“So—” Bolan began, pocketing the knife and turning toward her.
The Executioner hadn’t been ready for the woman to react in the way she did. Her agile form came off the bunk in a blinding motion and she charged at him like an angry badger. He stepped back, his combat-honed reflexes the only thing that saved him from the nails she tried to rake across his eyes. Bolan swatted her hand aside, contacting the nerve just above the wrist, which would cause her entire arm to go numb. He then turned inward as he sidestepped, wrapped his arm around her waist and executed a hip toss that took her off her feet. At the last minute he grabbed her body so that she didn’t strike the concrete floor with the full force.
The impact still seemed tough enough to knock the wind out of her, and she wheezed a few times as her phrenic nerves struggled to recover. Bolan pinned her to the floor easily with his superior weight and strength, one knee on a pressure point between her hip and pelvis while pinning her shoulder with a hand.
“Mind telling me what you’re trying to do?” Bolan said through clenched teeth.
She struggled, trying to escape, but realized the futility of it. Her breath still came in short spurts but she finally managed enough wind to reply, “I thought maybe you were trying to play me, get me to think you were an ally and this was a real escape.”
“Well, I am your ally and this is a real escape,” Bolan said. “Or at least it will be if you can trust me long enough for us to both get out of here alive. Now, are you going to be good or do I knock you cold and carry you out of here?”
She raised her hands and nodded slowly.
Bolan climbed to his feet and then lent a hand, pulling her up after him. She stood looking at him a moment and then forced a smile. “Sorry. But these days it’s tough to trust anybody.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” the Executioner replied. “You are Alara Serif?”
She nodded. “I guess someone in DC was reading my reports.”
“You drew some attention, to put it mildly,” Bolan said.
“I’m hoping it isn’t going to take getting kidnapped every time to get someone to pay attention to me,” she said, dusting the dirt from her hands.
“You’ll be glad to know you got a whole lot of people paying attention to you,” Bolan said.
Something clanged somewhere in the distance, maybe the door of a delivery truck or a car driving over a drainage gate. “But we don’t have time to get into that now. We need to get you out of here.”
“Lead the way,” Serif replied.
* * *
THEY MANAGED TO escape the hotel without attracting attention.
Maxwell wanted to speed them directly to the consulate, but Bolan counseled him against it. The Executioner figured it was better to get Serif as far away from danger as possible. Neither a hotel nor the consulate would do, and they couldn’t risk going to Serif’s apartment. Instead he had Maxwell take them to the other side of town where they checked into a tiny hotel room where Bolan and Jack Grimaldi had set up a sort of makeshift headquarters.
“Well, what would you like me to tell Colonel Bindler, sir?” Maxwell asked.
Bolan lent him a warning smile. “Tell him you were following my orders. My op, my decision. And if he wonders why you won’t tell him where you dropped us, tell him those were my orders, too.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
When they had gone, Bolan took Serif to their tiny little room on the second floor of the run-down building and introduced her to Jack Grimaldi. The Stony Man pilot’s gregarious nature and devilish charm were an instant hit with the woman.
“They’re not five-star accommodations,” Grimaldi said when he noticed her inspecting the lounge area immediately off the two bedrooms. “But it’s clean and cozy, and nobody who’s anybody will bother us here.”
Serif nodded as she looked up at the cracked ceiling with major water spots and the cobwebs in the corners, and said, “Charming.”
“I’ve stayed in worse for more money,” Grimaldi quipped with a shrug.
“You want coffee?” Bolan asked, going to the burner plate where a plain metal percolator, the kind used for camping, sat with just the hint of steam coming off it.
“It’s fresh,” Grimaldi added.
“No, thanks. I’m a tea person.”
“Sorry, no tea.” Bolan poured himself a cup and then they sat in the wicker chairs that surrounded a table that barely came to knee height on Serif. “So tell me everything you know about Amocacci. You mentioned you spoke to him personally?”
Serif nodded. “He claims the entire operation, the Council of Luminárii, and all of the data I’ve collected in the past eight months was completely falsified. He says he knew I had him under observation months ago and that he used his connections to feed that information to me.”
“And how did he explain that?” Bolan asked.
She shook her head. “He went on and on about how he could quote some of the content of my reports chapter and verse, and that was because he was the one who’d staged the whole thing. And he kept bragging about the associates he had on the inside of the DIA, or maybe someone high up working inside the U.S. Consulate.”
“Anything else you can think of?”
“Well...” Serif paused a moment and blew a strand of dark hair off her forehead. “Nothing that stands out. He did seem to have an awful lot of negative things to say regarding the intelligence community at large.”
That piqued even Grimaldi’s curiosity and he’d only been half listening. “In what way?”
“I don’t know exactly.” Serif looked Bolan in the eyes. “To tell the truth, Colonel Stone, he sounded a bit like a crazy man. He definitely has some ax to grind with U.S. military intelligence, although I couldn’t tell you why. And he did indicate he had some associates and they were planning something big. Something really big.”
