Bolan put it in a nutshell for him, anxious to make the best use of their dwindling time.

"Federal, undercover. She was working Tommy Drake."

"I'd say she's out of work." Hannon changed gears, shifting topics. "What have you got?"

"I'm working on your Cuban," Bolan told him. "Nothing solid yet, but I'm in touch with someone who may have a handle on him.''

Hannon frowned, the deep lines etched into his weathered face.

"Your someone wouldn't be a guy named Toro, would he?"

Bolan met the ex-detective's eyes directly, never flinching.

"You never know."

"It's funny," Hannon said reflectively. "Someone yanked him off the county farm this morning. Got away clean. They're beating every bush from here to Tallahassee."

Bolan remained silent, watching Hannon and waiting for him to continue. When he spoke again, the former captain of detectives' voice was slow, low pitched.

"I met him once, you know, when I was working Homicide. I had to ask him all about a wild-ass soldier who was shaking up the wise guys."

"Was he helpful?" Bolan asked.

"Like a stone. He told me everything I had to know, and never said a frigging word."

"The Cubans put a premium on loyalty."

"Some others, too, I guess."

Bolan spread his hands.

"There's no way for an Anglo to be inconspicuous among the exiles. If Toro can help me get where I need to go, I'll thank him for the ride."

Hannon's eyes flashed at him.

Bolan frowned. "What did your contacts have to say."

It took a while for Hannon to respond.

Bolan kept studying the man's face. Clearly, he was put off by the thought of breaking convicts out of prison. The guy had worked a lifetime trying hard to put them there and keep them there. It was entirely understandable, but it had no effect on Bolan's combat situation.

Hannon finally made a sour face before he answered Bolan's question.

"A lousy zero. Too damn many street names in the files for them to trace a Jose 99. I couldn't push too hard without inviting interference.''

"Never mind. It was a long shot, anyhow." Mack Bolan hesitated, reluctant to involve Hannon any deeper, yet unable to see any way around it. "I need a favor," the Executioner said at last.

"Shoot."

But there was caution in the tone, and Bolan knew that he was skating very near the edge of Hannon's trust, his patience.

Before he had a chance to answer, Evangelina returned from her visit to the washroom. Now her shoulder-length hair was neatly brushed back from her face, and Bolan was again struck by her resemblance to Margarita. He marveled that he had not seen it in her when they met the first time, despite the circumstances... and just as quickly, he wondered how much of it might be simply the product of his own imagination.

Either way, the lady was a living monument to something from the past, another stop along the hellfire trail of Bolan's private, endless war. A part of Margarita lived in her, through her, and he would do everything within his power to preserve that vestige, let it blossom and grow into everything that it could be.

"Where are we going next?" she asked, addressing herself to both men at once, but focusing her main attention on the Executioner.

He looked her square in the eye before he answered.

"Not we, Evangelina... You'll be staying here awhile... for safety's sake."

He registered the startled glance from Hannon, but there was no time to ask the favor now. Bolan focused on the lady now, reading anger and betrayal in her face.

"Staying?" she asked incredulously. "No! I saved your life. I brought you here."

The soldier nodded.

"And I appreciate it. That's one reason why I can't risk taking you along."

There was a flicker of surprise beneath the brooding anger.

"One reason? What is the other?''

"I move better on my own. You'd slow me down, get one or both of us killed."

The lady looked a little hurt at first, but she recovered swiftly, temper and a flaring irritation taking over from the wounded pride.

"I can protect myself, senor. I am a warrior, una soldada— like you."

"Oh, no, you're not." Bolan rose from his chair, advancing on her, pleased that she did not flinch away from him. "You're not like me at all, Evangelina. When was the last time you killed a man? Can you remember how the blood smelled? How his brains looked when you held the gun against his head and dropped the hammer?''

As he spoke the soldier aimed an index finger at her pretty face, the fingertip coming to rest between her eyes.

She shivered at his touch but did not pull away.

Bolan bored in, unrelenting, hating the hurt he had put in her eyes, knowing there was no soft way around the obstacle.

"You ever slit a throat, Evangelina? Do you know the way it feels to saw through flesh and gristle like you're carving a roast, except the roast's still fighting for its life?"

A single tear made a glistening track across one cheek.

"I've never killed a man," she said, the voice soft, shaking. "But I could. I know it."

"Don't be eager," Bolan told her, letting softness creep into his voice now.

He cupped her face gently in his palm, tenderly wiping away the tear.

"I am a soldier," she repeated.

"Fine. So live to fight another day."

She was resisting, but more weakly now.

"I choose my fights," she said softly, tearfully.

And Bolan knew he had her now.

"Sorry. This one's taken."

"And if I refuse to stay behind?"

It was a question more than a challenge. He could sense that most of the fight had drained out of her now.

"I don't have time to argue with you now," he said. "You know what I say is true." He paused, letting that sink in, waiting until she nodded, a barely perceptible motion of her head. "I'll need your car keys."

Another moment's hesitation, then she fished around inside her purse, finally coming out with them and handing them over to Bolan. He turned toward Hannon, frowning, knowing he had put the former captain of detectives on the spot.

"I'll be back when I can," he said.

If I can.

And Bolan pushed the grim, defeatist thought away from him as he shook hands with Hannon at the door. Behind the ex-cop, he could see Evangelina watching him, but she did not respond when Bolan waved his hand in parting.

"We'll be here," Hannon told him, glancing briefly at the lady.

Evangelina nodded, finally.

"Si."

And Bolan put that house behind him, hoping those two good people would be safe along the sidelines of his war. There were no guarantees, he knew, but at the same time he had done his utmost, short of backing off completely while he saw the lady to some haven out of town or out of state.

There was no time for backing off or backing down, the warrior knew from grim experience. The battle had been joined there in Miami, and although he still had no firm handle on the situation, he knew that there was only one direction he could travel on the hellfire trail.

His course was dead ahead and damn the enemy's defenses. The Executioner had come to shake Miami, and nothing short of death would stop him from accomplishing that aim.

He was rattling Miami, see what fell out of the vipers' nest.

And he would see Evangelina when he got the chance.

If he got the chance.

In the meantime, there were cannibals at large, demanding Bolan's full attention. He was carrying the fire. And someone in Miami was about to feel the heat.