“Chen is powerful but not the best strategist. He thinks his muscle will solve all situations. He doesn’t realize that the monks he killed here will be the souls that haunt him to his grave.”
“So how can we find him?” Bolan asked.
“I can take you to Jian’s camp. Even if they aren’t the ones with your weapon, they will know who is, but I believe they’re your best bet.”
“Okay,” Bolan said.
“I have one more question for you,” Nischal said with a mischievous tone in her voice.
“What’s that?”
“How did you get the ambassador of Paraguay out of that harem in Saudi Arabia without getting caught?”
Solomon grinned and stood up, reaching out his hand to help Nischal to her feet. Bolan stood behind her.
“For that story, we will have to adjourn to somewhere less spiritual than the center of the monastery. Let’s go back to the visitor hall and I’ll tell you all about it.”
They crossed the monastery, Nischal and Solomon with their heads together in conversation and Bolan following a few paces behind. As they entered the visitor hall, Bolan spotted Raju sweeping the floor. The young boy looked up as the old spy and the CIA agent walked past, and he furrowed his brow.
Bolan paused. “Don’t worry, they’re just old friends catching up. Nothing more.”
“It’s not that, sir,” Raju said quietly. “It’s that...he’s not always the same. Sometimes he is the leader and the light of this monastery, and sometimes the soldier and sometimes...”
“And sometimes?”
“Nothing, sir. Good day.”
Bolan watched as Raju retreated and Solomon and Nischal took a seat at the far end of the hall. The boy’s words had only added to Bolan’s sense of unease. Something was wrong and he had to figure it out before the mess they were in got any bigger.
CHAPTER NINE
Felicks Kolodoka, the old Russian diplomat, was widely known for his drinking but far more infamous for his ability to gain any information he needed—by fair means and foul. Nothing happened in the Russian empire that he didn’t know about, and he was certainly familiar with all of the old, buried secrets. This was a man who could produce an army of skeletons from any closet in his homeland. Many people wanted him dead, though many were also afraid his secrets would rise from the grave. That, as much as anything else, had kept him alive far longer than most men in his position.
“Mr. Kolodoka, thank you for coming,” Brognola said, shaking his hand.
The silence in the conference room was palpable as they sized each other up.
“When your White House calls, I respond. I am ever your servant.”
Brognola restrained the retort on his lips and turned to lead him into the Oval Office. They said nothing as they walked along the corridor.
“Gentlemen, please come in and have a seat,” the President said.
The Secret Service agents in the room discreetly left and pulled the door closed.
“I presume you two know each other,” the President said.
“We know of each other, sir,” Brognola replied.
“If you’d like to make formal introductions, I’d be happy to have more information,” the Russian said. “I think it is good to know one’s...’
“Friends?” Brognola interrupted.
Kolodoka nodded. “Yes. That’s as good a word as any other we might use, and better than some.”
“I think that we all know as much as needed right now,” the President said. “Kolodoka, we have heard some troubling things coming from Kathmandu.”
“Kathmandu is not a lovely city, I am told, though I’m not sure why you’re talking to me about a country that is not my own. As you know, I am merely a Russian diplomat. Do you need our help negotiating with that government?”
Brognola leaned forward and stared hard at Kolodoka. “Merely? Isn’t that playing it a little fast and loose with the definition of that word?”
The Russian shrugged and offered a rather charming grin. “We are all men of the moment, and at this particular moment, I am a Russian diplomat.”
“Fair enough,” Brognola said. “But what you are at the moment and what you know at any other time are different things entirely. You’re already aware that our concerns have nothing to do with Nepal but are about an old operation from your mother country that may have found its way into the wrong hands.”
“If you could be more specific about the information, I will see what I can confirm or deny, but I cannot give you a full intelligence briefing right now. I am as in the dark as you seem to be.”
The President sighed heavily. “We don’t have time for these games. The clock is ticking.” He turned his attention to Kolodoka. “We know there was a weapon stolen from a Russian-run facility and we have indicators that it could have nuclear capability.”
“There have been some troubling reports from that area, but I can assure you that it was old, decommissioned equipment. I have it on good authority that one of our best men has already been sent to handle the situation.”
“And who would that be?” Brognola asked. “Maybe we know of each other, too.”
“Nizar Vitaly.”
“Ah. I’m familiar with his work,” Brognola said. “You remember, Mr. President, the incident in Serbia when the village outside of Belgrade was...removed from the map?”
“You mean when several hundred innocent civilians were slaughtered?” the President asked.
“That is not how my government would characterize that action,” Kolodoka objected.
“Regardless,” the President continued, “if this Vitaly was responsible, he’s little more than an animal on a government leash. Have you considered that sending in someone like him might attract the notice of the Chinese? I would assume that Russia is as interested as the United States in keeping this information under wraps.”
“We are aware of the complications with China, and that is why Vitaly was chosen to...address the situation. He knows that this needs to be handled quickly and quietly. Perhaps it would be best if I reached out to my government for more information and then we can meet again.”
