Kitabı oku: «Hellfire Code», sayfa 4
CHAPTER FIVE
The Executioner contacted Stony Man once clear of the warehouse in Atlanta.
“I’ll need the first bird that can get me to the Philippines,” Bolan said.
“You’re in luck,” Price told him after keying an inquiry into Stony Man’s information supernetwork. “There’s a flight leaving for Andrews inside of two hours. From there it looks like you might have a pretty long wait. It’s been more difficult to get military flights into and out of the Philippines since the loss of our bases there.”
“I’d like to get Jack,” Bolan said. “Any chance of that?”
“David called less than an hour ago with an update. They should be here by morning.”
“You think Jack can cut and run straight for Andrews?”
“I think it’d take an army to hold him back,” Price replied.
Bolan would have bet on it. He and Jack Grimaldi, Stony Man’s ace pilot, were longtime allies and friends. In fact, Bolan had known the man longer than any other Stony Man operative. Grimaldi, tough and tireless, had taken Bolan out of an incalculable number of scrapes.
“Good. Tell him I’ll meet him at our private hangar.” The wait in Washington would give Bolan a chance to catch some shuteye. “Is Hal there?”
“No, I finally ordered him to bed.”
Bolan grinned. “Now that’s an order from you I’d have no trouble following.”
“Watch it,” Price replied in a soft, teasing voice. “Anyway, what’s the news?”
“Very little,” Bolan said. “Hagen didn’t live long enough to tell me about anything he might have been working on for Downing. In fact, he gave me the whole righteous indignation act. Then Downing’s murder crew killed him before I could extract any real information.”
“What about this crew?”
“Same ones who did the job on that NCF house,” Bolan replied. “I managed to get one of them to talk before he died. I was surprised to find ID on all three of them. I’ll send you the names via up-link once I reach the airport.”
“We’ll be waiting,” Price said. “Anything else?”
“Downing’s behind this whole deal, no doubt there. But I don’t get the feeling he had direct control on this hit team.”
“Why not?”
“These guys were professionals, well-trained. Black ops all the way. Definitely a military man headed this crew.”
“Well, Downing does have a lot of connections from his NSA days,” Price said. “Maybe he’s got ex-military training his special teams.”
“Possible,” Bolan said. “There was something especially familiar about these teams, though. I can’t quite put a finger on it. Maybe it’ll come to me with time. For now, you can assume I’m going to push this all out.”
“What support do you need?”
“Have Cowboy send additional munitions reserves with Jack. In the meantime, I’ll try to stay out of trouble.”
“You do that,” Barbara Price replied.
A LARGE PART of the Filipino population would have said the Ninoy Aquino International Airport stood as the iconic symbol of the country’s poor economy. The few who would have disagreed with that view numbered those with questionable standards on what was “clean and modern.”
In any case, Bolan wasn’t here on a sightseeing tour so it didn’t matter to him. The heat and humidity assaulted him like a wet, wool cloak, and Bolan could understand why Grimaldi had chosen to stay behind in the comparatively cool interior of the jet. Not that he didn’t deserve the rest. Bolan would have preferred to bring the pilot along for backup, but he figured the guy deserved a respite after the long flight.
Bolan had changed into lighter wear for his arrival, and didn’t prompt a second look as he moved past the baggage claim and headed for the exit. He had learned long ago the value of role camouflage. He’d used it since nearly the start of his war with the Mafia. The soldier based it on the concept that careful study of an environment would reveal telltale clues of what others accepted as normal. It was then a simple matter of exploiting those details and appearing just as everyone would expect, thus blending into the setting and attracting as much or as little attention as required. Bolan had effectively applied the technique to penetrate everything from Mob Families to the narcotics underworld, even terrorist groups on occasion.
Bolan left the terminal and stepped onto the sidewalk bordering twin lanes jammed with cars of various makes, models and colors. Noxious fumes spewed from tailpipes throughout the long, covered port that made Bolan want to choke when mixed with the sweltering heat. One of the most popular vehicles in the country was the Jeepney. Bolan hailed a brightly colored one covered with bumper stickers and sporting a red-orange paint finish. It took him nearly a minute of broken conversation before he was satisfied the driver knew where he wanted to go.
