It was preposterous. Brognola was completely, scrupulously honest, and he should have been above suspicion. But the soldier knew that no one was above suspicion in the last analysis. Because the enemy was everywhere, he might have allies even in the halls of Justice. And the Executioner had dealt with crooked cops before.

But not Brognola.

No.

It was unthinkable.

What happened next would logically depend upon the quality of evidence against the man, but courtroom machinations could not be the Executioner's immediate priority.

Hal's family took the honors there, and while their lives were hanging in the balance, Bolan could not rest. He had a job to do.

"I'm coming in."

"Be careful, Striker. Someone thumped the hornet's nest, but good."

"What else is new?" He grinned into the mouthpiece of the telephone. "You still around the same old place?"

"Things never change."

"I've noticed."

"See you?"

"Bet on it."

Bolan cradled the receiver and returned to the rental car. As he sat behind the wheel, he spent a moment pondering the strange events in Wonderland. More details would be needed before he even tried to put the pieces together to complete the puzzle. At the moment he was sure of two things only: that Hal Brognola's family was in danger, and that Hal himself was being framed, set up to take a mighty fall for something he had never contemplated, let alone achieved.

The notion of Brognola working with the enemy was laughable, ridiculous. In other circumstances, Bolan would have seen the humor in it instantly. But with "evidence" behind the accusations, there was nothing funny about his friend's predicament. Hal needed help — a "specialist," damn right — and Bolan fit the bill precisely.

Wonderland was calling him to come and join the dance of death. For once he would not be the guest of honor, but the Executioner would not have missed it for the world.