Critical Exposure

by Don Pendleton

  “We have no friends in this business,” Quon Ma interjected. “You know that. But I do now understand from what you’ve said how he might have drawn the conclusions he did. It would seem he is doing his best to show me his support.”

  Pei nodded and rose. “Then I believe my work is finished here and I should be on my way. It’s a long journey back home.”

  “You’re welcome to stay. I have additional accommodations, and you would be able to rest in private until feeling renewed enough to return home.”

  “No,” Pei said, shaking her head. “I thank you for your generous offer, but I believe it would be best that I not stay here any longer than absolutely necessary for both your security and my own.”

  “I understand. Until we meet again.”

  They bowed to each other before Ma gestured for his men to show her out.

  Pei went through the door and up the stairs quickly, checking the area around her one last time before heading to her vehicle. As the driver opened the door, her small head seemed to implode and her face caved in as if smashed by an unseen force. The gore sprayed the men around her, but they reacted with incredible speed. Even as her body toppled, one of the men grabbed her and shoved her into the back seat of the car. He then threw his body on top of hers.

  The others drew their pistols and fanned out, crouched and looking wide-eyed in every direction like a herd of crazed jackals. There had been no warning, no report from the weapon, although it was clear someone had just assassinated Jiao Pei with a high-powered sniper rifle. They waited a long time before anyone moved.

  Probably not so much out of concern that the sniper might decide to take out another target, as out of worry about the repercussions when they reported the incident to Quon Ma.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Istanbul, Turkey

  If Gastone Amocacci had not seen it with his own eyes, he probably would not have believed it.

  That didn’t change the effect Bolan had when he walked right to the front door of Amocacci’s residence in an upscale neighborhood. When the head servant answered, Bolan pushed his way past him and entered the sitting room where Amocacci sat reading. Bolan wore a blacksuit, weapons of war dangling from the belt and suspenders. He’d changed into a fresh one, the other no longer salvageable as a victim of a bullet and some blood.

  Bolan wasn’t interested in frightening Amocacci, although it would have appeared that way to the several staff members who observed this black-clad avenging angel. Bolan was much more interested in having the polar-opposite effect; an effect that would make Amocacci view Bolan as the hero and protector of all he valued. If the story had reached him yet about what had happened at the warehouse, he would surely not be surprised by such a visit.

  The Executioner could tell immediately from the expression on Amocacci’s face that he had heard of those recent activities. His suspicions were confirmed when Amocacci set down the book he’d been reading, took off his glasses and looked Bolan in the eye. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  “Have you?”

  Amocacci managed a smile, although Bolan could tell it was somewhat forced. “I don’t suppose it would do much good to lie to you and say I hadn’t.”

  “It wouldn’t.”

  “Have a seat,” Amocacci said, indicating an armchair near him.

  There were now three staff members standing in the entryway to the sitting room. Amocacci tried to put on as normal a front as possible. “No need for alarm. Mr. Cooper is here as my guest. Please return to your duties.”

  The staff seemed hesitant at first, but with an unspoken exchange of looks from Amocacci they immediately departed for parts unknown, probably to make as much distance from the room as possible. Bolan supposed it might have been a secret signal and at any minute a dozen Turkish cops would show up, but he doubted it. For Amocacci to explain why an American armed to teeth would be showing up at his home, especially after what had happened at the warehouse earlier in the evening, would indeed attract much more intention than the Italian businessman could afford.

  “I take it the cops have already been here,” Bolan said.

  “They have.”

  “How did you explain what happened down at your warehouse?”

  “I was an intelligence agent with Interpol. You think I don’t know the art of telling a good lie?”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “For what.”

  “A real answer,” Bolan replied.

  “I said I didn’t know.”

  “Which just happens to be the truth. Mostly. So you were able to make it quite convincing.” Bolan chuckled. “I assume because of your affiliations in some of the highest seats of government, the locals weren’t too eager to press you on it.”

  “Correct,” Amocacci said with a smile. “Although I’m still very puzzled by the reason behind all of this.”

  “I warned you this morning you were next on the list,” Bolan said.

  “Mr. Cooper, let’s be frank,” Amocacci replied. “First, there’s no reason for me to assume that the murders of some of my dock workers would do any harm to me personally.”

  “Maybe it was a way to discredit you.”

  “In the eyes of whom?”

  “The other members of your little group—your Council of Light or whatever the hell you choose to call yourselves.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come on, Amocacci!” Bolan snapped. “Stop playing games. You tell some people that you made the whole thing up, then you turn around and tell others it exists. Then you arrange the assassination of one of your team, and when you get your hand caught in the cookie jar you deny everything up to and including trying to deny your own rotten existence. No more pretending. You can’t afford it. The only way out of this is to work with me.”

  “Is that right?”

  “That’s how I see it.”

  “And if I disagree?”