As they left the hectic scene, Bolan reflected on the mission ahead. All leads pointed to Manila, and the natural place to start would be the downtown apartment where the CIA surveillance had located Roger Neely. According to official reports, Neely was on a scheduled two-week vacation. Bolan had no reason to think Neely’s choice to come here was anything other than it appeared. It didn’t seem an unusual choice for a vacation spot, since Neely’s career-Navy father had spent a long tour of service here. The woman and child he was reportedly spending time with was another matter entirely. Stony Man’s intelligence had dug up very little on the native woman, Malaya, or the mysterious child. Bolan suspected the most obvious: she was Neely’s mistress and the little girl was their daughter.
Bolan recalled his conversation with Barbara Price on the trip overseas.
“The apartment is rented in Malaya’s name,” Price said, “but from everything we can determine she doesn’t have a cent to her name. She doesn’t work, and she doesn’t collect any form of public assistance from the Filipino government.”
“So she has no income but somehow she survives,” Bolan replied.
“Exactly. I think it’s obvious where she gets her money, though.”
“Neely.”
“Well, we’ve determined over one-third of his salary is unaccounted for. He doesn’t live high off the hog, has only a modest balance in a savings account, and no real investments to speak of outside of his government pension fund. A name search shows he regularly uses a charge card to purchase international traveler’s checks, balance paid in full every month without fail. Those check purchases stopped three weeks ago.”
“Are the checks traceable?”
“Bear’s on it now, but he says it’ll take time.”
“Well, either his money’s going to this woman or he’s socking it away for a rainy day.”
“If he’s on Downing’s payroll, taking care of this Malaya might be part of the deal.”
“Possibly,” Bolan replied. “I’m still skeptical about that.”
“Why?”
“Seems to me a man as fanatical about duty and honor as Downing is would probably use this woman more as leverage to keep Neely in line. I’ve known Roger Neely for some time, and he never struck as me the kind seduced by greed or power. But do something to threaten his family, I think he might cooperate.”
“That’s assuming a lot,” Price replied.
“Like what?”
“Like this Malaya and her kid are Neely’s family.”
“Okay, maybe they are and maybe they aren’t,” Bolan said. “Just do me a favor and have Hal get the CIA to back off on the surveillance.”
“Sounds like you have a plan.”
“In a way,” Bolan said. “I’d rather handle it myself. Neely knows me and he trusts me, and right now that may be the only thing going for us. I don’t want to spook him.”
Yeah, Bolan had Neely figured. The NSA agent was a straight-lace guy all the way according to his performance reviews. Smart, educated and born into a family of old money, Neely joined the NSA as a junior analyst following six years with a U.S. Army Signal unit where he’d specialized in cryptography and domestic intelligence. He met the challenge with acclaimed success, making analyst in an unprecedented three years and senior analyst on the eve of his fortieth birthday.
Downing had some leverage on Neely and he was using it to his maximum benefit.
When they reached Neely’s apartment building, Bolan passed the cabbie twenty U.S. dollars and then exited the Jeepney without waiting for change. He pushed through the cheap front door and ascended a flight of rickety wooden steps. They creaked with every footfall, and Bolan figured if Neely hadn’t been expecting him he was now. The lack of security held no surprises for the Executioner, especially not in this part of town. There was little crime, mostly because the residents in this section of Manila had little if anything of value to steal.
Bolan located Neely’s apartment and knocked. A minute elapsed before he knocked again and waited patiently in silence. He pulled a lock-pick set from his pocket and expertly overcame the cheap door handle. The apartments here didn’t even have dead bolts. Bolan opened the door wide enough to slip through, and then quickly swept the apartment only to find it empty.
The Executioner took a position in the darkened recess of a doorway and waited.
ALMOST TWO HOURS ELAPSED in Bolan’s vigil before he hit pay dirt. It started with the sound of keys jingling outside the apartment, then the click of the lock. Bolan peered out of his shadowy position to watch as the door handle turned and the door swung inward. He recognized his mark the moment Neely entered, and waited until the door closed before he stepped from the shadows and raised the Beretta. He aligned his sights on the back of Neely’s neck as the NSA agent closed the door and locked it.
“Don’t move,” Bolan ordered. Neely started to turn and Bolan drew back the hammer on the Beretta. “I said ‘don’t.’”
Neely froze.
