"All right, you just watch. If you don't know by the time we get there, I'll fill you in. Fair enough?"
"Nothing's fair about any of this, Eli. You know that as well as I do."
Cohen didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
22
Malcolm Parsons was in way over his head. It was a truth he had been trying to ignore for too long. One by one, his illusions had crumbled. His control was less than he had thought. His money didn't come from the source he had imagined. He was less a mover and shaker than he wanted to believe.
Instead of using people, he had been used. He had fought against the truth, fought long and hard. Now, pacing back and forth in the heart of a concrete fortress, he could no longer deny it.
Being forced to take the life of Allan Reynolds meant little in comparison to this realization.
For as long as he could remember, he'd thought he was more important than he really was. Now reality had risen up and slapped him in the face. Now reality answered to the name Glinkov. It was, he knew, too late to save Alan Reynolds. It was too late to rescue whatever shreds of dignity he had left. It was even too late to preserve his reputation as a man who got things done. And he was afraid it might be too late to save his own life.
Whatever Glinkov was planning, it was clear there was no longer a need for Malcolm Parsons. He had been used by the Russian, skillfully and ruthlessly. Parsons was enough of a tactician to admire the Russian's work. He had used Parsons just as Parsons had used so many others.
There was only the slimmest of chances that Parsons could yet pull this one out.
Glinkov stood in the doorway, watching Parsons pace. "Malcolm, you seem upset," Glinkov said, finally betraying his presence.
"You bastard. You scheming, bloody bastard," Parsons roared. He charged the smaller man angrily.
Glinkov smiled, waiting until Parsons was within reach, then smacked the taller man across the face as one would smack an unruly child.
Parsons fell back. He was stunned, less by the blow than by the manner of its delivery. He rubbed his cheek, muttering under his breath. Glinkov continued to stand in the doorway as if nothing had happened. It wouldn't be long before this insufferable egomaniac could be dispensed with once and for all, he thought.
"Get control of yourself, Malcolm. You're behaving like a child. That won't get either of us anywhere now, will it?"
"I ought to kill you, Andrey. I really ought to."
"And why is that?"
"Because you used me. You used me, and you used people who believed in me."
"And I suppose you never used anyone, Mr. Parsons. Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
"Maybe I did, but it was for some purpose. I wanted to make a difference in the world."
"Don't think for one minute that I have no purpose, Malcolm. And don't believe that I won't make a difference. I daresay, before the night is over, I will have made more of a difference than you could ever dream of."
"Not if I can help it, you won't."
"But my dear Malcolm, don't you see? That is precisely why you're so upset. You can't help it, and you know it. I understand it must come as something of a shock to you, but you are far too simple a man. Events have been set in motion that are far bigger than anything you could ever imagine. Now why don't you just learn to accept that painful fact? Come along. There is someone I want you to see."
"No. I don't want to see anyone."
"Come along like a good little boy."
"You son of a bitch..."
"Follow me." Glinkov turned abruptly and left the room.
His pace, more than his words, told Parsons how sure of himself he was. The Russian knew that he would follow and that he would put up no further argument. Still rubbing his burning cheek, he rushed after Glinkov.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll sec."
Glinkov led the way to an elevator. He pressed the call button and stood with his hands folded behind his back. He paid Parsons no attention. For all the Russian cared, he might have been alone. When the elevator arrived, it opened with a soft hiss. Glinkov stepped to the rear of the car.
Turning to face forward, he indicated the panel of buttons and said, "Press Level 4, if you will, Malcolm."
Parsons did as he was told. Perhaps he had found his true calling. It seemed as if he were fit for nothing more lofty than operating an elevator. The door closed quietly, and a low hum filled the large car. It moved quickly down, marking each level it passed with an electronic beep. Level 4 was the lowest level, buried deeply beneath the ground's surface. When the door opened, Glinkov stepped into the dimly lit bowels of Thunder Mountain. Parsons followed meekly behind him.
