Point Position

by Don Pendleton

  “You can sit here and wait. You’re an important liaison with your colleague. Whatever else happens, the two of you must keep the local population from going near the château. None of us want innocent people injured or killed. You’ve got to hold the fort while we scout the area and wait for the main body of troops to arrive. And believe me, that’s vitally important right now.”

  The gendarme nodded as Bolan turned to leave.

  Bolan led Ross and Goldman out to the car.

  “Jesus, you fed him a line there,” Goldman said.

  Bolan fixed him with a stare. “Not really. There will be other forces. And I don’t want innocent parties getting in the way. I want this finished quickly and as cleanly as possible. Is that understood?”

  He held Goldman’s stare until the merc looked away.

  15

  The Château Soleil stood seven kilometres outside of Santon, and it took Bolan less than a quarter of an hour to find the walls that surrounded the southern side of the estate. A minor vineyard producing red wine for export, it consisted of several acres of grapevines set within a protective environment, with two main outbuildings and the sprawling château itself set almost dead center within the grounds.

  They had a layout of the property that Grimaldi had pulled off estate management files via e-mail attachments—Grimaldi also carried a copy of this with him in his chopper—and knew that Chavez-Smith had picked his inland base well. It had a lot of cover and several good surveillance points. It would take any force some time to penetrate the natural defenses.

  Bolan drove past the wall to the south, taking the next two right turns, down a narrow road and then a dirt track leading to a closed gate, before bringing the car to a halt.

  “Jack, do you copy?” Bolan said into the blacksuit mike.

  “Yeah, I copy,” Grimaldi replied.

  Bolan reported their position, so Grimaldi could locate them on the map. The soldier now had his copy spread across his lap. He continued, “The walls themselves seem to be fairly old—red brick covering repairs on old stone, filled in with small rocks and pebbles in concrete. They look much as you’d expect the walls on one of these old places to look. Interesting thing is that there was no sign on this wall of any recent repairs. It all seemed to be well-weathered. If the Chilean was going to put any cameras or infrared onto the walls, no matter how well-disguised it was, the work would still seem new. After all, he hasn’t been there long.”

  “Copy that,” Grimaldi said. “What about road embankments?”

  “Fairly steep. The distance from road to wall is less than a foot, and the undergrowth is sparse, mostly grasses and wildflowers.”

  “What is this, a botany lesson?” Goldman growled.

  “Leave it, Jimmy, this is serious business,” Ross snapped.

  Bolan ignored them and continued. “Hiding anything in that small a space, with that little cover to play around with, would take a lot of time and planning. He hasn’t had that, though I have no doubt he’s got the equipment.”

  “Which means you figure that it’s all there once you get over the wall, right?”

  “Yes. From what we already know, there’s wild land and then ordered rows of vineyard before we reach the outbuildings or the main building. That’s plenty of cover for a lot of security, whether it’s electronic or human. Getting over the wall is no problem, but once over…”

  “What’s the plan?” Grimaldi asked.

  “I plan to go over first, do a recon. If I can work out what level of defense he has on this sector, then it’s a reasonable working assumption that the same will apply on all four quarters.”

  “What do you need from me?” the pilot asked.

  “Just the usual, Jack, for now. If it gets too hot and I say the word, come get me.”

  “Roger.”

  Bolan then turned to Ross and Goldman. “Do we have any problem with that?” However, he already knew the answer from the expression on the redhead’s face. Goldman was grim and serious, trying hard to contain his explosive anger.

  “Yeah, I do have just a tiny problem,” he said tightly. “If you go over on your own, what’s to stop you getting the chip and then have laughing boy pick you up while we sit here like idiots?”

  “Nothing,” Bolan replied, “except that it’ll take a hell of a lot of luck and bucking the odds for me to get to the château entirely by myself without being taken out by who knows what security. It’d be tantamount to a suicide mission, and only something I’d do in an emergency situation. And this, my friend, is not one of those.”