Bolan walked over to Neely, pistol unwavering, and quickly frisked him. He found a 9 mm SIG-Sauer pistol tucked in Neely’s front pocket and relieved him of it. Bolan then grabbed Neely by the collar and pulled him backward into an overstuffed chair. He studied Neely for a moment, watched his eyes, but saw only surprise there.
“I can see from that look you weren’t expecting me,” Bolan said.
“Actually I was,” Neely replied. “I just didn’t think it would be this soon. It took you long enough.”
“Don’t try it,” Bolan said in a clipped fashion.
“Try what?”
“Try to make it sound as if this was all part of your plan. You skip on our meet without so much as getting a message to me. Then you show up in the Philippines, chumming it up with terrorists.”
“What terrorists? You mean, Downing?” Neely let out a snort. “That guy’s no terrorist.”
“I think ordering the wholesale slaughter of innocent people and then calling them ‘casualties of war’ qualifies him for the title,” Bolan replied.
“Downing didn’t order any such thing, Cooper,” Neely shot back. “His little hit team did all that on their own. It wasn’t intentional.”
“Doesn’t explain why you’re running,” Bolan said.
“Because Downing’s a crazy son of a bitch, and so is Stezhnya.”
“Who’s Stezhnya?”
“Alek Stezhnya.” Neely waved his hand with irritation. “He’s some type of gun-for-hire, ex-Russian military I think. The guy creeps me out. Both of them creep me out.”
Bolan expressed frostiness. “Most fanatics do.”
“They’re not fanatics, they’re—I don’t know…fatalists.” Neely paused to take a deep breath. “Look, Cooper, I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I’m sick about it.”
“So do the right thing and tell me how I can get to Downing and his mercenaries.”
“I don’t know for sure.”
Bolan didn’t hide his skepticism.
“Look, I swear I don’t,” Neely said, throwing up his hands. “I know Downing has a base of operations somewhere south of here.”
“How far?”
“Can’t be sure, but I’m positive he’s operating out there.”
“The woman and child living here,” Bolan said quickly. “How do you figure in with them?”
“My wife and little girl.”
“Why aren’t they living with you in the States?”
“Because I had some difficulty with her immigration status,” Neely replied in a tone Bolan read as truthful. “It’s been hell trying to get her over there since the crackdown on terrorism. Lots of bureaucracy and red tape.”
“You shouldn’t have trouble given your connections,” Bolan challenged.
“I decided not to use them,” Neely said. “I was trying to keep it quiet.”
“Why?”
Neely gestured in a nondescript fashion. “Because I wanted to avoid Downing finding out about them. Somehow he got on to Malaya and Corinne before I could do anything about it.”
“So you came here to make sure they were okay,” Bolan finished.
“Yeah,” Neely said with a sigh of relief. “I had some vacation time coming and I thought I could beat him to it. First he contacted me and asked for my help. When I turned him down flat, he threatened my family.”
“Why you?”
“Who knows, but I’m sure it’s because he didn’t know who else might have the information he needed. Nobody has intelligence on the terrorists like the NSA. Hell, you probably know that better than most. There were times I figured you knew more than I did and I was just confirming your facts.”
“Maybe so,” Bolan interjected. “Keep talking.”
“Word on the inside is that Downing’s horned off a few important people. In NSA-speak that means he’s out of any favor with most of our internal bunch, and what few friends he has he either alienated with the Atlanta stunt or just plain murdered.”
“Where’s your family now?”
“I’ve moved them, hopefully where Downing and his goons can’t get their hands on them.”
Bolan shook his head. “Not likely, buddy. They managed to find out about them just like they managed to track you here. That tells me he has eyes and ears in town. The score’s zero and two in the other team’s favor. He’ll find them again. You can’t protect them and still do your job.”
“What job’s that?”
“Helping me get inside Downing’s operation here.”
“But I don’t even know where that is,” Neely protested.
“No, but you can contact him and set up a meet,” Bolan said. “That’s a step closer than I am right now.”
“Okay, so you get a step closer. Then what?”
“Leave that to me,” Bolan replied, boring through Neely with ice-blue eyes.
“What, are you some kind of one-man army?” Neely asked in a joking tone.
Bolan’s smile lacked warmth, and with good reason. “Maybe Downing thinks he’s invincible and maybe he thinks he’s out of reach from the American government. But he’s not out of my reach. Let’s leave it there.”
“Okay, I’ll set up the meet, but then I want out.”
“Fine. So let’s get back to this deal with your wife and daughter. You’ve told me the truth?”