“Perhaps that would be best,” Brognola agreed. “So far, the information you have seems woefully lacking in detail on what, exactly, was stolen from your facility. Are you losing your touch, Felicks?”
The Russian’s eyes narrowed sharply beneath his bushy brows, then he grinned. “I have decided that I like you, Mr. Brognola. You might even be as good at your job as I am at mine.”
“Anything is possible.”
“When I speak to my government, what should I tell them about your response to this situation? Surely you have already sent your own...advisors to the area?”
“This is a Russian problem, Felicks,” Brognola said quickly. “There are problems enough in that area. We just want it handled.”
“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll be in touch again very soon.”
Brognola and the President rose, shook hands with Kolodoka and watched him leave the Oval Office.
“What do you think he knows?” the President asked, once they were alone.
“Everything. Every last detail, down to the serial numbers on the warhead. Felicks is no fool, and he won’t give up information unless he has to. And there is only one reason to send in a man like Vitaly.”
The President nodded grimly. “To silence everyone who knows about the weapon.”
* * *
LI SOONG WAS as good as his word and saved his own life when he came through with the information Vitaly needed. He’d sent them north, across the border into Tibet, to meet a man named Xiu Feng—a local warlord who dealt in black market transactions and was a thorn in the side of the Chinese in the region. The drive wasn’t particularly long in terms of
distance, but the highway was poorly maintained and the clock on Vitaly’s hunt to find the stolen weapon was ticking rapidly.
By the time Vitaly and Fedar arrived at the appointed meeting place, Vitaly’s patience was already stretched thin. Xiu Feng showed up nearly an hour late with five vehicles loaded down with men. The vehicles fanned out and the warlord’s guards got out, making no attempt to hide the firepower they were carrying.
Vitaly motioned for Fedar to move forward. Fedar bowed before speaking quickly in broken Mandarin. Feng seemed to understand and Vitaly took that as his signal to approach.
“I think you’re looking for something of value, but I don’t have this item,” Feng said.
“Li Soong didn’t think you’d have it, but he believes—as do I—that you have the means to find it. You know this region, according to Li Soong, and you know all the players and people. This is your territory, so you’re the man I need.”
“I know many things, but what you ask...”
“Maybe you’re not as powerful as I was led to believe,” Vitaly said. “Fedar, let’s load back up and get going. We can take our money and time elsewhere.”
“How much?” Feng asked.
“I don’t discuss price with someone who does not believe he can perform the service I require.”
“I can do this, but it may take time.” Feng gestured at the wide-open sky and the massive mountains. “This is a big place to search.”
Vitaly shrugged, turned and began to walk away. Fedar paused, stood wringing his hands and then followed behind. A small burst of gunfire ran along the edge of Vitaly’s foot. He kept walking, turning only when he reached his truck. Another string of bullets littered the ground. Vitaly pulled his pistol as he spun and drilled a bullet into the center of the triggerman’s forehead. He dropped another of Feng’s men when he was foolish enough to respond. Feng lifted his hands in surrender.
“No, no...a misunderstanding,” the warlord said.
“Do you have information for me or not?”
“I can help. We know these mountains better than anyone.”
“You’ll be well rewarded when we have results. Not before, and not for empty promises.”
“Of course.””
“So, where could they have taken it?” Vitaly asked.
“There are sanctuaries in the mountains for travelers. We’ll start with some of the monasteries and see what the monks know.”
Vitaly lowered his pistol. “Good. We’ll split into three groups. You send one of your men with me.”
Vitaly walked back to his truck and Fedar climbed in on the other side.
“Feng is reckless, but he is easy to manage. Once he has his money he will continue to be a powerful ally,” Fedar offered.
“Once we have the weapon, Feng will be of no use to us and will get the bullet in the head he should have received moments ago,” Vitaly shot back. “Our orders are to leave no one who knows about the weapon and who cannot be absolutely trusted alive.”
“That could leave a fairly large body count,” Fedar said. “Tough to explain.”
“I have no intention of explaining anything to anyone, and body counts seem to be my specialty. If they were concerned about a body count, they wouldn’t have sent me.”
* * *
THE QUIET OF the monastery became almost eerie as night fell. Bolan sat in his room, listening for anyone moving around. But the only sound was the breeze as it moved through the stone hallway. He opened the door and peered out before slipping into the corridor.
He continued through the complex, taking in the damage that had been wrought by the intruders. Outside, he scanned the rock face, noting a burnt funeral pyre farther up the hill. In a nook above that, he caught a glint of metal shining in the moonlight. Bolan climbed up to the remnants of the pyre and then scrutinized the cliff face again. Barely concealed by the overhanging cliff was a cache of weapons.
Dozens of crates were stacked along the walls of the natural cave. Bolan popped the top off of the first one within reach, uncovering a mound of hand grenades, packed and ready to go.
