CHAPTER 7: END OF THE GAME
Armed with the new information of who it was that was truly responsible for the death of his parents, Marcus wasted no time on food, drink or sleep. He just gassed up his war wagon and made the trip from Seattle, Washington to Bowling Green, Ohio in record time.
He also wasted no time once back in Bowling Green in snatching the cordless telephone and placing a call to Phil Lopez.
"Software, what do you know about a F.B.I. agent named Dalton Key?" Bolan asked without preamble once he was through the hassle of the CIA operators who answer the hotline and then transfer you to whoever your handler is.
"First, no names. Not even for parties other then us. Now how do you know that name?"
"Before the final subject on my last op died we had a chance to chat a bit. The deceased subject of my last op named this new target as the information source he paid to locate our friends that started all of this. Now it is your turn. What do you know about him?" Marcus said into the phone.
There was a pause, a moment of silence between the two men when Lopez broke it by saying, "Well, all of this is classified and out of your need to know. I'm respecting your wish by telling you what I know so that you will respect my wish that you will leave him alone. The subject you mentioned is an F.B.I agent stationed at the New Orleans field office, a former S.E.A.L. brother of yours gone bad. We have our spy hunters watching him because we have evidence of him selling classified material to Iran, Russia, France, Columbia and Pakistan. He is under suspicion of selling information that the U.S. would prefer him not to sell to many other countries. He sells anything to anyone with no regard to what it could mean to the rest of us."
"So, why haven't you arrested him for treason yet?"
"Because, most of the stuff we have him selling is out of his classification range. Things that are out of his need to know. The CIA spy hunters are watching him to break the network he has for gathering information." Lopez answered.
"So you're telling me that we have a nation full of feds on the take. Our nation is wide open to the highest bidder?" Bolan inquired.
"No, we don't think that at all. What we think is that over the years the subject has developed friendships in the various federal agencies that run our government and that they have let secrets slip in idle conversation. We don't believe his network to be making any money off of what they tell him. It's like the old World War Two adage, loose lips sink ships. Well, we are trying to stop loose lips from sinking America."
"Ah, I see," Bolan answered, "Well fax me a photo of him, contact information, anything at all I'll need and I'll save your spy hunters the trouble of watching him. They can move on to living targets."
"No. I told you all of this only so that you would leave him alone. This is a matter of national security and not the next step in this game of petty revenge of yours." Phil replied sternly.
"Look. Because of this guy my family is dead. From what you've told me I assume that a lot of undercover feds have also died because of what this man sells. He needs to be taken out of circulation before anyone else dies." Bolan said.
"No. Leave him alone. This is a matter of national security, don't go messing up years of investigation."
"Firecracker wouldn't have told me not to."
"Perhaps. Firecracker did know about him though, not that he sold out your parents but the spy hunters and no warrant for arrest were placed by him."
"Software, I'm taking him." Bolan said matter of factly.
"If you do, you will be able to count the CIA in your list of enemies. We will no longer provide you any information, funds, or equipment. Your status as an unofficial operative will be revoked. In short, you will be on your own. The U.S. Marshals and the F.B.I. haven't been able to catch you yet, do you really want the CIA and our vast information sources joining them against you?"
"Well, what can I say? What's got to be has got to be." Bolan answered.
Phil let out an audible sigh and said, "Well. I'm sorry you feel that way. However I will give you every chance to change your mind. The CIA will not move against you until confirmation of the subject's death reaches my desk."
With that having been said, both men hung up their respective telephones ending the conversation on a negative note.
**
Marcus intended this to be a short lay over in Bowling Green. He didn't plan on remaining more then a few hours before he moved on to New Orleans. He wasn't about to let anything stop him.
As he rechecked all of the weaponry he had packed for the final strike to avenge his parents Alexis entered the house, hung her keys on the key rack. Marcus heard the gentle sobs coming from her, she was crying.
Bolan stopped what he was doing, went to the room she was in and asked, "What's wrong honey?"
Alexis stopped crying out of surprise and said, "I wasn't expecting you to be here."
"Well, I'm not going to be for long. What's the matter with you?" He asked again in tones that he only seemed to use around her lately. Everyone else he has spoken to in recent memory has been spoken to in icily cold voice tones and brisk direct orders.
She ran to him and wrapped her arms around him and began sobbing again, this time very loudly. Marcus decided not to push the issue and just held on to her. For what seemed hours they stood there like that, him holding her around the waist, her with her arms wrapped around his chest and his shoulder becoming wetter and wetter by the moment, all in silence.
After Alexis's tears settled down on their own accord, Marcus separated himself from her, looked into her eyes and asked again, "Now are you ready to tell me what is wrong?"
"I don't know how." She answered.
"Just don't think about it. Let whatever words the come to mind be voiced."
"Well, ok. Here we go. I was just at the doctor's office. Well, there is no easy way for me to say this, so I guess I might as well just blurt it out. I'm pregnant."
The look on Marcus's face told Alexis that her words had taken the wind right out of him. For his part, Marcus was more then completely dumbfounded and at a loss for words. All he could do at the time, and all he did was turn around and leave the house. Without saying a word. As he walked away, he could hear her crying again but didn't know what to say or do so he just kept walking.
For hours, he walked around aimlessly in a daze. His thoughts were so jumbled that not even he was able to make since out of them, to him it just sounded like thousands of people all talking to him at once. His daze was so complete that when he absentmindedly returned to the house he couldn't recall a single place he had been. He knew that he had been walking for hours, he just couldn't recall walking anywhere or by anything.
He walked back into the house and the two of them once again held each other in a silent embrace. For her part, Alexis took no offense to Marcus's wondering off.
"So, are you ready to talk now?" Alexis broke the silence.
Again they separated, Marcus sat in his chair and Alexis sat down on the footstool directly in front of him.
"Well, I guess the first question I have is, is it mine? How do you know it is mine?" Bolan asked.
She stood up and sent a slap full of all the strength she could muster into his cheek and yelled, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DO I KNOW IT IS YOURS? YOU THINK I'M SOME SORT OF SLUT! THAT RUNS AROUND AND BEDS OTHER MEN WHILE YOU'RE OFF ON YOUR LITTLE WAR! IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK OF ME!"
Bolan stopped the second slap before it could land, "Whoa lil lady. That just came out wrong, that's all. I wasn't calling you a slut and didn't mean for it to sound that way. I'm sorry."
"Then what did you mean, exactly?" She said as coldly as he often spoke to the Mafioso he came across. It hasn't been that long since you were with Vincent. Is it possible that your child is his?"
She shook her head from side to side and said, "No, no. I know it isn't his. We hadn't, well, lets put it this way. If he had gotten me pregnant I would have known before now."
Marcus believed her, and with his concerns on the subject abetted he wrapped her in a tight embrace, kissed her lips, looked her in the eye, smiled and said, "Well. It looks like I'm a family man now."
"So you're giving up your war then?" Alexis asked, the shock evident in her voice.
"Yes I am. After one last mission." He answered.
"Why one last mission? You told me that your dad abandoned the mission he was on when he learned about you. Why can't you do the same?"
Marcus took her hands in his and said, "Beautiful, the circumstances are different. My dad had avenged the death of his family long before he learned about me. All he was doing was avenging those who couldn't avenge themselves and saving the people that the mob would have yet killed. My family on the other hand, well there is still one-person left that is responsible for my parents' deaths. As soon as he is taken care of, I will return to you and I won't continue my war. My war will end at the death of every person who had anything to do with my parents' murders."
Knowing that she wasn't going to talk him out of it she asked, "So how long are you in town for?"
"Just until I can get everything together and hit the road. Do me a favor, have everything in this house packed up and ready to go when I get back. Phil and I are going to be at odds when I get back and it will be best if he doesn't know where I am for a little while."
"Umm sure. You gonna tell me why you two fell out?"
"When all is said and done I will."
