Thunder Down Under

by Don Pendleton

  Everyone got into the roomy SUV, letting Travis drive them into the Outback. They quickly left the small town behind and, after a few minutes, seemed to be the only moving vehicle around for dozens of sun-seared kilometers.

  Bolan’s special glasses automatically darkened to protect his eyes from the blinding sunlight, which was good, since there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The digital dashboard thermometer said it was a roasting 103 degrees outside, which was not going to make for pleasant walking around. Bolan had made sure to stay hydrated, in case there was some sort of trouble at the site. Even now he was drinking from a bottle of water as he scanned the desolate landscape around them.

  “Yeah, it can be a special kind of hell out here,” Travis said when he noticed Bolan staring at the Outback. “I really feel bad for the work crews that built our facility—that had to be tough as hell.”

  “I bet,” Bolan replied. “Definitely wouldn’t want to be stuck out here on foot.”

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t get very far without water or some way to keep the sun off. The heat’s the real danger out here, since it’s so hot you don’t sweat, so you don’t realize you’re getting dehydrated until it’s too late.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Bolan said then drained his water bottle. Under the gaze of looking around, he glanced at the three men in the back seat. They all seemed fairly relaxed, either looking out the windows or straight ahead. One of them met Bolan’s gaze and nodded.

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about from those AFN buggers with us on the job, mate.”

  “Good to know.” Bolan had hoped to get a message from Stony Man by now, wanting to know if Kurtzman or Tokaido had come up with anything useful yet. But his phone remained stubbornly still, with no vibration to signal an incoming message. While he waited, Bolan leaned back in his seat and tried to enjoy the bumpy ride over the rutted road.

  The scenery of flat, red dirt, scrub brush and an occasional storm-carved gully didn’t change for another seventy minutes, when a chain-link fence and rows and rows of parallel white pipes rose out of the ground and wound their way across several acres. Although there were several small structures scattered throughout the site, there was nothing large enough for a human to live in.

  “Yep, it’s quite a marvel of engineering,” Travis said as they pulled up to the security gate. “Mr. Martin thinks it’s gonna revolutionize the LNG industry, and I think he’s right.” He winked at Bolan. “We’re planning on marketing this system all over the world, by the way. You might want to think about diversifying your stock portfolio once you get out of here. I’ve put a fair share of my retirement funds into company stock.”

  “I’ll be in a better position to make that call once we’re done here,” Bolan replied as the gate rolled back and they drove into the compound. “Have you made any changes to security since the deaths of those two officers?”

  “Not yet,” Travis admitted. “We’re supposed to rework the entire camera system to a wired model, but finding ones that can handle these kinds of extreme conditions is difficult. Plus, there’s the expense.”

  Travis parked the Rover near some concrete blocks that were scattered across the ground. “Was something here originally?” Bolan asked.

  “We had engineering shacks on site, but those were removed after the incident,” Travis answered. “If none of our people are out here, we didn’t want to provide any shelter for any AFN people who might want to hang around to bushwhack our incoming folks.”

  “Makes sense,” Bolan said as he got out of the SUV. The heat was like a full body blow after the coolness of the Rover and he took a few seconds to adjust, using the opportunity to take a long look around. After that, he headed to the back of the SUV in time to catch part of a muttered conversation.

  “—dunno why we gotta hang around here so long, when we know what the end result’s gonna be.”

  Bolan couldn’t tell who was talking, but it sounded like Davey Pomfrey.

  “Stow that talk and just follow your orders, okay?” Travis replied. He came around the corner of the Rover and started at seeing Bolan there. “Whoa! Careful, mate—nearly scared me outta my boots,” he said with a quick smile. “Ready to go?”

  Bolan raised his tablet. “Absolutely.” He stepped around the corner of the SUV to see the others all armed with SIG Sauer pistols at their waists and holding HK submachine guns. Pausing, he whistled. “That’s some serious hardware you guys have there.”

