Meltdown te-97

by Don Pendleton

  "Is it much farther?" Parsons asked.

  "The next door," the guard answered. Why in hell not, he thought. He had a master key. He could open any goddamn door in the place.

  Parsons stopped in front of the door. He turned the knob. The door was open. He stepped on through into the darkness.

  "Get the light, would you, Malcolm?" the guard asked as he followed the antinuke leader into the room.

  Parsons did nothing. Cursing under his breath, the guard reached for the wall switch. He flipped it on, and the fluorescent lights overhead flickered once and then bathed the room with sickly white light. The room was filled, ceiling to floor, with cartons and old office furniture. But where the hell was Parsons?

  "Malcolm? Come on, quit playing games. We have work to do."

  The old man was nowhere to be seen.

  "Malcolm, I'm getting pissed off. Come on, where are you?" The guard stepped forward, working his way into the passage between two tall stacks of cartons. This was a pain in the ass. "Malcolm?"

  Shoes scraped on the concrete floor behind him. The guard turned to see Malcolm Parsons standing at the mouth of the cardboard canyon.

  "What the hell are you doing?" The guard stepped toward Parsons.

  The antinuke leader raised the Walther automatic Glinkov had given him at the farmhouse and shot him in the face. Twice. One bullet smashed into the guard's left eye, then bored its way on through the back of the skull, scattering sticky gray tissue the length of the short passage. The second bullet pierced the forehead, struck the occipital bone and rattled uncertainly around the interior of the cranium, scattering bone fragments before coming to rest not far from its point of entry. Malcolm Parsons had been pushed too far. The guard, of course, was dead.

  25

  Bolan trained his Ingram on Louis and Edmunds while Cohen unlocked the bathroom and freed the hostages. Eli noticed the body of the dead guard in the corner, but said nothing. One by one, the five captives emerged, rubbing their wrists to restore circulation. As each man came out, Bolan waved him to one side. The men were too stunned to ask what was happening. When the fifth man had been freed, Cohen returned to the front office.

  Finally, angry and puzzled, Matt Stevens, the chief of the guardhouse detachment, spoke. "Who are you guys? Are you with them? Or with us?"

  "There is a third possibility," Bolan said.

  "Like hell there is," Stevens snapped. "Look, I'm pretty damned tired of being herded around by assholes with guns. They killed a good man, a good friend, for no reason. I have a right to ask who you are. Who are those guys? Why are you all here?"

  Bolan gestured to Glinkov's men. "This scum ought to be tied up first, don't you think?"

  "I'd like that fine," Stevens said.

  Bolan liked the guy immediately. He obviously had guts. His temper might be getting the better of him at the moment, but he sure didn't hide what was on his mind. And he and Cohen were going to need him.

  Matt Stevens just might be it.

  Stevens went back to the bathroom, returning with several lengths of rope. Quickly he bound Edmunds and Louis. The process was swift, and none too gentle.

  "Take these bastards into the back and watch 'em," he said to his men. "And while you're at it, dig up some spare uniforms. It's too damn cold to stand around in skivvies."

  Cohen interrupted. "Mack, I wasn't kidding. Glinkov wants to see me. I'd better get a move on. You'll handle things on this end?" Cohen smiled. "Sorry, I guess that was a stupid question, wasn't it?" He looked at Bolan and then added, "Yeah, it was."

  "Eli, I'm going with you."

  "So am I," Stevens said. "These pricks have a lot to answer for. No way I'm going to miss it."

  "I guess I should have expected that, was Cohen said."

  "Let's figure out what we're going to do then." The guards were busy slipping into ill-fitting uniforms and grease-stained jeans. Anything that came to hand was better than trying to fight in their underwear.

  When they finished, Stevens sat down at the table and gestured for Bolan to join him.

  "Look, I don't know who you are, but it's seems clear you're on our side. What can we do to help?"

  "Are there weapons here?" Bolan asked.

  "Some. Not many. A couple of pistols and an M-16. That's about it. We got ammo, but nothing much to use it in."

