151 Message to Medellin by Don Perndleton

Author:Don Perndleton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

10

The breeding ground for crime in Medellin lay west of downtown in the teeming neighborhood dubbed Barrio Antioquia. Officially declared a red-light district in the 1950s, the slum harbored countless prostitutes of both sexes, dwelling side by side with other men and women who had lost their human values in the crunch between cocaine and urban poverty. Almost without exception perpetrators of most outrageous crimes in Medellin—and foreign gunners in the stateside cocaine wars—were drawn from the population of Barrio Antioquia. Hired killers from the district operated on sliding price scales, ranging from a hundred dollars on domestic homicides into the low five figures for celebrities and government officials. Gunmen from the district didn't take offense if they were asked to execute a random "practice killing" as a show of faith.

It was the perfect neighborhood in which to stash a powder factory, and Father Julio Lazaro had provided Bolan with the address of a lab maintained by Raul Rodriguez near the old, abandoned airport that had once served downtown Medellin.

The guards would be a problem, but he compensated by adopting a disguise. His army surplus jacket had been torn and patched in several places, and his denim jeans had lost their shape from too much wear. The garments were deliberately unkempt and reeked of sweat. The rest of Bolan's camouflage consisted of strategic grit and grime, a tattered baseball cap and an affected slouch that shaved two inches off his height .

If anyone was startled by the sight of Bolan stepping from a shiny rental car and moving off along the street, they kept their questions to themselves. For all the locals knew, he could have been a hustler, possibly a runner for the syndicate. The quickest way to lose your life in Barrio Antioquia was to butt into someone else's business, when that business might be drugs or homicide.

With Jack Grimaldi at the wheel the rental car moved on and disappeared beyond the second intersection down. If all went well, the pilot would complete a four-block circuit, giving Bolan time for his approach, and plant himself outside the target building once the Executioner had made his way inside.

From that point on they'd be playing it by ear.

If there were sentries posted on the street, they hid themselves well. No one appeared to notice Bolan as he passed the target building, veering to his left and moving down a cluttered alley just beyond. The fire escape was rusty, but it held his weight and the warrior reached the third-floor landing unopposed.

The windows had been painted over to discourage prying eyes, but two of them were standing open in concession to the muggy afternoon, providing extra ventilation for the lab. It would have paid to put a spotter on the fire escape, but passing time and lack of major opposition in the barrio had seemingly convinced Rodriguez that he could operate with virtual impunity.

It would be Bolan's pleasure to inform him otherwise.

The open window offered him a glimpse inside. Half a

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