  Travis shrugged. “Well, those blokes used a sniper rifle to off our guys, so we figured we’d better come prepared, y’know?”

  Bolan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, except if they do have a sniper out here again, those weapons don’t exactly have the range to take him out. We’d kind of be screwed down here.”

  For a moment the four security men just stared at him. Then Travis broke the silence with a hearty laugh. “For an environmental engineer, you sure know your weapons, mate. That reminds me, I never did ask where you learned how to shoot.”

  “Weekend warrior ranch,” Bolan replied, his face expressionless.

  Again, the four men stared at him, as if expecting him to let them in on the joke, but he didn’t smile or say another word, just walked forward and pointed at the entrance to the maze of pipes. “Figure we’ll start there, right?”

  “Uh, yeah, that’s good. Lead on,” Travis said.

  Bolan began walking forward, slow enough that he caught some interesting looks being exchanged between Travis and his subordinates. Something was definitely going on with these guys, and the Executioner didn’t intend to be taken out if they made a play.

  Still, he kept up the ruse of being an environmental engineer, looking at the various pipe structures his tablet guided him to, slowly walking the perimeter for thirty minutes—making sure the security men stayed with him every step of the way—and finally coming to a wide ramp slant-cut into the earth. It led to a massive steel door. “This must be the underground loading facility, right?”

  Travis nodded. “You got it.”

  “Well, might as well have a look inside,” Bolan said. “Open it up, please.”

  Travis took out what looked like a heavy-duty garage remote, pointed it at the door and pressed a button. The thick door began to rise ponderously into the earthen ceiling.

  “Bet that cost a pretty penny,” Bolan said.

  “About a million, I heard,” Travis replied and then gestured into the dark cavern. “After you.”

  Bolan started down the ramp into the truck bay. As his eyes adjusted, he had to admit it was an impressive feat of construction. “How many tankers can this handle at one time?”

  “Eight,” Travis replied. “Supposedly the system can load one up full in about twenty minutes. Once we get the system running 24/7, we’ll be hauling about twenty million liters out of here a week.”

  “That’s quite a haul. And all automated, right?” Still walking deeper into the massive space, Bolan whistled again and glanced at the men behind him to get an answer.

  Travis nodded. “Yup. All remote viewed from HQ.”

  They were now about twenty meters from the entrance. “Are there supposed to be lights coming on in here?”

  “Technically, yes, they’re usually motion-sensored for maintenance personnel, but I don’t think that system is on right now,” Travis said, shifting from foot to foot as he watched Bolan look around.

  “That’s fine, I was just wondering,” Bolan replied. “You know, I would invest in Wallcorloo, except the price of LNG’s been dropping over the past eighteen months, which only makes sense to short LNG futures.”

  He turned to face the four men, who had now fanned out in a loose line in front of him, their weapons either held against their shoulders or at a loose port arms—both positions allowing the shooter to bring the weapon into target acquisition and fire in about two seconds.

  “
I’d also be more positive about the value of my portfolio if I wasn’t pretty sure you all brought me out here to kill me.”

  Chapter Twenty

  As his words echoed in the large, empty tanker bay, Bolan saw four distinct reactions from the men in front of him. Travis took his pronouncement the best, a slight narrowing of his eyes the only evidence that Bolan had surprised him. Two of his men didn’t hide their astonishment as well, with widening eyes and one even raising his weapon to point at Bolan. The last one was apparently caught completely off guard, for his mouth fell open and he began to say, “How the fuck did you know—”

  “Shut the hell up, Pomfrey!” Travis said then chuckled. “Although I expect it won’t matter in a couple more minutes.”

  “Careful,” Michael Tennant said. He was the one openly aiming his weapon now. “He’s got a pistol at his back.”

