Bolan was glad when they left the brightly lit room for the passageways honeycombing the extraordinary house.
Smiler met them at the door of the cellar. There was blood on his hands. Im sorry, boss, he apologized after a suspicious glance at the Executioner. The bastard croaked on us. Maybe he was too far gone to start with.
Bolan looked beyond the hardman into a room with stone walls, part of which had been hollowed out of bedrock. The wounded attackers end had not been pleasant.
Reckon there was no more to tell, anyway, one of Smilers henchmen told Jean-Paul. We know who an why an how. Since you and the Russian left, we learned a little about this bastards buddies and what they aim to do.
Bolan looked enquiringly at the gang leader. He was not supposed to know the background; it was reasonable that a new arrival should want to be filled in.
We are about to start a new... project, J-P explained. The details are not important. But I will tell you that certain hostile elements have been trying to wreck it. We thought we had eliminated them... but it seems we were mistaken. There are still some around.
Would these be from the same stable as the gorillas who jumped me on the way down? Bolan asked. He had given the Marseilles boss a full rundown on the gas-station ambush.
Neighbors, J-P replied. The soldiers you wasted there were Scottos boys. These punks tonight were the tail end of a small time outfit run in Paris by a guy name of Secondini. Or so this loser said. He nodded toward the corpse.
Theres more, J-P, one of the hoods said.
Such as?
There aint no more Secondinis. But theres another team aiming to make it. They figure if you was outta the way and the plan with the Comrades fucked up, they could muscle in to your manor. Not worldwide... just your territory down here.
Who? Jean-Pauls voice was rock hard.
The Corsicans. Balestres old mob.
Jean-Paul slammed one fist into his other palm.
Cant trust anyone, can you, boss? Smiler said with a shake of his head. I fixed that guy myself, personal. There wasnt even a piece of rope left after that buoy blew. His small, mean eyes flicked over Bolan as if he wished the Executioner and not the young Corsican had been his victim.
Whats their plan? Jean-Paul said tightly. Did he know? Did you get it out of him before he died?
Oh, sure. Smilers mouth twitched in a grin that was pure evil. No prizes, Bolan thought, for guessing how he came by the name.
Well? The tanned face creased into an expression of impatience.
They was in league with the Corsicans, Smiler said. This lot, I mean. Balestres boys were to be the backup detail if the raid had worked out. They were waitin for a signal.
Where?
At sea. If they dont get the go-ahead by midnight, they play Cinderella and try again another day.
You didnt find out the signal?
Smiler shook his head. This punk wasnt the boss. I dont think he knew.
Does Ancarani know? About the whole deal, I mean.
Not on your life, Smiler said. Balestre and him, they werent exactly buddies!
Interesting, just the same, Bolan reflected: Jean-Paul was already unsure of the Corsican capo. He could use that later.
The guys at sea, where do they run to? Balestres hideout near Calvi?
I would think.
This mess must be cleaned up, Jean-Paul said. Fast. The Russians already sore about tonight. We were supposed to have sewn up any possible opposition before he showed. Now hes staying for a couple of days instead of splitting tonight... and the slate has to be clean before he signs. So I guess its a surprise party at Calvi tomorrow night.
He turned to Bolan. You string along, Sondermann. We can use all the muscle we got. But first theres a couple of solo deals I want to talk to you about. Well talk tomorrow.
He took Bolans arm and piloted him away from the cellar.
You got the retainer okay? Jean-Paul asked as they climbed to the garden floor.
Sure, Bolan lied. There had been very little money in the hit mans pockets or baggage. He guessed that whatever had been advanced to Sondermann would remain forever unclaimed in some discreet account in Hamburg or Switzerland.
The terms are still agreeable to you?
Bolan nodded.
Good. Youd better get back then. Ill brief you tomorrow night. A car will call at your hotel. Ill have one of the guards run you back to Cassis in the launch.
Forget it, Bolan said. My cars just across the water. Ill take the rubber dinghy. He grinned. I dont think the owners are going to need it again tonight.
Bolan left the dinghy at the foot of the bluff, dressed and drove back to the city. He found a pay phone on the old port, fed in coins, dialed eleven digits.
A girls voice answered at once. Yes?
Bolan quoted an identification number and a password. The girl gave him a Paris number to call.
He memorized the number, waited half a minute and dialed it. The number, which was changed twice every day, was answered on the eighth ring. Bolan identified himself again, quoted the code number of the person he wished to speak to, waited while he was further checked and then patched in to a scrambler line.
The ball game has started, he said when finally he was put through. We have to meet and its a red. Tomorrow, Number One on the list. No, make it midday. I expect to be killing some Corsicans in the evening!
7
Mack Bolan took the early railcar east from Marseilles to the small shipbuilding port of La Ciotat. A sultry humidity had hazed the air and turned the sea from Mediterranean blue to a dull pewter color that merged with the sky.
Still, the long curving strip of shore that lined the bay beyond the old town was crowded. Oiled vacationers lay packed like sardines on the blistering sand. The water was busy with swimmers, windsurfers and pleasure boats. It seemed a far cry from the murderous exchanges less than twelve hours ago at La Rocaille.
Bolan intended it to be. Of the handful of passengers who had left the diesel railcar at the station, none, as far as he could see, had followed him to the beach. And he was sure no one had followed him when he boarded a bus bound for Bandol, farther along the coast. But there were such things as walkie-talkies and phones. He had already been tailed from Lyons to the gas station ambush and noticed nothing. And he still didnt know how many different teams might be gunning for him.
But today it was vital that none of the hoods, that nobody at all, knew of his rendezvous.
He left the bus at Bandol, dodged through a crowded fruit market and installed himself at a sidewalk cafe. There he ordered and paid for a drink, walked through to the mens room and left by a back entrance without returning to his table. After that he threaded his way around two floors of a department store and jumped another bus as the doors were closing.
The bus took him back to Aubagne, on the outskirts of Marseilles. From here he took a cab to Aix-en-Provence.
Telder was waiting for him in the fossil room of the citys natural-history museum. Chamsons too well-known in these parts, the Swiss Interpol chief said. We agreed that I should come alone.
Good, Bolan said. Im pretty sure I wasnt tailed. But if I was, I think I lost him.
He glanced around. Bolan and Telder were the only visitors professing interest in the glass display cases.
Ill give it to you straight, Bolan murmured. Theres a KGB plot to weld all the worlds Mafia families into one supersyndicate of international crime, armed, funded, supplied and probably directed eventually by Moscow.
Telder pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. To what end?
To undermine the power of all the Western police forces, of shooting and bombing and looting every country into a state of total anarchy. With the resulting chaos and panic... well, they figure the whole system will collapse, making way for a Red takeover.