Assassin's Code. Don Pendleton

foreign visitors with money. Out of Convertino’s league. After being transferred to Afghanistan I’m thinking Convertino was jonesing pretty hard.”

      “Jonesing.” Ous nodded as he pondered this bit of American slang. “I believe I understand what you are saying.” His eyes suddenly went wolflike. “You are saying we must find Corporal Convertino’s sexy girlfriend.”

      “Something like that.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      Sangin Base stockade

      “Where the hell have you been?” Agent Kathryn Keller struggled to keep up with Bolan and Ous without breaking into a trot in the hallway.

      “Drinking beer,” Bolan replied.

      “Hey!” Keller snarled.

      Bolan stopped and turned. “What?”

      “Well…” Keller suddenly grinned. “How come you didn’t invite me?”

      Bolan considered his answer and jerked his head at Ous. “He doesn’t drink beer with women.”

      “What in God’s name leads you to conclude that I do not drink beer with women?” Ous asked.

      “My mistake,” Bolan admitted. “Can you give me a sitrep, Keller?”

      “Convertino talked.”

      “What’d he say?”

      “Just that he admits to the murder of Dr. Early, the John Doe suspect, and the attempted murder of you and Mr. Ous.”

      “Anything else?”

      “He’s dismissed his appointed council, says he will plead guilty to all charges and requested the death penalty.”

      “He seems dedicated,” Ous said.

      “Down right self-sacrificing,” Bolan agreed.

      Keller looked back and forth between the two men. “What can I do to help?”

      Bolan’s cobalt gaze burned into Keller’s eyes. “NCIS is still in charge of this case?”

      “Not for much longer,” Keller said. The MPs outside the cell snapped to attention and saluted the woman as she and her party approached. “And then God only knows who is going to take over. When this goes public, it’s going to turn into a real dog-and-pony show.”

      “Then I want you to flash that NCIS badge, say ‘agent in charge’ and give me five minutes with the suspect,” Bolan said.

      Keller squeezed her eyes shut as if she had just developed a headache. She opened her eyes and grimly flashed her badge. “Keller! NCIS! Agent in charge! This man is a liaison from the Justice Department to see the prisoner!”

      The ranking guard looked upon Keller with grave uncertainty. “Um…yes, ma’am?” The other unlocked the door. “Uh, sir? Just so you know, the prisoner is not currently under restraint but we are on suicide watch.”

      “Thank you, Private,” Bolan said.

      “And what shall I do?” Ous inquired.

      “No one comes in or out, and I mean no one,” Bolan said.

      The MPs looked on in alarm as Ous took one of their folding chairs beside the door, pulled a huge Khyber knife and began cleaning his fingernails. Keller just rolled her eyes. “That’s it. I’m dead.”

      Bolan stalked into the holding cell and slammed the door shut behind him. There was nothing inside other than a single bunk and chair. Corporal Saulito Convertino jerked erect in his chair. His eyes widened in horror at the sight of Bolan. “Oh God! No!”

      Bolan’s open hand cracked across Convertino’s face in textbook bitch-slap perfection.

      “You—”

      Bolan’s hand cracked across Convertino’s face once, twice, three times. The Executioner didn’t believe in pliers and blowtorch torture. He had been tortured himself, and all it had ever engendered within him was hatred. But crime and terror were slippery slopes that men could find themselves in against their will, sometimes finding themselves ensnared before they knew it, and Bolan could recognize a repentant sinner. Corporal Saulito Convertino’s salvation was between him and his Maker, but Bolan was perfectly willing to take him behind the woodshed and hear his confession. Minor pain and intimidation worked wonders.

      Bolan’s blue eyes burned down on the traitor like the embodied anger of an Old Testament God of the desert with no sense of humor. Convertino was a good-looking man. His slightly hooked nose, high cheekbones, curvy lips and Kirk Douglas chin were all set in toffee-tinted skin that bespoke his Spanish, African and Taino Indian blood. His copper-colored hair was cropped into USMC regulation skull-hugging curls, and he was built like an NFL defensive end.

      Tears streamed down his face as he pushed himself up to his knees.

      “Where’s your girlfriend?” Bolan asked.

      Convertino went slack-jawed in horror.

      “Your girlfriend? You know, the one who put you up to this?”

      “I can’t! They’ll kill h—”

      Bolan bodily heaved Convertino to his feet and slammed him against the wall of the cell. “What’s her name?”

      “Reema! Her name is Reema!”

      The first admission in a situation like this usually opened the floodgates. “Tell me the whole story, Corporal.”

      Convertino looked up in despair. “I love her…?.”

      “And they’ll kill her if you talk?”

      The Marine looked down miserably. Bolan’s eyes went cold. “Did you know I was in that tent?”

      “No!”

      “Mr. Ous?”

      Convertino blinked through his tears. “Who?”

      “You know there were Marine Corps medical personnel in that tent when you fragged it?”

      Convertino sagged again. “I was hoping not.”

      Bolan’s voice was merciless. “Dr. Early threw himself on that grenade to save everyone in that tent, including myself and your target. He’s going to get the Congressional Medal of Honor, presented to his widow. What do you think you deserve, Corporal?”

      Convertino’s voice dropped to a dead whisper. “Court martial and death by lethal injection.”

      “You deserve a lot worse than that. There’s a special place in hell for Marines who kill their own.” Convertino held his head in his hands and sobbed. “Now where’s the girl and who has her?” Bolan continued.

      “They’ll kill her, they—”

      “They already killed her!” Bolan’s voice thundered in the cell. “She’s the only link! The only chance she has is that a hot piece of tail is a valuable commodity and they might have sold her. That is, if she’s not in on it!”

      A flicker of anger kindled in Convertino’s agonized eyes. “What?”

      “Don’t you get it? She’s a whore!”

      “What did you say?”

      “You pussy-whipped son of a bitch! Afghan girls don’t put out! And if they do, they sure as hell don’t risk it for loser corporals like you! She’s Taliban!” Bolan spit, turning the provocation dial all the way up to high.

      “No, she loves me! She said yes. She was going to be my wife.” Fresh sobs racked the conflicted young soldier. “She’s pregnant with my kid.”

      Bolan relented, just slightly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to you, Corporal. It’s been a long time since the U.S. Military put anyone to death, but you’re