State Of War

Kaino shook his head and racked his bolt on a fresh drum. “Cover me.”

“Go.”

Kaino burst through the kitchen door and out into the street. His shotgun roared as he put blasts of buckshot through the facing windows. Bolan followed, scanning with his optic. He caught no movement on the roof or in any of the windows. Lights suddenly blazed on the side driveway, and a van barreled onto the street. Kaino put three rounds into the grille but round-lead buck wasn’t stopping the oncoming vehicle.

“Kaino!” Bolan shouted.

The cop’s shotgun racked open on empty. The van plowed straight for Kaino. The master sergeant dropped his shotgun on its sling and slapped leather for his six-guns. The twin, four-inch Smiths rolled in his hands in rapid double-action fire. Glass geysered from the windshield as round after round of .357 Magnum hollowpoints punched through. Bolan had no kill shot with Kaino standing in the headlights. He flicked his weapon to full-auto and put a burst into the rear driver’s-side tire. The tire exploded and the van fishtailed wildly past Kaino and stopped hard against a telephone pole.

“You all right?” Bolan called.

Kaino’s hands shook slightly as he fished a pair of speedloaders out of his pockets. “Reloading!”

“Covering!” Bolan scanned the street as Kaino approached the van. He peered in the driver’s window and went around to the passenger’s side. He opened the door and a body slid out. “Clear!”

Bolan kept his eyes peeled as he trotted over. Kaino had laid down some serious carnage. The driver looked as only a human could who had taken several .357 rounds to the face. Only his seat belt kept the dead assassin upright. There was no one else inside the vehicle. In the back of the van were a pair of chairs and surveillance equipment. Bolan walked around the steaming grille and joined Kaino, who stood over the expired sniper. A great deal of the assassin’s blood was coagulating all over an FN P90 personal defensive weapon. The sixteen-inch long civilian barrel, the sound suppressor mounted on the muzzle and the electro-optical sight gave the personal defensive weapon a distinctly offensive weapon aura.

“Did he say anything?”

“Yeah, he mumbled some kind of Euro-trash nonsense, but then he had the bad taste to go all ambient temperature on me.” Kaino shook his head disgustedly as the bloody froth bubbles from his victim’s chest wounds and mouth slowly subsided. “You want to try CPR? You go right ahead.”

“What kind of Euro-trash babble?”

“I don’t know!” Nearly being van-rammed seemed to have rattled the master sergeant. “I can tell you it sure as hell wasn’t Spanish!”

“Did it sound Russian?”

“Well, what does Russian sound like?”

Bolan slowly enunciated a choice phrase he had learned in Moscow that would have raised Kaino’s eyebrow. “Did it sound anything like that?”

“No, and don’t think I don’t know you said something totally suck-ass, either!”

“Italian? French?” Bolan tried. “Scandinavian?”

“Oh, and like I know how to pick those out of a dying hit man Euro-trash crowd!” Kaino frowned mightily. “And I know you can, but I’m just Miami-Dade master sergeant who works for a living. I’m not an international man of mystery.”

“You notice anything interesting, Kaino?”

“Yeah, these guys aren’t local.” Kaino spit off to one side. “They aren’t even Latino. They’re pros, and I’m definitely thinking we got made coming out of Papi’s Tea Room.”

CHAPTER FIVE

FBI Miami Office

Kaino took in the gleaming, efficient and tasteful Federal Bureau of Investigation surroundings. “Swanky.”

“Heads up,” Bolan advised. The FBI special agent striding down the hallway toward them wore a very purposeful expression her face. It was a pleasing face to look upon. She was African American, but her face bespoke far more of Africa than America and her skin was very dark. She managed to be petite and leggy at the same time, and the cut of her relaxed hair and her navy pantsuit and the true gray of her blouse and shoes showed her off to maximum effect.

“Nice,” Kaino opined.

Bolan agreed wholeheartedly. He put on his most amiable game face and held out his hand. “Special Agent.”

Despite the special agent’s diminutive stature, she had a grip like a clam. “Sophina Savacool.”

“Cooper,” Bolan said. “And this is—”

Special Agent Savacool had a smile that could light up an FBI foyer and did. Though at the moment it was tinged with a little bit of bemusement. “Oh, I assure you, Mr. Cooper, Master Sergeant Gadiel Kaino’s reputation precedes him.”

Kaino’s massive mitt engulfed the special agent’s. “My pleasure, Agent Savacool. In all my years in law enforcement this is my first visit to the FBI Miami office. Thank you for seeing us.”

Agent Savacool’s bemusement turned up a charming notch. “Oh, I was the one told to see you, but then again, when legends of Miami law enforcement, and—” Savacool ran her eye up and down Bolan “—a mystery man go on a midnight rampage in the city streets, it’s funny how I end up being the one sent to the meet and greet. At least the call said it was you. Is there a reason I shouldn’t run you both in by the way?”

Bolan put on his most winning smile. “I mean absolutely no disrespect, Special Agent, but running me in would be...how can I put it? Problematic for you. And Kaino’s with me.”

“Oh, I got the memo.” Savacool’s bemused smile turned into a genuine smirk. “And I have never seen a government memo shorter, more distinct, much less more anomalous.”

“Savacool?” Kaino frowned. “Is that like Mandinka or something?”

“German Dutch,” the agent replied.

Kaino scowled. “What’s a soul sister like you doing with a name like that?”

Savacool frowned at Kaino and jerked her head at Bolan. “What’s a pulsating piece of Puerto Rican pulchritude like you doing working for the man?”

“Well...because...” Kaino grinned. “He’s the man!”

Savacool stared up at Bolan and her eyes went predatory as she did some math. “Well, bless my soul! El Hombre, in the flesh, and in my foyer. You know, there is a fascinating file I read about a guy with that handle. Seems he’s torn up the streets of our southern neighbor and ripped the cartels a new rectum on more than one occasion.”

Bolan had dealt with more federal agents than he’d had hot dinners. Far too many when they were exposed to him went straight into bureaucratic bluster mode. Bolan gave Savacool full marks. She was absolutely charming while she was trying to figure him out, and was waiting to have all the facts before she ripped his throat out. “Special Agent Savacool, I—”

“Call me Sophie—my friends do.” The special agent handed Bolan her business card.

Bolan grinned. “Sophie? I had to pull a lot of strings to make sure that FBI forensics got the bodies from the shootout last night, and Master Sergeant Kaino lost some genuine cred with his own people for going along with it.”

Savacool nodded without an ounce of commitment. “I feel you.”

“I know the circumstances are highly unusual, but I need a complete rundown on the suspects.”

“They’re like you, mysterious. But follow me.”

Savacool led them down a series of hallways. Kaino whispered low at Bolan’s side. “What’s pulchritude?”

“It means the she thinks you’re a fine figure of man, Kaino.”

Kaino puffed up with pride. “I am that.”

FBI personnel congregating in the hallways regarded Bolan and Kaino with grave suspicion and barely constrained disapproval. A few shot Savacool sympathetic looks. Word had spread. The woman led Bolan and Kaino into an empty conference room. The soldier and the cop took seats at a long table while Savacool cued up the flat screen on the wall and a laptop. “These are your playmates.” Autopsy photos of ten men in various states of ventilation appeared on the screen. “Your assailants’ fingerprints appear in none of our available databases. All of them were armed with sound-suppressed FN P90 Personal Defensive weapons. One of the weapons had been modified for sharpshooting. Their clothing, NVG and body armor were off the rack and second- or thirdhand. We’re working on it, but the equipment has a very sophisticated level of sterility. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”