Both men instinctively looked up at the ceiling. It was as if they could somehow feel the massive weight of the mountain, and its deadly burden, pressing down on them. The hallway stretched off into near darkness in both directions.
Glinkov turned to the right and moved swiftly ahead.
The size of the tunnel heightened the gloom.
Twenty feet overhead, the fluorescent lamps seemed as far away as stars. The wall on the right was marked by an occasional door.
The left wall was a blank expanse of gray concrete. Glinkov moved briskly, his heels tapping on the concrete floor. Parsons, wearing crepe-soled shoes, made no sound. It was almost as if he wasn't there. When they had traveled nearly two hundred yards, Parsons could make out the figures of two men in the gloom ahead. They stood casually, one on either side of a large steel door. Thirty feet beyond them, the hall ended in a blank wall. A smaller passage met it at right angles. Neither man was familiar to Parsons.
He wondered why it galled him so much that Glinkov had so neatly finessed him. The Russian had been able to pull this off without even bothering to get someone to betray him. How long had he been there in the wings, waiting? Long enough to recruit his own team obviously. And Peter Achison, where did he fit in? Had he been Glinkov's man all along, or had he too been fooled?
Glinkov gestured to one of the guards, and the man fished in his fatigue pockets for a key. The man bent forward in the dim light to fit the key in the lock, then opened the door. Glinkov waved Parsons in before him. Stepping in behind Parsons, Glinkov turned on the overhead light.
"You know Miss Peres, I believe, Malcolm?"
"You know damn well I do."
"Of course, and do you also know that she works for the Mossad?"
"That's preposterous!"
"I think not."
Rachel was sitting on the floor in the far corner of the small room. Her head was slumped forward on her chest, and she seemed not to be aware of them.
"What's wrong with her? What have you done to her?" Parsons demanded.
"You surprise me, Malcolm," Glinkov sneered. "You sound almost as if it mattered to you."
"Well, no, I... but you must be wrong. She's no secret agent, no spy, I..."
"And what makes you so sure? How well do you know her? Where did you meet her? Why was she interested in your little band of fools in the first place? Hmm?"
"I don't know, I..."
"No, Malcolm, you don't. But I do. And I can tell you that she is a Mossad agent. But don't feel too bad. She has fooled better men than you, Malcolm. Even the lofty Central Intelligence Agency has been duped by our little flower here. You should learn not to be so careless about women you take to bed."
"What are you going to do with her?"
"Nothing, for the moment. There is someone looking for her. As long as he has a chance to save her, he will keep on looking. As long as she is still alive, his attention will be divided. He is no ordinary man, Malcolm, as I'm sure you will discover if he ever catches up with you."
"What are you talking about? Why should he even be looking for me? Who is he?"
"His name is Mack Bolan. I'm sure it means nothing to you. Yet. He has been called by other names in the past as sergeant Mercy, Colonel John Phoenix. His file is among our thickest. And right n
ow he is looking for you because he knows you were the last person to see Miss Peres. As far as Mr. Bolan is concerned you are responsible for her disappearance. That, of course, is just what I wanted. It is about time we closed our file. While he is concentrating on you, I can take him by surprise."
Parsons said nothing. He crossed the room to kneel in front of Rachel. He reached forward and took her chin in his hand. Tilting her head back, he gasped involuntarily. Her face was badly bruised. One eye was swollen closed.
"My God, what have you done to her?" Parsons got to his feet and turned to confront the Russian. Glinkov remained impassive, the merest hint of a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth.
"It was essential to gain certain information. Circumstances did not permit the use of more humane methods. But I have my responsibilities to discharge. In a few hours it won't matter anyway."
"What do you mean it won't matter?"
"Surely you don't think I can permit her to live? As soon as Mr. Bolan is out of the way, she will be of no further use to me."
Before Parsons could answer, Rachel groaned.
The older man turned back to her. He knelt again, and Rachel opened her eyes, although she couldn't focus. Parsons wheeled on the Russian.