  "The first thing we have to do is get you some guns. You heard what Eli said. We don't have much time. And we don't know exactly what they plan to do with the reactor. But we can't wait. There are fifteen to twenty more terrorists inside the plant. Most of them are in the main building. They've got hostages, but we don't know how many."

  "About thirty, I would guess," Stevens said. "That's the usual night crew. Not much goes on here at night. I better call out for help." He walked to the phone console and punched an outside line. Angrily he punched another, then a third. In disgust, he slammed the phone back to its receiver. "There are no lines to the outside. The one thing working is the intercom."

  "We don't have time to wait for help. We'll have to do this ourselves," Bolan said. "We can get you some weapons. Eli, take one of these guys in the Jeep and get the Kalashnikovs we stashed. Grab everything that shoots." When Cohen left, Bolan turned back to Stevens. "You know the inside of that place. I don't. Educate me."

  Stevens walked to a wall cabinet, returning with a ring binder and a map of the installation. Quickly he and Bolan thumbed through the binder. Bolan needed some idea of the layout of the plant before entering.

  Surprise was their ally, but it wouldn't last long.

  And when it was gone, there would be no substitute for knowledge of the plant. Glinkov and his people had prepared well.

  They had known exactly what they were doing. That meant they had access to information, and plenty of time to digest it. The rough sketch Bolan was getting was no match for that kind of planning. But it was all he had.

  "Any ideas, Matt?"

  "Well, not many. But my best guess is that the hostages would be kept in this building here." He placed a fingertip on the main building of Unit 1. "That's where most of the staff would be anyhow, and there's no point in herding people all over the place."

  "Where in this building?"

  "Well, if you're going to fuck around with the reactor, you got to be in the main control room. That's the easiest place to direct things from. Unless you just want to blow the damn thing sky-high. But that would take a lot of explosives."

  "No. They want to fake an accident," Bolan said. "You're right, the control room is the best place for that."

  "Hell, man, you can't mean they just waltz in here, fake an accident and waltz out. No way. Too many people know what happened. Unless..."

  "That's about it, Matt. No survivors. They're going to kill everybody. They have to."

  "Holy shit!"

  The door banged open. Eli and the guard had returned. Each carried two Kalashnikovs.

  "There's two more out in the Jeep," Eli said.

  Stevens looked at the weapons. "I heard about these bastards, but I never used one. Anybody know anything about it?"

  One of the other guards nodded. "I do. Let me get the others, and I'll give you a lesson." He banged through the door, returning a moment later with two more rifles and several ammo clips.

  "Matt," Bolan asked, "can you scan the inside of the plant from here with the television monitors?"

  "Not completely. But we can check out the lower levels and some of the corridors. What are you looking for?"

  "Not what. Who. And we don't have a clue where they're keeping her."

  "Let's check it out then," Stevens said.

  He punched in the manual control code for the security cameras. The images on one of the four screens stopped jumping about.

  "Check the lower levels first," Bolan directed. "Wherever they've got her, it's bound to be out of the way."

  Stevens selected the cameras on Level 4.

  One at a time, he worked his way from camera to came
ra. The effect on the screen was that of taking a quick walk along the halls.

  In the dim light, it was difficult to see more than a few yards on either side of each camera.

  Stevens was working his way along the outermost corridors. On the third side of the large rectangle marking the boundary of the plant, he stopped.

  "Look at this. I think we got something." Bolan noticed two men leaning against the wall.

  They were positioned between two doors, both of which were closed.

  "Where is that, Matt?"

  "The lowest level. It's on the west corridor. Unless they're hiding out for a smoke, I'd say they're guarding something. Or somebody."

  "Is there anything important on that level of the plant?" Bolan asked.

  "No. It's storage and offices. Big rooms mostly and a couple of engineering labs. But they're not being used much yet."

  "That's got to be where they're keeping her." Mack Bolan got to his feet. "We're going to make plans. Then we have to get moving. As near as I can figure it, we have less than two hours. These animals have to be out of here by dawn."

