He had been welcomed home by April Rose and Aaron "The Bear" Kurtzman, warriors-in-residence at the Phoenix base. Behind the lovely young woman's kiss of greeting and her sparkling eyes, Bolan had read a message of concern, even distress.

Something, yeah, had been happening on the home front while Bolan was circling the eastern frontiers, stomping vipers.

The last of the telexes had been received forty-five minutes before Bolan's arrival by air. The Executioner spent the next forty-five in gentle, aimless conversation with April, unwinding from his recent brush with death. He spoke in the vague generalities of a man who hates to worry his woman, and she listened with the incisive knowledge of a woman who lives on the fine edge between exultation and despair.

For the moment, though, simple gratitude was enough for both of them.

They were both alive, yeah, and ready to fight another day against yet another enemy. On another hellground.

And every day above ground was a good day for Mack Bolan and his woman.

The expected telephone call had come exactly on schedule, and Aaron the Bear had fetched Bolan from his seat on the porch of Stony Man's ranch house. April had stayed behind, watching him go with sad, knowing eyes.

Pol Blancanales was on the line, his normally firm voice almost cracking, his words dripping with grateful relief.

"Mack... thank God... I was afraid..." He broke off, as if struggling to collect disordered thoughts before continuing.

"Easy, Pol," the Executioner said. "Give it to me one piece at a time, from the beginning."

Something caught in the Politician's throat, far away at the other end of the line.

"Jesus, Mack, it's Toni. I... I..."

He broke off again, but already he had said enough to raise Bolan's hackles, letting him know that there was something deadly personal about this cry for help.