"You really are a bastard."
"Don't be so squeamish, Malcolm. You're in this all the way, you know. She can send you away for a long time. You wouldn't enjoy spending the rest of your life in prison, would you?"
"Why don't you ask him what he really has in mind, Malcolm?" Rachel's voice was weak, but it startled both men.
"What do you mean?" Parsons demanded.
"Ask him what he plans to do here. Ask him what's going to happen. Go on, ask him."
"Well..." Parsons said, "what is going to happen? Why are you here?"
"Very well. I don't see any harm in telling you now. And it was rather well conceived, even if I say so myself. Ms Peres, thanks to you, has managed to learn a great deal about my intentions. She can fill you in." Glinkov smiled softly. "Go ahead, my dear; tell him."
Parsons turned to Rachel. "What is he planning to do?"
"He's going to sabotage the reactor and pollute the whole area. He'll blow it to kingdom come if he can, or cause a meltdown if he can't. Isn't that right, Mr. Glinkov?"
"Yes."
"Are you out of your mind, Glinkov? Hundreds of thousands of people live around this plant. You're putting them in mortal danger. This was supposed to be a public relations demonstration. We want to teach the people, not kill them."
"That's where you and I disagree, Malcolm. Besides, what could be more educational than a major nuclear accident? If you'll excuse me, I have some things to attend to. Why don't you two get reacquainted?" Glinkov smiled at each of them before turning to walk through the doorway.
Parsons turned to Rachel. "He's serious, isn't he? He really intends to destroy this plant!"
Rachel nodded. "And while you're digesting that, why don't you ask yourself what that means for us?"
"What do you mean?"
"You don't think he can afford to let us live, do you? He's a KGB agent. He's here illegally. There's no way in hell the Soviets want to be connected to this thing. I'm not even sure he's acting on orders."
"But why? I don't understand what's going on here."
"It's quite simple, really. If the U.S. stops using nuclear power, it will have to use more fossil fuels. That makes it more dependent on foreign oil. Which means Arab oil. All the money you thought was coming from Libya was KGB money. They can use the Arabs against the United States and keep their hands clean at the same time. If the U.S. is not self-sufficient, it will become impotent. It looks like he's going to pull it off, too."
Parsons stared glumly at Rachel Peres.
"And you, was it true what he said about you? Are you Mossad?"
"Not anymore. I work for the CIA on a contract basis now. He didn't seem to know that, which is about the only thing he doesn't seem to know."
"Why did you do it? Why did you come to me? Surely you don't think I was party to something so monstrous as this?"
"No, not you. But you were ripe for the picking, Malcolm. You set yourself up. Glinkov didn't have to try very hard. You were all set. You were so damn smug, so damn sure of yourself. I'd be willing to bet it's been a long time since you had any doubts about yourself. Am I right?"
Parsons nodded.
"You would have been if you had asked me yesterday. But that doesn't matter. We have to stop him. He can't be allowed to get away with this. I'll talk to him."
"It's long past talking, Malcolm. Believe me."
"Maybe not. I can try at least."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"Then I'll have to kill him."
Parsons rose. He closed the heavy steel door behind him as he left the room.
23
The guardhouse wasn't much larger than a garage. But it might as well have been a fortress.
Mack Bolan and Eli Cohen stood in the trees, watching. It seemed all they could do at the moment. Bolan began to pace, stomping down the snow with nervous movements. Inside, they had counted four men, each armed with an AK-47. In addition there were the hostages, all bound securely.
There would be no help from them.
"You know, it might be time to take a little risk here, Eli."
"No shit. How the hell else can we get in there? But I'm fresh out of ideas. And if I don't get back to the control room pretty soon, Glinkov is going to wonder where I am. He's already suspicious of me."
"Then we have to move now, don't we?" Bolan said. It wasn't really a question, so Cohen didn't respond.
Bolan stopped pacing and stared at the small cinder block structure. As Cohen watched him, it seemed almost as if the midnight warrior were trying to see through the stone.
