How many men had he killed this week?

Bolan sighed and got to his feet.

Not enough.

But that was enough self-pity to last for several weeks. He crushed out the cigarette, called out his energy reserves, straightened himself up, and went back down the hill to the cabin.

Evita was standing at the kitchen sink, peering into the only mirror in the place, and brushing out the shiney raven hair.

And she wasn't wearing a goddamned thing.

Bolan set the Thompson against the wall and told her, gruffly, "You can't get away with that."

Her eyes met his in the mirror. She replied, mimicking his gruffness, "Who says I wish to get away with it?"

If that tiny nipped waist was her equatorial zone, then she owned one hell of an interesting…

"20 degrees southlatitude," he mumbled. "That's a swinging parallel, Evita."

She wrinkled her nose at him in the mirror. "Take your bath," she commanded. "You also have the stink of Glass Bay."

The stink he had, Bolan thought, would never yield to mere soap and water. But he smiled and began undressing. Maybe at least he could wash away an accumulated film of self pity.

That 20th parallel south had already taken care of his fatigue problem. He had that certain feeling, though, that it was going to greatly add to it in just a very little while.

How many beautiful women had he loved this week?

Not enough.

And that wasn't self pity talking.

Bolan was still living to the point.

Chapter Seven

Fairyland

He slung her over his shoulder, carried her up the ladder to the loft and placed her gently on the feather mattress. Then he sat cross-legged beside her, as he silently contemplated the loveliness of this very unlikely cop.

Her eyes were warmly alive and aware as they slid slowly along his nudity. "You are beautiful, for a caveman," she whispered.

His gaze wavered and turned away. "This isn't a required part of the game plan, you know. We could skip it."

She laughed softly but did not quite manage to make it sound light and humorous as she replied, "Nowhe tells me. Too late, querido. It is very much required at this point."

He reached for her, his hand finding the incredibly velvet softness of the shiny little belly. A forefinger delicately traced the outline of the naval depression and he said, "Those lads, Juan and Rosalita… I wonder if they realize how great they really have it"

Her manner abruptly changed. She removed his hand and turned toward the wall.

He said, "Hell, Evita, I didn't mean…"

"You did not mean a comparison, I know," she replied in a muffled tone. "Just the same it is there, and I know this. I am three months in a Mafia bed. This morning I did not know Mack Bolan. This evening I am in hisbed. Yes, it is a harsh comparison. Much too harsh. So throw me back to the Mafia, Mack Bolan."

"How many men have you loved this week, Evita?"

Her shoulder twitched and she said, "Loved? I have not loved."

"And I have not murdered," he told her.

She turned slowly to look at him. "What does this mean?"

"We're pro's, Evita. We make war, not love, not murder. That's all it means. When I mentioned Juan and Rosalita I was only thinking of that very innocent and special fairyland that you and I have left forever. Would you like to trade places with Rosalita, Eve? Would you, if you could?"

She moved her head in a slow negative, her eyes pinned to Bolan's. "Would you like it better if I did?"

He grinned and shook his head. "I wouldn't know what to do with a Rosalita."

"You call me Eve," she whispered. "Do you know what to do with an Eve?"

"The original Eve wanted truth," he reminded her. "She picked the forbidden fruit of knowledge."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"And found love?"

He shook his head again, soberly. "She found war. And hell. And damnation. And eviction from fairyland."

"Adam, also? He found all this?"

"Yes."

They were fools, this Adam and Eve," she declared bitterly.

"Where would this world be, Evita," he quietly asked her, "without fools hike these?"

She understood. "Thank you," she said huskily.

He gathered her into his arms and pulled her close. "I left out the most important point of the story," he said.

Her arms went tightly about his neck and she clung to him. Her breathing was a bit ragged and he had the taste of tears on his lips as she said, "You did?"

"Yes," he replied, finding a bit of difficulty with his own breathing. "Through it all, Adam and Eve found each other."

"Oh Dios, Mack!" she cried. "Find me, please find me!"

He found her, and was glad, understanding in that jarring moment of truth that each had desperately needed to find the other at just that point in time and space.

Even a couple of war-hardened pro's needed a trip through fairyland from time to time.

The war faded, hell wavered, and even damnation lost its sting as Bolan and the law traded points of reality, and merged them, and expanded them into that all-consuming flame which is known only to those who live largely, love largely, and fully expect to die in the same manner.

For those who live to the point, Bolan decided, there are very special rewards.

The sun had become quite low in the sky when Bolan stirred and gently disentangled himself from that sweet press.

"Let us die here now, like this," Evita murmured lazily.

"We just might," he told her. He rubbed her thigh and said, "Come on, rise and shine, time to hit the firing line. The enemy could have brought a battalion in here on us and we'd have never known it."

"I have been listening to your heart beat," she said, "in all the world there has been no other sound. The war drums have fallen silent. Anyway, the battalions would never find us here."

"Don't be too sure of that." He rolled onto his knees and knelt there for a moment, studying her. Then he smiled and said, "I like this hat."

"Sombrero? Por la cabeza? — thehead? I do not wear the hat."

"Figure of speech," he explained. "Por la senorita de amor."

Her eyes glowed at him and she replied, "Yes, I also like this hat."

"Let's put the other one back on for a minute," Bolan suggested, regretfully. "You told me that Triesta overheard you making a phone call."

"This is true."

"It was an official call?"

"Official, yes. I was reporting the events at Glass Bay."

"In English?"

Her eyes fell. "Yes."

"Why not in Spanish? You said it's the official language here. Wouldn't it have been safer to use the native tongue? Did Triesta know Spanish?"

"The man… my contact… he does not know Spanish."

Bolan sighed. "I'd feel much better, Evita, if you'd level with me. The whole story."

She sighed also. "Some things, Mack Bolan, I can not..."

"No games," he said firmly. "I have to know."

The interrogation was becoming an ordeal for Evita. "You have heard… the expression… strike forcer."

He nodded. "Feds. Does Washington have men here?"

She hesitated, then replied, "Yes. Officially, these are special advisors. At the moment their greatest concern seems to be for… for Mack Bolan."

"I see," he said quietly.

"They were expecting you in Puerto Rico."

"And you confirmed their expectations."

"Yes. I told them you had arrived."

"And this isthe conversation Triesta overheard?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so what was the game plan from that point?"

"I was to report back… when you were dead."

"What else?"

"As insurance… in case you should break free… a containment network would be established."

"Uh huh. This is the police line you mentioned?"

"Yes. Their only interest is Mack Bolan." She said it with a sigh. "They do not wish to show their hand at Glass Bay. Not yet. Too much work has gone into..."