  “Good eye.” Bolan evaluated where and how the four men were standing. He’d revealed that he knew about their plan because he wanted to take at least one of them alive. If he’d drawn on them, odds were he would have gotten killed in the ensuing firefight. He was good, but not that good at point-blank range.

  “Well,” Travis said as he drew his gun, “don’t try for it, and you’ll live a couple minutes longer.”

  “Okay.” Bolan nodded, spreading his hands—including the one holding the tablet—away from his sides. “So, all of this was a false-flag operation to frame the AFN and make it look like they were behind the attacks.”

  “You did put it together—I knew you were a smart one.” Travis tapped his temple. “Shoulda known you were onto us when you picked up on the fact we didn’t bring a long gun.”

  Bolan’s face turned deadly serious. “And to sell it, you had two of your own people killed. That’s pretty heartless.”

  The security leader shrugged. “Omelets and eggs, y’know? Had to make the idea of ‘indigenous terrorists’ believable, after all.”

  “What, industrial sabotage wasn’t enough?”

  Travis shook his head. “Not if you’re trying to reverse a court order protecting those little shits. You gotta have a damn good reason to stomp them down.”

  “No wonder you were so comfortable talking about Martin’s reasons to eradicate the AFN on the way over here—you already knew I wasn’t coming back,” Bolan said. “And mind if I ask where I—pardon me, where my body—comes into this?”

  Travis gestured at Bolan with his gun. “Well, once an American gets killed in another regrettable terrorist act, we’ll use the outrage from your embassy and government to fast-track the legislation stripping the AFN of its protected status and free up that land for exploitation. In three years, Wallcorloo will be the largest mining company on the continent.”

  “Unless I stop it,” Bolan said, waving the tablet he held his hand. “I’ve been recording this entire conversation. Once it gets back to the authorities, Martin, you, and the rest of the conspirators—most likely the entire company—are screwed.”

  The four men all laughed hard at that. Bolan ignored them and continued. “The other thing is, do you really think that I’m an environmental engineer? I was sent here by the US government. Take me out, and that won’t be the end of it.”

  “You dumb fuck!” Travis said. “First of all, we’re two hundred kilometers from the nearest cell tower—you have no way to send that file anywhere. And assuming you’re telling the truth about working for the US government, that’s even better for us—if the AFN killed an American engineer, that’s one thing, but if they kill an American agent, that’s another thing entirely. Finally, once you’re dead, that tablet of yours takes a bullet, as well, and poof!—there goes your precious fucking evidence.”

  The other three men were still chuckling over Bolan’s apparent idiocy when he said, “Guess I’ll just have to make sure it comes with me.”

  With that he released the power button he’d been holding down as he turned the screen toward the four men and closed his eyes. The tablet emitted a series of blinding flashes as it released high-powered bursts of light directly at the security men.

  The effect was instant. With their eyes adjusted to the dim light of the truck bay, the strobing light hit their optic nerves like a stun grenade. All four men were rendered temporarily blind. Shouts and curses filled the air:

  “What the fuck—!”

  “Jesus, I can’t see!”

  “Somebody shoot that bastard!” This last one came from Travis as he stumbled away, waving his pistol in Bolan’s general direction.

  The Executioner seized the momentary advantage, drawing his pistol and running at the man nearest to him. Grabbing the guy’s submachine gun, he wrestled it out of his hands, then smashed his pistol butt into his adversary’s face. The guy’s nose pulped under the blow and he staggered backward slightly, both hands clasped to his face as he squealed in agony.

  Unfortunately, one of the others gunners homed in on the noise. He aimed his submachine gun in that general direction and squeezed the trigger, sending a burst of bullets ripping toward Bolan. He was already moving, but one lucky round lanced through his right arm as he took off toward the ramp. He ignored the pain and ran for the outside.

  “He’th runnin’! He’th runnin’!” the broken-nosed man shouted through a mouthful of blood.

  The Executioner raced forward as fast as he could as more gunfire erupted from behind him, hoping the bright sunlight ahead would throw off their aim again. Fortunately none of the bullets hit, although a few came uncomfortably close.