“Nothing but, Cooper. On my mother’s grave. You have to believe me.”
“Maybe I do,” Bolan said. “When did you last see Downing?”
“Last evening,” he said without hesitation.
That seemed to match up with what Price had told him, so Bolan decided for the moment Neely was shooting straight. He still didn’t completely trust the guy, but he could see how it might have gone down like this. The thing he had to do now was get to Downing before anything else happened. Simultaneously, he’d have to contact Stony Man to see if they could arrange safe passage out of the country for Neely and his family.
Bolan decided to play his wild card.
“You know a scientist by the name of Peter Hagen?”
Neely appeared to search his memory, nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think so. If I remember right, he was some kind of big-wig with the special projects division at the Agency. In fact, now that you mention it, I think he worked under Downing’s tenure.”
“That’s him,” Bolan said. “You know of any reason why Downing would want him dead?”
“Not off hand, but I’m sure it has something to do with these big plans he keeps bragging about.”
“What big plans?”
“I didn’t get details. Downing doesn’t like to give out details. He’s the kind to hold on to what little pathetic power he has. All I know is what I’ve told you. Sounds like he has something up his sleeve, something he plans to use to spearhead his operations against the terrorists.”
“You don’t think he’ll stop with the NCF.” It wasn’t a question.
Neely produced something between a laugh and a snort. “Hell no! Downing’s just getting started, my friend. Whatever he’s planning, you can be sure it’ll be big and spectacular.”
Okay, so Downing obviously felt he had what he needed to make a move, which meant he was probably going to act soon. He’d eliminated Hagen—who in all likelihood had produced the technical goods Downing needed—and he thought he probably had Neely under control. Soon, very soon, he’d receive the word that his killing team in the States was no more. That would most likely put him in a rage, and he’d lean on this Alek Stezhnya to act. When Downing broke out whatever he thought was big and spectacular, the Executioner would have something big and spectacular of his own waiting. And he’d shove it right down the enemy’s throat.
CHAPTER SIX
Mack Bolan peered through the rangefinder scope mounted to his Heckler & Koch PSG-1 sniper rifle.
Neely had agreed to contact Downing with the excuse he’d changed his mind and was willing to cooperate. Bolan counseled Neely to sweeten the pot by relating he had new information on the mysterious interloper who’d taken down Stezhnya’s crew in Atlanta. Downing had seemed hesitant at first, but finally agreed to meet Neely at the same location later that afternoon. The timing was perfect, as Bolan had used the delay to get Neely’s family safely out of the country, just as he promised.
“You kept your word, Cooper,” Neely had told him. “I owe you, so now I’m going to keep mine.”
Bolan could appreciate Neely’s sense of duty, and he could also understand why this would have torn the emotional seams of even the strongest men. The soldier had learned the hard way it was suicide to build such ties in his line of work. Bolan had dared to love too much in the past, which caused people to suffer and die. From the very beginning he’d lost many good people, allies and friends alike. He’d learned to distance himself over time. Solitude was a soldier’s lot, except when it came to other soldiers who had taken a similar oath.
From his vantage point on the rooftop across the street, Bolan observed a Jeepney cab, this one standard yellow, stop at the curb. Two men climbed out and Bolan checked his watch. Right on time. The Executioner didn’t recognize the first man to exit, a dark-haired muscular type, but there was no mistaking the tall, distinguished frame of the man who followed: Garrett Downing.
Bolan put his eye to the scope once more and leaned his shoulder against the rubberized buttplate of the rifle stock. He had no plan at this point to gun down his enemy. Downing’s death wouldn’t necessarily secure an end to OSI’s plans. Downing was too smart for that. He’d have a backup scenario in the works. His time in the NSA would have taught Downing to prepare alternatives. The guy was a tried-and-true strategist whose background would have taught him to prepare more than one battle plan.
Bolan watched as an unmarked sedan bearing four men parked at the curb behind the Jeepney. Then four men exited the vehicle, he pegged them as a security team when they fanned out to surround Downing. The Executioner hadn’t planned for an encounter here and now, but the civilian traffic was light.
The soldier watched through the scope as Neely’s cab arrived and the NSA agent stepped onto the sidewalk. Neely waved to Downing, the prearranged signal that all could proceed as planned.
