Exit Code

by Don Pendleton

  Abdalrahman stopped a few feet shy of Shurish, and when he saw the man bow low to him and then step forward and kiss his shoulder in traditional fashion, he let his anger melt away. There was no way Shurish could have stopped the American, Cooper, from going to Afghanistan and destroying everything Abdalrahman had worked so hard to achieve. Then again, he wondered, since Sadiq had been brought to the United States, how much Shurish had done to try to rescue his nephew from the American infidels. Only time would tell.

  “It is a pleasure to see you again, Colonel,” Shurish said. “I prayed Allah would bring you safely to us, and he has heard me.”

  “It is good to see you, as well,” Abdalrahman lied. “Thank you for sending word so quickly.”

  “When I heard of Sadiq’s whereabouts, I knew you would want to know he was alive.”

  “Absolutely, and in this you have done right.” Abdalrahman began to walk toward the car he noticed was waiting for him. “What of our plans with Carnivore? How soon can we be ready?”

  “I am not certain. Sadiq’s capture has caused serious delays,” Shurish replied, falling into step next to Abdalrahman’s quick strides. “I’m trying to decipher copies of his work, but I’m having trouble.”

  “How much do the Americans know?”

  “I can’t be sure.”

  Abdalrahman stopped suddenly, turned and stared into Shurish’s equally dark eyes. “For a man with a formal education, who has served on this front as long as you have, you don’t seem sure about many things,” he said, barely containing his anger.

  “I beg your forgiveness, Colonel,” Shurish said. “Although I don’t believe I have anything to apologize for. As I understand it, even your men fell under the tenacity of this man called Cooper.”

  “Your remarks strike me as seditious and insolent,” Abdalrahman said with a warning expression before turning and continuing toward the car.

  The silence was heavy until they were seated and riding toward Shurish’s suburban home in Arlington, which would serve as a base of operations for Abdalrahman’s men until he could decide what their course of action would be.

  “I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” Shurish said quietly, “but I’m sure you can understand my position.”

  “I’m sure I cannot, so why not explain it to me.”

  “I’ve found Cooper,” Shurish stated.

  Abdalrahman felt an immediate twinge of hope—hope for vengeance. “You have my interest. Go on.”

  “I had him followed. Somebody in government tried to insert him inside DARPA as a spy. Fortunately, I figured it out and faked an assassination attempt. As it turned out, I believe Dr. Matthew Cooper, who obviously isn’t a real scientist—”

  “Obviously,” Abdalrahman said, interjecting.

  “—was looking into Tyra MacEwan’s disappearance.”

  Abdalrahman shook his head with agitation. “Forget the woman for a moment. You said you know where Cooper is.”

  “He’s in Boston. I sent men for him, but as yet I’ve not heard from them. Very soon, he will either be dead or our prisoner.”

  “Very good, Shurish. I’m impressed. And what about the woman, MacEwan?” the colonel asked.

  “Lenzini has her under surveillance. We must keep her alive.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe she’s the only other one who has the technical knowledge required to complete the work if we cannot retrieve Sadiq in a timely manner.”

  “I’d think it difficult to convince her to help us,” Abdalrahman said.

  “She can be troublesome,” Shurish said, nodding.

  “Yes, she has already caused us many problems.”

  “If there is anyone to blame for Sadiq’s capture, it would be her and not me.”

  “I see. Did it escape notice that it was you who was supposed to keep her under control?”

  “I tried,” Shurish said in protest. “It never occurred to me that she and Fowler would actually discover our work inside Carnivore. I thought allowing her to go work with Fowler would serve as a distraction.”

  “That is the trouble, Shurish. You think too much and act too little. This is not proper for a soldier of the NIF.”

  “But as you have succinctly pointed out on numerous occasions, Colonel, I am not a soldier.”

  “Do not think yourself so clever as to be indispensable, Shurish,” Abdalrahman said. “Or so help me, I will cut off your head and grind you into meat for lions. Effective immediately, I am in charge of this operation.”