"I guess that I'll have to just live with that." Alexis said, obviously disappointed.
After this discussion was over Bolan continued preparations for what turned out to be his last operation. The urgency to complete it much greater now, but his dark mood had lifted. He still wasn't going to waste anytime by sleeping and he wasn't hungry.
As Marcus was heading out the door, Alexis stopped his, kissed him good-bye and said, "You be careful now, you hear. Come back to me."
Marcus smiled, returned her kiss and said, "I've faced a lot greater odds then this one. This time I'm only up against one guy and not armies. But don't worry; I've got something in addition to you worth coming back for. I'll be careful."
She kissed him again and said, "I love you."
He returned her kiss and answered, "I love you to." With that he turned his back, loaded up the war wagon, looked back at her one more time with a smile on his face and was gone.
**
Several hours of hard driving later Marcus arrived in New Orleans and thought to himself as he saw the sea of revilers, "Leave it up to me to have to find one guy in the middle of Mardi gras."
Bolan pulled his van into a parking spot just outside of New Orleans, very likely the only place he'd be able to find a parking spot with Mardi gras underway, got out and walked into town. He worked his way through the crowds to every hotel only to be told the same thing at each one. They were overbooked already and that he would have to go elsewhere.
Marcus settled for buying a cheap collapsible cot from an Army Navy Surplus store and set it up in the van. He didn't plan on staying in New Orleans long enough to make the hassle for renting an apartment under an assumed name worth it, so the van would have to double as a mobile home.
Once this was set up, Marcus walked back into the city and purchased a bright orange clownish looking wig, blue face paint, and a jumpsuit of flowered print. If there was a better way to hide in a crazy and drunk town then to look crazy and drunk himself, Bolan didn't know it.
After these items were purchased he changed cloths into his "Mardi Gras camouflage" as he rationalized it, painted half of his face blue and walked to the New Orleans F.B.I field office. He stood there and watched as official looking people came in and out of the building, not knowing exactly why he was doing this since he wouldn't recognize Dalton Key if saw him without a photo. He knew he couldn't just walk in to the office and nose around to see what he could learn. Bolan was at a complete loss for what to do for the first time since his war began.
On the bright side however, no one from the F.B.I recognized or even recognized him in the sea of revilers.
**
As Marcus stood outside the field office, Dalton Key stepped outside the door, placed his hands in his pockets and enjoyed the sight of the out of town idiots the flocked to New Orleans on an annual basis. He truly did love New Orleans, this was a party town year round and Mardi Gras was just nuts. It was just the city for a single man in his early thirties.
At least the F.B.I had stationed him in this city, since he was disappointed with his position as a data entry clerk. When he joined the agency, the last thing he thought he'd be doing was sitting at a computer screen all day entering reports written by the people who did the work that he should be doing. However, his lowly position did not hamper is abilities to impress the most eligible of New Orleans single women and their parents with his made up stories of shoot outs with terrorists, car chases with bank robbers and the time that he single handedly brought down America's Most Wanted Man, Raul Remierz who was an international drug smuggler that had escaped capture in the U.S. for a decade who also managed to existed only in the imagination of Mr. Dalton Key. However, his position in data entry is how he started his very lucrative side business of being a freelance double agent. One little tid bit of information sold first for a small sum, a little bit larger chunk next of information next, and now he was putting together full packets for the highest bidder some of which went to the highest bidder and the others went to whoever it was that contacted him and paid the requested sum in advance. Dalton Key planned to retire very young.
He left he perch in front of the field office and walked to the federal employee-parking garage. Fortunately, this is the governmental section of town and while Mardi Gras encompassed the entire city, this area had less of a party presence then other areas. This allowed him to drive his car the mile to work from his apartment and back.
Before entering the parking garage, Marcus pulled out the keyless entry remote car start that he had installed when Marcus Bolan began his rampage through the nation's underworld. Key strongly doubted that Bolan would catch onto him; after all he covered his tracks well. In addition to that, Don Vitale, prior to his death, was the only Mafia Commissioner that knew Key was the one that provided the information on the whereabouts of Mack Bolan and now that Vitale was dead he wouldn't be telling anyone else. Dalton had faith in Vitale, granted the mafia wasn't the mob of the 1920s and 30s, which was in evidence by the number of made men turning states evidence. Omerta, the mob's code of silence wasn't what it once was, but yet Don Vitale was one of the oldest living Mafioso in the country. However, it paid to be safe. Once his car had been started and the parking garage had not erupted into flames, Key entered the garage, sat in his car and drove off.
**
A few hours later, Marcus was beginning to develop a game plan for the extermination of one Dalton Key.
He sat in his war wagon and called the field office from the cell phone he had picked up somewhere between Bowling Green and New Orleans.
When the receptionist answered the phone, Bolan said, "Hi, I'm Titus Eldon from the network television show Hot Topic. Perhaps you've heard of it."
"Heard of it. I watch it all the time. It's my favorite of all the tabloid t.v. shows. Have I ever seen you on it?" The receptionist responded.
"Um no. I'm one of the show's researchers."
"Ah, I see. Well how can I help you Mr. Eldon?" The receptionist sounded disappointed.
"I'm doing a report on former U.S. Navy S.E.A.Ls and what they are doing now. My sources have informed me that you have one employed in your office. A Mr. Dalton Key. I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to provide a way for me to get into contact with him. A telephone number or a home address maybe."
"I'm sorry Mr. Eldon, but information on our agents is strictly protected. I can not give you anything like that."
"Can you confirm for me that he does indeed work at that field office?" Bolan persisted.
"Once again I'm sorry but I can't confirm or deny that."
"Oh come on. This is the chance of a lifetime for Mr. Key. Would you really deny him his fifteen minutes of fame?" Bolan persisted himself.
"I'm sorry Mr. Eldon but that information is classified and therefore not available to the media. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
That game plan had failed and it was time to begin formulating a new one, "No, there's nothing else you can do for me. Thank you for your time." Marcus said and then hung up the phone.
**
That night, Key sat in his apartment doing what he does best. Preparing a packet for the Michigan Militia on federal law enforcement officers who have taken deep cover with in. This one is going to bring him a big paycheck of $500,000 and in four days at the most it will be ready to go. He couldn't wait for that lump sum payment to arrive.
At the same time, Marcus laid on his cot unable to sleep. First, this cot was the most uncomfortable thing he had ever slept on, no wonder it was so cheap. Second, he was built up with excitement that after this mission was complete his parents would have been fully revenged. He finally admitted to himself for the first time that he hadn't expected to live this long. The final reason for his inability to sleep was the news of his impending fatherhood had finally sunk in, and along with that came the ramifications it meant. The main one being his war, which he planned on executing until his dying day, was over as soon as this op was complete. There was a lot of good he could still do, a lot of made men who could still be stopped, but if he were to continue his war, that would mean being distant from his child who was at this very moment forming in Alexis's womb. Mack Bolan set the example by giving up his war to raise Marcus and it was a good one that Marcus intended to copy. Marcus would be a real man and raise his child the best he could. Any idiot could be a father, but it takes a real man to be a daddy, and it was a daddy that Bolan intended to be.
**
Dressed in blue jeans, a black tee shirt and ball cap Marcus Bolan was sitting at a computer terminal in the New Orleans Public Library as soon as it opened. He had planned to install an Internet capable computer into his war wagon, but thus far hadn't gotten around to it. The war wagon that as soon as possible would begin its transition back to a family vehicle. Since he had never installed it however, Marcus was dependant upon public libraries for access to the World Wide Web.
The first search he ran was of official F.B.I. websites, hoping beyond hope that one of them would have a photo of Dalton Key. As he expected, the search was fruitless.
The next search he ran was of the New Orleans newspaper. He held a little more hope for this search since thousands of ordinary citizens land their faces in the newspaper at one time or another. However, this search proved to be as worthless as his first one.