  Cohen paced anxiously while Bolan sketched out his plan of attack. As soon as Bolan finished, Cohen picked up his Ingram and opened the door. As he stepped through, Bolan grabbed him by the shoulder.

  "We get Rachel, first thing. No matter what."

  Cohen smiled grimly. "You'd better believe it." His voice was metallic, deadly flat.

  "Okay, this is it," Bolan announced as he followed Cohen outside. As Stevens and the others stepped out into the open, an earsplitting hiss issued from the plant. Bolan stared up at a serpentine cloud of steam. The cloud snaked skyward, gradually torn to shreds by the cold wind.

  "Holy shit," Stevens yelled.

  "What's wrong, Matt?"

  "The reactor's venting. There's only one reason it'll do that. The reactor core is melting down. That steam is radioactive!" Stevens didn't have to tell them what it meant.

  They sprinted across the frozen snow.

  Eli Cohen reached the main entrance to the Unit 1 reactor first. Bolan, Stevens and Tony Giancana, one of Stevens's men, were well behind him and to the left. While Eli approached the entrance, the others angled in toward the side of the building, keeping to the shadows. One man had been sent over the fence to find a telephone. The remaining two were to sweep the rest of the plant for strays, then join the others. Cohen nodded to the guard on the door and pushed on it. As soon as the door closed behind him, he turned. Poking his head back out, he called to the sentry. "Got a cigarette?"

  The man reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of Camels. He tapped one free and extended it to Eli.

  "Thanks," Eli said, stepping back outside. He fumbled in his coat for a lighter. The guard snapped his own lighter, and Eli bent into the flame. "I hear they got a girl locked up someplace inside."

  "Yeah. Good-looking broad, too. Wish to hell I pulled guard duty on her instead of standing around in the cold."

  "Who is she?"

  "I don't know. They got her on Level 4 someplace. Way to hell and gone downstairs. David Lawrence is watching her. If I know David, though, he's doing more than watching her, you know?"

  The guard never heard Bolan move in behind him.

  The big guy locked an arm around the man's neck.

  With a swift jerk, he snapped it. The dead man dangled just briefly in Bolan's grip, then Giancana dragged him into the shadows.

  "Okay, Tony." Stevens said, "You wait here for Daniels and Grissom. As soon as they get here, move in. We'll be on Level 4. Once we get Rachel out, we'll need all the help we can get taking the control room."

  Bolan and Stevens joined Cohen inside the building. The concrete floor echoed hollowly under their feet. Bolan was silent. Glinkov would be in the main control room, he knew. The dim lighting in the broad corridors was almost ghostly. Everything in the plant was built on such a colossal scale that he felt insignificant.

  "Come on, she's on Level 4. Let's go." The three men rushed to the elevator bank.

  Bolan and Cohen each pressed the down button at the same time, their thumbs colliding. The elevator took a long time to arrive. Its slow climb marked on the bank of lights gave Cohen time to think. The cameras had show at least two guards. The attack force had been spread rather thin, so he doubted there would be more. On the other hand, where the hell was everybody?

  "Something's wrong."

  "What?"

  "I don't know. But I don't like the way it smells."

  Of the remaining men, he had seen only three, one at the outside door and one at the control room door. That left more than a dozen men unaccounted for.

  Before he had a satisfactory explanation, the elevator arrived. They stepped inside. Cohen pressed the button for Level 4 and walked to the rear of the large car. Then it hit him. It was a setup. Some of the others were below. Glinkov didn't trust him.

  "That's it. Mack, it's a trap. I knew it was too easy. I couldn't figure out where everybody was. Now I know. They're waiting for us down there."

  "No, Eli. They're waiting for you. They don't know Matt and I are here. That gives us the edge. Let's take advantage of it."

  When the elevator reached the lowest level of the plant, the door opened with a soft sigh. Eli stepped cautiously into the corridor. To the left, there was nothing. To the right, he could see the dim outlines of several doors along the near wall. The opposite wall was blank. He waved Bolan and Stevens out.

  "Eli," Bolan whispered, "wait here. Give Matt and me two minutes. We'll work around to the other side. When you get to the guards, make sure they're both watching you. We'll hit them from behind."

