Bolan got to his feet and stood for a moment, waiting for Pomfrey’s next move. The security officer abruptly came at him with both fists raised above his head. He led with his foot again, kicking the slung gun away from his adversary, then bringing his right fist down on the Executioner’s face, followed by his left.
Seeing the blows coming, Bolan dodged the first one, so it impacted his already numb left shoulder. The second punch slammed into the top of his head. It was more annoying than anything else, so he decided to end this fight right now.
Before the young man could get back out of range, Bolan brought his injured right arm around and trapped Pomfrey’s left forearm against his side. As the younger man drew back his free fist to smash Bolan’s nose into paste, the Executioner brought up his right knee and drove it into his opponent’s stomach.
With a whoosh, Pomfrey folded in two. Bolan dropped his knee then brought it up again, this time into the security man’s solar plexus. That dropped him to the ground, wheezing.
Bolan quickly stripped him of his holstered pistol, which he tossed away, then he grabbed the multipurpose knife clipped to Pomfrey’s utility belt. Cutting strips of cloth from the MPO’s uniform, he secured the man’s arms behind his back. Securing his legs, as well, the Executioner pocketed the knife, picked up the guy’s submachine gun and headed back into the maze of pipes.
“One down, two, possibly three to go,” he said. “Where’s the next one?”
“Coming up behind you!” Tokaido stated.
Bolan looked back to see an empty corridor. “That’s not happening—”
“Up, look up!”
Bolan did so in time to see Michael Tennant standing on the pipes to his left, aiming his subgun at him.
Chapter Twenty-One
There was no time to think, only react.
Bolan dived back toward the stack of pipes Tennant was standing on, feeling bullets split the air where he’d just been a moment before. Rolling up against the stack, he raised his captured submachine gun and shot a quick burst into the air near where the security guard would have stuck his head over to get a bead on him.
Realizing he was still in a terrible position, Bolan crawled back down toward where he’d left Pomfrey. Just in time, too—a gun stock appeared over the side and rattled off a burst of bullets into the ground near Bolan’s former position.
Even worse, the shooter started to walk bursts toward him, the rounds kicking up puffs of dust as they came closer and closer. Bolan could just catch glimpses of Tennant as he walked along the pipes, staying out of sight and avoiding being a target while still being able to fire down into the corridor kill zone. Bolan had to do something before he ran out of passageway.
Immediately he realized what that was. But as he was about to raise his subgun again, Tokaido’s voice sounded in his ear. “Whatever you do, Striker, don’t fire at the pipes. The LNG will vaporize, and if there’s a spark, it could send the whole place up, you included.”
“Thanks for the advice!” Bolan quipped as he scrambled away from the incoming rounds. “Tell that to the shooter!”
“Try moving laterally!” Tokaido suggested.
Crazy, but it just might work. Getting to his feet, Bolan lunged out and across the pipe corridor, emptying the rest of the magazine as soon as he got a bead on Tennant.
Only about half of his rounds hit, but that was more than enough to do the job. The security man jerked under the impact of the bullets, then staggered backward and fell down on the other side of the corridor.
“Damn it—could have used his ammo,” Bolan said. “Still, that’s another man down. I smashed in the nose of one of the security men, and he possibly got hit with bullets meant for me. So if he’s out of play, there’s just one left. Where is he, Akira?”
“I’m...not sure.”
“Really? What do you mean you’re not sure?”
“I mean I can’t find him anywhere in the maze. He’s disappeared.”
“Did he head back to the SUV?” Bolan asked, looking around the immediate area.
“No, it’s still there,” Tokaido answered. “What now?”
“Give me a second.” Just to make sure, Bolan climbed to the top of the nearest pipe stack just high enough to poke the top of his head out and look around. There was no sign of Travis anywhere.
“You know, I’m watching you from a hundred miles up with a camera that can read a newspaper article. When I say the guy isn’t around, you can take my word that he isn’t around.”
“Right. Well, where did he go to ground then?”
“There’s underground access corridors for maintenance personnel. Maybe he’s using those to get around.”
“Great. Where’s the nearest access hatch?”
“Bringing up the schematics now... Head down the left corridor and you’ll come to a manhole cover,” Tokaido directed. “You should be able to access the underground section there.”
“Sure, but if you can’t see him, I guess I’ll have to hunt him down myself.”
“Unfortunately that sounds about right. And remember, don’t go shooting down there or you’ll likely blow the whole place up and yourself along with it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bolan said drily as he came to the access hatch. “You sure that satellite doesn’t have an infrared lens?”
“No, it doesn’t,” the Stony Man hacker replied. “Besides, how well do you think it would work when the surroundings are hotter than the person I’m trying to find?”
“Good point,” Bolan said. “Okay, I’m going radio silent. If you happen to come up with a brilliant solution to find this guy, text me, okay?”