Marcus tried dozens of more searches with equally disappointing results. His break came however when he ran a search on the name Dalton Key, on the long shot hope that Key would have been stupid enough to have a personal website considering his line of work.
Key proved smart enough not to have a personal website, however the weak in his defense turned out to be his mother who did have a personal website. Marcus opened up Mrs. Key's web page and quickly searched it for information on Dalton. He learned a lot of background information on Key. His dad was a Marine that died in Vietnam; his step dad was a police officer that was killed in the line of duty. During high school, Key played football and wrestled but hadn't distinguished himself in either sport. Dalton, at a great disappointment to his birth father's side of the family with it's long Marine Corps tradition, joined the Navy as soon as he graduated High School and ended up being a cook. Unsatisfied with being a cook, Key went to college and studied foreign languages on the Navy's tab and graduated in the middle of his class. After college he made it through the S.E.A.L. training a few years before Marcus himself would be at the same locations undergoing the same training. Six months before Marcus himself entered into the S.E.A.L. program Key was injured on a classified operation and given a full honorable discharge from the Navy, after which he joined his hometown police department, the same one that his step father belonged to when was died. He rose from officer to detective and then applied to and was accepted into the F.B.I.
Marcus also found at long last a photo of his final adversary.
He searched the web page further but was unable to turn up any sort of contact information for Key. Bolan did however find contact information for Mrs. Key. He printed the photo and Mrs. Key's contact information. He didn't want to use a mother in order to kill her son but if it came down to it he would. His parents would be avenged.
Bolan resisted the urge he felt inside him to rush and casually strolled from the computer terminal to the library's front desk where he could pick up his printouts and pay for them.
He looked at the librarian and said, "Hi. I printed some things from station six."
She gave him a pretty smile that only highlighted her naturally pretty face and said, "Let me get them for you sir." She walked back to the printer, pulled them off and began counting the number of pages as she walked back to him.
The librarian paused when she saw the photo of Key and asked, "Do you know Dalton?"
This turn of events was unexpected and took Bolan by surprise. The inside of him began stammering for words, while on the outside he remained cool and said, "Actually yes. I'm an old buddy of his from the S.E.A.L. teams. I'm more recently out of the Navy then he is, I heard from another buddy of ours that he lives in New Orleans now and I happened to have to stop here on business so I thought I would surprise him."
She gave a small nod of the head and said, "Two pages, that will be twenty cents please."
Marcus looked at her curiously and said, "Do me a favor. If you see Dalton, please don't tell him that we met or that I'm here. I really do want to surprise him."
She looked at Bolan with fire in her eyes and said, "I see him all the time but haven't said a word to him in a year. The man is a world class jerk and you'd do all the single ladies of New Orleans a big favor if you were here to kill him rather then surprise him."
Inside Bolan chuckled at her reaction and how close she unknowingly was to hitting the nail on the head by what she said, but instead asked, "Why do you say that?"
"Half of the female population here at one time or another thought they would become Mrs. Dalton Key. He led us all to believe that and did nothing at all to discourage our beliefs that way. But then, when he had all he wanted from us we were discarded like an empty pop bottle. Sometimes, like with me he didn't bother to tell us it was over. So, yeah, I'd be very happy if someone were to kill Dalton Key."
Marcus resisted the urge he had to tell her who he really was and why he was really in New Orleans and instead opted to say only, "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way." He then paid for his print outs and left.
**
When he left the library Bolan changed back into his Mardi Gras camouflage resumed his vigil that he began the previous day outside the F.B.I. field office, only this time he was armed with a photo of his prey. This time, he knows what Dalton Key looks like.
Bolan stood there all day, not drawing anyone's attention since there were so many out of town visitors. Finally, at the end of the workday Marcus saw Dalton Key for the first time.
Key stood outside the office for a brief moment, talked to another F.B.I. agent and began walking by himself to the parking garage. Marcus followed him at a discreet distance but slowly closed the gap between the two professional warriors.
Once in the parking garage, Marcus closed to within fifty feet of Key, unholstered the 357 and drew a bead on Dalton. Bolan steadied his breathing, and pulled the trigger just as Key moved slightly to the left. Bolan's bullet missed him clean but the loud report of the firing alerted Key to the fact that he wasn't alone.
Key pulled his side arm and, against all of his military and civilian training, blindly returned fire, missing Bolan by a large margin with every shot. He then hustled around to the other side of his car for cover.
Key popped his head up over the hood of the car just as another shot bounced off the hood, so he lowered his head again.
Not knowing where his attacker was, Dalton continued to fire blind shots, most of which never came close to Bolan. On Marcus's end however, the shots were all well timed and well placed.
"This is nuts," Key thought, "There is no way I'm going to make it out of here like this."
Key fired five successive shots from under neither his car, turned around and began crawling away.
It didn't take long for Bolan to realize what Key was doing when he stopped firing so he cautiously exposed himself to any shots that Key might take and approached the car.
Key more felt Bolan doing this then heard him, instincts carved out of long hours of harsh and intense training. He got to his feet and the gunplay turned into a running gunfight and Bolan pursued and Key ran out of shock and fear for his life.
Dalton ducked into the stairwell and disappeared. Just as Bolan was about to take the chase into the stairs, the door swung open and Marcus realized it was an innocent coming out just a fraction of a second before he pulled the trigger.
Marcus charged past the innocent, just about plowing him over in the process and into the stairwell. He paused for a brief second trying to decide which way to go.
"If I were Key and some unknown had just fired on me out of the blue, I think I'd go for he nearest exit." He thought and began cautiously moving down the stairs with his sidearm pointed wherever his eyes went.
Once he was at the bottom of the stairs and found no Dalton Key waiting for him, Marcus had a sinking feeling in his gut that his adversary had escaped. However he took the time to clear the entire parking garage just to make sure, but his suspicion proved to be accurate. Key had beaten him this time.
**
It was another sleepless night for Marcus Bolan. He paced his van dressed only in his sweat pants. His anger at himself for allowing Key to escape was evident.
At the same time, in his apartment Dalton Key is also having a sleepless night. He had thoroughly been rattled by the unexpected attack earlier. Although no words had been exchanged, he knew who was after him. No matter how well he had covered his tracks, Marcus Bolan had somehow discovered that Dalton Key was the one who sold his parents out to the mafia, and no he was here for revenge.
Key's worry took and edge of paranoia to it as he thought he saw Bolan in each and every new shadow.
**
Early the next morning, Marcus was once again at the New Orleans Public Library, only this time it was a person he'd gone to retrieve information from and not a machine.
He entered the library, dressed much like he had been the day before and walked up to the librarian.
"Hi there." He greeted her.
"Ah, Mr. Navy S.E.A.L. Any luck in finding your jerk of a friend?" She replied in non-friendly tones.
"Not yet. Actually I was hoping that you might be able to help me out with that. Do you know of any place that he goes on a regular basis? Maybe a club, a gym, anything like that?"
"If I tell you, will you stop showing up here asking about him. Dalton is a man I'd really prefer to put in the past and bury him there." She responded.
"Sure, no problem. You tell me when and where I'm likely to find him somewhere and you'll never see me again."
"Ok fine. He goes to a gym a block east of his office every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday right after work for an hour and a half."
"How about if he happens to be under a lot of stress. Would he still go?"
"Yes. Working out and keeping in shape is the one thing that Dalton is fanatical about. The more stress he is under the better he enjoys his workouts."
Bolan gave her his smile, which has always melted the female heart, nodded his head and said, "Thank you ma'am. And as I promised, you'll never see me again."
With that he turned around and left the library.
**
By luck of the draw, the today is Monday, which just happened to be one of Key's gym days. Bolan made tracks for the gym. Once he was inside he paid the day rate and went to the locker room, where instead of changing into workout cloths he changed into his black battle gear and waited for Key.
