"All right," she said softly, coming out from behind the desk. "I'll tell you what to do. Come here."

David stared at her for a long moment, then stepped closer to her.

She stood and walked to where he sat on the corner of the desk. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes.

"Tonight's shipment will go through as planned. But we're going to destroy all the other evidence and concentrate on other things for a while."

"But..."

She put a soft fingertip on his lips, brushing them closed.

"Uh-uh," she said, shaking her head. "I know how lucrative this operation is, but there are plenty of other things we can do to make money. We're going to cover our tracks and lie low until this Bolan business is over."

"What do you mean, cover our tracks?"

"I mean that some of our associates who know too much about... the children... will have to be taken care of."

A light shone in David's eyes when she said that. He moved closer to her, until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face.

"Owens?"

"Even Randy," Denise answered, no hesitation in her voice.

She had thought about it and had made up her mind already, especially after Randy's disgusting performance in front of Bolan in this house a few hours ago. Owens was fairly dependable in turning out porno films and was a diverting stud in bed, but was certainly not worth jeopardizing anything important for.

"What about Bolan?" David asked.

"Our people are out combing the city looking for him and so are the police. They want him as badly as we do. We have plenty of protection here... now, that is. He won't be able to get near us when we go out to take charge of the operation tonight.'' She reached up to stroke his cheek. "Bolan won't hurt you, Davey. Mama will see to that."

"Yeah, you're right. You're always right."

She pulled him closer, resting his head on her shoulder, patting the back of his head gently with her fingertips.

He would do whatever she said now.

It always worked.

Mama's little boy would do anything for her.

She had started things in motion even before her son had answered her phone summons a half hour ago to return home.

All the loose ends would be tied up before this night was over, and the Executioner would have nowhere to turn, and the Chicago streets would run red with Bolan's blood...

15

The orphanage was on the South Side of Chicago, in a middle-class neighborhood.

The institution occupied an entire block. The administration building was a long, narrow structure that ran along the front of the property, with four dormitories at right angles behind it. At the rear of the complex was a gymnasium.

The orphanage appeared asleep as Bolan parked Lana Garner's Camaro across the street from the offices.

The single-level structure was the only building of the orphanage to exhibit any signs of life: two lighted windows next to the main glass entranceway into the lobby, where night personnel would be on duty, and a single light down at the far end of the building.

Lana, seated beside Bolan, watched him look in the direction of the one lighted window.

"Mr. Wallace often keeps late hours," she said. "That's his office."

"Luck may be on our side for a change," Bolan grunted, cutting the Camaro's engine and lights. "This is where you stay put while I do some recon."

She held up something for his inspection.

"I've got the key to the other way in," she reminded him. "And I don't think Mr. Wallace will try anything violent this close to home. Would he? Whatever he's up to, he still needs his legitimate cover as the kindly head of the orphanage."

Bolan considered that.

Smart lady as well as tough and dedicated, he decided. One of the real good ones.

"You've got a point," he admitted. "Okay, you come along this time, but be careful. Please."

She reacted to that last word by touching her fingertips to his, and something electrical and pleasant passed between them for one instant.

"You, too," she said. "We need you. The kids asleep in that orphanage, the world. We need you, Mack Bolan."

He did not know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

They broke contact and left the car, quickly covering the distance to the side door of the building, huddling in shadows at the opposite end from the lobby entrance and the lighted night duty office.

He unleathered the Beretta when they were out of view of the street, his eyes probing the surrounding compound for any sign of movement, any sign of attack from security Wallace could have posted around here.

Lana used her key to open the door. She stuck her head inside for a quick scrutiny, then motioned to Bolan.

"All clear," she whispered.

He eased into the building, sliding the door shut behind him without a sound, eyeing the hallway that ran the length of the building. The corridor was lined with doors, all closed now except for one at the far end.

Illumination from that doorway matched the placement of the night duty office.

He discerned the low hum of radio music. He and Lana had the hallway to themselves.

She led the way hurriedly to the second door from the main entrance. She turned to silently indicate with a pointing finger that this was Wallace's office.

Bolan crossed to the door, the Beretta held down at his side, and tried the knob.

Unlocked.

He twisted the knob and opened the door, stepping in fast, Lana right behind him.

The office was Spartan, he saw at a glance, as befitted a nonprofit charitable institution: metal desk and matching file cabinets and the like.

Floyd Wallace whirled to face the two intruders. It looked to them as if he was removing some files for transfer to an open briefcase on the desk.

He regarded the woman and the man with the Beretta with startled eyes and a fishbelly-white complexion.

"What's the meaning of this outrage?" he demanded indignantly. "Miss Garner, you're in enough trouble already, I should think, even if the police couldn't find anything to pin on you." Then he got a better look at the man beside her and his countenance went sheet white. "Bolan," he whispered, shocked.

The Executioner cracked an icy grin with no humor in it.

"You know who I am. That tells us something right there."

Lana spoke from Bolan's side.

"The man you claim to be would hardly recognize the Executioner at one glance, would he, Mr. Wallace? Tell us how you know about Mack Bolan."

Wallace's prominent Adam's apple bobbed up and down. He swallowed nervously.

"I don't know what either of you are talking about. I don't know this man, Lana, but since you seem to, I think you'd better tell him that I'm going to have the two of you arrested if you don't leave here immediately."

"Nice try, but it won't wash," Bolan told the guy, the Beretta still held down at his side. "We've already got the outline of this business, Wallace. We know you're stealing kids from the orphanage and sometimes from your day-care centers. You're selling them to the Parellis for prostitution, child pornography, black market adoption scams, God knows what else. You know it, we know it. Let's take it from there."

Wallace's eyes flicked back and forth from Bolan to Lana. Again he swallowed. He opened his mouth.

Bolan knew the man was ready to crack, to spill everything he knew. He could read it in Wallace's face.

There were footsteps in the hall outside.

All three people in the office heard them at the same time.

Bolan jerked his head at Lana, wordlessly communicating what he wanted her to do.

She stepped away from him, away from the office door.

He grabbed Wallace's arm and all but threw him into the chair behind the desk.