  He angled across the ramp, which took him farther way from the security men and brought him closer to the steep earthen berm. To keep their heads down, he pointed the gun back over his shoulder and rapid-fired into the loading bay.

  “Jesus, get down!” Travis shouted. A few more bullets flew out of the underground room, but none came near Bolan. He reached the berm and scrambled up it, grimacing at using his injured arm.

  “Goddamn it, get after him!” he heard Travis shout. “Bastard’s bleeding—should be easy to track him!”

  They were recovering faster than Bolan had expected. He also realized that the security chief made a good point. The blood drops would be easy to track. He’d have to do something about that.

  When he reached the top of the embankment, he briefly considered trying to catch them in an ambush as they came out, but discarded the idea, figuring it would be better to take them out one by one in the maze of pipes that made up most of the facility. After all, they probably didn’t want to damage the equipment here. He, however, had no such restriction.

  As the Executioner ran for the entrance to the pipe section, he holstered his handgun and tore off his right shirt sleeve, taking a few precious seconds to bandage his wound, which also ended his blood trail. The bullet had punched through the flesh at the edge of his triceps muscle; the injury limited his use of the arm but wasn’t life-threatening. Bolan plunged into the narrow access corridors between the high walls of pipes and headed for the middle of the area.

  Along the way, he tried accessing the Stony Man network with his tablet using the satellite uplink mode. After a few moments Akira Tokaido’s face appeared.

  “Striker, I was just about to call you! We got the guy behind the murder of those two officers.”

  “Let me guess—about forty-five years old, rangy, thinning brown hair, blue eyes?” Bolan asked.

  “Uh...yeah, this guy.” A familiar picture appeared in his feed. “How’d you know?”

  “Because he and three other guys are trying to kill me right now. I lost them in the pipe maze here. I’m sending you a file of the confession just in case I don’t make it out.”

  “Holy shit! What do you need?”

  “You got access to a satellite view of this facility?”

  The sound of tapping keys could be heard. “Of course. It’s up now.”

 
“Good, you’re going help me find them. You got visual?”

  “Yup... I see you, and have eyes on three guys, who have split up and are taking three separate routes to try to pin you down.”

  “Let’s take the one farthest away. Get me close, then I’m going topside to get the drop on him.”

  “Okay, plotting route now. Follow these directions. They’ll take you to a point where you can bag him.”

  Bolan followed Tokaido’s directions through the maze, turning left, then left again, then right. “Okay, go down about twenty paces and climb up on your left. By the time you’re up there, he should be in prime position for you.”

  Bolan tucked his tablet away in a cargo pocket, then quickly counted off twenty steps. Slinging his captured submachine gun, he hoisted himself up the thick, insulated pipes, ignoring the twinges of pain from his injured arm. Reaching the top, he stayed low and began crawling over the rows to the next corridor.

  True to Tokaido’s word, the security officer, Davey Pomfrey, was slowly advancing past him down the passage, submachine gun at the ready. Bolan waited until the man was about a half step past him, then stood and jumped down on top of him, planning to drive an elbow into the side of his head and knock him unconscious.

  But as he rose, his shadow fell over the man, who started to turn. Bolan was already moving and couldn’t change course in midair. The shooter tried to bring his gun up just as the Executioner crashed into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

  Pomfrey’s gun went flying out of his hands and he scrambled away and rolled to his feet. Bolan also rose to his knees. As he brought his weapon around on its strap, the young security officer advanced on him. Pomfrey pistoned his leg in a front kick that landed on the Executioner’s shoulder, the blow striking the nerve cluster there, rendering the entire arm numb.

  “Son of a bitch, making us look bad,” Pomfrey said as he bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet. “You fucked up Carl’s face right good. Get up and fight, you bastard! I’ll kick your ass from here back to Melbourne!”