Toni Blancanales was the Politician's kid sister. And some "kid," yeah. All woman, that kid, and no question about it.

During the Executioner's home-front Mafia wars, she had worked on occasion with Bolan and the members of Able Team, and since the birth of the Phoenix project, she had been handling the overt aspects of Able Team's ongoing private eye business.

Bolan had the highest respect and affection for her.

There had been some physical substance to that mutual affection once, lifetimes ago and far away, on yet another hellground. Bolan cherished the memory of that brief encounter and relegated it to the untouchable, urreclaimable past.

But he loved the lady, sure, in his way. And always would.

So the trouble was Toni in St Paul. The kid sister.

"Take your time, Pol," Bolan had urged his distraught comrade-in-arms. "What about Toni?"

At the other end, Blancanales drew a deep, ragged breath before continuing.

"She's been beaten, Sarge. Beaten bad. And... and raped."

The last word came out as a strangled whisper, but it rang in Bolan's ear like the thunderous blast of close-range gunfire. Something turned over inside him.

He regained control swiftly. No observer would have seen it slip away from him. But his hand was white-knuckled as he gripped the telephone receiver.

"Is she going to be all right, Pol? Is she in the hospital?"

Blancanales hesitated. Then his voice was low and clipped. "She was, but I got her out of there. I couldn't leave her in there, Mack."

Bolan sensed something underneath his old friend's words, a tension beyond the fury of an outraged brother. "You'd better fill me in, Pol," he said.

"Jesus, Mack, I don't know where to start. Toni was already in the hospital when I got word about... about what happened. I went right over, and Jesus..."