Bolan sighted carefully on Neely’s chest. The first chambered round was a subsonic cartridge the Executioner had modified to yield half the normal impact. He took a breath, let half out. His finger wrapped around the trigger, the pad resting naturally against its curvature, and gave a steady squeeze. Neely’s chest exploded in a crimson spray that washed over Downing and his escort.
Bolan sighted next on one of the security men. He squeezed the trigger again and this time a high-velocity 7.62 mm bullet traveled to the target in milliseconds. The man’s head burst open like a melon under a sledgehammer, and his corpse slammed against the adobe facade of the building. Pandemonium erupted as Bolan sighted on a third target to deliver a similar fate.
The Executioner swung the scope toward the front door and watched as the escort pushed Downing through the doorway. Bolan sighted on the target, and through the scope magnification he noticed the man matched Neely’s description of Alek Stezhnya. Bolan squeezed off a shot, but the man moved inside at the last moment and evaded the deadly projectile intended for his chest.
The other pair on the security team grabbed cover and wildly searched the area around them, apparently oblivious to the fact the assault had come from above. Bolan left the scope and yanked on the PSG-1 to pull it from view. Quickly and efficiently, he folded the mounted bipod against the weapon, took to his feet and headed for the rooftop entrance.
Bolan descended the stairs two at a time, careful to keep the rifle balanced as he moved. He’d arranged the entire operation with Neely, and he could only hope the ruse worked. The fact Neely had kept his word confirmed Bolan’s intuition the guy was on the side of his country.
Downing would know it was a setup, but that didn’t much matter now since he thought Neely was dead. He’d have to go to revert to his backup plan, and that would reduce his options. Bolan had wrenched the offensive from Downing. That would leave the guy feeling cornered and thereby more prone to mistakes.
And that was exactly where Bolan wanted him.
GARRETT DOWNING STRUGGLED to get his shaking hands under control.
When the shooting started, the rented Jeepney cab that had delivered them—driven by one of his men and not a local—tore from the scene and circled the block. Stezhnya had already put an evacuation plan in the works for just such an event. The Russian-American’s quick thinking had saved their lives, and Downing wasn’t sure it was a debt he could repay. Not that Stezhnya would have bothered to mention it.
Stezhnya guided him into the back seat of the Jeepney. He turned to scan the rear and verify nobody followed, then stepped in and slammed the door shut. He ordered the driver to get them out of there, and then turned his attention to Downing.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“Thanks to you,” Downing replied.
If Stezhnya noticed the unchecked admiration in Downing’s voice, he made no sign of it.
“How did you know?” Downing asked.
“I understand men like Neely, sir,” Stezhnya said with a shrug. “They’re not to be trusted. I didn’t trust him from the beginning.”
Downing nodded. “You told me. Several times as I recall. I should have listened to you.”
“Looks like whoever he sold us out to had their own agenda.”
“You think Neely’s dead?”
It was hard to judge whether the upturned corner of Stezhnya’s mouth was a half grin or a sneer until he said, “Seeing as we’re both covered in his blood, and what our own men suffered, it would be hard to convince me he’s anything but, sir.” After a pause, he said, “What do you want to do now?”
Downing didn’t want to admit it, but he hadn’t thought of anything else up to that point. He couldn’t believe Neely had betrayed them, although he’d lined up a set of alternatives for each phase of the operation. With Neely dead, Downing would have to rely on his secondary sources of information inside the NSA and other U.S. intelligence networks. Sometimes that information was untimely, or even tended to be inaccurate if current.
“To be honest, I had a backup plan for just such an eventuality, but I didn’t honestly think we’d have to use it,” Downing finally replied.
“I take it that means you want me to recall my men from the United States?”
Downing nodded. “All units go on the alert immediately. You’ll leave with your in-country team at dawn.”
“Understood. And what about this new threat?”
“You’re the tactical expert, here. What do you propose we do about them, or…him, perhaps?”
“You think it’s Cooper behind the attack.”
“What other explanation do we have for Neely getting killed? Grant you, Neely wasn’t that bright, but he would have considered Cooper an ally. Maybe he trusted him to protect his family. We knew they were trading information about the New Corsican Front before we even approached Neely about him.”
“Who do you think this Cooper really is?”
Downing sighed and didn’t reply for a time. “If I don’t miss my guess, I’d say he’s some type of covert operations specialist, possibly even military or ex-military. It seems odd, however, that he operates with significant impunity.”