  “You have no authority to—”

  “I have every authority!” Abdalrahman could feel his face flush. “Weeks have gone by. Weeks! What have you done? Can you tell me that? Are our people in place? Has Lenzini finished his work? Are we ready to commence operations?”

  “I need Sadiq’s help.” There was almost a whining tone in Shurish’s voice. “You must free him.”

  “How? Can you tell me? Am I to commit my entire force to freeing him? My nephew is locked up in prison somewhere behind meters of barbed wire, concrete and iron. What would you propose I do? Do you think I’m so deluded that I envision myself just walking into this place and taking him from under their noses? He is guarded by well-armed and well-trained personnel, and I am quite certain the government has determined his value to us. They are no doubt subjecting him to horrors I cannot even imagine.”

  “Phah!” Shurish countered. “They are civilized in my country.”

  “Did I just hear you correctly?” Abdalrahman shouted.

  Shurish’s expression revealed he was thinking very carefully before giving an answer. “While I do not agree with my government, I was born here and that makes me an American. This is my country and my people.”

  “No, my friend,” Abdalrahman replied, forcing himself to stay calm. “You are mistaken. You chose to sell them out to us and for a very hefty price, as I recall. Because you realized that after our first major victory here you would never have the same chances as before. We are your country and your people, now, and this is something you should never forget. If you ever say anything like that again, I will kill you. Do you understand me?”

  Abdalrahman watched with satisfaction as Shurish squirmed in the seat of the luxury sedan before swallowing hard and nodding. He dropped his gaze, not choosing to look at the terrorist leader. Yes, Shurish was definitely proving himself to be a liability. He wouldn’t live forever. He was not loyal to the cause of the jihad, and that meant he couldn’t be trusted. But for the moment, Abdalrahman needed Shurish, which meant he’d have to tolerate him.

  Once the remainder of his forces had joined him and he’d rescued Sadiq and destroyed Cooper, then he would put an end to Shurish’s life. In the meantime, he had more important worries and challenges ahead of him. There would be plenty of time to kill Shurish later.

  “For now, we will await word from your men about Cooper,” Abdalrahman said, “although I am not confident the news will be good. If they fail to destroy Cooper, then I will deal with him personally. And then we will finish our business with the Americans.”

  5

  Boston, Massachusetts

  The home of Nicolas Lenzini was more fortress than residence. Not surprising, considering his enemies.

  As he rode up the long, winding drive to the main house, Bolan wondered how they could have gathered so little intelligence on Lenzini over the years. He was both an ominous and infamous figure in the underworld who happened to enjoy quite a bit of time in the public eye, and yet the government had seemed almost inept at bringing him down.

  Bolan couldn’t criticize them too much. They had to operate within constraints he didn’t, follow rules put into place by judges and politicians on Lenzini’s payroll, and wade through bureaucratic red tape. They had to have approval for their undercover ops, many times by people who golfed with Lenzini or rubbed elbows in the same social circles. Well, the Executioner didn’t have to do any of that, and it was time to bring the numbers king to his knees.

&
nbsp; As Bolan got out of the car, he took a quick count of the guards and their positions. Given the size of the grounds, there was no way his initial numbers could represent the entire complement. The guards that weren’t visible posed the real threat to him, and given his present count, he believed there were probably quite a few who fell into that category.

  “Come on inside,” Serge Grano said, motioning for Bolan to follow him. “We’re late for our meeting with Mr. Lenzini.”

  Bolan followed Grano inside, ever conscious that Ape was right behind him and watching his every move. At first they had seemed friendly enough, but as they’d approached Lenzini’s estate, he’d noticed a shift in their attitudes toward him. Perhaps they hadn’t completely bought his story about the cop who’d followed him, or maybe they were beginning to feel like he’d brought them some unwanted heat. Either way, something had definitely changed and the Executioner knew he was going to have to keep close tabs on the environment.

  They seated him in a large, spacious office, and then Grano held out his hand. “Turn it over.”

  “What?” Bolan asked, feigning confusion.