“Will do, Striker. Good hunting—and good luck.”
“Yeah, I just might need it. Striker out.”
Bolan’s left arm had regained most of its mobility, and he used it to pry up the cover, holding his submachine gun in his right hand in case he needed to shoot. He sucked up the pain in his arm. He’d managed to fight with worse.
The passage heading down was smooth concrete, with a metal ladder bolted to the side that descended into darkness. There didn’t seem to be anyone below.
Slinging his captured submachine gun so that he had two of them crisscrossed on his back, Bolan adjusted his pistol holster so his SIG Sauer was now on his left side. Taking a deep breath, he began climbing down.
The ladder was longer than he expected; by the time his feet touched the ground, Bolan figured he was at least thirty meters under the surface. The access corridor went off in both directions from where he stood, and was narrow, warm and dim. There were motion-sensitive lights near the floor that gave enough light to see by—apparently the maintenance workers brought their own lights with them to work.
Unfortunately that also meant Travis would see him coming. The security team leader could just get in a comfortable spot and wait for Bolan to walk close enough, then pot-shot him using the light as a guide. Not what he wanted to walk into, he thought as he looked around.
Much like the surface, the walls of the tunnel were covered with more pipes, as was the ceiling. They seemed to be fairly sturdy, and that gave him an idea. There was enough space to brace his boots on the side pipes, and he could use his left arm to hold himself up on the ceiling pipes. His right hand would be holding his pistol, despite Tokaido’s warning.
He lifted himself into position and waited. After thirty seconds the floor lights winked out, leaving him in near darkness lessened only by the sunlight coming in the open access hole. Cautiously, Bolan moved a foot forward, then another one, then his hand.
The lights stayed off. Bolan repeated the process. The lights stayed off.
Now he could sneak up on Travis...except Bolan wouldn’t be able to see him, either. Regardless, there was no other option but to start sweeping forward and hope he somehow found Travis before the security
team leader found him.
Once the light was left farther behind, Bolan’s world settled into monotonous repetition: move, listen, move, listen, move, listen. The listening part was just as difficult, as there were plenty of ambient noises in the corridor: the distant whoosh of ventilations fans, the faint slosh of the liquid natural gas running through the pipes, Bolan’s own breathing as he tried to stay perched on his improvised position.
Soon he was surrounded by darkness. He couldn’t even see the exit hatch anymore and realized that the tunnel had to be curving away from it. That made sense—if the overall tunnel was arranged in a circle, then access to any point on the grounds was only a portion of the circumference away, depending on where a person entered from the surface. And if this held true, then eventually he would encounter Travis at some point during the circuit.
Hand, foot, foot, listen, repeat. Hand, foot, foot, listen repeat. Hand—
Bolan nearly fell as his hand encountered a sharp right turn in the pipe. He was barely able to hold on and teetered dangerously on the edge for a few moments. When he was secure again, he reached out with his gun hand, gently tapping the pipe first then the wall.
The corridor branched here, turning to the left. Could be a cross-pattern layout, possibly with some kind of control room in the middle. Figuring that’s where Travis might hole up, Bolan began heading down the branch.
This time he was rewarded after only a few minutes. A glimmer of light could be seen at the end of the hallway. The moment he spotted it, Bolan stopped and let his eyes adjust. He was also trying to see where the light was coming from and if anyone was near or around it. He didn’t see any movement near it, but that didn’t mean Travis wasn’t close.
Even more slowly, Bolan began creeping forward again. Bit by bit he drew closer, until he could make out where the light was coming from—the entrance to a small room of some kind, but he couldn’t make out what it was. The pipes continued all around it, however.
Bolan was about twenty meters from the entrance when the light winked off. Immediately he dropped to the ground as gunfire erupted from near the door, sending bullets whizzing overhead.
The moment he hit the ground, the motion sensor lights flickered on. Bolan quickly fisted his pistol and turned toward the left one, then the right, shooting them out before they could reveal his position.
“You’re not the only one who can use light to his advantage, Cooper!” Travis called out from somewhere in the darkness ahead. “Only difference is, I can still see now!”
He had to have night vision, Bolan thought as more shots passed by overhead. He was in a really bad situation—unable to move forward without revealing himself and too far into the hallway to retreat without doing the same thing. He needed some way to neutralize Travis’s sight—and then he had it.
He slid his tablet out and readied it. He closed his eyes, held the power button down for five seconds and released it while aiming the screen toward the room. A strangled cry told him he had guessed correctly—Travis’s night-vision goggles had flared out.
Bolan leaped up and charged down the hallway, pistol at the ready. Travis staggered out of the doorway, his gun pointing upward.
The Executioner fired first but the bullet had to have hit the security man’s gun and ricocheted. He heard an odd plunk, then the corridor was suddenly filled with what looked like thick clouds of white steam—but wasn’t.