Fortunately it was a slow day at the gym and no one besides Key came into the locker room.
Dalton saw the man in black and dropped his gym back on the ground knowing that the day's workout had been cancelled.
"Marcus Bolan. I suppose you are here for me." Key said with a lot of false bravado in his voice.
Marcus pulled out the silenced 9 millimeter and answered, "You're a smart man Key."
"So, what's next? You just gonna gun me down right here?"
"That's the plan. Give me a reason why I shouldn't."
"Easy. We are both S.E.A.L.s. We are in the brotherhood of the elite. Don't you think you should give me a fair chance here? Settle this in the way of the elite, man to man."
Bolan placed the 9-millimeter along with every other piece of his arsenal he brought with him on the wooden bench in the locker room.
"Ok, we can do that." Bolan answered the challenge.
The two men squared off, Key attacking first with a forward kick. Bolan countered that by side stepping the blow and brought a fist into Key's jaw. The blow staggered Key, but he maintained enough composure to launch a wrestling single leg take down. Key had Bolan's left leg in the air, tucked into his armpit with good form. However, Bolan artfully jumped over the leg sweep key aimed at his right shin. Instead, Bolan took Key down by wrapping his right leg around Key's left and leaning into him. Key fell to his back and Marcus landed on top of him. Fists, elbows and knees all flew from each of the combatants and their bodies showed the evidence of the encounter. Finally Key flipped over to his stomach, then up to his hands and knees. At this point he flipped Bolan in a wrestling side roll, quickly moved around behind Bolan who was trying to get back into some defensible position. Key wrapped his right arm around Bolan's throat and began to chock him. Fight as he might, Bolan was unable to break Key's grip. Bolan knew that he had met his end when the blackness began to surround him. He knew that his mission, his war and his life had all come to an end at the same time.
Then out of nowhere and entirely unexpectedly Key's limp body fell over Bolan. Bolan's sight returned and he saw Key with a neatly drilled bullet hole between his eyes.
He turned around and saw a stranger standing there with Marcus's own silencer equipped 9mm in his hands.
"Marcus. Nice to finally meet you in person." The stranger said.
"Wwho are you?" Bolan managed to choke out.
"Ah, sorry. Guess that I should have introduced myself already." The man said helping Marcus stand up. "The name is Leo Turrin."
Leo Turrin was Marcus's father's, Mack Bolan, other strongest ally in his war on the mob. Leo was a deep cover F.B.I agent inside the mafia at the time Marcus's grandparents died. Mack learned that Leo had been his teenage sister's pimp and marked Leo Turrin for death along with many other mafia members in the opening engagement of Bolan War One. The only reason Leo had survived is that he revealed his true status to Mack Bolan right before Mack had killed him. Throughout the years of Bolan War One, Leo along with Hal Brognola provided the assistance, which probably kept Mack alive long enough to become a father and leave his war behind.
"I've read about you, in my dad's war journals." Marcus said with a stunned awe in his voice at meeting the man his father often referred to as "little big man".
Turrin laughed, lit his cigar knowing that the locker room was a no smoking area and said, "I'd sure hope so. I'd be a little upset if he never mentioned me after all the times I stuck my neck out for him."
Bolan's face developed a confused edge to it and he asked, "How did you know I'd be here?"
Turrin, the man a few years older then Marcus's father, laid Bolan's firearm back on the bench and answered, "Well. Shortly after your old man went into hiding the mob made me. They almost got me to, but a soldier that was loyal to his death to me tipped me off about the contract on my head. With my cover blown I ran to the nearest field office for help. Instead of placing me into protective custody, which is the usual S.O.P. when an undercover agent's cover is blown, I was promoted and placed in the directorship position of this field office. I've been here ever since. Phil Lopez called me a couple of days ago and told me to expect you to come here. If you did, I was to take you out and inform Lopez immediately."
"But, your not going to take me out." Bolan said.
The older man smiled and said, "No. I agree with you just like I did Mack, God rest his soul. I was happy to put my neck on the line for him all those times just as I'm happy to do it for you now and whenever you may need me to in the future of your war."
"Well, thanks but that won't be needed. I learned the day that I came here that I'm going to be a daddy, so I'm going into hiding myself." Marcus said.
"Ah, now that pleases me to hear. I never had a brother or sister of my own, so your kind of the nephew I never had. But do me one favor will ya?" Turrin replied.
"What's that?" Bolan asked.
"If your kid is a boy, name him Leo."
Bolan nodded his head and answered, "Perhaps. But what if it turns out to be a girl?"
"Ah, well the only name fitting for a girl. Leo." Turrin said with a smile on his face.
Both men laughed for a second and Turrin became serious again by saying, "I really wish he had more time to get acquainted but we don't. I have to inform Lopez that you were here and that Key is dead. He was killed with a shot from your gun so I need you to drop one of your marksmen medals and take credit for the kill. After that beat it, get as far from here as you can. I'll wait as long as I can before placing the call to the CIA, but I can't give you long. I'll tell him that I arrived too late, Key was dead and you were already gone."
"That sounds good to me. I have a favor to ask of you though." Bolan said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cassette tape.
"Anything." The older man said.
"This is a tape I made of my interview with Don Louis Vitale. On it he implicated Key as the one who sold out my parents. Make sure that this gets to Lopez and to the media. That way, everyone knows that I didn't kill a soldier on the same side.
Leo took the tape and said, "My pleasure. Now get lost."
Bolan dropped a marksman medal on Key's corpse, shook the hand of the man from his family's past, turned and left without another word being said.
**
Bolan wasted no time in getting to his van and then pulling it onto the highway heading north. It would only be a matter of time before New Orleans was sealed off. Maybe not tight with Mardi Gras in full swing, but law enforcement would be watching every way out for him and if he didn't go now, he wouldn't go at all.
Two hours into the drive, Marcus's lack of sleep began to catch up with him. His eyes got heavy and he would awaken after a few seconds by his head bobbing.
"Ugh, this is no good. I have to get some sleep, but not here. I'm still too close to New Orleans." He thought out loud.
His head bobbed again, he awoke again just in time to notice the accident ahead of him. Marcus swerved his van sharply to the right to avoid the collision. However, he still managed to clip one of the vehicles with the front driver's side of his van at eighty miles per hour. The motion sent his van into a roll and it tumbled off the highway.
The steering wheel broke off and the steering column impaled Bolan right below his lungs. Then the column broke off and both it and Marcus went flying free of the van. Bolan landed back down on the ground, and one of the explosives in the van must have armed itself in the collision because the van quickly became a fireball of falling shrapnel.
Marcus's vision became blurry as a passage from his father's war journals came back to him. It was, "Many times when I go in, I never know how I will get out, or if I will. More then once in these pages I've declared myself already dead. All I care about is accomplishing the mission. Beyond that nothing matters."[1]
With his father's words going through his head along with the mental images of his parents, Phil Lopez, Hal Brognola, and Alexis Marcus Bolan slipped into the blissful slumber of death.
127 filled body bags since the start of his war, yes; Marcus Bolan accomplished his mission and avenged the untimely deaths of his parents.
**
Early the next morning in Bowling Green, Ohio Alexis was making breakfast for herself. She had the TV on for sound when she heard, "This just in. It has been confirmed that Marcus Bolan, the son of famed vigilante Mack Bolan, was killed last night after he killed the F.B.I. agent that sold the information of his parents' whereabouts to the mafia which began Bolan's own one man war against the mob, or as we in the press have come to call it, Bolan War Two. An audiotape made of Marcus Bolan and one of his earlier victims Mafia Don Louis Vitale has been leaked to this and other stations. Stay tuned and we will play it in its entirety for you. Once again for those of you just tuning it, it has been confirmed that Marcus Bolan has died.
