Pulse Point

by Don Pendleton

  “Not entirely successful by the sounds of it,” Blancanales said.

  “This takedown,” Lyons said. “Lethal?”

  Lopaka nodded. “They should be in the morgue by now.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Couple local hard guys.”

  Blancanales said, “Not hard enough, huh?”

  “This was a setup,” Lyons said. “What is it with this place? Everyone wants us out of the way.”

  “I think you’ve made someone very nervous,” Lopaka said. She looked Lyons over. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Headache and a bruised jaw. I’ll live. We should go check on Kalikani.”

  “I’ll take you to see him.”

  Able Team followed the young woman. After a few yards, Blancanales pushed ahead so he could walk beside her.

  “I’ll bet his pulse rate just shot off the scale,” Schwarz murmured.

  By the time they reached the treatment room, Blancanales and Lopaka were conversing like long-lost friends.

  “Why O?” he asked her.

  She glanced at him.

  “Just a little joke between us,” she said. “Happened the first time we paired up, before I made sergeant. He gets impulsive. Did things on the beat that would surprise me, and I’d say oh. And he would respond, like I’d called his name. It kind of stuck. So that’s what I call him now. Just O. Kind of stupid, I know, but that’s it.”

  Blancanales said, “Nice.”

  * * *

  ABLE TEAM HUNG around until they were able to step inside and see Kalikani. The cop had his left arm in plaster and his ribs were taped up. He also had butterfly strips over the injury to his jaw.

  “We always thought Matthews was the one who dived in regardless,” Schwarz said.

  Kalikani grinned, then winced as his sore jaw reminded him what had happened. He had to speak slowly. “I guess I walked into this with both eyes open.”

  “Any thoughts on who might have set you up?” Lyons asked.

  Kalikani nodded gently. “Some thoughts I need to keep to myself, until I’m sure. But it has to do with what we’re dealing with. The message I got mentioned the King Kamehameha.”

  “Which got your attention,” Schwarz said.

  “I took the bait...” Kalikani said.

  “And got hooked,” Lopaka added.

  Kalikani extended his right hand. “Did I mention Lopaka here helped me off that hook. Don’t get her mad, because she’s a mean shot.”

  “That coming from the guy who had just taken a beating and still managed to put two rounds into the perp who did it.”

  “I’m not going to get out of here anytime soon,” Kalikani said. “Not going to be much help on the street for a while, so I’ll stay office based. You’ll still need a guide around the island, so I’ll let Lopaka stand in for me. Any objections?”

  “No objections,” Blancanales said a little too quickly. Then he continued, “Officer Lopaka will be a great help.”

  So Sergeant Jenny Lopaka, HPD, became a temporary assistant for Able Team.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Macklin saw the approaching vehicle through binoculars. It moved slowly as it negotiated the winding road. There was a lead car in front and a backup behind the main vehicle. Macklin watched as the small convoy came in their direction.

  “Get ready,” he said.

  Borgnine nodded. He reached across the seat and picked one of the pair of LAWs lying there. Spelman picked up the second one.

  “This should be easy,” he said. He caught Borgnine’s eye. “Which one do you want? Front or rear?”

  “Never thought about it.”

  “I’ll take the lead car, then,” Spelman said.

  They were parked in a rest area off the road. Thick stands of greenery hugged the back of the area and a rented panel truck was waiting alongside the big 4x4. There were two more of Macklin’s men in the van.

  Macklin pushed open his door and climbed out, Borgnine and Spelman following. They stayed behind the 4x4, waiting for Macklin to give them the signal. He stood casually leaning by the big vehicle, smoking one of the big cigars he favored, a cell phone held to his ear.

  When the lead car showed, Macklin maintained his pretense, letting the car cruise by. The HPD armored truck containing the package followed twenty feet behind. The backup car was twenty feet behind the truck. As the truck drew level with Macklin, he lowered the cell and called out to Borgnine and Spelman.

