“You know,” the guy continued, “we had you figured all wrong, Cooper. They led us to believe you were one of the bad guys. I’m thinking now maybe we were the bad guys.”
“Yeah,” Bolan replied quietly. “Maybe so.”
“You won this round,” the guy said, the tone in his voice even weaker. The light began to leave his eyes.
“The innocents killed last night. Your men did it?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “But they ain’t my men.”
“Who gave the orders?” Bolan pressed. “Downing?”
The man seemed to have only enough strength now to nod. He coughed—although to Bolan it seemed more like a ragged exhalation—but then said, “You’re a decent man, Cooper. For patching me…up…I mean…”
“Do something decent in return,” Bolan said. “Tell me where I can find him. Where can I find Downing?”
Before he died, the guy managed to rasp, “Manila.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The Executioner contacted Stony Man once clear of the warehouse in Atlanta.
“I’ll need the first bird that can get me to the Philippines,” Bolan said.
“You’re in luck,” Price told him after keying an inquiry into Stony Man’s information supernetwork. “There’s a flight leaving for Andrews inside of two hours. From there it looks like you might have a pretty long wait. It’s been more difficult to get military flights into and out of the Philippines since the loss of our bases there.”
“I’d like to get Jack,” Bolan said. “Any chance of that?”
“David called less than an hour ago with an update. They should be here by morning.”
“You think Jack can cut and run straight for Andrews?”
“I think it’d take an army to hold him back,” Price replied.
Bolan would have bet on it. He and Jack Grimaldi, Stony Man’s ace pilot, were longtime allies and friends. In fact, Bolan had known the man longer than any other Stony Man operative. Grimaldi, tough and tireless, had taken Bolan out of an incalculable number of scrapes.
“Good. Tell him I’ll meet him at our private hangar.” The wait in Washington would give Bolan a chance to catch some shuteye. “Is Hal there?”
“No, I finally ordered him to bed.”
Bolan grinned. “Now that’s an order from you I’d have no trouble following.”
“Watch it,” Price replied in a soft, teasing voice. “Anyway, what’s the news?”
“Very little,” Bolan said. “Hagen didn’t live long enough to tell me about anything he might have been working on for Downing. In fact, he gave me the whole righteous indignation act. Then Downing’s murder crew killed him before I could extract any real information.”
“What about this crew?”
“Same ones who did the job on that NCF house,” Bolan replied. “I managed to get one of them to talk before he died. I was surprised to find ID on all three of them. I’ll send you the names via up-link once I reach the airport.”
“We’ll be waiting,” Price said. “Anything else?”
“Downing’s behind this whole deal, no doubt there. But I don’t get the feeling he had direct control on this hit team.”
“Why not?”
“These guys were professionals, well-trained. Black ops all the way. Definitely a military man headed this crew.”
“Well, Downing does have a lot of connections from his NSA days,” Price said. “Maybe he’s got ex-military training his special teams.”
“Possible,” Bolan said. “There was something especially familiar about these teams, though. I can’t quite put a finger on it. Maybe it’ll come to me with time. For now, you can assume I’m going to push this all out.”
“What support do you need?”
“Have Cowboy send additional munitions reserves with Jack. In the meantime, I’ll try to stay out of trouble.”
“You do that,” Barbara Price replied.
A LARGE PART of the Filipino population would have said the Ninoy Aquino International Airport stood as the iconic symbol of the country’s poor economy. The few who would have disagreed with that view numbered those with questionable standards on what was “clean and modern.”
In any case, Bolan wasn’t here on a sightseeing tour so it didn’t matter to him. The heat and humidity assaulted him like a wet, wool cloak, and Bolan could understand why Grimaldi had chosen to stay behind in the comparatively cool interior of the jet. Not that he didn’t deserve the rest. Bolan would have preferred to bring the pilot along for backup, but he figured the guy deserved a respite after the long flight.
Bolan had changed into lighter wear for his arrival, and didn’t prompt a second look as he moved past the baggage claim and headed for the exit. He had learned long ago the value of role camouflage. He’d used it since nearly the start of his war with the Mafia. The soldier based it on the concept that careful study of an environment would reveal telltale clues of what others accepted as normal. It was then a simple matter of exploiting those details and appearing just as everyone would expect, thus blending into the setting and attracting as much or as little attention as required. Bolan had effectively applied the technique to penetrate everything from Mob Families to the narcotics underworld, even terrorist groups on occasion.
Bolan left the terminal and stepped onto the sidewalk bordering twin lanes jammed with cars of various makes, models and colors. Noxious fumes spewed from tailpipes throughout the long, covered port that made Bolan want to choke when mixed with the sweltering heat. One of the most popular vehicles in the country was the Jeepney. Bolan hailed a brightly colored one covered with bumper stickers and sporting a red-orange paint finish. It took him nearly a minute of broken conversation before he was satisfied the driver knew where he wanted to go.
As they left the hectic scene, Bolan reflected on the mission ahead. All leads pointed to Manila, and the natural place to start would be the downtown apartment where the CIA surveillance had located Roger Neely. According to official reports, Neely was on a scheduled two-week vacation. Bolan had no reason to think Neely’s choice to come here was anything other than it appeared. It didn’t seem an unusual choice for a vacation spot, since Neely’s career-Navy father had spent a long tour of service here. The woman and child he was reportedly spending time with was another matter entirely. Stony Man’s intelligence had dug up very little on the native woman, Malaya, or the mysterious child. Bolan suspected the most obvious: she was Neely’s mistress and the little girl was their daughter.
Bolan recalled his conversation with Barbara Price on the trip overseas.
“The apartment is rented in Malaya’s name,” Price said, “but from everything we can determine she doesn’t have a cent to her name. She doesn’t work, and she doesn’t collect any form of public assistance from the Filipino government.”
“So she has no income but somehow she survives,” Bolan replied.
“Exactly. I think it’s obvious where she gets her money, though.”
“Neely.”
“Well, we’ve determined over one-third of his salary is unaccounted for. He doesn’t live high off the hog, has only a modest balance in a savings account, and no real investments to speak of outside of his government pension fund. A name search shows he regularly uses a charge card to purchase international traveler’s checks, balance paid in full every month without fail. Those check purchases stopped three weeks ago.”