“The fact of the matter is that Amocacci probably is a whack job,” Bolan said. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not as smart as a fox. As I suspected he would, he spotted me almost immediately on entering that hotel. And he had some definite connections in there. Beside the guard in that old storage and freezer area where you were kept prisoner, he somehow manages to run a legitimate business concern in Turkey. And his personal record is as clean as a whistle.”
“That comes from his association with the Fellini family. Lady Allegra and her entire entourage are highly respected throughout Europe and the better part of Southeast Asia. And Amocacci’s business dealings, while best not looked at too closely, bring the Turkish government a lot of money. As long as Amocacci continues paying his dues, they’ll look the other way. That much I’m certain is true based on my analysis.”
Bolan shook his head. “I’m not interested in going after any of his business concerns, or even severing his ties with Turkish officials. In fact, I’m hoping to exploit that as a way to get inside his organization.”
“To what end?”
“So I can cut the heart out of it,” Bolan said.
“You’re not really DIA, are you?”
“Was there any doubt?” Bolan grinned. “I won’t insult your intelligence by trying to convince you I’m a real military officer.”
“Oh, you’re definitely ex-military,” Serif said with a smile of her own. “You got all the signs, anyway. I’m more curious to know, however, why you think exploiting his business concerns will bring you closer to cracking this thing wide-open.”
“Something you may not have learned in all your training and schooling is that any organization must do its fair share of dealing with the less savory elements of the criminal underworld. In order for them to operate securely, they need to work cooperatively with everyone from terrorists to dope dealers to organized crime. They don’t have the luxury of operating autonomously.”
“Sarge is right,”
Grimaldi said. “Even the most powerful governments in the world can’t do what they do without at least showing a little deference to the bad guys.”
“Sarge?” Serif inquired. She looked at Bolan and smiled. “I thought you were a colonel.”
Bolan ignored her. “What Jack’s getting at is that the Council of Luminárii isn’t the angelic and benevolent group it would like everyone to think it is. Just hours after your conversation with Amocacci, an assassin executed a man named Quon Ma. A former military officer and now high-ranking intelligence officer with Chinese MSS.”
Serif nodded. “Ma was one of the other individuals I identified as being a possible member of the Council.”
“If I had to take an educated guess, I’d say you’re right. There’s no way this Council, if it operates as you say it does, would risk contracting with an outside group to kill one of its own. After all, they’re not nearly as strong as individuals.”
Serif nodded in agreement. “It wouldn’t do for them to work at cross-purposes with one another when they could accomplish much more together.”
“Exactly. And it’s that fact I’m going to use to take Amocacci off balance and keep him that way until I can control the situation my way.”
“If you can find him.”
“That’s where you come in,” Bolan replied.
“Okay, I can help you. But you have to take me along.”
“No,” Bolan said, shaking his head. “I have a responsibility to make sure you’re delivered safely back to U.S. territory. That means the consulate. But I need to know where Amocacci is before I attempt that. I need to get his attention focused on something new. A fresh face. Once I get him to come around to my side, then we can move you. For now, you’ll stay here with Jack.”
Grimaldi smiled. “I even got a deck of cards.”
“No disrespect, Stone—Lord knows I owe you a huge debt of gratitude for saving my life—but I don’t answer to you. I take my orders only from Colonel Bindler.”
“And I outrank Bindler on this particular operation,” Bolan said. “So now you’ll take orders from me for the duration of this operation.”
“I deserve to be in on this when you take Amocacci down,” Serif argued. “And that’s the only way you’ll get my cooperation. You want information on Amocacci’s whereabouts, my tagging along is part of the deal.”
“Look, Alara. Amocacci’s still going to be sniffing around looking for you, and I can’t risk him knowing we’re associated or the deal will be blown before it’s made. Just do as I’m telling you and if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll let you in on a piece of the action. Deal?”
Serif thought it over a long moment and then stuck out her hand. “Deal. But I’m telling you now, Colonel. If you go back on the deal, there isn’t a place on Earth where you can hide that I won’t find you and make you pay for it.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Bolan replied.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mack Bolan located the building in downtown Istanbul where Amocacci maintained a small office on the sixth floor.
Getting into the building and up to Amocacci’s office was essentially child’s play. The Italian looked quite surprised, in fact, when Bolan’s imposing form strolled through the front door of the office. The secretary tried to stop him, but Bolan continued right by her and walked into Amocacci’s office as if he owned the place.
“Sir, he just—!”
Amocacci raised a hand and calmly replied, “I understand, Sari. Not your fault. Don’t worry about it, he’s an old associate. Just close the door behind you and hold my calls.”
Sari threw Bolan a ferocious look before leaving to attend to Amocacci’s instructions.