  They moved from cover, Borgnine from the rear of the 4x4, Spelman the front. They shouldered the LAWs and targeted the cars, firing within a second of each other.

  The 88 mm rockets burst from the launch tubes with a throaty whoosh of sound, leaving identical trails of smoke. They hit the cars and detonated. The vehicles vanished for seconds as the high-explosive warheads turned them into fiery balls of flame and smoke. The concentrated blasts tore apart the cars, metal and human debris scattered across the road. The rear backup car was lifted off the ground and flipped over on its side, burning fuel spilling out across the tarmac.

  The waiting panel truck broke cover and wheeled across to block the truck, Macklin’s men emerging, carrying 9 mm SMGs. They hit the tires with concentrated bursts, shredding them.

  “Borgnine,” Macklin yelled. “The pair in the cab. Fix it.”

  The driver had kicked open his door and emerged cradling a pistol in his hands. He walked directly into a volley of autofire that dropped him to the ground. Borgnine stepped over his jerking body and leaned in the open door, firing at the driver’s partner as the guy attempted to get out, slamming him against the far door. He slid into the foot well in a twisted heap.

  “Quit screwing around, Jake,” Macklin called. “Get back here.”

  Borgnine and Spelman joined Macklin as he approached the back of the armored truck. He banged on the rear door.

  “Come out fast,” he said. “Make it hard for us and we will make you suffer.”

  The rear door rattled as the handle was released. The door swung open and a subdued figure emerged, arms partly raised. He stepped out, looking between the armed figures waiting for him. He was a broad-shouldered native Hawaiian, sweating from being confined inside the body of the truck.

  “Hot in there, bro,” Borgnine said.

  The guy looked at him, frowning at the remark.

  Spelman leaned in to check the interior of the truck.

  “It’s there,” he said.

  Macklin threw his cigar into the flames of the second car as the Hawaiian stepped by him. He slid his 9 mm Beretta from his belt. The muzzle brushed against the back of the guard’s skull as he pulled the trigger twice, one slug blowing out through his forehead. The guy jerked forward, dropping to his knees, then flopped to the ground, his body going into a spasm.

  “Let’s go,” Macklin said.

  The pair from the panel truck handed their SMGs to the others and climbed inside the truck. They freed the restraining straps and manhandled the square metal unit to the door, then eased it out. Borgnine stepped in to assist, and they carried the unit from the truck to the nearby panel van, where they slid it inside and secured the rear doors.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Macklin told them.

  Once the panel van had exited, Macklin, Spelman and Borgnine climbed into the 4x4 and drove off.

  The hijack was completed. Successful. Carried out with the minimum of fuss and full use of the time available.

  As quickly as that.

  The wrecked cars were issuing dark smoke that swirled up into the clear Hawaiian sky. It was at least twenty minutes before a car appeared, coming to a hurried stop so the driver could use his cell to call the police.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ABLE TEAM

 
The first responder was followed by a fire truck and an ambulance. The burning cars were beyond help as were the occupants. The passengers in the burned-out cars had been killed by the rocket blasts, and their bodies badly burned in the resulting fires. The only survivor was the truck driver’s partner. He had four 9 mm slugs in him, but he was still alive. Barely, but he was not dead yet.

  With the arrival of nighttime, lights were set up to illuminate the scene. The area swarmed with police, fire officials and medics.

  * * *

  BY THE TIME the information got back to Oscar Kalikani, the trail was cold. No one had witnessed the attack, and there were no traffic cameras in the area that might offer some clue as to who had mounted the attack.

  He called Carl Lyons’s hotel from his office and gave him the details.

  “These guys were well organized,” he said. “We’ll keep looking. Maybe we’ll get a break somewhere along the line. Matthews, you don’t need to remind me that we’re on a deadline here. If they have the item, they’ll be wanting to get it out of the country fast.”