That was all Alexis heard, she collapsed to the floor crying like she hadn't cried in years. ----------------------- [1] The Executioner #16, Sicilian Slaughter by Jim Peterson
Armed with the new information of who it was that was truly responsible for the death of his parents, Marcus wasted no time on food, drink or sleep. He just gassed up his war wagon and made the trip from Seattle, Washington to Bowling Green, Ohio in record time.
He also wasted no time once back in Bowling Green in snatching the cordless telephone and placing a call to Phil Lopez.
"Software, what do you know about a F.B.I. agent named Dalton Key?" Bolan asked without preamble once he was through the hassle of the CIA operators who answer the hotline and then transfer you to whoever your handler is.
"First, no names. Not even for parties other then us. Now how do you know that name?"
"Before the final subject on my last op died we had a chance to chat a bit. The deceased subject of my last op named this new target as the information source he paid to locate our friends that started all of this. Now it is your turn. What do you know about him?" Marcus said into the phone.
There was a pause, a moment of silence between the two men when Lopez broke it by saying, "Well, all of this is classified and out of your need to know. I'm respecting your wish by telling you what I know so that you will respect my wish that you will leave him alone. The subject you mentioned is an F.B.I agent stationed at the New Orleans field office, a former S.E.A.L. brother of yours gone bad. We have our spy hunters watching him because we have evidence of him selling classified material to Iran, Russia, France, Columbia and Pakistan. He is under suspicion of selling information that the U.S. would prefer him not to sell to many other countries. He sells anything to anyone with no regard to what it could mean to the rest of us."
"So, why haven't you arrested him for treason yet?"
"Because, most of the stuff we have him selling is out of his classification range. Things that are out of his need to know. The CIA spy hunters are watching him to break the network he has for gathering information." Lopez answered.
"So you're telling me that we have a nation full of feds on the take. Our nation is wide open to the highest bidder?" Bolan inquired.
"No, we don't think that at all. What we think is that over the years the subject has developed friendships in the various federal agencies that run our government and that they have let secrets slip in idle conversation. We don't believe his network to be making any money off of what they tell him. It's like the old World War Two adage, loose lips sink ships. Well, we are trying to stop loose lips from sinking America."
"Ah, I see," Bolan answered, "Well fax me a photo of him, contact information, anything at all I'll need and I'll save your spy hunters the trouble of watching him. They can move on to living targets."
"No. I told you all of this only so that you would leave him alone. This is a matter of national security and not the next step in this game of petty revenge of yours." Phil replied sternly.
"Look. Because of this guy my family is dead. From what you've told me I assume that a lot of undercover feds have also died because of what this man sells. He needs to be taken out of circulation before anyone else dies." Bolan said.
"No. Leave him alone. This is a matter of national security, don't go messing up years of investigation."
"Firecracker wouldn't have told me not to."
"Perhaps. Firecracker did know about him though, not that he sold out your parents but the spy hunters and no warrant for arrest were placed by him."
"Software, I'm taking him." Bolan said matter of factly.
"If you do, you will be able to count the CIA in your list of enemies. We will no longer provide you any information, funds, or equipment. Your status as an unofficial operative will be revoked. In short, you will be on your own. The U.S. Marshals and the F.B.I. haven't been able to catch you yet, do you really want the CIA and our vast information sources joining them against you?"
"Well, what can I say? What's got to be has got to be." Bolan answered.
Phil let out an audible sigh and said, "Well. I'm sorry you feel that way. However I will give you every chance to change your mind. The CIA will not move against you until confirmation of the subject's death reaches my desk."
With that having been said, both men hung up their respective telephones ending the conversation on a negative note.
**
Marcus intended this to be a short lay over in Bowling Green. He didn't plan on remaining more then a few hours before he moved on to New Orleans. He wasn't about to let anything stop him.
As he rechecked all of the weaponry he had packed for the final strike to avenge his parents Alexis entered the house, hung her keys on the key rack. Marcus heard the gentle sobs coming from her, she was crying.
Bolan stopped what he was doing, went to the room she was in and asked, "What's wrong honey?"
Alexis stopped crying out of surprise and said, "I wasn't expecting you to be here."
"Well, I'm not going to be for long. What's the matter with you?" He asked again in tones that he only seemed to use around her lately. Everyone else he has spoken to in recent memory has been spoken to in icily cold voice tones and brisk direct orders.
She ran to him and wrapped her arms around him and began sobbing again, this time very loudly. Marcus decided not to push the issue and just held on to her. For what seemed hours they stood there like that, him holding her around the waist, her with her arms wrapped around his chest and his shoulder becoming wetter and wetter by the moment, all in silence.
After Alexis's tears settled down on their own accord, Marcus separated himself from her, looked into her eyes and asked again, "Now are you ready to tell me what is wrong?"
"I don't know how." She answered.
"Just don't think about it. Let whatever words the come to mind be voiced."
"Well, ok. Here we go. I was just at the doctor's office. Well, there is no easy way for me to say this, so I guess I might as well just blurt it out. I'm pregnant."
The look on Marcus's face told Alexis that her words had taken the wind right out of him. For his part, Marcus was more then completely dumbfounded and at a loss for words. All he could do at the time, and all he did was turn around and leave the house. Without saying a word. As he walked away, he could hear her crying again but didn't know what to say or do so he just kept walking.
For hours, he walked around aimlessly in a daze. His thoughts were so jumbled that not even he was able to make since out of them, to him it just sounded like thousands of people all talking to him at once. His daze was so complete that when he absentmindedly returned to the house he couldn't recall a single place he had been. He knew that he had been walking for hours, he just couldn't recall walking anywhere or by anything.
He walked back into the house and the two of them once again held each other in a silent embrace. For her part, Alexis took no offense to Marcus's wondering off.
"So, are you ready to talk now?" Alexis broke the silence.
Again they separated, Marcus sat in his chair and Alexis sat down on the footstool directly in front of him.
"Well, I guess the first question I have is, is it mine? How do you know it is mine?" Bolan asked.
She stood up and sent a slap full of all the strength she could muster into his cheek and yelled, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DO I KNOW IT IS YOURS? YOU THINK I'M SOME SORT OF SLUT! THAT RUNS AROUND AND BEDS OTHER MEN WHILE YOU'RE OFF ON YOUR LITTLE WAR! IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK OF ME!"
Bolan stopped the second slap before it could land, "Whoa lil lady. That just came out wrong, that's all. I wasn't calling you a slut and didn't mean for it to sound that way. I'm sorry."
"Then what did you mean, exactly?" She said as coldly as he often spoke to the Mafioso he came across. It hasn't been that long since you were with Vincent. Is it possible that your child is his?"
She shook her head from side to side and said, "No, no. I know it isn't his. We hadn't, well, lets put it this way. If he had gotten me pregnant I would have known before now."
Marcus believed her, and with his concerns on the subject abetted he wrapped her in a tight embrace, kissed her lips, looked her in the eye, smiled and said, "Well. It looks like I'm a family man now."
"So you're giving up your war then?" Alexis asked, the shock evident in her voice.
"Yes I am. After one last mission." He answered.
"Why one last mission? You told me that your dad abandoned the mission he was on when he learned about you. Why can't you do the same?"
Marcus took her hands in his and said, "Beautiful, the circumstances are different. My dad had avenged the death of his family long before he learned about me. All he was doing was avenging those who couldn't avenge themselves and saving the people that the mob would have yet killed. My family on the other hand, well there is still one-person left that is responsible for my parents' deaths. As soon as he is taken care of, I will return to you and I won't continue my war. My war will end at the death of every person who had anything to do with my parents' murders."
Knowing that she wasn't going to talk him out of it she asked, "So how long are you in town for?"
"Just until I can get everything together and hit the road. Do me a favor, have everything in this house packed up and ready to go when I get back. Phil and I are going to be at odds when I get back and it will be best if he doesn't know where I am for a little while."
"Umm sure. You gonna tell me why you two fell out?"
"When all is said and done I will."
