Stand Down. Don Pendleton

      “Sorry, Rojas, but I got a problem I have to take care of first. Maybe we can catch up later this afternoon?”

      “That would be fine. I’ll check in with you later.” He kept an eye on Bolan as Casey ran out of the building. “You’re certainly taking an interest in our little town, Mr. Cooper.”

      Bolan nodded. “I’ve been looking for a place to settle down for the past few months, somewhere quiet, peaceful. I thought Quincyville might be just the town I’ve been looking for. I was asking Ms. Hinder about local businesses that might be hiring and properties available for rent or sale.”

      The deputy digested this story for a moment. “Quincyville is always glad to have new folks settle down here. It’s a good place to raise a family. What line of work are you in?”

      In for a penny, in for a pound, Bolan thought. “Private security. I used to work for Blackwater, but got out before the government stuck its nose in too far. Times have been a bit tight lately. That’s why I was looking into local businesses. Right now I’m into whoever can give me a steady paycheck.”

      His reply seemed to relax the deputy somewhat. “Interesting. If you do decide to call Quincyville home, perhaps you and I should talk again. It’s possible I could recommend you to our company as a security specialist.”

      Bolan frowned. “Our company? I thought you worked for the state?”

      Quintanar’s frown matched his for a second, then he smiled. “That’s true, but all of us here in Quincyville are very proud of what Cristobal has done for the town. I hope you’ll excuse our possessiveness.”

      Bolan nodded with what he hoped looked like relief. “Doesn’t matter much to me, as long as the pay’s steady. Any word you could put in would be great, although I wouldn’t expect you to have much trouble out here.”

      “You’d be surprised. There are always problems that need attention in the pharmaceutical business—corporate espionage, product transfer security, even bodyguarding our senior officials when they travel outside the U.S. A man with the right experience could prove to be very useful.”

      “I’d appreciate the opportunity to talk with your superiors if possible. Truth be told, except for that Caddy outside, my pockets are a bit on the light side at the moment. If I decide to stick around, I’ll be in touch.”

      The deputy tipped his hat. “Hope you do. I’ll see you around.” He pushed the door open, holding it for Bolan to follow him out, then headed for his cruiser. Bolan watched him leave before getting into his own car and hitting the speed-dial for Stony Man Farm.

      “Hey, Striker, looks like I win my bet with Hal.” The cheerful voice of Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman sounded in his ear. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to go more than twelve hours before checking in.”

      “I was thinking the same thing about you guys,” Bolan said dryly.

      “So how’s the road trip going?”

      “Funny you should ask. I’ve run into a bit of a detour in a town called Quincyville, in Kansas.”

      “What’s going on out there?”

      “I’m not quite sure yet. If you’re only tackling the usual three or four things at the moment, can you check the national law-enforcement databases for information on a double homicide involving an attorney named Jack Bitterman?”

      “He the vic?”

      “Yeah, apparently he and his wife were both killed sometime yesterday.”

      “Okay, just a sec.” Bolan heard Kurtzman’s fingers flying over his keyboard. Stony Man Farm intelligence-gathering apparatus was unrivaled by any other organization in the world, and Kurtzman was the brains behind making it all work. After a few seconds, the analyst spoke up. “I got nothing on local, state or regional DBs. No bulletins or anything. You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?”

      “No, but the local sheriff’s department is keeping it on the QT, which seems really strange. Do me a favor and have Akira place a cover file for Matt Cooper setting him up as an ex-field employee of Blackwater, let go in the recent past under questionable circumstances. Tag any inquiries originating from Quincyville ISPs and trace them back to their source host.”

      “We’re on it. You looking for a good or bad jacket?”

      “Make it gray—charges brought but nothing proved. Prioritize that one. I have a feeling someone’s going to be checking out my background very quickly. That reminds me, ‘Matt Cooper’s’ last mission was as a DOJ agent. Delete that file. I don’t want this guy stumbling across that jacket while searching for my other fake identity. If anyone needs to check my DOJ affiliation, I’ll have them make a call.”

      “I’m on it. Anything else?”

      “Yeah, do a search on cell phone records for a Kelly Bitterman. That’s their daughter, who’s been missing since yesterday, and hasn’t been found yet. Two more things. First, get me a jacket on a deputy out here named Quintanar.” Bolan spelled the name as he recalled it from the deputy’s nameplate. “First name Rojas.”

      Kurtzman’s fingers sounded like they were moving so fast, Bolan could have sworn he smelled plastic melting. “Got it. What’s the second?”

      “There’s a company in town named Cristobal Pharmaceuticals. They seem to be a big player here. What can you tell me about them?”

      Bolan heard more tapping. “I can send you their most recent quarterly statement if you’d like. Let’s see… Founded in 1987 in Veracruz. Originally known as a health-food company, selling herbal supplements and the like. Bought out in 2004 by Cristobal Enterprises out of Maracaibo, Venezuela, which renamed itself the Cristobal Pharmaceutical Company. They built their U.S. headquarters in 2006 in Quincyville, Kansas. No initial ties to criminal organizations that I can find, however, it seems Cristobal, no matter how it’s been reinvented, has a rather tangled past. It’s been passed around several South American holding companies like a hot potato. Want me to keep digging?”

      “Absolutely. And let me know when you’ve accessed Kelly’s phone records. I want to know if she’s contacted anyone in the past twelve hours.”

      “You got it. Hey, if Hal calls for you, what should I tell him?”

      Bolan’s mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Tell him I’m doing a little house hunting in Kansas.”

      3

      Deputy Rojas Quintanar didn’t waste any time calling his superiors once he left Matt Cooper at the newspaper. But he wasn’t reporting in to the sheriff. Instead, he speed-dialed a number that connected him to the Cristobal complex. “De Cavallos.”

      “This is Rojas. We may have a problem.” He quickly outlined the confrontation with Everado outside the restaurant, and his subsequent conversation with Matt Cooper at the Gazette building. “If this guy is who he claims to be, it’s pretty coincidental that an ex-PMC guy just happened to wander into our town for lunch.”

      “What’s your take on him?”

      “Definitely ex-military—he’s got the bearing. He may be who he says he is, but he could be government too, possibly trying to insert as deep cover. He seemed pretty interested in finding work, so perhaps we can reel him in that way, and take care of him on our turf if necessary.”

      “I’ll run a check on him, see what comes up. Find out where he’s staying and make sure someone’s keeping tabs on him,” De Cavallos said.

      “All right. Also, please keep Everado from doing anything loco. We don’t need him attracting any more attention than he already has.”

      “You concentrate on doing your job, Rojas, and let me worry about my son, understand? How are you doing finding the girl?”

      “We’ve been combing the entire town and