  “It’s nothing to me,” Bolan said with a shrug. “I’ve told you that before. But stop and ask yourself for a minute why I happened to be at the warehouse when that hit went down. How did I know?”

  “Perhaps you were there trying to dig up dirt on me.”

  “Like you’d leave anything incriminating there? Get real. I was there because I knew something like that was going to happen. And you’re right to think that it’s nothing but a ruse because it is. Those guys weren’t working for Quon Ma any more than whoever you green-lighted to take out Ma doesn’t know by now they failed miserably. And by the way, Quon Ma is quite alive and well.”

  “Only someone with connections to Alara Serif and the American government could know all of that.”

  “Not so,” Bolan said. “Your contact has a big mouth—too big, you ask me.”

  “I have many associates, Cooper. Which one are we talking about now?”

  “I just told you. The guy you had take out Ma, or try to take him out. The same guy who tried to take me out right after I visited your office this morning.”

  “I heard about that trouble,” Amocacci said. “And I assumed it was you. But I promise you that I had nothing to do with it. I could not call on such resources so fast. There are some things even out of my reach and performing a miracle is one of them.”

  “I figured you’d say that.”

  “But you don’t believe me.”

  Bolan sat back and purposefully kept his face impassive. “Actually, I do. I think your contact is the same guy who tried to recruit me in Guatemala. I also think he’s the one who botched the hit on Quon Ma, and the one who sent that team to the warehouse.”

  “Let’s suppose you’re right,” Amocacci said. “Why would he do that?”

  “The same reason I would have,” Bolan replied. “Money. The difference is, he’s probably splitting it with
one of your partners on the Council. Not Ma, obviously, which means you’re working with others. Maybe rogues like yourself, or possibly even those with legitimate posts inside certain intelligence circles.”

  “And I suppose you’re here to tell me that you can identify this individual.”

  “The guy inside your group who’s pulling the strings?” Bolan let out a mock snort of derision. “Not likely. But I’m also positive I know who your contact is. And I don’t think it would be difficult to trace him back to the real brains behind all of this if we work at it together.”

  “How do you propose to do that?”

  “Call a meeting.”

  “A meeting?” Amocacci said, visibly stiffening at the suggestion.

  Got him, Bolan thought. “Yeah. Gather your team all in one place and then you can do your big reveal.”

  “But you just said one of them is the traitor,” Amocacci countered. “Wouldn’t that be playing directly into the hands of that individual?”

  “No,” Bolan replied. “Because when I give you the identity of the individual who’s behind all of this, and you out him, the traitor in your group is going to think they’re blown, too.”

  That brought a scoffing laugh from Amocacci. “Hardly! These men have been in the intelligence game too long.”

  “What men?” Bolan said with a wicked grin. “The Council? The men you say don’t exist?”

  Amocacci took on a hue perilous enough to detect even through his darker skin. “I think you’re playing a dangerous game, Cooper. A very dangerous game indeed.”

  “Maybe so,” Bolan said. “But it’s no more dangerous than the one you’ve been playing with this guy.”

  “There’s no way I could bring you in to see my associates, anyway. It violates the rules. You would be marked for termination within the day.”

  “Unless you vouch for me.”

  “I would have to do that before I brought you in.”

  “Fine, do it before then.”

  Amocacci cocked his head. “You told me you weren’t interested in being a part of our organization. That you were only interested in the money.”

  “The two aren’t mutually exclusive. Are they?” Bolan made a show of looking around the very nice home and waved toward the ceiling. “I mean, you seem to be doing just fine for yourself.”

  “I suppose.”

  Bolan rose. “Look, pal. I’m not going to waste any more time with you. You put the feelers out there for an American inside the intelligence community. I’m that American. I’m disenfranchised with the NSA and, like I told you before, I won’t be welcomed back there at this point. Anyone who could connect me with the operation in Guatemala is dead. That means you got no risk of exposure from that angle.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So you have your little secret meeting or whatever it is that you do, and you submit my candidacy. I’ll wait right here in Istanbul for three days.”

  “That’s barely enough time to—”

  “Three days,” Bolan cut in. “After that, I have to become a ghost because I’m sure if I can’t disappear into your little fold I’ll be at risk of exposure. And we can’t have that. As to a reason you should show me any loyalty, consider I risked my neck to keep those goons sent by your contact from starting an all-out war between you and the Chinese Ministry of State Security. And believe me when I say, you don’t want any of that.”

  “Fine,” Amocacci said. “But aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “What?”

  “The identity of my contact,” Amocacci replied. “You said you’re pretty sure you know who he is.”

  “What...you mean you really don’t know who he is?” Bolan said with his best imitation of a guffaw. “That’s rich, Amocacci!”

  “Who is it, goddamn you?”

  Bolan’s expression went flat and hard. “His name is Derek Savitch. He’s a lawyer in Canada, some sort of mucky-muck on a committee that oversees Canada’s Special Intelligence Service.”