Stezhnya appeared to give Downing’s statement some thought, but before he could conjure a reply his cell phone rang.
“Yeah?” He paused to listen, then, “What? What did you just say?” Another long pause. “No, I understand. Thank you for the report. Keep all channels open in case there’s been a mistake. And by the way, put units three and four on alert.”
Stezhnya slowly closed the cover to his phone. When he turned to face Downing, his complexion had paled. “The team in the States is dead. Dead! I swear to you, sir, this Cooper is now the sworn enemy of the Apparatus. I vow to you this night, before this operation is complete I will dangle his head on a pole for the entire world to see!”
“I don’t doubt it, Alek,” Downing said quietly.
Downing saw the murderous hate in Stezhnya’s eyes. Under normal circumstances he would have counseled Stezhnya to not let anger and his taste for revenge become an obsession, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. The man had a right to be angry. Part of it was stupid pride—Downing knew the pride because he’d dealt with many soldiers like Stezhnya before—but another part was justified rage. To have lectured the man now would serve no purpose but to fuel his anger.
Instead he said simply, “Every man must do what he thinks is just. But be aware that I don’t want anything to distract you. The mission must come first. Then you may seek whatever retribution you feel is fitting for Cooper. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Stezhnya said, his voice barely audible through clenched teeth. “Perfectly. But I wish to go on record by saying I think the mission could suffer if we don’t eliminate this Cooper as soon as possible.”
Stezhnya knew Downing wouldn’t be able to ignore the statement.
“What makes you think so?”
Stezhnya turned some in the seat to face Downing. “Let’s examine this man closely for a moment. Since we executed our initial operation against the French-Arabs, Cooper has been one step behind us. That team of thugs you hired initially to throw him off the trail did anything but. He knew about Hagen, and he had enough savvy to track my men to the warehouse in Atlanta.”
“So what?”
“You say that as if it’s unimportant,” Stezhnya said. “This man took down that gang, and the hit team we sent to Hagen’s, to speak nothing of his assault against my men. Those the were the finest trained men in the Apparatus. They were the best, sir.
“Now he’s found his way here and most probably he masterminded the attack on us and the assassination of Neely. Obviously, this man operates without discretion or restraint, and it seems he would have the sanction to operate with impunity where the American government is concerned. Do you honestly believe this man will stop now?”
Downing was silent for a time, and then said, “Most probably not. And I am no longer sure what to believe. Very well, Alek, I will leave it to your discretion as to how and when to deal with this man. But I meant what I said about no compromises to our mission.”
Stezhnya nodded and sat back, obviously satisfied with Downing’s answer. “Do you think the prototype will be ready in time for our operation in Tehran?”
It was Downing’s turn to express gravity. “If it isn’t, Alek, heads will roll.”
NONE OF THE MEN who survived Bolan’s assault stood by and risked apprehension.
Neely played his part to perfection. He lay in the pool of “blood” that formed around his body, utterly still until the ambulance came and hauled him away. Bolan remained hidden in a gloomy, dank basement restroom of the building across the street until Grimaldi arrived at the specified time with a rental car. He dropped his large briefcase, which had held the street clothes he’d exchanged with his disassembled rifle and blacksuit, into the back seat.
“Going my way, sailor?” Grimaldi cracked as Bolan got into the car.
“Aren’t I usually?”
“Looks like Hal pulled out all the stops on this one,” Grimaldi replied, looking back at the morbid scene as he steered the car into traffic.
“You nailed it,” Bolan said. “The Man wants this resolved quick.”
“Good thing you’re in that business.”
“Yeah.” Bolan checked the sideview mirror for tails.
“I think we’re clean,” Grimaldi said.
“Probably, but I don’t want to take chances.”
“Still got some doubts about Neely, eh?”
“I’m not sure what to make of him,” Bolan said. “My gut tells me he’s trustworthy.”
“But?”
Bolan shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s just something rotten about this whole thing.”
“Well, you said before the purpose here was to send Downing a message,” Grimaldi replied with a shrug. “Make him jumpy. Based on what I just saw back there I’d say you succeeded.”
“Let’s hope so. For now, they think Neely’s dead and they’re probably aware I took down the last of Stezhnya ’s team in Atlanta. That should be enough to send them over the edge.”
“You really think this plan will work?”
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