“In Nepal or Tibet?” Brognola asked. “Is there anything happening with the Chinese that might have motivated this from inside either country?”
“Not that we’re aware of, but I’ll dig a little deeper into that and see if they’ve managed to keep something from us. We don’t know yet what we’re dealing with. If the person who stole it has an agenda, then we’ve got nothing to give them and no room to negotiate. So I’ll ask again, Hal—what are your recommendations?”
“We go in fast and quiet. Striker’s the best man for this kind of job—hell, he’s the only man for this kind of job.”
The President nodded. “Fast and quiet it is, then,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and we can put a lid on this before we’ve got every warlord and criminal in the region going after the warhead, let alone China.”
“It’s possible,” Brognola said. “Anything else, sir?”
“I want to add one to your team,” the President replied. “An expert on the region and in the field. Two is better than one on this hunt in case something goes wrong.”
“Sir, Striker doesn’t always work and play well with others. It’s just his nature.”
“He will this time, Hal,” the President said. “And that’s not nature—it’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.” Brognola got to his feet.
“Oh, and Hal?”
“Sir?”
“Let’s not drop the ball on this one, okay? I’d hate to have to be the first President since Truman to be responsible for a nuclear holocaust.” The President was staring at him very intently, his eyes clear and focused.
“You know that Striker has never dropped the ball, sir,” Brognola said. “And he won’t now.”
CHAPTER TWO
Mack Bolan had been to the National Mall on a number of occasions, but it was almost never to revel in the monuments to the people and values that had built this country, let alone enjoy the park space. Not that he wanted to play the tourist, but he wouldn’t mind coming here once or twice for reasons less imperative than the end of the civilized world. Still, when Hal Brognola had called him early that morning and said they needed to meet immediately, he knew from experience that somewhere in the world his skills were needed.
As he approached the bench where Brognola had suggested they meet, he was surprised to see a woman seated next to the big Fed. The sun had only recently come up, and they appeared to be the only people out on the Mall at the moment. The pair was deep in conversation, and Bolan cleared his throat to announce his arrival.
The woman turned around slowly. “Colonel Stone, I presume?” she said, rising to her feet. “I feared we’d be waiting on you all morning.” She shook Bolan’s hand and then turned back to Brognola. The action offered an alluring glimpse of her slender neck hidden by long, black hair that fell almost to the small of her back. “I was just running out of stories to tell to fill the time.”
“I rather doubt that,” Bolan said. “Hal.”
“Colonel Stone,” Brognola said, also rising to stand. “Thank you for coming. Let me introduce you to Alina Nischal. She’s vital to the mission we’re about to discuss.”
“Pleasure,” Bolan said.
Brognola handed Bolan a foam cup of coffee. “Let’s walk.”
As they crossed the Mall in the cool morning air, Brognola filled them in on the situation. “Approximately forty-eight hours ago, a small nuclear missile, an RT-2PM, on a mobile launching platform was stolen from a secret Russian holding facility in Kathmandu, Nepal. Based on satellite images, it appears to be a complete system, ready for service. The last image we picked up tracked it leaving the city and heading north, toward the border with Tibet.”
“Is there any chance it’s the Russians stealing one of their own weapons?” Bolan asked. “The black market in that part of the world sells pretty much anything and everything.”
“We don’t think so,” Brognola said. “But we can’t discount that possibility.”
“Do we know who might have access to that base outside of the Russians?” Nischal asked.
“If we did, this mission would be a whole lot simpler,” Brognola told her. “It seems likely that there’s been plenty of money thrown around to keep this facility off the radar, but as of right now we don’t know who has it and what their intent may be.”
“So, you want me to go and recover it?” Bolan asked.
“It’s a little more politically complicated than that,” Brognola replied. “It’s crucial, yes, to recover the weapon, but there’s more at play than just the danger this rogue weapon represents. If we can get our hands on it before the Russians do, we can prove that they haven’t lived up to the treaties we’ve signed. Which means a lot of concessions from them at the bargaining table, especially in regard to places like North Korea and Pakistan.”
“And if the Russians recover it first?” Nischal asked.
“Then they’ll have complete deniability and we’ll lose our advantage. There are other considerations, too. It’s only a matter of time until the Chinese learn something’s going on. Depending on how this plays out, they could decide to launch a military action in Tibet. Worse, if that weapon is launched, then we could be looking at the beginning of World War III.”
Bolan nodded thoughtfully. “That’s an eight-hundred kiloton weapon with a range of over six thousand miles. Whoever stole it could blow a pretty big hole in a lot of places...India, China, the Middle East.”
“Great Britain, America,” Nischal added. “Not to mention that a weapon like this violates the very sanctity of what many in the area believe. It could divide the region, sending many into prayer and others off to war. This weapon could cause huge upheaval even if it doesn’t blow anything up.”
“Hal, how do you want to play this?” Bolan asked.
“It’s straightforward enough. We’re going to send you in fast and quiet. Retake the weapon and deliver it to Delhi, where we’ll have a transport waiting to get it to the United States. After, you’ll go back and ensure that we’ve got on-the-ground intelligence on the facility to confirm our claims.”
