China Crisis. Don Pendleton

buy that?”

      “Let’s say it’s kind of borrowed. I don’t even have insurance, or papers for it.”

      “That kind, huh?” Lerner grinned. “You bothered about leaving it lay?”

      “Hell, no, the tank’s about dry anyhow.” Hawkins hesitated. “You mind if I pick up my bag?”

      “Go fetch it.”

      Lerner used his remote to unlock his truck and climbed in. He waited until Hawkins returned with a scruffy duffel over his shoulder. Opening the passenger door, Hawkins tossed his bag on the rear seat and settled in the passenger seat as Lerner fired up the powerful engine.

      “Sweet sound.” He patted the leather seat. “I might move in. This is better than the trailer I’m living in right now.”

      “Don’t worry, buddy,” Lerner said, “if this works out, you could be running around in one of these.”

      As Lerner drove out of the lot, dust spewing up from beneath the heavy tires, Hawkins sank into the comfort of the seat, almost closing his eyes.

      “Who do I have to kill to get one of these?” he asked. “Just remember that I got my own fantasy list to work through first.”

      “That bad?”

      “Fuck, Vic, look at me. One step off being a tramp. Man, I’ve been so long on the downslide I forgot what it’s like to walk tall. Be honest? If you can get me something I’m in. Man, I just want to climb out of this damn hole I been stuck in for too long.”

      “O UR TWO-DAY STAKEOUT paid off. Looks like Lerner took the bait. He and T.J. just took off in Lerner’s truck. They headed west. That’s in the direction of the Townsend ranch. We’ll hang back. Give them some space until we know if it’s taken.”

      “Keep us updated, Carl,” Price said. “Just don’t let anything happen to T.J. or we’ll have World War McCarter on our hands.”

      Lyons smiled bleakly. He wasn’t a man to be fazed by anything, but given a choice between a room full of cobras and David McCarter on the prod, he admitted he would go for the snakes.

      “Talk to you,” he said, and broke the cell phone connection.

      He picked up the transceiver on the seat beside him and called Blancanales. “T.J. and Lerner in a metallic-gray Blazer heading your way, Pol.” He recited the license number. “Give them room. All we do now is watch and wait.”

      “Understood.”

      Lyons called Hermann Schwarz.

      “The Politician has them under surveillance. They took off west from the bar.”

      “Okay. What do we do?”

      “Head back to the motel for now. We’ll coordinate once we hear from Pol or T.J.”

      “M R . T OWNSEND, THIS IS T.J. Hawkins, the feller I called you about. We were in the service together until he got in a jam.”

      “Heard about your trouble,” Townsend said. “You’re not the first to end up on the wrong end of military injustice. Might make a man want to get even. How do you feel on that score?”

      “I think you already know that, Mr. Townsend. Since Vic called earlier, you probably have most there is to know about me.”

      Townsend smiled. He jerked a thumb at the computer setup on the corner of his wide desk.

      “We live in the age of information, Hawkins. Press a button and a man’s life spills right across your monitor.”

      Don’t I know it, Hawkins thought. And now I also know I’m looking at your own information bank.

      Hawkins waited. He wanted to see how Kurtzman’s data implants had colored his files. It was surprising, and a little scary, to realize just what could be done to someone’s background in the hands of a man like Aaron Kurtzman.

      “Seems you’ve had quite a ride since you quit the military. Close scrapes with the law. What was that little fracas you had down in Albuquerque? They pulled you in for suspected dealings in illegal weapons. How come you walked away clean?”

      Hawkins gave an embarrassed shrug. “I was kind of expecting problems, so I made sure I was well covered before the Border Patrol moved in. They searched, but they didn’t find a damn thing. While they were busting me, my deal was going through somewhere else.”

      Townsend smiled. “So how come you’re walking around like a bum?”

      “The deal was small-time, Mr. Townsend. By the time I paid off everyone it didn’t leave me with much, and the cops were still dogging me. I like making money. Problem is, I’m not too hot when it comes to working the financial side. So I had to move on. Since then, well, I guess my luck kind of went south.”

      “With your guns by the sound of it,” Townsend said. “Your latest deal kind of bit you in the ass I hear.”

      “Something like that.”

      “Hawkins, I don’t deal small,” Townsend said. “You sound like the kind of man we could use. But don’t be fooled into thinking I tolerate any stupidity. Fuck around with me, and you’ll wish the Border Patrol had caught you. A stretch in Huntsville would be a vacation compared to what I could do to you.” He met Hawkins’s unflinching gaze. “Are we clear on that?”

      “Yes, sir, Mr. Townsend. Understood. I might not be too smart with finance operations, but I know how to take orders.”

      Townsend visibly relaxed. “Fine. Vic, can you make room for Hawkins?”

      “Sure. Plenty of spare rooms in the bunkhouse.”

      “Get him some clothes and whatever he needs. Hawkins, there’s something coming up shortly. You can handle it with Vic. Let’s see if you’re as good as your rap sheet says.”

      When Hawkins and Lerner left the office, Townsend turned to Ralph Chomski, who had been standing quietly to one side, observing. “Do the usual, Ralph. Keep an eye on him. See if he does anything we should be suspicious of. If he behaves himself, fine. If there’s anything, anything, that doesn’t sit right, you know what to do.”

      “Oh, I know what to do,” Chomski said, his mood lightening at the thought.

      “Now let’s have Mr. Kibble in here. I have a feeling I’m not going to be too happy with what he has to tell me.”

      Chomski left the room. He was back a couple of minutes later, accompanied by a sandy-haired man in his early forties. Townsend indicated a seat in front of his desk.

      “You have a good flight?”

      The man nodded, his expression indicating he was in no mood for small talk.

      “Sit down, Mark, and tell me what the problem is.”

      Mark Kibble took the offered seat. He sat on the edge, refusing to allow himself to relax, and Townsend took that as a bad sign. The man was so tense he would snap in two if he bent over.

      “The problem is, I can’t complete the arrangement.”

      Behind Kibble there was movement. It was Chomski. He already had his hand inside his jacket. Townsend caught his eye and gave a slight shake of his head.

      “Take your time, Mark. Tell me what the problem is. Would you like a drink?”

      Kibble raised a hand in a gesture of refusal. “I need to get this said.”

      “Fine. Go ahead.”

      “There’s been some kind of security initiative. I don’t know where it came from, but the entire setup has been upgraded. New people running things. All codes changed and a fresh protocol put into place. They’re even installing some new hand-print identification procedure. One of those gizmos where you have to place your hand on a pad and it scans your fingerprints