Patriot Strike by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2014-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Highway Spur 412, McLennan County

The Shady Rest Motel had once been something special, patronized by visitors to Speegleville Park and Lake Waco, but time and the Texas Department of Transportation had passed it by. Business had slumped severely in the early 1990s, and petered out entirely by the time of Y2K. The place stood empty now, its fourteen individual cabins forever unoccupied, except by mice, insects and the occasional squatter.

Adlene Granger knew the Shady Rest from her patrols around McLennan County. Back in ’04 there had been an ugly scene in Cabin No. One, involving teenage hitchhikers. “It was like something from a slasher movie,” she told Bolan, while directing him to the motel. “Worst part, we never caught the guy—or guys—responsible. Kids say it’s haunted now. Keeps most of them away.”

Perfect.

He bypassed No. One and drove on to the end of the line, at Cabin No. Fourteen, parking the SUV behind it, where the vehicle could not be seen by any passing motorists. Their prisoner had floundered back to consciousness, moaning and cursing in the RAV4’s rear compartment by the time Bolan had switched the engine off. They hauled him out and marched him to the cabin’s door on wobbly legs.

“You want to pick it?” Granger asked him.

“Rather kick it,” Bolan said, and snapped the cheap lock with a single application of his heel.

Inside the place was musty and smelled of rodents. Spiders had been busy decorating in the corners, and a lizard blinked in Bolan’s flashlight beam before it skittered off the nightstand, racing toward the bathroom.

“When you’ve gotta go,” Granger said.

“Lights?” he asked her, standing in the doorway.

“Not for years. Kids used to bring candles or lamps. I’m half surprised they didn’t burn the whole place down.”

“Okay. Dark works for me.”

He walked their hostage to the bed and sat him down. “You have a last name, Otto?”

“What’s it to you?”

“If you plan on coming out of this alive, you need to work on your rapport. Strike one was when you planned to kill my friend here. Strike two would be your attitude right now. Strike three...you’re out.”

“How will I know when I’ve got three?”

Bolan produced the silenced pistol he had taken from their prisoner. “You’ll know,” he said.

“Okay. My last name’s Franks.”

“You work for Lone Star?”

“Sometimes.”

“How about today?”

A grudging nod.

“Some of your people took George Roth his from home today, in Dallas.”

Now a shrug. “Don’t know him,” Franks replied.

Bolan tapped his shoulder lightly with the muzzle of the XD’s silencer. “You really want to go for strike three?”

“Hey, man, I’m just a grunt, okay? You think I hang out with the Lone Star brass? I’ve never even seen the Big Man. Simon handles everything.”

“That’s Coetzee?” Granger asked him.

“Bingo. He’s the one you should be talking to, if you want to know where they’ve got people stashed.”

It sounded reasonable. “And we’d find him...where?” asked Bolan.

“Mostly he’s with Ridgway. Has a pad in Dallas somewhere, but I’ve never seen it. He’s on call 24/7. Anything comes up, he’s on it.

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