his brother's murder. After the attempted kidnapping, the authorities were much more interested in what had happened to Darrick Anderson. So was the Executioner, but at the moment he had other matters to attend to.
As soon as he was back at his hotel, Bolan scanned the fingerprints he'd pulled from the corpses on his portable scanner and sent them to Stony Man Farm. He wanted to find out who he'd just killed.
Within half an hour Aaron Kurtzman was on the phone with that information. "You were right about their being Filipinos, Striker," Kurtzman said. "These were some particularly badass Filipinos, too, known members of Jemaah Islamiah."
"So what's the connection between these guys and Team Free Flow?"
Kurtzman paused, obviously reading through the information he'd uncovered in the short time since Bolan had sent him the fingerprints. "It all seems to point back to Musa bin Osman."
"Speak of the devil," Bolan said. "I have an appointment with him in three hours."
"There's something else you should know," Kurtzman said. "The men you killed also had strong ties to the BNG."
Bolan knew the BNG — the Bahala Na Gang — was one of the most powerful Filipino street gangs. Originally formed by inmates in the notorious jails of the Philippines in the early 1940s, the BNG eventually spread its operations around the globe. Originally
Bahala Na
meant "God willing," in Tagalog, but in recent generations the term had come to mean a more fatalistic "whatever." Fatalism defined the BNG, and fatality followed it from the Philippines to North America, where the organization had evolved into an especially violent criminal syndicate. The BNG was strong in the San Francisco area.
"I didn't have time to examine the bodies before the police arrived," Bolan said. "I didn't see any question marks." Each member of the BNG tattooed a question mark symbol somewhere on his body. "So these guys are hooked up with al Qaeda now?"
"At least the four men you killed today were," Kurtzman said. "It might be more accurate to say that Jemaah Islamiah is hooked up with the BNG. My guess is that they're just hiring the BNG for muscle."
"That would be my guess, too," the Executioner said.
"But they're good muscle," Kurtzman replied. "Watch your back tonight, Striker."
"How'd they get into the paddock?"
Kurtzman took a moment to answer, meaning he was once again looking through the reports he and his team had generated. "Says here that they were posing as reporters for
City Rider,
a San Francisco-based motorcycle magazine."
"Has our little altercation at the track this morning attracted any attention?"
"Attention? It's being broadcast on every major news channel nonstop. You couldn't have attracted more attention. All the major newshounds are already on the scene. I don't know what's going to be harder for you — finding the plutonium or dodging those nitwits."
"I'm not worried. They'll be gone tomorrow, chasing after some little girl who's fallen down a well or something," Bolan speculated.
"You're probably right about that," Kurtzman said.
"What have the police found so far?" Bolan asked.
"I've hacked into their computer system, and it doesn't look like much. They haven't connected the BNG to al Qaeda yet, and they probably won't; they've already written the attack off as an attempted kidnapping by the BNG."
"That makes sense," Bolan said. "Kidnapping is the BNG's primary source of income in the Philippines. And it makes sense that they'd go after Anderson."
Bolan knew that while motorcycle racing was a relatively obscure activity in the United States, it was extremely popular in the rest of the world and the top MotoGP riders were super-stars. These young gladiators ranked among the most popular athletes on the planet, and a star rider such as Eddie Anderson or Daniel Asnorossa could earn ten million dollars a year or more. All of that made Anderson an obvious kidnapping target for a criminal organization like the BNG.
"Have they called in
As soon as he was back at his hotel, Bolan scanned the fingerprints he'd pulled from the corpses on his portable scanner and sent them to Stony Man Farm. He wanted to find out who he'd just killed.
Within half an hour Aaron Kurtzman was on the phone with that information. "You were right about their being Filipinos, Striker," Kurtzman said. "These were some particularly badass Filipinos, too, known members of Jemaah Islamiah."
"So what's the connection between these guys and Team Free Flow?"
Kurtzman paused, obviously reading through the information he'd uncovered in the short time since Bolan had sent him the fingerprints. "It all seems to point back to Musa bin Osman."
"Speak of the devil," Bolan said. "I have an appointment with him in three hours."
"There's something else you should know," Kurtzman said. "The men you killed also had strong ties to the BNG."
Bolan knew the BNG — the Bahala Na Gang — was one of the most powerful Filipino street gangs. Originally formed by inmates in the notorious jails of the Philippines in the early 1940s, the BNG eventually spread its operations around the globe. Originally
Bahala Na
meant "God willing," in Tagalog, but in recent generations the term had come to mean a more fatalistic "whatever." Fatalism defined the BNG, and fatality followed it from the Philippines to North America, where the organization had evolved into an especially violent criminal syndicate. The BNG was strong in the San Francisco area.
"I didn't have time to examine the bodies before the police arrived," Bolan said. "I didn't see any question marks." Each member of the BNG tattooed a question mark symbol somewhere on his body. "So these guys are hooked up with al Qaeda now?"
"At least the four men you killed today were," Kurtzman said. "It might be more accurate to say that Jemaah Islamiah is hooked up with the BNG. My guess is that they're just hiring the BNG for muscle."
"That would be my guess, too," the Executioner said.
"But they're good muscle," Kurtzman replied. "Watch your back tonight, Striker."
"How'd they get into the paddock?"
Kurtzman took a moment to answer, meaning he was once again looking through the reports he and his team had generated. "Says here that they were posing as reporters for
City Rider,
a San Francisco-based motorcycle magazine."
"Has our little altercation at the track this morning attracted any attention?"
"Attention? It's being broadcast on every major news channel nonstop. You couldn't have attracted more attention. All the major newshounds are already on the scene. I don't know what's going to be harder for you — finding the plutonium or dodging those nitwits."
"I'm not worried. They'll be gone tomorrow, chasing after some little girl who's fallen down a well or something," Bolan speculated.
"You're probably right about that," Kurtzman said.
"What have the police found so far?" Bolan asked.
"I've hacked into their computer system, and it doesn't look like much. They haven't connected the BNG to al Qaeda yet, and they probably won't; they've already written the attack off as an attempted kidnapping by the BNG."
"That makes sense," Bolan said. "Kidnapping is the BNG's primary source of income in the Philippines. And it makes sense that they'd go after Anderson."
Bolan knew that while motorcycle racing was a relatively obscure activity in the United States, it was extremely popular in the rest of the world and the top MotoGP riders were super-stars. These young gladiators ranked among the most popular athletes on the planet, and a star rider such as Eddie Anderson or Daniel Asnorossa could earn ten million dollars a year or more. All of that made Anderson an obvious kidnapping target for a criminal organization like the BNG.
"Have they called in
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