“How are we going in?” Nischal asked.
“We?” Bolan said. “Who said anything about ‘we’? I assumed you were here because you had some kind of intelligence on the situation.”
“Colonel Stone, Alina is an expert on the region and she speaks all the languages, including the dialects. Both of you will be going.” Brognola’s voice was firm.
Nischal smirked. “Don’t worry, Colonel. I’m field qualified in weapons, hand to hand and tactics.”
“All right,” Bolan said. “Let’s just hope you can live up to your training. Given the danger, I imagine the alternatives to coming up short will be less than pleasant.”
“I’ll carry my weight,” she replied coolly. “And yours, too, if it comes to that.”
“It won’t,” he said, then looked at Brognola. “What kind of insertion are you planning?”
“We’ve got a B-2 Spirit on ready alert at Andrews. You’ll do a HALO jump just over the border in Tibet.” He brought up a map of the region on his phone and showed it to them. “This is a pretty desolate area, but there are several warlords operating in the region, according to our latest intel, so watch yourselves.”
“What do we have on them?” Bolan asked. “Anything specific?”
“No one passes in or out of that region without at least one of them knowing,” Nischal said. “There is one operative who knows everything there is to know about the players in that area, though.”
“And who might that be?” Bolan asked.
She raised her hand and fanned her fingers in the air, waving them daintily. “Don’t worry, Colonel Stone. I’ll take care of you.”
“Let’s see how it goes in the field before we worry about who’s taking care of who,�
�� Bolan said dryly.
“And on that charming note, I believe I’ll go and get ready. I’ll meet you at Andrews, Colonel.” She turned and added a respectful goodbye to Brognola.
Bolan watched her saunter off and shook his head. Hopefully, she was more than a pretty face and a sharp mind.
“Hal, we didn’t cover this, but how do you expect me to get that damn missile—assuming I can find it—from Tibet all the way to India?”
The big Fed shrugged. “My guess is you’ll have to drive it.”
“Drive it!” Bolan choked. “You’re talking about more than five hundred miles, in hostile territory, in what’s likely to be lousy weather.”
“Don’t forget all the mountains and the wind,” Brognola said, chuckling. “Just like when you walked to school back in the day.”
“Very funny,” he said. “I’m serious. You want me to drive it to Delhi?”
“Unless you come up with a better idea once you’ve got it, that’s the only move we’ve got in this case.”
Bolan sighed heavily and started to say something, but Brognola cut him off. “Before you say anything else about Alina, you know that I can’t override the President of the United States. He wants her along and he trusts her for some reason.”
“Hal, you’re sending us into hostile terrain while we try and track down a nuke. I’ll spend the whole mission trying to make certain she isn’t killed, and that’s assuming she survives a HALO jump out of the cargo bay of a stealth bomber in a country not known for its charming weather conditions.”
“Don’t count her as baggage just yet, Striker. I’ve read her file, and I think she’ll give you a run for your money. She’s the real deal and has been working in the field for the CIA for over a decade. She can handle herself.”
Bolan wasn’t entirely convinced, but the deal was done. There was no point in arguing any further. “Have a nice trip, Striker,” Brognola said. “Try to leave something in Nepal standing. The Chinese will know we’ve been up to something if Mount Everest isn’t there next week.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“You always do,” he said. “That’s why I’m sending you.”
CHAPTER THREE
The city of Yangon, which had been the capital of Myanmar until the early years of the new millennium, was a mix of the old and the new. Temples and shrines in gold and silver and white upheld the glory of years past, while the city center itself contained both colonial and modern buildings—most of which were tied to the government in one way or another. Much of the hidden work of the regional government was still done in this city, rather than the new capital. The media, including television, radio and the internet, were all tightly controlled, and access to technology was expensive. It was an unhappy place in many ways, despite the charming landscape. Tourists came here and saw nothing of how the population was segmented, keeping to their own areas and minding their own affairs, trying not to be noticed by the oppressive government. Citizens sat on the streets, drinking tea praying at the temples or selling tokens to travelers.
Nizar Vitaly despised the city with a true passion. His mother was Russian, and he never truly felt at home anywhere else.
Like most government buildings in the area, the Russian Consulate was an older colonial brick building, left behind from when the British ruled the nation. And the heat was as oppressive as any ruler had ever been, too, Vitaly thought as he walked into the main entrance. He was a big man, six foot four, and a solid mass of two hundred and twenty pounds, but he moved like a panther—and he knew it. Vitaly was a man completely aware of himself and his own place in the universe.
He passed the main desk and climbed a flight of stairs to the second floor. He followed a short hallway down to the consul’s office and managed to contain his surprise when he saw Anisim Grigori, the head of Russian Intelligence, sitting behind the consul’s desk. Vitaly closed the door behind him but noted two other ways to get out of the office if this meeting did not go in his favor for some as yet unknown reason. Certainly, he would not be the first operative killed by his own agency. Being aware of one’s own place in the universe meant being aware of one’s own mortality, first and foremost.