The man rose and waved Bolan toward one of the leather armchairs in front of his desk. As the soldier started to sit, he noticed the sunlight coming through the slat of the partially open blinds glint off the snub-nosed pistol the man now leveled at Bolan’s midsection. The Executioner took note of the gun, looked Amocacci in the eyes and smiled before slowly taking his seat.
“Easy with that,” Bolan said. “I wouldn’t want to get blood on these nice carpets.”
“Carpets can be cleaned, Mr....?”
“I’ll be happy to explain if you put down the pistol,” Bolan replied.
“Why should I do that? I could say you were an intruder. The police wouldn’t blame me in the least.”
“They might after you told your secretary that I was an old associate,” Bolan said. “Plus, I’m unarmed. I don’t think you’ll kill me anyway.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re entirely too curious as to why I’m here.”
Amocacci sighed and took his seat. He laid the pistol on the desk in front of him. “I saw you at the hotel.”
“Yes, I guess I wasn’t as careful as I’d hoped.”
“It’s interesting,” Amocacci continued, obviously ignoring Bolan’s almost flamboyant attempt to be charming, “that just shortly after I saw you in the hotel, two of my men were killed and something was stolen from me.”
“It wasn’t me,” Bolan said quickly. “But I know who it was.”
“And that is?”
“U.S. government agents. From the U.S. Consulate in Istanbul. They were sent by their commanding officer, who really isn’t as much a CO as he is the head of a vast intelligence network.”
“You seem quite well informed,” Amocacci said. “But you still haven’t told me your name or the reason for your interest in me and my business.”
“It’s quite simple, really.” Bolan made a show of studying the palms of his hands, letting the suspense play out a little longer. “My name is Matt Cooper. I’m an intelligence cryptanalyst for the National Security Agency. I was sent in to uncover a mole working within military intelligence channels out of a base in Colorado. Our attempts to find our mole went wrong during a subsequent operation in Central America.”
Bolan had been surreptitiously watching for any reaction. He didn’t get anything until mention of that last little bit. Amocacci had a tell: an almost imperceptible twitch in his left eyebrow. Bolan decided to play out a little more rope to see where it took him.
“It was when I connected with the agent there while being held prisoner I realized what was really going on. We’d gotten some vague reports of some kind of freelance group—an international conglomerate of high-ranking intelligence assets that had banded together. Only trouble is, we didn’t know for what purpose. But what I did learn was that there was a significant amount of cash available for anyone within U.S. intelligence circles who might be willing to stand up.” Bolan splayed his hands and said, “Well, I’m your guy!”
“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Amocacci said as he leaned back in his chair.
“Really? Really, that’s the best you can do? The old ‘I don’t know anything’ routine?” Bolan snorted with derision. “Come on, Mr. Amocacci! I know what you’re into, and I know who you’re dealing with. Hell, half the spooks I know have heard the rumblings of this super-secret group of vigilantes, or whatever it is you claim to be. And frankly, I don’t really care about any of that. I’m just interested in the cash.”
“And what makes you think there’s any money to be had from me?”
“Are you denying it?”
Amocacci said nothing for a long time. At one point, Bolan thought maybe Amocacci would retrieve his pistol and shoot Bolan. He hoped the guy didn’t try it because he had been lying about not being armed. He wasn’t stupid enough to go into the situation utterly defenseless, and if Amocacci made a play with the pistol, the Executioner would have to respond in kind. There was a fairly good chance Amocacci possessed enough skills as a marksman that he could take Bolan with the first shot, but he’d be harder pressed to hit a moving
target if he was at all out of practice. Bolan, on the other hand, was well practiced in such close-quarter encounters and he just didn’t miss.
Amocacci finally sighed. “I think you should leave now.”
“So you’re turning down my offer,” Bolan replied.
“You didn’t make an offer.”
“You didn’t give me a chance.”
“I’m just not who you think I am. I’m not involved with so mundane a matter as you might think. In fact, you don’t know anything about me, Cooper.”
“And you really don’t know anything about me,” Bolan countered. “Which is exactly what would make this such a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“In what way?”
“Well, what would you say if I could help you with this most recent problem?” Bolan said.
“And to what problem are you referring?”
Bolan didn’t hesitate. “The assassination of one of your own. A certain Chinese VIP?”
Amocacci’s already somewhat impassive expression went suddenly cold and stony. Bolan thought he’d made an error at first, perhaps misjudging Amocacci’s intelligence and savvy. The guy had been playing the intelligence game long enough to know it was filled with moves and countermoves.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bolan chuckled. “Really. That’s funny because my sources tell me you know a lot about it. How are we going to become allies if we’re not willing to trust each other?”
“You sound awfully naive. There are no allies in this business—no true friendships upon which one can rely. In fact, there’s no room for friendship at all. It’s merely a game. Governments and other entities maneuver us around the board like chess pieces. We’re all pawns, you see, forced to play in one mindless game after another. We are sacrificed, unable to determine our own destinies. This is what the intelligence communities of today are all about.”
Critical Exposure Page 16