Travis screamed as the 162-degree Celsius fog blasted over him. Dropping his pistol, he lurched into the corridor toward Bolan, clutching his face. “My eyes! My eyes!”
Bolan mercifully helped him by sweeping his legs out from under him, then clocking the still shouting man on the back of the head. He fell silent and the Executioner leaned against the wall as the cold clouds of natural gas dissipated.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It took a few hours to get everything cleaned up and squared away, but by nightfall Bolan was back in Melbourne and walking into Wallcorloo’s headquarters again. He didn’t look any worse for wear from his trip to the Amadeus LNG site, except for a bit of stiffness in his now bandaged upper right arm.
“Hi, there,” he said to the guard as he walked to the desk. “I’m heading up to see Mr. Martin—but you don’t need to tell him I’m coming.” He reinforced his request by showing the man the pistol in his hand. Kurtzman had already looped the external and internal security systems, but Bolan kept his weapon tight to his body so if Martin happened to be watching the lobby on his own closed circuit, he wouldn’t see what was happening.
“Keep your hands up and move away from the console,” he ordered the guard, who complied. Bolan came around the desk and zip-tied the man to his chair, relieved him of any communication devices and then wheeled him into the janitor’s closet and closed the door.
“Guard is neutralized. Lock the building down,” he said as he strode to the elevator.
“Silent lockdown in progress,” Kurtzman said in his ear. Basically, the Stony Man computer wizard was sealing off the building but making it look to anyone inside like it was still accessible. Only when someone actually tried to leave would they find they had been effectively trapped on their floor.
“Building is secure,” Bolan heard as he got on the elevator to Angus Martin’s office level. When the doors opened, he stepped out and walked over to Martin’s desk.
The man was writing on some sort of thick document. “What is it? I’m heading to dinner soon.”
“Hello, Angus.”
Martin started at Bolan’s voice, then looked up. The naked fear showed on his face for only a moment before it turned into a huge smile. “Matt! My God, man, you’re all right!” He came around the desk. “We were really worried when we lost contact with your team. What happened out there?”
“This.” Bolan held up his smartphone and pressed the play button.
“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. Shoulda known you were onto us when you picked up on the fact we didn’t bring a long gun.”
“And to sell it, you had two of your own people killed. That’s pretty heartless.”
“Omelets and eggs, y’know? Had to make the idea of ‘indigenous terrorists’ believable, after all.”
“What, industrial sabotage wasn’t enough?”
“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. And mind if I ask where I—pardon me, where my body—comes into this?”
“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.”
As he listened to the recording, Martin’s face turned from its normal ruddy shade to something resembling parchment. When Bolan stopped the recording, he pulled at his collar. “My God, Ian Travis was conspiring to kill you! And he had those other two MP officers shot? That’s awful—”
“All of this was done on your orders, Martin.” Bolan’s eyes flashed as he cut him off. “No one acted on their own in this—they followed your directives. This is all coming down on you, and I’m going to make sure of it.”
The mining industrialist recoiled and then seemed to regain a bit of his bluster. “That so-called ‘confession’ won’t hold up in a court. You’ve got no real evidence linking me to any of this. The idea of Wallcorloo involved in such sordid behavior—”
“—was exactly why you did it, figuring no one would ever
suspect a multinational company like yours to hire an armed private military force to carry out attacks on its own people,” Bolan finished for him. “But we did figure it out, and now I’m taking you down.”
Martin raised his hands and took a step backward. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Cooper—Matt—let’s be reasonable here. Whatever evidence you think you’ve uncovered, or conclusions you may have leaped to, I’m sure we can reach a settlement that both of us will be happy with. Now, why don’t you just take a breath and think through your position for a moment here?”
“I don’t need to think about anything here, Angus,” Bolan said in a graveyard voice, “because I can’t be bought, no matter how much money you have. That’s what you and people like you don’t understand—that there are still a lot of good people who can’t be bought, can’t be bribed to carry out your dirty work.
“Just to be clear, I’m not an environmental engineer sent out here to assist you in propping up your despoiling of the land. I was sent here to get to the bottom of the two deaths on your company property, and to find out who was behind it. And thanks to your own people—including the head of security—who are all testifying that you were behind the whole thing, you’ll be spending the rest of your life in prison.”
By the time he’d finished speaking, Martin’s face had gone chalk-white and he was leaning against the edge of his desk for support. “What? But they promised...they promised me a person would come from the US and see things my way...” He staggered around the desk to his leather chair and collapsed into it.
“Well, that’s another thing about the US—we may promise lots of things, but we never fail to follow through when it comes to getting justice,” Bolan said. “Stand up. There are people waiting to take you into custody.”
“Take me...into custody?” Martin raised his head to stare at Bolan, the light of defiance gleaming in his eyes. “You think you’re going to parade me, Angus Martin, through the streets like a common criminal? I think not!”
Thunder Down Under Page 15
