. That you, too?”

Bolan nodded. “Montera was already gone when I arrived, but yeah, I’m the one who took down the kidnappers and returned the girl to her home.”

“She’s one tough kid,” Hall replied. “Apparently, every time the FBI asked who it was that rescued her she’d just start crying, insisting she really didn’t remember.”

“She was grateful,” Bolan said. “Look, the fact is that if Casco plans to take control of the drug and gun-running action in this area, things will heat up quickly between him and the competition. Before you know it, you’ll have a war on these streets between Los Negros and Los Zetas that’ll make what’s happening down in Mexico pale by comparison. You’ve already gotten a taste of how little they care for innocent bystanders.”

“So what are you offering?”

“At this point, a sort of partnership,” Bolan said. “You can still handle the cases the way you feel you need to, and any intelligence I gather during my own operations, I’ll screen and pass on to you if I think it’s relevant.”

“If it’s not enough to get warrants, it does me no good. I got plenty of CI’s out there willing to rat out a nickel-and-dime-bag crook for a few bucks. I don’t need any more of those.”

“It’ll be more than enough,” Bolan said. “And at least you can rest assured it’ll be accurate.”

“So you still haven’t told me why I should work with you,” Hall said. “Or even trust you, for that matter. For all I know you could be working for Casco.”

“The current case count for your squad is up to what now, Hall, maybe a hundred-sixty?” Bolan calmly asked.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“At that rate, I wouldn’t be turning down any help.”

“But how do I know you’re legit.”

“I could have let you die today,” Bolan said and gestured with the flat of his hand. “I could have just walked away and left you and your men to deal on your own.”

“What does that prove?”

“Look, Hall, I threw you one lifeline this morning and I’m throwing a second one this evening. The difference is, are you smart enough to reach for it? You’re not convinced for the sake of your own life, then at least be convinced for the sake of those you’re responsible to protect. There’s a war about to break out right here in Phoenix. Maybe I can’t stop it, but I might be able to contain it long enough for the spark to die. And I can give you some breathing room to operate so that when you do step in to take down Casco, at least it’ll count for something.”

Hall fell silent and Bolan gave him the time to let the wheels turn. He could empathize with the policeman but he also didn’t have time for games. If Hall didn’t go for it, Bolan knew he might end up in a cell. He’d taken a risk doing this, but like most things, the Executioner was playing a hunch and it was one he figured would pay off. Hall and his team had been at it a while and had come up empty-handed, so far. That couldn’t be looking good on Hall, a career-minded cop if Bolan didn’t miss his guess, and that had to be eating up the guy’s insides. Through the years Bolan had become a very good reader of people, and his gut told him Hall would take the deal.

As usual, his gut was right.

“All right, Cooper,” Hall said. “We’ll try this your way and see where it leads. Where do we start?”

3

The Executioner peered through the night-vision scope of the PSG-1 sniper rifle.

Night had overtaken Phoenix several hours earlier, and Bolan began to feel weariness ebb into his body. In spite of it, his mind remained fully alert to any dangers. There would be plenty of chances to rest later—at least that’s what he told himself during the more time-critical missions—but at the moment he needed to stay at peak operational readiness.

The lives of several young women depended on it.

The girls were working in a club owned by Los Negros. When most people heard that name, they typically thought of the Afromestizos group seeking to be recognized as a third ethnic voice within Mexico, a country that had not become a truly pluralist society until the 1990s in order to buy in to the good graces of the United States.

Most didn’t know about the other Los Negros, a group that had kidnapped, murdered and terrorized the American Southwest. Even with major successes by the DEA and joint agencies in operations like Xcellerator in 2009—the genesis of which began in Imperial County, California, and ultimately spanned more than twenty-five states and seized approximately one billion dollars in Sinaloa cartel assets—the fight continued. Like all such organizations, Los Negros continued to rear its ugly faces like the multiheaded monster it was. Well, Bolan had something for the Hydra, something that it would not soon forget. He had a battle plan, the opening of which involved Bolan behind the sniper rifle, concealed by a tarp over the bed of a large pickup truck. While it might have seemed a crude way of establishing a point from which to strike, it provided Bolan with the position he needed and would buy him the element of surprise. Plus from his vantage point, Bolan had a perfect view of the club entrance.