  “The guy from the truck? Did he stay alive?”

  “Yeah. He’s in intensive care. Got him under armed guard. Why?”

  Kalikani suspected what Lyons was about to ask.

  “Maybe he can give us something. Right now he’s our only witness. We need to see him.”

  “Last I heard the guy is still unconscious.” There was silence on the line. “Okay, Lopaka can direct you to the hospital. But don’t yell at me if the docs won’t let you in to see him.”

  “Thanks, Officer O,” Lyons said quietly. “You take it easy. Let us handle things for the moment.”

  * * *

  JENNY LOPAKA HAD a grin on her face when she picked up Able Team.

  “You win the lottery?” Schwarz asked as they joined her in the HPD vehicle.

  “Good as,” Lopaka said. “Kalikani was telling me you called him O.” She was looking directly at Lyons.

  He shrugged. “He’s had a rough time since we got here.”

  From the rear of the 4x4, Blancanales stifled a laugh. He tapped Lyons on the shoulder. “You called the guy by Lopaka’s pet name? That crack on your head must have softened your brain.”

  Schwarz said, “If he starts giving me goo-goo eyes, I’m taking the first jet home.”

  They entered the hospital, and Lopaka directed them to the unit where the guard was being treated. An HPD officer was seated on a chair outside. He stood up when Lopaka approached.

  “What’s the situation?” she asked.

  The cop glanced by her at Able Team.

  “It’s okay, Stan. These are special agents from the mainland.”

  The Stony Man team showed their badges.

  “This is Officer Stan Benson,” Lopaka said.

  Introductions were made and Lyons asked, “How’s our patient doing?”

  “Would you believe they took four slugs out of him, and the guy is already sitting up?”

  “We need to talk to him,” Lyons said.

  The cop hesitated, unsure how he should handle the situation. “I was told...”

  “Right now that guy in there is the only survivor,” Lyons snapped. “We’re out here wasting time when he could be handing us something we can use.”

  “I...”

  “I understand your position,” Lyons said. “I was a cop myself with LAPD. I’m not trying to make trouble for you, Stan. But I need to speak with that guy.”

  “He has clearance that goes above anything we have,” Lopaka said. “He’ll take responsibility.”

  “His name is Joe Matson,” Benson said. He flipped the door handle and pushed it open, then stepped aside, nodding at Lyons.

  “I don’t want to crowd him,” Lyons said. “You all stay out here.”

  He didn’t wait, simply stepped into the room and closed the door.

  The blinds were half-closed, leaving the room in shadows. Lyons picked up the subdued hum coming from the monitoring equipment attached to the patient. Matson was propped up on pillows, tubes taped everywhere and an oxygen mask over the lower part of his face. His eyes were fixed on Lyons, as the Able Team commander crossed the room.

  “I’m Joseph Matthews. From the mainland,” Lyons said. “I’m with the Task Force looking into what happened. Right now, Joe, I need your help, because we’re in a bind. I don’t have much to go on, so anything you can tell me is going to be a help.”

  Matson turned his head slowly so he could keep Lyons in his line of vision. “They tell you about my partners?” he said.

  “Bad break.”

  Matson nodded slowly. “I want you to catch these bastards.”

  The guy reached out a big hand and laid it in Lyons’s arm, fingers tight. When he spoke, his words were muffled by the oxygen mask, so he peeled it away, took a pained breath.

  “They were waiting for us. Hit the escort cars with LAWs. Recognized them just before they fired.” He sucked in more oxygen from the mask. “One of them headed for the cab and shot Max when he opened the door. Then the guy came for me. It happened smooth. Like a military operation. I was in the service, and the way they operated was just like they trained us. They moved fast.” He took more air. “That son of a bitch just hit me. There were bullets flying all around me. I expected more, but someone called him off to help with the rear door.”

  “You remember what was said, Joe?”