  “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

  “Check it out.” Bolan spelled the name and then walked out. As he left he added, “But you already know I’m telling the truth. I’ve done all I’m going to do to demonstrate my loyalty, Amocacci. From here out, it’s on you.”

  * * *

  “SO WHAT HAPPENED?” Grimaldi asked.

  He was seated at the table in the U.S. Consulate along with Bolan, Serif, Colonel Bindler and Major Maxwell.

  “Hook, line and sinker,” Bolan said.

  “Finally!” Serif declared with a clap of her hands.

  “Okay, but just how sure are you that he’ll be able to round up the rest of the Council members, Stone?” Bindler asked.

  “He’s been put into a corner and he knows it,” Bolan said. “Now that I’ve given him Savitch’s scent, that aspect of it becomes a secondary consideration. If Amocacci thinks he can use Savitch as the scapegoat, and I have no reason to think he can’t, he may see this as an opportunity to glue the pieces back together.”

  “Then once they know that they were duped, they’ll rally behind him,” Maxwell said.

  Bolan nodded. “Exactly. He’ll be hailed as a hero once more and they’ll go ahead with whatever major operation they had planned.”

  “Do you think he’ll bring you into it?”

  Bolan shook his head. “No. But he doesn’t have to. In fact, I’m counting on the fact he won’t. He’ll figure I’m sitting on my hands in Istanbul, awaiting his reply with bated breath.”

  “When in fact what we’ll be doing is tailing him straight to their base of operations,” Serif interjected. “Which we’re now pretty confident is in or near his home near the Yildiz Mountains.”

  “You located it?” Bolan asked.

  It was Bindler who replied. “She did, once I authorized the surveillance. You see, Alara was always convinced that’s where Amocacci met with the other members of the Council. But we could never allow her to pursue it in any official capacity. In fact, the few times I sent reports to the Pentagon I was ordered not to pursue the matter further. Apparently they didn’t want to waste resources on it.”

  Maxwell shook his head. “Stupidest decision I’ve ever seen them make. One that almost cost the lives of some good men.” He gestured at Serif. “And this woman.”

  “At ease on that shit, Major,” Bindler snapped.

  “Aye, sir.”

  Bindler continued. “It was completely amazing to me to learn, however, that as soon as this Hal Brognola got involved, all of a sudden I had whatever resources I needed. I even had representatives from the Pentagon shouting, ‘Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full.’ Now how do you explain that?”

  Bolan grinned. “That is quite interesting. But I don’t think we should spend too much valuable time pondering the why. Do you, Colonel?”

  “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

  “So how did you resolve finding his location?” Grimaldi inquired.

  Serif grinned and looked at Bindler, who nodded. She turned to a nearby computer keyboard and began to type while Maxwell picked up a remote and turned on an overhead projector. It wasn’t exactly the high-tech setup at Stony Man Farm, but the U.S. Consulate to Turkey didn’t have near the same budget as the most covert special operations group in the world.

  “These are satellite images taken at Colonel Bindler’s request,” Serif said. “This topographical map overlay shows us the exact coordinates of his residence. Now, if you look carefully, you’ll notice these heat signatures.”

  Bolan nodded. “Way too regular to be natural springs or geographical phenomena.”

  “Correct! And financial records confirm the residence there was purchased, along with the land grant of twenty-five acres surrounding it, by Amocacci and Lady Fellini unde
r special authorization of the Turkish government.”

  “So when he leaves every weekend,” Bolan said, “you think he was going to meet them.”

  Serif nodded. “I do believe so, yes. And while I don’t have any substantial proof, if he calls a meeting of the Council and then departs immediately for Malko Tarlovo by his personal chopper...”

  “We’ll know exactly where he’s headed,” Grimaldi said.

  “Yes!”

  Bolan turned to Bindler. “You have a chopper here at the consulate.”

  It wasn’t a question and Bindler nodded. “Yes. But it’s strictly for the use of the consul or his chief of staff. And it’s not equipped with any weapons.”

  “What kind is it?” Grimaldi asked.

  “Huey YH-40,” Maxwell replied. “One of the six that was originally prototyped and then given to various agencies. It was meant to be a replacement for the Iroquois but with the stretch cabin.”

  “I’m familiar,” Grimaldi said. He turned to Bolan. “It could be easily modified if we had the right equipment.”

  “What about range?”

  “If nothing else, it will definitely make the trip with fuel to spare. And since we’ll be light, we can add extra fuel drums.”

  “Excuse me,” Bindler said. “I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but there’s no way the consul will agree to let you borrow his helicopter.”

  “Then we won’t borrow it,” Grimaldi said. “We’ll just take it.”

  Serif’s eyes went wide. “You can do that?”

  Grimaldi merely nodded and replied with a grin, “The President will usually ask nicely first. Then if he gets any flack, he tends to become a bit tougher about it.”