“Vitaly, it’s good to see you,” Grigori said, rising to his feet. They shook hands formally. “You are missed in Moscow.”
“Yes, sir, thank you,” he replied. “I am surprised to see you, I admit. What brings you to Myanmar?”
“There is a problem that I would like you to deal with.”
Vitaly kept his peace and waited.
“You are aware, I think, of our...interests in Kathmandu?” Grigori raised a bushy eyebrow.
“You know I am, sir. I recommended changes to the facility’s security systems months ago, but my report was filed away.”
“Yes, I’ve seen the report and I’ve seen to it that those who chose to file it rather than share it with the chain of command are seeing their future in a very different light. A very different light, indeed.”
“What has happened?” Vitaly asked. “It must be serious to bring you all the way from Moscow.”
“Please, sit,” Grigori said, gesturing to the nearest chair. “There is no need to be quite so formal.”
Vitaly sat, watching the man who had built the new Russian Intelligence of the internet age with interest. He was dangerous, yes, but he could be a very powerful ally. Vitaly had no interest in doing field work for the rest of his life, and Grigori could secure his future—or destroy it—with a few simple words.
“So, as you say, the matter is serious,” Grigori continued. “One of the weapons was stolen and taken into Tibet.”
“Do we know who the thief is?”
“No, the identity is uncertain. You will retrieve it and remove all trace of the facility’s existence.”
Vitaly nodded. “It will be done. In fact, we have options here in Myanmar that are suitable for relocation, and the government is very cooperative.”
“I will leave all of that in your hands, Vitaly. Just secure the weapon and wipe the Kathmandu facility off the map. Send me your needs by this evening and I will see to it that you have everything you require.”
Vitaly considered the situation. “Once I have the weapon, we’ll still have a personnel problem in the region. Too many people know about Kathmandu—especially now. That many will never stay silent.”
“I am sure you have heard the phrase, ‘dead men tell no tales’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do I need to say more?”
“No, sir.”
“And one more thing, Vitaly. I do not hold any doubts that the Americans may be behind this, or possibly the Chinese. I should not have to tell you how delicate this is for our country. We cannot afford to lose our bargaining position now. Make certain that anyone who knows about the weapon or the facility is removed from the equation.”
Vitaly smiled. It was the kind of fieldwork he enjoyed most, and it was much better than skulking around Yangon. What was most important was controlling the information Moscow received. After all, the black market paid far better than the government, though he enjoyed the power and income from both sources. “It will be as you command. No witness will be left alive.”
* * *
ONCE HE ARRIVED at Andrews Field, Bolan changed into tactical clothing, then headed to the hangar where he found Nischal already waiting for him.
She, too, had switched clothing, and he noticed that she’d chosen appropriately for the mission and the terrain. She nodded as he approached. “Good to see you made it on time, Colonel.”
Bolan nodded a curt greeting.
“Look, let’s clear something up,” Nischal said. “The truth is that I don’t usually work with anyone else, either, so I’m probably just as prickly about it as you are. If you think you can’t handle it, I’m
happy to take the mission on myself.”
Bolan allowed himself a smile and a chuckle. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. We may not like working with others, but when the President gives an order, we follow it. On that much, we can agree. Let’s get this show on the road. Wherever that nuclear missile is, it won’t find itself.”
They carried their gear aboard the Spirit of Kitty Hawk. The pilot and mission commander were already in the cockpit. The intercom system pinged on. “Good evening, Colonel Stone, Ms. Nischal. I’m Major Gage, and your pilot is Lt. Colonel Elliot.”
“Gentleman, thanks for the lift. We’re ready to go whenever you are. Do you have a specific drop zone in mind at this point?”
“No, sir,” the major replied. “All I’ve got is Tibet. I was told that Ms. Nischal would be providing the drop information en route.”
Bolan looked a question at her. “I’ve got the map data uploaded to my smartphone,” she said. “I’ll shoot it to them once we’re in the air.”
“Fine,” he said. “Major, we’re all set. Let’s hit it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The intercom system pinged off and Bolan turned back to Nischal. “It’s your map and region, so let’s hear what you’ve got in mind.”
She took out her phone and tapped the keys, bringing up a map of Tibet, then zooming in. “Take a look at this,” she said. “This is the village of Nyalam—sort of a crossroads village about twenty miles north of the border with Nepal and about sixty miles west of Mount Everest as the crow flies.”
“Okay,” he said. “Why there?”
“Well, we know the nuke was headed north, and there aren’t very many roads. Most are little more than goat paths or dirt tracks that lead to monasteries. There’s only one major highway, and anyone who wants to get anywhere has to use it. This isn’t exactly the easiest terrain in the world. If you know the area it’s easy to disappear, but a truck that size has to go somewhere. And wherever it goes, someone will see it.”
“So, you’re thinking whoever took the weapon had to pass through Nyalam. In other words, we have a place to start looking.”
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