He resealed the crate and ran a hand through his hair. Why hadn’t they used the weapons during the attack? Why hadn’t they defended the monastery? Bolan turned to find Nick Solomon standing at the entrance of the cave.
“I knew bringing you here was a mistake,” Solomon said. “You spy even in your sleep.”
“What the hell is going on?” Bolan asked. “You’ve got enough weapons here to field an army!”
“None of this concerns you.”
“Anytime I find a cave full of weapons I get concerned. If you think I could see something like this and not ask questions, you’re not only retired, but you’ve also gone around the bend.”
“Ask all the questions you like, but as I’ve said, it’s not your concern. Your concern is if you want my help or not. If you keep asking questions, then I can show you to the door right now and you can figure it out on your own.”
“You know this isn’t happening without your help, and besides, I don’t believe you’d do that to Alina. We need your knowledge of the region and, frankly, we need some of these supplies.”
Solomon turned and headed back down the mountain, his back stiff with anger. Bolan followed, and it wasn’t long before they ran into Nischal. Bolan told her the situation and watched as her jaw dropped. He was thankful someone else was as thrown as he was by the cache and Solomon’s lack of interest in telling them the truth.
“Nick, you can’t have all these weapons up here!” she said. “You’ll invite trouble—if not from one of the warlords, then from Chinese officials. Why do you even have them? Do they belong to you, or someone else?”
Solomon shrugged. “Alina, I already told your friend, those weapons are not your problem. We have a shared problem, though—Jian Chen. Focus on that. I’ll help you resupply but on a limited inventory. I can’t replace everything you’ve lost.”
“You have enough in that cave to wipe out everyone in this region. I don’t know why you’re holding out,” Bolan barked.
“You can either do this my way, or you are both free to leave,” he said. “I’m sorry, Alina.”
Solomon continued his trek back down to the monastery. “What do you think is going on here?” Nischal asked Bolan.
“I don’t know. If we had more time, I’d find out, but every minute we stand here trying to figure Solomon out, that nuke is getting farther and farther away”
“So what do we do?”
“We take what help he gives us and we wait,” Bolan said. “Let’s get the nuke secured and then we can deal with whatever your friend has gotten himself into. One thing is for sure, whatever sanctuary and peace Solomon was looking for is long gone—if it ever existed for him at all.”
CHAPTER TEN
“I believe in being thorough,” Vitaly said, taking another careful slice and watching with cold eyes as the monk’s blood mingled with sweat and trickled down his bare stomach. The man was tied to a crossbeam and had been raised by his wrists, the parched dirt beneath him wet with both fluids. Vitaly pulled the blade away, then traced the tip slowly up the man’s chest, past the other cuts he’d already created. He paused as it reached the small hollow below the man’s Adam’s apple. The monk tried to tip his head away, but his exhaustion and fear from being used as Vitaly’s personal piñata was too much.
He wasn’t yet broken, but it would come soon. He was too young to have either the experience or the internal fortitude to fight for much longer. His quiet, contemplative life had in no way prepared him for such deeply personal and violent violations of his body.
“I’m going to ask you once more,” Vitaly said. “Once more and then I’ll begin working on some of your other, more fragile parts.” He pulled the knife away. “Look down at your ches
t. See how the blood flows only a little and then stops? There is an art to my cutting that I do not think you fully appreciate yet, but you will. You see, my friend, the trick is to cut deep enough to penetrate the first layers of skin to send the right message to you and your body—but not so deep as to hit a major blood vessel or organ.” He made a soft tsk-tsk sound and shook his head. “No, if I were to do that, you might well go into shock or die and that would not get my questions answered.”
The monk’s eyes followed the tip of the blade as Vitaly spoke. Fear, the Russian had found, was every bit as powerful a motivator as pain. Perhaps even more effective. People are afraid of being afraid, he thought, and there is no end to fear. Pain can potentially end, even in death. There is a powerful difference.
“Now,” he said, easing the knife back down and letting the edge rest on the monk’s cheek. “You know that I am willing to hurt you but not let you die, yes? So, I will ask you one more time before we move on to a more unpleasant area of your body. Where is my weapon?”
The monk trembled with nerves and exhaustion but remained silent. Vitaly sighed and gestured for Fedar to strip the man completely. It was an unpleasant reality that some men needed more fear than others to reach their limit. He procured another, thinner blade as Fedar removed the last of the man’s clothing, revealing his most sensitive areas.
Vitaly shook his head sadly.
“A man can live for a long time without testicles,” he told the monk. “Especially if the wounds are cauterized immediately. Bring the torch, Fedar.”
The monk’s eyes widened and the last of his resistance fled. “The weapon isn’t here! We don’t have it!”
“We already know that,” Vitaly said. “If I’d thought it was here, I wouldn’t have had to waste so much of my precious time talking to you.”
“Yes, yes,” he blubbered. “But there is a temple that has been rumored to be collecting weapons for months! Some are saying it is for a holy war, but that is not our way. If anyone has your weapon, it would be them.”
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