After two minutes of silence, Cohen laughed.
"All right, let me hear what you have in mind. I know I won't like it, but what the hell."
"Look, we're sitting here, wondering what to do, because we know which side you're on, right?"
Cohen nodded. "So?"
"We're forgetting one thing. They don't know. As far as they're concerned, you're Glinkov's right-hand man. The boss of security on this operation, right?"
"Go on, I think I see what you're leading up to."
"All you have to do is walk right up to the damn door and knock. They'll let you in. Once you're on the inside everything changes. The odds are in our favor, right?"
"Almost..."
"No almost, Eli, they are. So here's what we'll do. You go on in. Send two of them outside, get them into the trees somehow. Tell them you saw something, or whatever. I'll handle the rest. In the meantime, you can get the drop on the other two. I'll join you as soon as I can. We don't have much of a choice."
Cohen shrugged. "Here goes nothing." He walked out into the open area between the trees and the guardhouse. In a moment he disappeared around the side of the small building.
Bolan heard a heavy rap on the door. Through the window, he saw one of the guards move to open it.
There was some conversation, but the men were too distant for Bolan to hear what was said. Cohen was gesturing with his hands. The voices grew louder, as if someone were arguing with Cohen. Finally one of the men crossed Bolan's line of sight. He disappeared into a corner of the guardhouse, and a coat flew past the window. A moment later the man reappeared, struggling into a heavy parka. The door slammed, and heavy steps sounded on the hardpacked snow. A few seconds later two men rounded the corner, heading in Bolan's direction. They were walking slowly, like kids on the way to school. Bolan didn't know what Cohen had told them, but they obviously weren't happy about his orders. They were grumbling sullenly as they moved into the trees. The Executioner faded back into the shadows. He couldn't afford to jump too soon. A mistake now would blow the whole thing right out of the water. Whatever he did, it had to be silent. And deadly. The men were angry enough to be careless. That was good. But the snow w
as an enemy here. It hampered Bolan's movements and made silence difficult to maintain. The two men passed within fifteen feet of him. But they were too close to the guardhouse. He'd have to let them get deeper into the trees. As they continued their reluctant tramp, Bolan could hear their muffled exchanges. The taller of the two was complaining. "I never liked Cohen, anyway, I tell you. There's something about him that isn't kosher. No pun intended."
"You're just pissed because he's got Glinkov's ear, that's all."
"Ear hell! If I didn't know better, I'd think he had Glinkov by the balls. Who the hell is he, anyhow? I never saw him before this thing got started. Did you?"
"Shit, that doesn't mean anything. I never saw half of those guys before tonight. You know how Achison works. He keeps everything small. Lots of little groups. None of 'em know anything about any of the others. Better security that way."
"Maybe, but I still say I like to know who the hell I'm working with. I don't like to turn my back on somebody I don't know. Don't like to depend on a stranger, either. You never know what a guy'll do."
"Quit griping. In a few hours we'll all be outta here. And with enough money that we won't have to see snow for a year, either. How bad is that?"
They lapsed into silence. Whatever Cohen had told them, it had worked. They were two hundred yards into the trees and still moving. The Executioner was following them step for step. As they walked, they were growing less cautious. Cohen must have sent them on an errand. They sure didn't act like they were looking for an intruder. So much the better. Glancing over his shoulder, Bolan could no longer see the guardhouse. The trees overhead were moving in a stiff breeze. The clack of their branches would cover his approach. If he were lucky. Brognola had once told him that luck wasn't good enough, and he'd been right. But what Hal never seemed to understand was that, good as he was, he still needed luck on his side. The odds were too great to buck without it. Suddenly the two men entered a small clearing. Their bulky outlines could be seen against the bright snow. They stopped and looked at the sky. One of them dropped to one knee. The other took out a small torch, shining it on the ground in front of his companion. The kneeling man brushed at the snow with his gloved hands while the other bent over his shoulder.
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