Free Death Run by Don Pendleton

staying in hotels on Nob Hill. All three are flying in Sunday morning and all three plan to stay over Sunday night and leave on Monday."
    "Someone could take out all three by setting off a Hiroshima-sized bomb, which is what we're talking about here, right, Bear?"
    "You are correct, sir."
    "If they set off a bomb like that at the race, they would strike a fatal blow to moderate Islamic regimes in the Middle East and probably unleash a fundamentalist firestorm across the region. Plus they'd take out a symbol of Western decadence in the process."
    "Correct again," Kurtzman said.
    Bolan contemplated the situation. "Sometimes it would be better to be wrong," he told Kurtzman. "How about the warehouse?"
    "There really is only one that fits the parameters you gave me yesterday. It's located on Fair Avenue, right next to the tracks. A white delivery van dropped off a load there late Monday morning, a heavy load, judging from the before and after photos of the van. The springs were compressed so far that the van's bumper was practically dragging on the pavement on the way to the warehouse. It looked like a dog dragging its butt across carpet. On the way back, the van rode a full six inches higher in the back."
    "Can you estimate the weight of the load?"
    "I had three-inch resolution from my spy satellite so I got the license plate. It was a rental with a one-ton chassis. The van was easily loaded fifty percent over capacity, so I'd say we're looking at something weighing three thousand pounds or more."
    "Like a small Type B container?"
    "Affirmative," Kurtzman said. "There was even a black Hummer H2 with dark tinted windows parked out front while the van was inside the warehouse unloading the cargo."
    "Who rented the van?
    "A construction company, which turned out to be fictitious, as did the person who signed all the paperwork.
    "So we got nothing on the rental?" the soldier asked.
    "Not quite nothing," Kurtzman replied. "The surveillance cameras showed four Filipinos picking up the van. One of them had a question mark tattooed on his forearm."
    "Anything more?" Bolan asked.
    "The warehouse has been under heavy guard twenty-four hours a day since Monday."
    "Rent-a-cops?"
    "Nope. Gang bangers, by the look of them. I can't quite be sure, but it looks like one of them has a question mark tattooed on his shoulder. They also appear to be armed, judging by the bulges above their waistbands. They've been taking eight-hour shifts, and there appears to be at least four on guard at any one time. There are probably more inside. Someone has something of value in that facility."
    "I'll check it out right away, but first I need one last favor from you."
    "You name it, Striker."
    "Can you figure out a way to keep those two Feds out of my face? I've experienced physical torture that was more pleasant than spending a few minutes with those two."
    "Consider it done."
* * *
    Santa Cruz, California
    Bolan's decision to rent a motorcycle proved a good one. He was one of tens of thousands of motorcyclists riding the coastal highway between Santa Cruz and San Francisco during the weekend of the big race, though Bolan was probably the only rider with an FN P90 submachine gun slung beneath his riding jacket.
    He'd had Kissinger fit the rifle with a Leupold Mark 4 CQ/T rifle scope, allowing the soldier to accurately fire the bullpup subgun at ranges past two hundred yards, which was farther than he was likely shoot in an urban environment. The scope had an advanced light-gathering coating on the glass, letting the soldier see his targets in extremely low light conditions, as well as a reticle that could be lit or unlit for use in various lighting conditions. Kissinger knew all of the Executioner's measurements and could set the eye relief on almost any gun so that it was near spot-on perfect when it reached the soldier in the field, and he always zeroed the optics at one hundred yards except on high-powered rifles, as per Bolan's preference. The soldier