  Eli nodded. Bolan and Stevens turned to the left and sprinted down the next passage. Eli counted the seconds. The hands of his watch barely seemed to move. Finally the two minutes were up.

  Slowly, keeping close to the wall, he headed down the corridor. In the dim light he couldn't see very far ahead.

  The first door on the right was closed. Cohen opened it with a turn of the knob. The room was pitch-black.

  He felt for a light switch. When it clicked on, the room was bathed by flickering fluorescent illumination. It was an office of some kind, empty except for its furniture. Cohen walked on to the next doorway. Another empty office. And another. Six in all. There was a long blank space. At its far end, barely discernible in the dim light, was the figure of a man.

  He walked more quickly now, approaching the guard with a confidence he didn't really have.

  "Rachel Peres around here anywhere?" The guard tilted his head to the door beyond.

  Beyond the guard, he couldn't see the second sentry. It puzzled him, but there was no time to worry about it.

  And beyond the guard, Cohen saw Matt Stevens.

  And the Executioner. Mack Bolan reached into his coat for the Beretta. It was risky, but there was no choice. Eli Cohen knelt to tie his bootlace.

  With a clear shot, Bolan squeezed. The Beretta coughed. The slug bored through the guard's temple.

  Blood sprayed over Cohen's neck and hands.

  Catching the slumping body before it fell, he placed the dead man against the base of the wall. The door was closed. He turned the knob and pushed the door open. It was dark inside. As with the other offices, he reached for a light switch. Nothing happened.

  Cautiously Cohen stepped into the dark room.

  "Rachel? Are you here? Rachel?"

  Silence. He could hear his own breathing, coming faster and faster. His mouth was dry. Something was very wrong. As he moved slowly forward, he reached out blindly with his hands, waving them back and forth until he finally found something. It felt like a desk.

  Carefully he groped along the edge of the desktop. His fingers encountered a wire, which he followed to the base of a desk lamp. He depressed the push-button switch. There was a brief glimmer, more darkness, then a flash of light.

  Four men stood behind the desk. Their weapons were pointed directly at him.

  This w
as going to be tougher than he thought.

  26

  Mack Bolan and Matt Stevens held their breath. When Cohen flicked on the light, its blaze cast a stark white rectangle on the corridor floor. The sudden blaze was followed by silence. Something was wrong.

  "Fancy meeting you here." The voice belonged to Eli Cohen.

  He wasn't talking to Rachel. Bolan eased closer to the doorway. He couldn't risk charging the room unless he had an idea where Cohen was.

  On the opposite side of the door, Stevens fingered his rifle nervously.

  "You know, Cohen, I never did like you." The voice was low and rasping, full of Hollywood menace — a wise guy putting on a show for his buddies.

  "The four of you never did much for me, either," Cohen said. He was raising his voice just slightly.

  Bolan smiled. Eli was telling him what he needed to know.

  "I guess those AK-47's make you big deals, huh?" Cohen continued.

  "Hey, Bobby," another voice joined in. "What are we wasting time for? Why don't we get it over with? I don't like it down here."

  When Bolan got through, he'd like it a lot less.

  "What, exactly, is it that you have to finish?" Cohen's tone was mocking. He wanted to get them on edge, but knew he couldn't push them too far too soon. "You know, you guys won't make it out of here, no matter what happens to me."

  "Says who?" Bobby demanded. "You?"

  "Not me, no. But think about it for a minute. Who are you working for? Not Peter Achison. He's a gofer just like you. The Russian is pulling your strings. And when he's got what he wants, he's gonna cut them. Dead."

  "No way, man. When we finish here, it's gonna be hot sun and sandy beaches for me."

  "I wouldn't count on it. You never know where you're gonna wash up once you're cut loose."

  "Let's just grease the bastard and get on with it," a third voice said.

  "Shut up, everybody. Cohen, put your gun on the floor. Slowly. Then turn around." Bobby must have sensed the play slipping away from him. He was trying to force things back into his control.