Ivory Wave by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2013-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

14

Bolan left the trailer parked behind the motel when he checked out in the morning. At some point, the motel’s owner would figure out that it had been abandoned there, and didn’t belong to any continuing guests. He didn’t mind driving the tractor—it was less discreet than he liked, but it had plenty of power and it gave him a good, elevated view of the road.

He had an address in the Cleveland, Ohio, area for the manufacturer of Ivory Wave—the IW Labs printed on the packaging. According to the paperwork he had taken from Fowler, IW Labs was really a company called IW Bath. And according to Stony Man Farm, nobody was yet looking for the truck—but then, it would be a while, if ever, before Devilweed Inc. was organized enough to realize that one was missing. The bigger question might be what the other drivers would do with their trucks. Presumably, since the fire and then Fowler’s death had been all over the news, both last night and this morning, they had all heard that their boss and their home base were gone.

The morning was bright and clear. It was the kind of morning when it would almost be possible to look around and think the world was a joyful, peaceful place. One could almost believe that one’s fellow citizens, one’s fellow human beings were good, honest people who cared for one another.

And to a certain extent, Bolan knew that was true. A soldier could never forget that most people weren’t combatants but innocents. Sometimes they were caught in a cross fire, and sometimes circumstances swept them into battle. He had become used to the idea that he would always be a combatant, and that protecting the innocent would always be part of his mission.

Another part of it, though, would remain identifying and eliminating the enemy. It was the only way for the small parts of the world to stay safe. That’s what Bolan had on his mind as he drove through the Midwestern daylight, hitting a brief, sun-drenched shower near Beaverdam.

* * *

CLEVELAND WAS THE home of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and an old rock song called “Look Out Cleveland” came into his mind as he neared the city. The song warned of a storm coming, and Bolan knew there was indeed a storm approaching the city. Only, this storm was the Executioner, and no amount of preparation could aid those whom the storm would target.

By afternoon, he had located the address from Fowler’s files.

He drove past it once, taking in as much as he could from behind the wheel. It was a roadside building that could have once been a large restaurant or a supermarket, wood framed and with an old, peeling-shingle roof. The windows had been boarded over and graffiti decorated the boards. The paint had probably been a rich brown once, but it had faded to a dull, dirty gray. The parking area was choked with weeds. Most people would

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