  “Your piece. Nobody does one-on-one with the old man armed. Not even me.”

  “Oh.” The Executioner looked at Grano for a second, making sure to hesitate and show distrust, but then he finally conceded and handed over the Beretta.

  “You carrying backup?”

  Bolan shook his head.

  “Start,” Grano said simply, and then he left.

  Bolan occupied his time by pulling a small rubber ball from his pocket and squeezing it. It would look like a nervous habit to any spectators, and Bolan was pretty sure he was under scrutiny by hidden cameras. What observers wouldn’t know was that it was also therapy for the arm wound he’d sustained while battling the NIF. Those kinds of details had been left out of his role as Frank Lambretta.

  A panel in the wall suddenly slid aside and a man in a motorized wheelchair rolled through the opening. His hair was white, and his face wrinkled and marked by all of the signs of age combined with disease. This was definitely not the man Bolan had expected to see.

  “Good morning, Frankie,” the man greeted him cheerily, coming to a stop behind a large cherrywood desk.

  Bolan nodded. “I’m, uh—I’m supposed to be meeting Nicolas Lenzini.”

  “So you are,” the man said.

  “Yeah. So who are you?”

  “Nicolas Lenzini,” the man replied.

  Bolan shook his head. “No way, pal. This is some kind of joke, right? Like a test of some kind.”

  The man’s laugh was really a cackle, which seemed witch-like under the circumstances. “Oh, I assure you this is no joke, Frankie.”

  “My name’s Frank,” Bolan said.

  “Your name’s what I say it is!” the guy replied. “And I can assure you, I am Nicolas Lenzini. You want to know how I can prove I am?”

  Bolan nodded, fully playing his dismay at being smacked down.

  “Because if I push the button here under my desk, I’ll have twenty guys here in five seconds who will yank your smart ass outta that chair, beat you senseless, carve you up with a chain saw and flush parts of you down every public toilet in Boston. Got it?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect.”

  “I know it. And you’re going to find, Frankie, that if you’re loyal to me, as your reputation dictates, then I’ll be loyal to you. You’ll never want for anything while you work for me. You can ask Serge or any of his boys. Now, I know you’re a contract guy, but I also know you’re out of work and looking for a place to put up your feet. Do this job for me, do it right, and you’ll have a permanent place to call home.”

  “That would be nice, Mr. Lenzini,” Bolan replied meekly.

  “Now, I know you’ve probably seen pictures of me. And I know you’re probably wondering why I look like this and I’ve got my ass parked in a wheelchair instead of on some hot broad. You wondering that?”

  “Yes, actually, I kinda was.”

  “Well, the answer is it’s none of your goddamn business! Okay? You just do what you need to do, worry about yourself, and I’ll take of you. My boys can tell you I’m firm but I’m fair. And I only expect to have this conversation once. We see eye to eye with each other now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now get the fuck out of here.” As he spun the chair he added, “Serge will tell you what you need to do.”

  A moment later, Lenzini exited through the panel almost as quickly as he’d entered. Bolan sat and waited a moment, not sure what to do. He didn’t want to look indecisive, but he had to admit he was a bit surprised by the brief and terse encounter. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. But he could understand now why the federal law-enforcement community had had such a difficult time getting Nicolas Lenzini. Bolan’s meeting revealed that the man the media called Nicolas Lenzini wasn’t really Lenzini. The Nicolas Lenzini known to the rest of the world was an impostor.

  The Executioner realized the game had changed.

  “OLD MAN’S TOUGH, EH?” Serge Grano said, nudging Bolan with an elbow.

  No, he’s a crippled lunatic, the soldier thought as he nodded. Bolan said, “He told me you’d fill me on the details of my assignment.”

  “That’s the trouble with you guys,” Grano said. “You don’t learn to relax. You’re all business, all of the time.”

  “The boss said it was important to get this done as soon as possible. I came here to work.”

