Brognola was poking about the "unopened" area, taking notes.

Turrin had gone with Bolan to the "trash area" for an assessment of the empties.

Bolan remarked, "I'm more interested in what has already moved through here."

Turrin agreed with that and pointed to a heavy crate near the bottom of the pile. "Air compressor," he noted. "What the hell would they want with a compressor that big?"

Bolan shrugged and said, "Maybe they're planning some underwater work," and continued on with a systematic visual scan of the evidence. Not all the boxes were marked, but enough were that a pattern began very quickly to emerge. He took Turrin by the arm and growled, "That's enough for me. Let's go."

As they rejoined, Brognola kicked a large, flat crate on the floor beside him and remarked, "Here's our bank. Or part of it. That one box must weigh a ton or more. Know what it is? Door for a vault." "Bingo," Turrin said solemnly. All three men seemed a bit awed by their discoveries. They were standing beside a handmade placard which had been thumbtacked to a shipping skid, identifying "Security Components."

Brognola said, "Looks like you're batting a thousand, Striker. They're building something, somewhere, that's for sure."

Bolan replied, "They're building Langley Island."

"Where is that?"

"Within a rifle shot of here," Bolan said. "Let's go back into the wagon. Want to show you something."

He took the men to his plot table and first showed them the chart of Puget Sound, relating the island to the overall area — quite insignificant, really. Then he showed aerial photos taken from Grimaldi's first overflight and, finally, the sketches he'd made during the soft penetration.

Bolan did not ordinarily work this way — in cahoots with the law. He'd made occasional exceptions to that rule, of course, and this time was a very important exception. Too much was at stake here to stand on personal game rules.

"They're still excavating over there," he pointed out. "The room I was in is obviously a command bunker of some type. I should have looked further while I was there. There could be a dozen rooms completed and ready for use. These tunnels go off from there like the spokes of a wheel. If you'll note some of the angles they make, it would certainly suggest more vaults either completed or planned. They've moved a lot of watertight stuff, air compressors and the like that could even suggest airlocks for tunnels out into the Sound!"

"I wonder ... I just wonder," Brognola mused. "Could they use subs to make underwater transfers?"

Bolan shrugged. "Why not? It sounds wild, I know — but the whole damn idea is wild, so why pose limits?"

Turrin said, "Right. For that matter, they could be putting vaults right out there under the water.

Why not, eh? What could be better than a secret bank beneath the waters of Puget Sound?"

Brognola muttered, "How much of a work force do they have out there?"

Bolan shook his head. "I don't know, Hal. The only people actually staying on the island are the hard force. I did get a bit of intel that leads me to believe that they've even brought their workers in from somewhere outside the country."

"Sandhogs," Turrin said. "It would take pro's for this."

"Must have some good powder men, too," Brognola observed. "There's plenty of the stuff stored here."

"Good thing it wasn't stored by the door," Turrin said with a chuckle.

Bolan cocked an eyebrow and asked, "How much powder?"

"Oh hell, I'd say ... tons, maybe. How much is in a keg?"

Bolan shrugged. "I've never used it in that form."

"Well there's twenty kegs to those crates." Brognola glanced at his notebook. "I just made a rough estimate on the number of crates. I guessed forty."

Bolan said, "That's interesting."

"How interesting?" Brognola asked.

"There must be a good supply on the island, too."

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

Bolan smiled. "There has to be a solution, Hal."

"I guess I better call my marshals in," Brognola decided. "I don't know about you two, but I've had enough of this place."

Bolan said, "We still have a lot to discuss, Hal. But you may as well get the guys started. In this weather, it will take them a while to get here."

Brognola nodded and moved forward to the mobile phone. Turrin called after him, "Have 'em bring a meat wagon, too. I counted four bodies out there, in bits and pieces." He turned to Bolan with a sigh. "Hal's pretty well shaken by all this. I guess you've noticed that, too. Theories are one thing. Seeing is something else. How do you really read this, Mack?"

"It's the Thing, all right," Bolan quietly replied. "I'm sure it is, yeah. I didn't mean that. I mean, what the hell do you do about it? It's already beyond Hal. He knows it, and that's what has hold of his guts. He needs a naval task force, not a platoon of marshals."

"Hal stays clear until I'm done," Bolan said frostily. "That understanding is implicit any time we come together. You know that." "Sure. You do have a plan, then." "Yeah."

"Mind if I ask ... ?"

"If I get lucky," Bolan told him, "I'll blow the whole works out of the water. That won't turn the world around, exactly, but at least it'll confuse the hell out of things for a while. In the meantime, maybe Hal and his people can get something going."

Leo Turrin was not convinced. "Hey, you know, we're all in this. I mean, it's my world, too. I got a wife and kids, right? And this thing is just too big. Too big, Mack. I think you should let Hal skull it through from here."

Bolan stubbornly shook his head. "I don't know whose world it is, Leo, but it's my game. Hal will get completely bogged down with the legalities of the thing. Meanwhile the enemy dances lightly away and pops up again another day to try again. No. I've got to show them the cost, Leo. And it has to be heavy." "Yeah," Turrin said, grudgingly agreeing.

"How about those two hundred hardmen? Where are they?"

"Stashed around town somewhere. We've got a meet for eight o'clock this morning. Not the Indians, just the chiefs. But they were all checked in before midnight."

"Do you know any of those troops, Leo? I mean, know."

Turrin shook his head in a slow negative. "Not even the chiefs. I gather they were all recruited directly by Franciscus. He has the Seattle contract for your head, by the way. Combat guy. I guess he's dangerous. The old men love him."

"Get those guys on the island for me, Leo. Get them there before dawn. All of them."

"What? You crazy? If you're — oh! I get. Clean sweep, eh?"

"That's the general idea. So far I'm not sure how. But can you get them there?"

"Oh, well ... that's my element, Tactician." Turrin grinned sourly. "I'll get them there. All I have to do is tell the truth, or shades of it."

"Here's a kicker for you. You can show Franciscus the minipak I implanted on the roof. Parapet, outside railing, south wall. Also the whole joint is strung with micropickups. But dammit, Leo — don't go on too strong. This guy is pretty sharp."

"Yeah, well, let me worry about the hard things. You take care of the easy ones. Go blow up the damn island, will you?"

"She blows at dawn," Bolan promised.