Death Run. Don Pendleton

“God willing,” in Tagalog, but in recent generations the term had come to mean a more fatalistic “whatever.” Fatalism defined the BNG, and fatality followed it from the Philippines to North America, where the organization had evolved into an especially violent criminal syndicate. The BNG was strong in the San Francisco area.

      “I didn’t have time to examine the bodies before the police arrived,” Bolan said. “I didn’t see any question marks.” Each member of the BNG tattooed a question mark symbol somewhere on his body. “So these guys are hooked up with al Qaeda now?”

      “At least the four men you killed today were,” Kurtzman said. “It might be more accurate to say that Jemaah Islamiah is hooked up with the BNG. My guess is that they’re just hiring the BNG for muscle.”

      “That would be my guess, too,” the Executioner said.

      “But they’re good muscle,” Kurtzman replied. “Watch your back tonight, Striker.”

      “How’d they get into the paddock?”

      Kurtzman took a moment to answer, meaning he was once again looking through the reports he and his team had generated. “Says here that they were posing as reporters for City Rider, a San Francisco-based motorcycle magazine.”

      “Has our little altercation at the track this morning attracted any attention?”

      “Attention? It’s being broadcast on every major news channel nonstop. You couldn’t have attracted more attention. All the major newshounds are already on the scene. I don’t know what’s going to be harder for you—finding the plutonium or dodging those nitwits.”