  “Damn right. His name was Borgnine. Like the movie actor. Borgnine. I was already down when someone called him a second time. First name. Could have been Jack. Jake. Jerry. That was all I got before I went under. Man, I figured that was it for me.” Matson added, “Just before that asshole fired on Max, I spotted a white panel van parked across from us. No markings on it.”

  Lyons let Matson replace his mask and flop back against the pillow. The man’s face glistened with perspiration.

  “Thanks for that, Joe. It’ll help. We’ll get them. Promise. Now take it easy.”

  When he left the room, Lyons quietly closed the door.

  “Anything?” Schwarz asked.

  “Couple things,” Lyons said. “He told me that he thinks they might have had military training. Said the operation was smooth and fast. They knew what they were doing. Took out the escort cars with LAWs. Had the truck caught between them, then hit the truck cab and moved to the rear to get the inside guy out. And the guy that shot him was called Borgnine. He also heard a first name for the guy. Jake, Jack, something along those lines.”

  “Borgnine? Like the...” Benson said.

  “Yeah,” Lyons said. “Like the movie actor.”

  “I can get Kalikani to run the name through the system,” Lopaka said and moved off, using her cell.

  Lyons glanced at Benson. “Thanks for your help, Stan. We have to go.”

  Lyons led Schwarz and Blancanales along the corridor, passing Lopaka, who was still on her cell.

  When they stepped outside, Lyons took out his own cell and tapped in the speed dial for Stony Man. Price came on.

  “I need Bear to run a name,” he said. “Borgnine. And before you ask, yes, like the actor. Also first name’s along the lines of Jake, Jack, Jerry. Got this from a survivor of an attack. The hit was professional. Run like a military operation, so check into service personnel. If you come up with anything, run a secondary check for possible connections to other military types. See what the cyberjockeys can find. If you get a hit, it might link with buddies he served with.”

  “I’ll call back if we hit pay dirt. You need anything else?”

  “Not right now.”

  Lyons ended the call, not wanting to get into any protracted talk with Price. There was too much rattling around in his mind, and he still had a headache from the battering to his skull.

 
Jenny Lopaka rejoined them; her cell remained in her hand.

  “O will let us know if his trace picks anything up,” she said.

  “Looks like we’re on a loose end until then,” Schwarz said. “Why don’t we grab some food while we wait?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Blancanales said. “What do you say, boss?”

  Lyons glared at him. “As if I have any choice. This pair would put WW3 on hold so they could fill their stomachs.”

  “Now, boys, no sulking on my watch,” the Hawaiian cop said. “Let’s do it.”

  * * *

  SHE TOOK THEM to a seafood snack bar just off Waikiki Beach. Lopaka ordered for them. She obviously knew the owner, and he provided a spread of local prawns and crab, fresh snapper and a bowl of salad. There was fresh pineapple and bread. A pitcher of chilled fruit juice was placed on the table.

  “Go ahead, guys, no need to be shy. This is Hawaii, food to be enjoyed.”

  There was little argument from Able Team. Despite the urgency of their ongoing mission, they used the opportunity to indulge.

  “This is only reinforcing my belief we should relocate here,” Schwarz said. “What’s not to like?”

  “We still get shot at,” Blancanales pointed out.

  “Not-so-nice neighbors,” Lyons said.

  “Hey, you guys. Don’t make it sound so bad,” Lopaka said.

  Schwarz told her, “This is a great place, really.”

  “What made you want to be a cop?” Lyons asked.

  “You really want to know?”

  “Sure.”

  “I look good in the uniform.”

  Blancanales grinned. “You certainly do, Officer Lopaka.”

  “Apart from that, I always wanted to be a cop. Since I was twelve years old.”

  “Not so long ago then,” Blancanales said, always the politician. Blancanales’s easy manner had earned him his nickname, Pol.

  “Is he always like this with the ladies?” Lopaka asked.

  “Always the charmer,” Schwarz said. “So be aware—be very aware.”