"I want information. Tell me what you know about Carrillo and his operation."
"Very little, really. He approached me several months ago with a business proposition that seemed advantageous. I admit that I needed the money badly. But it was a very simple arrangement. I sent the cargo as he directed, making the necessary contacts in other countries to ensure a valid end-use certificate. There were a number of different ways to divert the cargo into Carrillo's hands. In return, I was paid very handsomely. Who his customers were I have no idea. Before we began to conduct business, I had him investigated thoroughly. There was nothing suspicious in the way of police or military connections, although he was reported as someone not to trifle with. It was also rumored that he was an agent for another person or persons, but that was never substantiated."
"You have never met any of his associates or dealt with anyone other than Carrillo?" Bolan, adept at detecting lies and misrepresentations, believed that McIntyre was telling the truth.
"Not unless you count yourself, whoever you are." McIntyre smiled a bitter grin. "I recognize your voice as the man I spoke with this morning. I suppose you have the shipment?" Bolan nodded. "Well, I'm certain that we can come to some arrangement. I could certainly use a man like you in my organisation." To McIntyre's chagrin, Bolan merely smiled, as though the arms dealer had said something exceedingly funny. ""Come now, I'm very reasonable, even generous. I'll make you an offer you can't refuse."
Bolan said nothing. He didn't bother to refuse.
McIntyre found it difficult to restrain his annoyance. Everything was for sale. Companies, women, friends.
Even himself.
He had gotten what he had thought was a very fair price at the time, although right now the deal didn't look so attractive. He refused to believe that this man didn't have a price. If he was holding out for more than he was worth, McIntyre would agree to it to get him off his back he really wasn't in a position to argue. There would be plenty of time to settle the score later.
"Look," he said, trying to sound conciliatory. "There's a briefcase by that desk. Open it."
Bolan did so, keeping his weapon fixed on McIntyre's heart. He found piles of bills wrapped into packages of ten thousand dollars each.
"There are fifty bundles there, man. That's five hundred thousand dollars! And that will just be your signing bonus. When you've finished working for me you will never want for anything again in this life. There'll be plenty more, I assure you. So what do you say, do we have a deal?"
"Not enough, McIntyre, not nearly enough. You're going to make me a partner."
McIntyre steamed, trying to keep the lava from boiling over. He was Cameron McIntyre, a descendant of one of the most successful business families in America. As if he would actually take this man in as a partner, this upstart madman whose only asset was a fast gun. McIntyre would see him dead and damned first. Repressing the anger, he said, "I suppose that would be possible. We can see my lawyers tomorrow to work out some arrangement."
With an effort, Bolan prevented the contempt from registering on his face. "We'll start right now, then. Get Carrillo on the phone. I'll be handling the Peruvian connection in future."
The arms merchant retrieved his address book from his coat pocket, placed there in preparation for escape. He moved to the phone, stepping over the body of the gunman sprawled by the armchair.
McIntyre dialed a couple of numbers, then waited for the call to go through. "Senor Carrillo. Sorry to disturb you at this hour. However, there have been some new developments at this end that may concern some mutual friends. There is a man here I'd like you to speak with, a clause, personal friend of mine for more than ten years. I'll put him on now." He held out the phone for Bolan, a mocking smile flickering over his lips.
Bolan grabbed the receiver, a little nodule of worry sending a warning down his spine. McIntyre seemed a shade too confident. "This is Michael Blanski, Senor Carrillo. It's a pleasure to speak with you."
Carrillo's voice drifted over the phone lines, placid and undisturbed. "It is my pleasure as well, Mr. Blanski. A friend of Mr. McIntyre's is someone I am happy to welcome as a friend. How may I be of service?"
There was no trace of unease in Carrillo's voice. Bolan wondered if he was starting to jump at shadows. "Mr. McIntyre and I have come to a business arrangement whereby I will be taking over the South American operations. I would like to come to Lima and discuss future arrangements with you personally. Say in two days' time?"
"That would be convenient. Please call me when you arrive and I will arrange to be your most attentive guide to beautiful Lima. I will look forward to seeing you. Good evening."
Bolan replaced the receiver. "Well, McIntyre, it's time to pay for Sharp's murder."
McIntyre was stunned as he read his death in Bolan's cold eyes. "What about our partnership, the money you'll make? You need me to deal with Carrillo. You need my company and my connections. You need me!
Bolan shook his head and drew the Desert Eagle.
"I... I... But you said if I cooperated..." McIntyre stammered, his eyes fixed on the huge silver pistol.
"That was then. This is now." A slug from the.44 cored McIntyre's forehead, blowing a fist-size exit wound in the disebledack of his skull. The arms dealer crumpled to the floor.
Jorge Carrillo turned from his code book and sighed. He had known from the conversation that something was wrong, but the past few minutes had confirmed it. It was fortunate that he and McIntyre had worked out an emergency code in case of trouble.
"Concern some mutual friends" had signaled the trouble, while "close personal friend" had meant that there was a specific enemy involved. "Ten years" told Carrillo that this enemy was considered ten out of ten on a danger scale.
He would have an opportunity to deal with this Michael Blanski in two days. In the meantime, he must inform his superior.
Carrillo sighed again, a mournful sound like wind whistling through a canyon, and reached for the phone. His boss would be very displeased.
8
Mack Bolan arrived in Lima feeling a little on the naked side. Airport security being as strict as it was these days, it was seldom worth the risk to try to smuggle a gun aboard. It didn't fit in with the big man's plans to spend the next few years in jail.
His second task would be to get hold of a weapon. The first was to make sure that he wasn't followed to his hotel.
Bolan scanned the waiting crowd at the airport as the bored customs officer checked him through, approving Michael Blanski's passport without question.
He had left a storm brewing when he departed from San Francisco. Kline had been distressed, to put it mildly, when he learned of the carnage that Bolan had left in his wake. The agent had been strongly inclined to have Bolan locked away for murder. It had taken some arm twisting by Brognola to convince Kline that this was something he had better keep his nose out of.
The Bureau man had agreed reluctantly, but Bolan wasn't entirely sure that he trusted Kline's word. It was possible that Michael Blanski might have to be retired as a viable alias.
In the meantime, Bolan had no intention of worrying about things that he couldn't control. Right now staying alive in Peru required all of his attention. He would operate as though he were in a hostile environment until circumstances proved otherwise.
He walked to the string of cabs ranged outside the terminal and picked the third one in line, ignoring the shouts from the first two drivers. He waved an American fivedollar bill at the startled cabbie. "Go. Now."
The cab shot from its position in line to a crescendo of horns. Given that the average annual wage in Peru was only about seven hundred dollars, as a free-spending American Bolan held an immediate advantage. Almost everything was for sale if an agreement could be reached without offending Latin machismo.