Colony Of Evil. Don Pendleton

course. Poor Mr. Margulies. But still, a Jew with family in Israel. Did you know that?”

      Bolan frowned and told her honestly, “They must have missed that in my briefing.”

      “Now, you see. Israel has more against Hans Dietrich and his little monsters than America can ever claim. It is quite obvious.”

      She had a point.

      “So, you’re suggesting that I call my boss and tell him to forget the whole thing? That you’ve got it covered?” he said.

      “Did I say that, Matt?”

      “Not directly, but—”

      “I am proposing we collaborate,” she said. “Pool our resources for the common good.”

      “Right now,” he told her, “my ‘resources’ are a pistol borrowed from Jorge. Washington won’t be sending the Marines to help us out. I’m it, for this job.”

      “And from what I’ve seen,” she said, “you’re more than adequate.”

      “Gee, thanks.”

      She laughed and finished tying off the last suture at Guzman’s temple. “There, all done,” she said, “except for one more swab of alcohol and then a bandage.”

      As she finished, she said, “I don’t mean to insult you, truly. But you were a bit outnumbered when I came along tonight.”

      “I noticed that.” He turned to Guzman, asking, “Are you sure nobody trailed you to the airport?”

      Guzman flinched as Cohen applied more alcohol, then said, “I did as I’ve been trained. Watched all the mirrors, made wrong turns, drove two and three times around certain blocks. If I was followed from my home, they were invisible.”

      “Okay, then,” Bolan said. “That leaves two options. They were either tipped to find us at the airport—which could mean some kind of leak at my end, in the worst scenario—or they’d attached some kind of tracker to your car.”

      “Which will be useless to them now,” Cohen said.

      “Good point. If there’s some kind of homer in the Fiat,” Bolan said, “we’ll let them sit and wait forever at the impound lot.”

      “It won’t take long for them to realize what’s happened,” Cohen replied. “I am convinced that Dietrich has well-placed connections to the DAS and other law-enforcement agencies.”

      “I’ve heard the same thing,” Bolan granted. “We’ll assume that any badges who come knocking are the enemy.”

      “And deal with them accordingly,” she said.

      “I don’t shoot innocent cops,” he told her.

      “Normally, I wouldn’t, either,” she replied, “but in this case—”

      “Not even then,” he answered. “It’s a rule I live by. It’s not open to debate.”

      She studied Bolan for a moment, then said, “In that case, we must make every effort to avoid them.”

      “That’s a plan,” he said.

      “So, we’re agreed?” she asked.

      “On what?”

      “What have we been discussing, Matt? Collaboration, for the common good.”

      Bolan considered it. Brognola didn’t try to micromanage action in the field, knowing that it was better left to soldiers on the scene, who knew exactly what was happening at any given moment. There was no rule banning him from a collaboration with Mossad—in fact, he had joined forces with selected members of the agency on more than one occasion in the past.