  “I think one of us should go with you on this so-called reconnaissance, keep an eye on you,” Goldman grumbled.

  Bolan held his temper. The mercenary’s distrust was annoying, especially in view of the fact that Bolan could have taken out either of them on numerous occasions, and there was, in fact, no necessity for either Ross or Goldman to have been allowed to leave the airfield. Walters had the manpower—discreetly placed, but noticeable to the trained eye such as the Executioner’s—to restrain or eliminate them both.

  The soldier spoke slowly, allowing his words to sink in. “The purpose of a recon is to scout the land and take as little risk as possible. Since neither of you has the training or experience that I can trust, it would be asking for trouble to take either of you with me. It would be like making an assault without planning. If you want to do that, then I call up Jack, we get a force from the USAF base using the security clearances we have, and we cause an international incident. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  “Of course not, then we wouldn’t get our hands on the chip,” Goldman blustered.

  “Same result, whether we do it that way or your way. Is that perfectly clear, now?” Bolan asked.

  Ross had been watching both Bolan and his partner carefully during the exchange. Now he chose to speak. “Jimmy, let the man do it his way. He hasn’t lied to us once so far, and what he says makes sense. Remember, man, you might not trust him, but he doesn’t have to trust us, either—and he has, so far.”

  Goldman, still fuming, looked long and hard at his partner, as though silently cursing him for selling him out. Finally, he said through visibly gritted teeth, “Fine, have it your way. But don’t blame me if it fucks up on us.”

  “It won’t. I need you as much as you need me. That’s the only reason this is working,” Bolan said. “Give me twenty minutes max, then you can come after me if you want.”

  “Sounds fair,” Ross agreed.

  Without another word, the soldier left them in the car, his mind already focused on his mission.

  BOLAN VAULTED THE GATE and cut across the field to the hedgerow facing the road. It provided him with ample cover from which to examine the length of the old wall opposite. There were overhanging trees that blocked the top of the wall, the jutting branches making it a difficult, though not impossible, climb. That wasn’t the problem. Did the trees harbor any traps, or any security devices that may alert the enemy to his presence? Bolan wondered

  Scanning the length of the wall, he could see no visible signs. The trees were overhanging so densely that to position cameras or infrared so that they could make an effective line of sight would be virtually impossible. Not without some major tree surgery, and even it was skillfully managed, it would still be visible among the wildness of the old growth.

  Any electronic defenses would be operational once he was over the wall. Picking his spot, Bolan slipped out of the cover of the hedges at a point where the brush was at its thinnest, and quickly crossed the road. He sprinted up the steep bank and flattened himself to the wall, edging along it to a point where two overhanging oaks had fought for space, the branches having the thinnest of growth and the most air between them of anywhere along the wall. In truth, it was such a good natural defense that there was no need for the Chilean to bother with extra measures. Even at this narrow point, Bolan would still have to fight his way through.

  He turned and searched for foot- and handhold
s. He was acutely aware that on this side of the wall he was plainly visible to any who passed by—and even if they were not attached to Chavez-Smith or Destiny’s Spear, they may feel it their duty to report an intruder to the Englishman who was renting the château.

  The wall, with its many repairs over the years, was a simple climb. The patchwork of stone, brick and concrete gave an ample amount of holds for him to reach the top of the twelve-foot wall in no time. Tentatively, he felt along the top of the wall for wires, broken glass, or any other kind of obstruction. There was nothing except the overhanging branches, and even at this point, where they were at their sparsest, they still pushed out and blocked the top of the wall, making it impossible for the soldier to climb straight over.

  Aware that time was of the essence, and that he was vulnerable to attack or view from the road below, Bolan clung to the wall with one hand while using the other to search for some kind of handhold in the foliage. The leaves were fresh, the sap oozing from the branches as the bark stripped in his hand. It was too slippery, too young and weak to hold his weight.