"I guess that I'll have to just live with that." Alexis said, obviously disappointed.
After this discussion was over Bolan continued preparations for what turned out to be his last operation. The urgency to complete it much greater now, but his dark mood had lifted. He still wasn't going to waste anytime by sleeping and he wasn't hungry.
As Marcus was heading out the door, Alexis stopped his, kissed him good-bye and said, "You be careful now, you hear. Come back to me."
Marcus smiled, returned her kiss and said, "I've faced a lot greater odds then this one. This time I'm only up against one guy and not armies. But don't worry; I've got something in addition to you worth coming back for. I'll be careful."
She kissed him again and said, "I love you."
He returned her kiss and answered, "I love you to." With that he turned his back, loaded up the war wagon, looked back at her one more time with a smile on his face and was gone.
**
Several hours of hard driving later Marcus arrived in New Orleans and thought to himself as he saw the sea of revilers, "Leave it up to me to have to find one guy in the middle of Mardi gras."
Bolan pulled his van into a parking spot just outside of New Orleans, very likely the only place he'd be able to find a parking spot with Mardi gras underway, got out and walked into town. He worked his way through the crowds to every hotel only to be told the same thing at each one. They were overbooked already and that he would have to go elsewhere.
Marcus settled for buying a cheap collapsible cot from an Army Navy Surplus store and set it up in the van. He didn't plan on staying in New Orleans long enough to make the hassle for renting an apartment under an assumed name worth it, so the van would have to double as a mobile home.
Once this was set up, Marcus walked back into the city and purchased a bright orange clownish looking wig, blue face paint, and a jumpsuit of flowered print. If there was a better way to hide in a crazy and drunk town then to look crazy and drunk himself, Bolan didn't know it.
After these items were purchased he changed cloths into his "Mardi Gras camouflage" as he rationalized it, painted half of his face blue and walked to the New Orleans F.B.I field office. He stood there and watched as official looking people came in and out of the building, not knowing exactly why he was doing this since he wouldn't recognize Dalton Key if saw him without a photo. He knew he couldn't just walk in to the office and nose around to see what he could learn. Bolan was at a complete loss for what to do for the first time since his war began.
On the bright side however, no one from the F.B.I recognized or even recognized him in the sea of revilers.
**
As Marcus stood outside the field office, Dalton Key stepped outside the door, placed his hands in his pockets and enjoyed the sight of the out of town idiots the flocked to New Orleans on an annual basis. He truly did love New Orleans, this was a party town year round and Mardi Gras was just nuts. It was just the city for a single man in his early thirties.
At least the F.B.I had stationed him in this city, since he was disappointed with his position as a data entry clerk. When he joined the agency, the last thing he thought he'd be doing was sitting at a computer screen all day entering reports written by the people who did the work that he should be doing. However, his lowly position did not hamper is abilities to impress the most eligible of New Orleans single women and their parents with his made up stories of shoot outs with terrorists, car chases with bank robbers and the time that he single handedly brought down America's Most Wanted Man, Raul Remierz who was an international drug smuggler that had escaped capture in the U.S. for a decade who also managed to existed only in the imagination of Mr. Dalton Key. However, his position in data entry is how he started his very lucrative side business of being a freelance double agent. One little tid bit of information sold first for a small sum, a little bit larger chunk next of information next, and now he was putting together full packets for the highest bidder some of which went to the highest bidder and the others went to whoever it was that contacted him and paid the requested sum in advance. Dalton Key planned to retire very young.
He left he perch in front of the field office and walked to the federal employee-parking garage. Fortunately, this is the governmental section of town and while Mardi Gras encompassed the entire city, this area had less of a party presence then other areas. This allowed him to drive his car the mile to work from his apartment and back.
Before entering the parking garage, Marcus pulled out the keyless entry remote car start that he had installed when Marcus Bolan began his rampage through the nation's underworld. Key strongly doubted that Bolan would catch onto him; after all he covered his tracks well. In addition to that, Don Vitale, prior to his death, was the only Mafia Commissioner that knew Key was the one that provided the information on the whereabouts of Mack Bolan and now that Vitale was dead he wouldn't be telling anyone else. Dalton had faith in Vitale, granted the mafia wasn't the mob of the 1920s and 30s, which was in evidence by the number of made men turning states evidence. Omerta, the mob's code of silence wasn't what it once was, but yet Don Vitale was one of the oldest living Mafioso in the country. However, it paid to be safe. Once his car had been started and the parking garage had not erupted into flames, Key entered the garage, sat in his car and drove off.
**
A few hours later, Marcus was beginning to develop a game plan for the extermination of one Dalton Key.
He sat in his war wagon and called the field office from the cell phone he had picked up somewhere between Bowling Green and New Orleans.
When the receptionist answered the phone, Bolan said, "Hi, I'm Titus Eldon from the network television show Hot Topic. Perhaps you've heard of it."
"Heard of it. I watch it all the time. It's my favorite of all the tabloid t.v. shows. Have I ever seen you on it?" The receptionist responded.
"Um no. I'm one of the show's researchers."
"Ah, I see. Well how can I help you Mr. Eldon?" The receptionist sounded disappointed.
"I'm doing a report on former U.S. Navy S.E.A.Ls and what they are doing now. My sources have informed me that you have one employed in your office. A Mr. Dalton Key. I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to provide a way for me to get into contact with him. A telephone number or a home address maybe."
"I'm sorry Mr. Eldon, but information on our agents is strictly protected. I can not give you anything like that."
"Can you confirm for me that he does indeed work at that field office?" Bolan persisted.
"Once again I'm sorry but I can't confirm or deny that."
"Oh come on. This is the chance of a lifetime for Mr. Key. Would you really deny him his fifteen minutes of fame?" Bolan persisted himself.
"I'm sorry Mr. Eldon but that information is classified and therefore not available to the media. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
That game plan had failed and it was time to begin formulating a new one, "No, there's nothing else you can do for me. Thank you for your time." Marcus said and then hung up the phone.
**
That night, Key sat in his apartment doing what he does best. Preparing a packet for the Michigan Militia on federal law enforcement officers who have taken deep cover with in. This one is going to bring him a big paycheck of $500,000 and in four days at the most it will be ready to go. He couldn't wait for that lump sum payment to arrive.
At the same time, Marcus laid on his cot unable to sleep. First, this cot was the most uncomfortable thing he had ever slept on, no wonder it was so cheap. Second, he was built up with excitement that after this mission was complete his parents would have been fully revenged. He finally admitted to himself for the first time that he hadn't expected to live this long. The final reason for his inability to sleep was the news of his impending fatherhood had finally sunk in, and along with that came the ramifications it meant. The main one being his war, which he planned on executing until his dying day, was over as soon as this op was complete. There was a lot of good he could still do, a lot of made men who could still be stopped, but if he were to continue his war, that would mean being distant from his child who was at this very moment forming in Alexis's womb. Mack Bolan set the example by giving up his war to raise Marcus and it was a good one that Marcus intended to copy. Marcus would be a real man and raise his child the best he could. Any idiot could be a father, but it takes a real man to be a daddy, and it was a daddy that Bolan intended to be.
**
Dressed in blue jeans, a black tee shirt and ball cap Marcus Bolan was sitting at a computer terminal in the New Orleans Public Library as soon as it opened. He had planned to install an Internet capable computer into his war wagon, but thus far hadn't gotten around to it. The war wagon that as soon as possible would begin its transition back to a family vehicle. Since he had never installed it however, Marcus was dependant upon public libraries for access to the World Wide Web.
The first search he ran was of official F.B.I. websites, hoping beyond hope that one of them would have a photo of Dalton Key. As he expected, the search was fruitless.
The next search he ran was of the New Orleans newspaper. He held a little more hope for this search since thousands of ordinary citizens land their faces in the newspaper at one time or another. However, this search proved to be as worthless as his first one.
