Hostile Odds

She twisted until her knees were in the seat and faced rearward. Bolan could see her level the pistol, expertly using a modified Weaver’s grip, her forearms braced on the top edge of the seat to the right of the headrest. A moment later, she squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession. She followed that with a second volley.

Bolan watched in his rearview mirror as the SUV swerved to avoid the shots. The first volley left sparks on the grille but didn’t appear to have any effect. The latter triburst spiderwebbed the windshield, effectively blocking the driver’s field of vision, and Bolan noticed the passenger’s side spattered with red. Obviously one of the woman’s shots had scored. The Executioner decided to take advantage of the driver’s obscured sight. He rolled down the passenger’s side window and grabbed hold of his new ally as he slammed on the brakes and steered into the deserted oncoming lane.

The SUV shot past them.

Bolan snatched the pistol from the woman as he accelerated and ordered her to take cover. He came parallel with the SUV and thumbed the selector to 3-round bursts before squeezing the trigger. The slide ratcheted obediently—extracted one casing after another—as the warrior put three 9 mm Parabellum rounds in the driver. The SUV swerved off the road, jumped the curb and collided with a massive pine tree. Bolan didn’t even slow down when the engine ignited. They were more than two blocks away when they heard the rumble of an explosion.

“Damn!” the waitress said. “Pretty nice work, mister!”

“Not bad yourself,” Bolan replied. “Now, let’s find some place to talk.”

THE PLACE ENDED UP being a forest preserve about sixteen miles outside Timber Vale. Bolan didn’t mind the drive. It gave both of them time to decompress while affording him the advantage to watch for tails. Once convinced no one followed, he turned onto a road indicated by his companion, stopped in a shaded area near a small lake and killed the engine.

“You want to explain what happened back there?” Bolan asked.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Not much for small talk, are you?”

“Not when someone’s trying to kill me.”

“You’re of no interest to them,” she said. “Besides, you don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll protect you.”

“I’ll bet.”

“So what do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with your real name, because I’m pretty sure it isn’t Louise.”

She extended a hand and replied, “Special Agent Sandra Newbury, FBI. I’m here on temporary assignment.”

“And your handler,” Bolan interjected. “I bet his name’s Kellogg.”

“How’d you know?”

“Same reason I knew you worked for the FBI,” Bolan said. “I recognized you when I was there.”

She laughed—a nice laugh. “Guess I’m getting sloppy.”

“Guess so. What’s Kellogg have you doing up here?”

“It’s a long story.”

Bolan frowned. “I have time.”

Newbury blew out a breath through pursed lips, then laid her head against the headrest and stared at the lake. “I was assigned here by Washington. I’m what they call a flip. I travel a lot, take undercover cases and then once the job’s done I move on. I specialize in fitting into particular areas or groups, but I’m never in for any long-term gigs. You probably hear or even know of the ones who go under for months and months, many times even years, and then after that they do regular fieldwork.”

Bolan nodded. He’d known many in the law-enforcement community who did such work—even a few he counted as friends.

“Anyway, I was assigned to get inside the Timber Vale community,” Newbury continued. “It’s gone a lot longer than maybe it should have. We’ve long suspected corruption by organized-crime elements up in this neck of the woods, and what I’ve seen in recent weeks makes me think more and more we’re right.”

“You’re talking about Mickey Gowan and clan.”

“Right again! Sounds like you know your way around here. You work for Washington also?”

Bolan shook his head. “No, but we’ll get into that later. Right now, I need to know everything you can tell me about Gowan’s operations up here.”

“Afraid I can’t tell you much,” Newbury replied with a shrug. “Especially since I don’t even know who you work for or your clearance level.”

“Much higher than yours. I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me on that and everything else I tell you. I don’t have any credentials with me to prove what I’m saying, not that I feel I have to.”

“Then what makes you think I should cooperate with you?”

“Mainly because I saved your tail back there,” Bolan countered. “That should be enough proof I’m on your side.”

Newbury’s resolve seemed to melt some, as did her defensive expression. “I suppose I do owe you one on that count. How about at least a name?”

“I gave it to you last night. Cooper.”

Newbury nodded. “Cooper it is, although I’m betting it’s a cover. Anyway, it was just luck of the draw you came along when you did. Thanks.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it. I’d planned to follow up on a lead I got with you, once I realized who you were and where I’d seen you before.”

“A lead on what?”

“About a week ago, a pair of F-15s was shot down at Kingsley Airfield.”

Newbury nodded and said evenly, “I heard about that. My brother happens to be a pilot for the Texas Air National Guard. I’m a little more sensitive when I hear about those kinds of things. It reminds me just how short life is.”

“It can be,” Bolan replied.

“But I thought that was ruled an accident,” she said.

“That’s what they’re telling the press. In reality, we think the Earth Liberation Front might have been responsible.”

“Doesn’t sound like their MO. And besides, what does any of this have to do with Mickey Gowan and my case?” she asked.

“I’m coming to that. My intelligence on Gowan shows he’s funneling monies through the local businesses all along this region for the ELF. Giving them a place to store their cash, launder funds, the works. Neither the Justice Department nor the IRS would look hard at a community of this size, particularly if the growth rate wasn’t significant. Timber Vale’s the perfect place for Gowan’s operations.”

“Okay, but for what purpose? If Gowan allows the businesses around here to get hurt, that’s only going to look bad on him.”

“Not if he’s using those business to pipeline cash but making the individual business owners sign receivership,” Bolan said. “Think about it. He fronts the ELF’s money to the business owners. He can show those as legitimate business transactions to the ELF, make them think he’s doing it to protect their funds. Then somebody defaults and he lets it get back to the ELF the receivers have stolen the money. The ELF then takes it out on the individuals and Gowan gets away squeaky clean with the embezzled funds.”

“And after it’s over, he then comes in and restores the thing at a quarter of the cost,” Newbury concluded. “Nobody’s the wiser!”

“Right.”

Newbury looked at Bolan with utter surprise. “It’s ingenious if true.”

“That’s a big if right now,” Bolan admitted. “What I need is some corroborating evidence. And I need you to help me get it.”