  He would have to take risks. He dropped his free hand from the branches toward the blacksuit and unsheathed the Tekna knife. He hacked at some of the younger shoots, clearing a small space on top of the wall. He sheathed the knife and took a firm grip of the wall, hauling himself into the small space and using his powerful shoulders to push against the stronger branches that lay beneath. It took an immense effort, and he couldn’t relax for a second or else the branches would spring back and push him away from the wall. Finally he was able to bring his other hand up and secure himself against the top of the wall. The branches gathered around, pushing back down on him.

  The soldier pulled the rest of his body onto the wall, forcing back the covering branches as he straddled the top of the barrier. It was difficult to see past the thick covering of branches to the ground below, but it looked to be a farther drop than the climb. The steep bank on the road side of the wall had been built up, perhaps to shore up the wall’s foundations. Bolan judged the other side to be about seventeen to eighteen feet. An awkward enough distance for him to sprain an ankle, or break a leg if he fell badly. And this was possible when the ground below was hidden by the foliage. Through the dense screen, all he could see was a layer of bracken and grasses that could have been an inch or a foot deep.

  Sliding over, Bolan lowered himself until he was at full stretch, hanging by his fingertips from the top of the wall. It was still a long drop. He took a deep breath and let go. He was braced for the shock of impact and let himself crumple, knees bending to absorb that shock, ready to roll with the momentum of his fall.

  The ground beneath was springy, the grasses and ferns providing a cushion that lessened the impact. He rolled and came up on his feet. Stretching muscles, he was relieved to find that nothing had been damaged.

  Bolan turned his attention to the surrounding grounds. The scrub and wilderness petered out toward large walls of vine, heavy with grapes as the season reached its apex. Somehow, he doubted if there was any intention to produce wine this year. But the flowering and fruiting vines provided good cover for the château and its outbuildings, which were barely visible in the distance. It was a lot of ground to scout, and although it provided the Executioner with good cover, it also provided ample protection for any security patrol.

  Bolan made his way across the scrub. He unleathered the Beretta and fitted a sound suppressor as he advanced, so that the 9 mm Parabellum rounds would sound as little more than a cough if he was forced to use it. But even that would be noticeable in the silence of the morning, and he hoped that he would be able to evade any patrols. A missing man or the sound of a firefight was the last thing he wanted. His aim was to slip in and out without being noticed.

  As he advanced, alert for movement around him, he kept his eyes open at ground level for any infrared or camera equipment. This made his progress slower than he would have wished, but it was an imperative if he wanted to evade detection. Yet, despite his vigilance, he saw no evidence that the grounds had been seeded with security devices.

  Perhaps the Chilean had intended this merely as land base rather than a secure war base, and had only been forced into this by the concurrent arrival of both Bolan and the mercs in Marseilles? It was a thought, and would account for his pulling back the remainder of the Destiny’s Spear cell to the château. They were to be the only security, with strength in numbers.

  Bolan by no means gave up on scanning the ground for cameras and infrared, but he relaxed a little, and concentrated the majority of his attention on spotting security patrols.

  He was soon rewarded.

  By this time he had made his way around to the far eastern side and was closing in on the walls of vines. He came out of the scrub and began to move among the fruit and leaves, rustling in the gentle breeze that scented the air with a sweet tang. It was so peaceful and beautiful that it was hard to believe that a group of terrorists headed by an international arms dealer was on site.

  But just when it seemed to be too good, reality struck a blow. As he rounded the end of one long wall of vine, the soundproofing it offered suddenly cut out, and Bolan could hear approaching footsteps. He moved back, crouching and slipping the safety off the Beretta.

  Bolan almost held his breath, breathing shallowly as he heard the footsteps approach. There was a low mumble of conversation.

  “That was really stupid, telling her you’d bring her here. What if someone heard you?”

  “Paul, you worry far too much. I didn’t tell her exactly where we were. I was only keeping the whining bitch quiet.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Emil. If Hector gets wind of this, then you’re dead, you know that?”

