Slayground. Don Pendleton

and vine before her, in which critters keen to bite her face off certainly lurked. She would just have to guess, hope for the best and press on. There was little else she could do, and standing here waiting to be captured was not on the list. She knew it was illogical, but movement gave her hope.

      She began to blunder through the undergrowth once more, now heedless of the sounds she made as she crashed through the vegetation, stumbling over roots and slipping on mud and leaves. Her only goal was to get as far from the compound as possible.

      As she ran, her confrontation with Ricke came into her mind. She had replayed it time and again since it had happened. How had she been so stupid as to be taken in by such a charlatan...? Or was he? Maybe he truly believed in what he said, but was so stupid himself that he couldn’t see his own failure to strip himself of the venality for which he castigated the entire human race.

      Ricke lived in one chalet with the five women who were his “wives.” It had the best quality furniture, including some antiques that he had acquired along the way, and a large collection of books that spilled untidily across the floor. The “wives” were his alone, whereas everyone else slept and shared communally in a kind of “free love” arrangement that had scared the hell out of Elena. Interestingly—given his preaching—Ricke used a tablet to keep in touch with the outside world, which Elena had noticed at their last meeting. Such things were forbidden to the rest of the community.

      Once again, she had told him that she wanted no part of the robberies, that she had no wish to do anything other than leave in peace and say nothing to anyone about the compound. In part this was true, since she would rather no one knew how idiotic she’d been to be sucked in. But she could also see that Ricke was dangerous. Not on a grand scale, but certainly on a local one, especially with psychotics like Duane and Arnie as his right-hand men.

      Ricke had sent his wives away when Elena had finished speaking. Only Arnie was left, lurking by the door and laughing softly to himself.

      “Sweet child,” Ricke had begun, in tones that made her shudder. “You have to understand that there are means to an end. These people in the outside world are so wrong and misled, and they don’t understand us. It isn’t their fault, but they would never cooperate unless we used the kind of language and behavior they understand. What we do is for the greater good.”

      “You can’t seriously expect me to swallow that,” she had replied, despite her instincts screaming out to keep her mouth zipped.

      Ricke smiled, but not with his eyes, which stayed ice-cold and hard, penetrating into her. “I don’t expect you to swallow anything, Elena. You came here because you believed. I think you still do. You just need to understand that our methods are justified by the results they obtain. It is all toward the greater good. Perhaps a period of quiet contemplation away from the others would help you realize this. I’m sure we can arrange that. And while you have this quiet time, you may do well to reflect on the things you’ve learned about our pig government from your father—a good man, I’m sure, but misguided. If we know what you know, we can use that to further the cause. Then there will be no need for the measures that, justifiably, cause you so much pain and anguish. Let Arnie show you where our cell of contemplation lies. And think carefully about what I have said to you....”

      The softly giggling Arnie had led her out of the chalet and away from the main buildings to the place she had come to think of as a prison cell. And Elena had realized with an awful finality that the only way she would ever see the outside world again was if she escaped.

      Thoughts of Ricke and her imprisonment were driven from her head as a black shape stepped out from behind the shelter of a tree and swung a lump of wood, catching her full in the solar plexus as she ran into it.

      She retched, spitting out strings of bile, then looked up into the wolfish, leering face of Duane.

      “Sugar, you didn’t really think you could outrun me, did you?”

Chapter 3

      First stop for the soldier was a Miami naval base. Flown in by routine flight from Washington, he alighted and was greeted by the site’s chief security officer, who showed him to a one-story block on the perimeter of the airfield.

      Waiting for him, laid out on a table, was a driver’s license, rental car registration, a billfold with cash and cards, a TEKNA knife and sheath, a Desert Eagle, gleaming and loaded with spare clips, and a shoulder holster. Sitting on a chair by the side of the desk was an attaché case with surveillance equipment including a monocular night vision headset, a camera and monitor with fiber-optic leads, and long-distance eavesdropping equipment with mic and receiver.

      “I didn’t know what kind of ordnance you required, Mr. Cooper, and as for a cell or tablet...well, I figured you’d probably be carrying your own. I can supply extra if you require.”

      Bolan nodded appreciatively. “No, that’ll be fine, chief. You’ve done a great job, thanks. Did they give you any indication of why I’m here?”

      The security man shook his head. “No, sir, and it’s none of my damn business unless someone decides otherwise. The only thing I will say is that should the need arise, you just call in. Someone with your level of clearance has the privilege of telling me to jump, and how high.”

      “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, chief, but I appreciate the offer. As for the ordnance, I figure it’s best for all concerned if I sort that out. No trails,” he added cryptically. “There is one thing you could tell me, though.”

      “Just ask,” the chief replied. He was in his late thirties, and had the deep tan of a man who had spent a long time around Miami and the Florida Keys. It was a good bet that he had the kind of local knowledge Bolan needed to tap.

      “I’m heading over toward Griffintown, and I could use any on-the-ground intel that I won’t pick up from regular background. You know the place?” The answer was obvious from the way the chief’s eyebrows raised at the mention of the town, despite his attempts to keep a straight face.

      “If I may say so, sir, it’s a little off the beaten track for anything major to happen. Sleepy, small-town America—the kind of place they’d set some TV melodrama. The only thing that’s happened there for the last fifty years was a recent bank robbery, where the guard was killed, and even that was supposed to be out-of-towners.”

      “Maybe, but isn’t that kind of odd? All my other intel points to the county being a swampland free-for-all. Moonshine and buckshot,” Bolan added for effect.

      “That’s true enough, but you’ve got to remember that they’ve got the Midnight there. No one wants to end up on the front page, so they keep their noses clean. It’s always been one of those tabloids that peddles morality, and as it’s the main job provider, it doesn’t pay to cross them. It helps that a lot of whackos are attracted to the area because of it, too. Guys who want to be abducted by little green men don’t tend to be making moonshine,” he added with a grin.

      “That figures. Plenty of whackos around here, too, right? Cults and communes?”

      “I hear there’s one in an old amusement park, but they act like they’re the Amish, you know? Keep to themselves and don’t have much time for modern technology. They’re harmless.”

      “That’s good,” Bolan said, keeping his voice level. Unless someone had reason to look below the surface, the Seven Stars must seem ineffectual from afar. But then, people had said that about Manson, his family and the Spahn Ranch half a century earlier.

      For now, though, it was best that the security chief keep his illusions intact. Bolan thanked him and left the base, picking up the Ford sedan from the parking lot before heading out of Miami and into the less populated swamplands. Florida had one of the largest populations of any U.S. state, but the people were tightly packed into areas around the coast, such as Tampa and Miami, state capital Tallahassee and the largest single city, Jacksonville.

      That gave Bolan pause for thought. Myres, the security guard