Marcus tried dozens of more searches with equally disappointing results. His break came however when he ran a search on the name Dalton Key, on the long shot hope that Key would have been stupid enough to have a personal website considering his line of work.
Key proved smart enough not to have a personal website, however the weak in his defense turned out to be his mother who did have a personal website. Marcus opened up Mrs. Key's web page and quickly searched it for information on Dalton. He learned a lot of background information on Key. His dad was a Marine that died in Vietnam; his step dad was a police officer that was killed in the line of duty. During high school, Key played football and wrestled but hadn't distinguished himself in either sport. Dalton, at a great disappointment to his birth father's side of the family with it's long Marine Corps tradition, joined the Navy as soon as he graduated High School and ended up being a cook. Unsatisfied with being a cook, Key went to college and studied foreign languages on the Navy's tab and graduated in the middle of his class. After college he made it through the S.E.A.L. training a few years before Marcus himself would be at the same locations undergoing the same training. Six months before Marcus himself entered into the S.E.A.L. program Key was injured on a classified operation and given a full honorable discharge from the Navy, after which he joined his hometown police department, the same one that his step father belonged to when was died. He rose from officer to detective and then applied to and was accepted into the F.B.I.
Marcus also found at long last a photo of his final adversary.
He searched the web page further but was unable to turn up any sort of contact information for Key. Bolan did however find contact information for Mrs. Key. He printed the photo and Mrs. Key's contact information. He didn't want to use a mother in order to kill her son but if it came down to it he would. His parents would be avenged.
Bolan resisted the urge he felt inside him to rush and casually strolled from the computer terminal to the library's front desk where he could pick up his printouts and pay for them.
He looked at the librarian and said, "Hi. I printed some things from station six."
She gave him a pretty smile that only highlighted her naturally pretty face and said, "Let me get them for you sir." She walked back to the printer, pulled them off and began counting the number of pages as she walked back to him.
The librarian paused when she saw the photo of Key and asked, "Do you know Dalton?"
This turn of events was unexpected and took Bolan by surprise. The inside of him began stammering for words, while on the outside he remained cool and said, "Actually yes. I'm an old buddy of his from the S.E.A.L. teams. I'm more recently out of the Navy then he is, I heard from another buddy of ours that he lives in New Orleans now and I happened to have to stop here on business so I thought I would surprise him."
She gave a small nod of the head and said, "Two pages, that will be twenty cents please."
Marcus looked at her curiously and said, "Do me a favor. If you see Dalton, please don't tell him that we met or that I'm here. I really do want to surprise him."
She looked at Bolan with fire in her eyes and said, "I see him all the time but haven't said a word to him in a year. The man is a world class jerk and you'd do all the single ladies of New Orleans a big favor if you were here to kill him rather then surprise him."
Inside Bolan chuckled at her reaction and how close she unknowingly was to hitting the nail on the head by what she said, but instead asked, "Why do you say that?"
"Half of the female population here at one time or another thought they would become Mrs. Dalton Key. He led us all to believe that and did nothing at all to discourage our beliefs that way. But then, when he had all he wanted from us we were discarded like an empty pop bottle. Sometimes, like with me he didn't bother to tell us it was over. So, yeah, I'd be very happy if someone were to kill Dalton Key."
Marcus resisted the urge he had to tell her who he really was and why he was really in New Orleans and instead opted to say only, "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way." He then paid for his print outs and left.
**
When he left the library Bolan changed back into his Mardi Gras camouflage resumed his vigil that he began the previous day outside the F.B.I. field office, only this time he was armed with a photo of his prey. This time, he knows what Dalton Key looks like.
Bolan stood there all day, not drawing anyone's attention since there were so many out of town visitors. Finally, at the end of the workday Marcus saw Dalton Key for the first time.
Key stood outside the office for a brief moment, talked to another F.B.I. agent and began walking by himself to the parking garage. Marcus followed him at a discreet distance but slowly closed the gap between the two professional warriors.
Once in the parking garage, Marcus closed to within fifty feet of Key, unholstered the 357 and drew a bead on Dalton. Bolan steadied his breathing, and pulled the trigger just as Key moved slightly to the left. Bolan's bullet missed him clean but the loud report of the firing alerted Key to the fact that he wasn't alone.
Key pulled his side arm and, against all of his military and civilian training, blindly returned fire, missing Bolan by a large margin with every shot. He then hustled around to the other side of his car for cover.
Key popped his head up over the hood of the car just as another shot bounced off the hood, so he lowered his head again.
Not knowing where his attacker was, Dalton continued to fire blind shots, most of which never came close to Bolan. On Marcus's end however, the shots were all well timed and well placed.
"This is nuts," Key thought, "There is no way I'm going to make it out of here like this."
Key fired five successive shots from under neither his car, turned around and began crawling away.
It didn't take long for Bolan to realize what Key was doing when he stopped firing so he cautiously exposed himself to any shots that Key might take and approached the car.
Key more felt Bolan doing this then heard him, instincts carved out of long hours of harsh and intense training. He got to his feet and the gunplay turned into a running gunfight and Bolan pursued and Key ran out of shock and fear for his life.
Dalton ducked into the stairwell and disappeared. Just as Bolan was about to take the chase into the stairs, the door swung open and Marcus realized it was an innocent coming out just a fraction of a second before he pulled the trigger.
Marcus charged past the innocent, just about plowing him over in the process and into the stairwell. He paused for a brief second trying to decide which way to go.
"If I were Key and some unknown had just fired on me out of the blue, I think I'd go for he nearest exit." He thought and began cautiously moving down the stairs with his sidearm pointed wherever his eyes went.
Once he was at the bottom of the stairs and found no Dalton Key waiting for him, Marcus had a sinking feeling in his gut that his adversary had escaped. However he took the time to clear the entire parking garage just to make sure, but his suspicion proved to be accurate. Key had beaten him this time.
**
It was another sleepless night for Marcus Bolan. He paced his van dressed only in his sweat pants. His anger at himself for allowing Key to escape was evident.
At the same time, in his apartment Dalton Key is also having a sleepless night. He had thoroughly been rattled by the unexpected attack earlier. Although no words had been exchanged, he knew who was after him. No matter how well he had covered his tracks, Marcus Bolan had somehow discovered that Dalton Key was the one who sold his parents out to the mafia, and no he was here for revenge.
Key's worry took and edge of paranoia to it as he thought he saw Bolan in each and every new shadow.
**
Early the next morning, Marcus was once again at the New Orleans Public Library, only this time it was a person he'd gone to retrieve information from and not a machine.
He entered the library, dressed much like he had been the day before and walked up to the librarian.
"Hi there." He greeted her.
"Ah, Mr. Navy S.E.A.L. Any luck in finding your jerk of a friend?" She replied in non-friendly tones.
"Not yet. Actually I was hoping that you might be able to help me out with that. Do you know of any place that he goes on a regular basis? Maybe a club, a gym, anything like that?"
"If I tell you, will you stop showing up here asking about him. Dalton is a man I'd really prefer to put in the past and bury him there." She responded.
"Sure, no problem. You tell me when and where I'm likely to find him somewhere and you'll never see me again."
"Ok fine. He goes to a gym a block east of his office every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday right after work for an hour and a half."
"How about if he happens to be under a lot of stress. Would he still go?"
"Yes. Working out and keeping in shape is the one thing that Dalton is fanatical about. The more stress he is under the better he enjoys his workouts."
Bolan gave her his smile, which has always melted the female heart, nodded his head and said, "Thank you ma'am. And as I promised, you'll never see me again."
With that he turned around and left the library.
**
By luck of the draw, the today is Monday, which just happened to be one of Key's gym days. Bolan made tracks for the gym. Once he was inside he paid the day rate and went to the locker room, where instead of changing into workout cloths he changed into his black battle gear and waited for Key.
Fortunately it was a slow day at the gym and no one besides Key came into the locker room.
