"Did Grimaldi give any indication as to where the car's owner might be located?" asked a weary Brognola.
"None," said April Rose. "He and some of General Wilson's men tracked the transmitter to a blue Saab abandoned in downtown Munich. There's already a police report showing the car was stolen in Frankfurt. So that lead is dead."
Hal moved over to the computer terminal and stared at the blank screen. "Can't this damn thing tell us anything?"
"Not yet." April followed him to the screen. "Jack thinks that Mack is still near the Alps someplace, probably in the foothills. That's where Jack first encountered the jamming device. It wasn't until the car drove out of the jammer's range that he picked up its signal again."
"So we've lost him. Completely. Striker is totally on his own."
She gave a sharp look. "He's been there before."
"What about Grimaldi? Should he go back to take another look-see? Mosey around?"
"Negative, according to Jack. He doesn't want to blow Mack's cover. He is just going to sit tight in Munich and do what we're going to do. Wait. And hope."
It was a new role for Mack, no doubt at all. A new game, a new gun or two, a new kind of death-death on foreign soil with no backup of any kind. New, every which way you looked at it. He'd been there before, but not like this.
The uncertainty actually stimulated Stony Man's head fed. Striker could cope with anything that Europe could throw at him. Hal knew that for a fact.
The German terrorist philosophy was a situational one. Tactics and targets changed according to the fall of the chips. Modern Europe went for that kind of moral relativity, had done since the sixties. And Bolan was a master of the situational response. He had damned near invented it. The new Colonel John Phoenix, disguised as a morally awash U.S. Army colonel stationed in Germany, was the ultimate quick-change artist of all time. Hal had no doubts whatsoever.
Inside it all, Bolan would always be Bolan.