  “Young bull wants to prove himself,” Grano said, turning to Ape and winking. The men were sitting in a cozy barlike area of the house set aside for the guys when they were off duty. They were eating a lunch consisting of cracked crab, fried okra and buttered noodles. A homemade, chilled, banana cream pie sat on a nearby table waiting for them to dig in.

  Bolan had decided to forgo the heavy lunch and instead ordered a turkey club and mineral water. His two criminal associates had looked at him like he was from another planet when he chose to pass on the very generous lunch provided by Lenzini’s head chef, but as Grano pointed out, each man was to his own eats like he was to his own women.

  “Harry, beat it for a bit, will you?” Grano said.

  The bartender nodded and left, along with Ape, leaving the two men to talk alone. Bolan thought it was odd, seeing as Grano hadn’t asked Alfonse to leave but he’d somehow managed to let the big guy know the conversation wasn’t for anyone else’s ears. Once they were alone, Grano immediately got to business.

  “It’s been a while since Don Lenzini hired outside help for this kind of thing,” Grano said in a low voice. He jerked his head in the direction of the door through which Alfonse had exited and said, “In most cases, he uses Ape for stuff like this. And understand it’s because Ape’s the best at what he does. Nobody’s better than him, you got that?”

  Bolan nodded and presented Grano with an expression of total understanding.

  “But Ape’s needed here for something else, and we need somebody who can’t be connected with Don Lenzini to handle this.”

  “So you got me instead.”

  Grano sat back and nonchalantly splayed his hands. “Why not? Word we get from our friends is that you’re the best. You’ve got no ties to us, only to Palermo in Florida, so even if you got caught whacking someone there’d be no way for the Feds to tie you to Mr. Lenzini.”

  “Seems smart enough,” Bolan said.

  “Ought to be,” Grano said, studying his fingernails. “I’m the one who thought of it.”

  Bolan saw Grano for what he was. He was a criminal, but he was the worst kind: he thought he was ten feet tall and bulletproof. Grano belonged to the crowd that always seemed the first to fall when Bolan finally brought down the curtain, and he envisioned in the end it wouldn’t be any different this time around.

  “So, what’s the job?” Bolan asked, playing his part.

  “All right, I’ll cut the bullshit. The guy you’re after is named Gino Pescia. Yo
u ever heard of him?”

  Bolan thought a moment, unsure if he should give away the fact or not. He knew Pescia was a made man, and he knew he was pretty important from the information he’d gleaned during his encounter with Pescia at the Garden of Allah nightclub in the heart of Washington, D.C. And he knew the club was a front for NIF operations. It was just a smoking ruin, thanks to the Executioner’s handiwork. Bolan had told Pescia to return to Lenzini with a message of warning that they should cut their ties with the NIF. Apparently, Pescia had decided it was better to do his own thing rather than let Lenzini handle business in Wonderland.

  “I’ve heard his name in a few circles,” Bolan finally replied. “Nothing specific, though. What did he do?”

  “That’s need-to-know,” Grano said. “Just suffice it to say that he’s turned on Don Lenzini, and that’s not acceptable to the Family. As I’m sure you know.”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  “Now,” Grano continued, “we’ve got a rat that tells us he’s holed up in San Francisco and he’s getting himself a crew together. We’re not sure what he’s going to do. Your job is to make sure he doesn’t do anything and that he keeps his mouth shut.”

  “I thought Don Lenzini wanted him out of the picture,” Bolan replied.

  “He does,” Grano said, “but not right away. The boss thinks Gino might know some things that are important, so he wants to make sure we get that information first.”

  “What things?”

  Grano smiled and shook his head.

  “No, let me guess…Need-to-know.”

  “Yeah,” Grano replied. He looked around and then leaned forward, prompting Bolan to do the same. “We’ve recently taken on some new business associates. I can’t tell you about these guys, but then you don’t need to worry about them. All you need to do is find Pescia, and then you sit on him until Mr. Lenzini decides what to do with him. That clear enough for you?”

  “Yeah, boss. That’s clear.”

  “Good. Now, there’s another thing you should know about, just in case it comes up. You know old man DeLama?”