Dalton saw the man in black and dropped his gym back on the ground knowing that the day's workout had been cancelled.
"Marcus Bolan. I suppose you are here for me." Key said with a lot of false bravado in his voice.
Marcus pulled out the silenced 9 millimeter and answered, "You're a smart man Key."
"So, what's next? You just gonna gun me down right here?"
"That's the plan. Give me a reason why I shouldn't."
"Easy. We are both S.E.A.L.s. We are in the brotherhood of the elite. Don't you think you should give me a fair chance here? Settle this in the way of the elite, man to man."
Bolan placed the 9-millimeter along with every other piece of his arsenal he brought with him on the wooden bench in the locker room.
"Ok, we can do that." Bolan answered the challenge.
The two men squared off, Key attacking first with a forward kick. Bolan countered that by side stepping the blow and brought a fist into Key's jaw. The blow staggered Key, but he maintained enough composure to launch a wrestling single leg take down. Key had Bolan's left leg in the air, tucked into his armpit with good form. However, Bolan artfully jumped over the leg sweep key aimed at his right shin. Instead, Bolan took Key down by wrapping his right leg around Key's left and leaning into him. Key fell to his back and Marcus landed on top of him. Fists, elbows and knees all flew from each of the combatants and their bodies showed the evidence of the encounter. Finally Key flipped over to his stomach, then up to his hands and knees. At this point he flipped Bolan in a wrestling side roll, quickly moved around behind Bolan who was trying to get back into some defensible position. Key wrapped his right arm around Bolan's throat and began to chock him. Fight as he might, Bolan was unable to break Key's grip. Bolan knew that he had met his end when the blackness began to surround him. He knew that his mission, his war and his life had all come to an end at the same time.
Then out of nowhere and entirely unexpectedly Key's limp body fell over Bolan. Bolan's sight returned and he saw Key with a neatly drilled bullet hole between his eyes.
He turned around and saw a stranger standing there with Marcus's own silencer equipped 9mm in his hands.
"Marcus. Nice to finally meet you in person." The stranger said.
"Wwho are you?" Bolan managed to choke out.
"Ah, sorry. Guess that I should have introduced myself already." The man said helping Marcus stand up. "The name is Leo Turrin."
Leo Turrin was Marcus's father's, Mack Bolan, other strongest ally in his war on the mob. Leo was a deep cover F.B.I agent inside the mafia at the time Marcus's grandparents died. Mack learned that Leo had been his teenage sister's pimp and marked Leo Turrin for death along with many other mafia members in the opening engagement of Bolan War One. The only reason Leo had survived is that he revealed his true status to Mack Bolan right before Mack had killed him. Throughout the years of Bolan War One, Leo along with Hal Brognola provided the assistance, which probably kept Mack alive long enough to become a father and leave his war behind.
"I've read about you, in my dad's war journals." Marcus said with a stunned awe in his voice at meeting the man his father often referred to as "little big man".
Turrin laughed, lit his cigar knowing that the locker room was a no smoking area and said, "I'd sure hope so. I'd be a little upset if he never mentioned me after all the times I stuck my neck out for him."
Bolan's face developed a confused edge to it and he asked, "How did you know I'd be here?"
Turrin, the man a few years older then Marcus's father, laid Bolan's firearm back on the bench and answered, "Well. Shortly after your old man went into hiding the mob made me. They almost got me to, but a soldier that was loyal to his death to me tipped me off about the contract on my head. With my cover blown I ran to the nearest field office for help. Instead of placing me into protective custody, which is the usual S.O.P. when an undercover agent's cover is blown, I was promoted and placed in the directorship position of this field office. I've been here ever since. Phil Lopez called me a couple of days ago and told me to expect you to come here. If you did, I was to take you out and inform Lopez immediately."
"But, your not going to take me out." Bolan said.
The older man smiled and said, "No. I agree with you just like I did Mack, God rest his soul. I was happy to put my neck on the line for him all those times just as I'm happy to do it for you now and whenever you may need me to in the future of your war."
"Well, thanks but that won't be needed. I learned the day that I came here that I'm going to be a daddy, so I'm going into hiding myself." Marcus said.
"Ah, now that pleases me to hear. I never had a brother or sister of my own, so your kind of the nephew I never had. But do me one favor will ya?" Turrin replied.
"What's that?" Bolan asked.
"If your kid is a boy, name him Leo."
Bolan nodded his head and answered, "Perhaps. But what if it turns out to be a girl?"
"Ah, well the only name fitting for a girl. Leo." Turrin said with a smile on his face.
Both men laughed for a second and Turrin became serious again by saying, "I really wish he had more time to get acquainted but we don't. I have to inform Lopez that you were here and that Key is dead. He was killed with a shot from your gun so I need you to drop one of your marksmen medals and take credit for the kill. After that beat it, get as far from here as you can. I'll wait as long as I can before placing the call to the CIA, but I can't give you long. I'll tell him that I arrived too late, Key was dead and you were already gone."
"That sounds good to me. I have a favor to ask of you though." Bolan said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cassette tape.
"Anything." The older man said.
"This is a tape I made of my interview with Don Louis Vitale. On it he implicated Key as the one who sold out my parents. Make sure that this gets to Lopez and to the media. That way, everyone knows that I didn't kill a soldier on the same side.
Leo took the tape and said, "My pleasure. Now get lost."
Bolan dropped a marksman medal on Key's corpse, shook the hand of the man from his family's past, turned and left without another word being said.
**
Bolan wasted no time in getting to his van and then pulling it onto the highway heading north. It would only be a matter of time before New Orleans was sealed off. Maybe not tight with Mardi Gras in full swing, but law enforcement would be watching every way out for him and if he didn't go now, he wouldn't go at all.
Two hours into the drive, Marcus's lack of sleep began to catch up with him. His eyes got heavy and he would awaken after a few seconds by his head bobbing.
"Ugh, this is no good. I have to get some sleep, but not here. I'm still too close to New Orleans." He thought out loud.
His head bobbed again, he awoke again just in time to notice the accident ahead of him. Marcus swerved his van sharply to the right to avoid the collision. However, he still managed to clip one of the vehicles with the front driver's side of his van at eighty miles per hour. The motion sent his van into a roll and it tumbled off the highway.
The steering wheel broke off and the steering column impaled Bolan right below his lungs. Then the column broke off and both it and Marcus went flying free of the van. Bolan landed back down on the ground, and one of the explosives in the van must have armed itself in the collision because the van quickly became a fireball of falling shrapnel.
Marcus's vision became blurry as a passage from his father's war journals came back to him. It was, "Many times when I go in, I never know how I will get out, or if I will. More then once in these pages I've declared myself already dead. All I care about is accomplishing the mission. Beyond that nothing matters."[1]
With his father's words going through his head along with the mental images of his parents, Phil Lopez, Hal Brognola, and Alexis Marcus Bolan slipped into the blissful slumber of death.
127 filled body bags since the start of his war, yes; Marcus Bolan accomplished his mission and avenged the untimely deaths of his parents.
**
Early the next morning in Bowling Green, Ohio Alexis was making breakfast for herself. She had the TV on for sound when she heard, "This just in. It has been confirmed that Marcus Bolan, the son of famed vigilante Mack Bolan, was killed last night after he killed the F.B.I. agent that sold the information of his parents' whereabouts to the mafia which began Bolan's own one man war against the mob, or as we in the press have come to call it, Bolan War Two. An audiotape made of Marcus Bolan and one of his earlier victims Mafia Don Louis Vitale has been leaked to this and other stations. Stay tuned and we will play it in its entirety for you. Once again for those of you just tuning it, it has been confirmed that Marcus Bolan has died.
That was all Alexis heard, she collapsed to the floor crying like she hadn't cried in years. ----------------------- [1] The Executioner #16, Sicilian Slaughter by Jim Peterson