  “Well, I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

  “Yeah, right. Anyway, we’re not supposed to be talking like we’re having a quiet stroll. What if we’re heard?”

  “By whom? You really think there’s anyone around?”

  The two men walked past the end of the vine and turned toward the house. Little did Emil Herve know that he had been overheard twice, Bolan thought. It was fortunate he had been such a weak link in the chain of Destiny’s Spear.

  The soldier counted ten, then followed in their direction. If he was to their rear, there was little chance of such slack sentries looking back and discovering him. Meanwhile, they would give him a clear passage on the rest of his recon.

  He followed them to the front of the château, only hanging back when the cover became more sparse. He would have to double back to get a look at the west wall, as the north was far too open for attack, consisting mostly of a manicured lawn and a carefully sculptured garden with a long drive leading to the main gates. It did, however, give him his first clear view of the château and the outbuildings. They looked open to attack, with nothing to protect them except the terrorists themselves. The outbuildings were little more than barns, open to the elements at the windows and doors, with only wooden shutters to protect them. And the château itself was a maze of windows and doors opening onto the drive and gardens, a nightmare to defend, which was why so many of the Destiny’s Spear gunners were standing guard, cradling rifles and SMGs but paying scant attention to the area beyond the front of the building.

  However, there was one thing about them that made Bolan change his mind about scouting the west wall. All of them, including the two he had followed, were wearing headsets. These were not standard security communications headsets with radio mikes attached. They were clumsier, although still small, and looked like the frequency blockers Ross and Goldman had described.

  The fact that everyone in sight was wearing them suggested that another test was imminent. Bolan had to get out. If he and the mercs were to strike, they had to move quickly over the wall, and also try to take out some guards and get their headsets.

  More pressing than that, if the test began in the next few minutes, Bolan could be caught cold on enemy territory, paralyzed and trapped with the enemy s
till moving freely….

  16

  Bolan made his way back through the maze of vines and into the wilderness as swiftly as he could. He had to weigh the possibility of being caught in the test against being caught by guards if he was too reckless. The guards being the more immediate danger, he avoided the temptation to make a straight run, and followed the route he had taken, where he knew the areas of cover. There was, however, little for him to worry about. The Destiny’s Spear terrorists were slack as a private army, and their lack of discipline and training meant that they were too busy relaxing by the château to bother with anything other than a cursory patrol.

  As he made his way back to the south wall, Bolan pondered this. Certainly, Signella would have knocked them into shape if he was alive. As it stood, Chavez-Smith was probably too immersed in his tests, and the need to complete them before handing over the chip, to notice that his so-called defense wasn’t as encompassing as he had hoped. The negative side of this, for the soldier, was twofold. First, it concentrated forces around the area he had hoped to crack easily, and second it made obtaining a protective headset difficult. He had hoped that they would be able to cut a swath through the defenses and then take out the remainder piece by piece after attaining the objective. Now it would be a cluster of firefights, giving the Chilean a chance to get away or trigger the sonic weapon while Bolan and the mercs were bogged down. And if there were few guards on patrol, it made the chances of taking some out and then using their headsets that much greater.

  Bolan moved freely through the undergrowth to the wall, knowing that there were no security and surveillance devices for him to trigger. All he had to worry about was the wall.

  When he reached it, he paused, working out the quickest way to get up and over. From this side, it was eighteen feet at most, and scanning the area of wall surrounding and beneath the gap in the branches that he had made earlier, he could see that although there were copious amounts of hand- and footholds, the wall on this side had been attacked by moss and lichen. The road side of the wall was fairly dry, but this was much more slippery, and the dampness may have eaten into the mortar that bound the stone and brick together. He gave an experimental tug at one of the most likely holds and felt it give beneath his strength. With his full weight on it, it was likely to crumble completely. A few more experiments of that nature, and he determined that the wall wasn’t safe on this side.