And then he began to sob, softly and gently, but just enough to make her believe he was desperate for her help. She was a soft touch—he knew that about her—and it was this weakness he would play on. MacEwan was always ready to help the underdog; she always wanted to do the right thing, and this was her chance. She would see this as an opportunity to right a wrong and redeem a friend.
“All right,” she whispered. “Tell me where and when.”
TYRA MACEWAN COULD hardly believe she’d agreed to do it.
She knew what she should have done was to contact Cooper’s people, or told the people guarding her, but she wasn’t sure how fair they would be with Shurish. She couldn’t very well tell the FBI or the U.S. Marshals, since they were both working for whoever was pulling the government strings here. Then again, she didn’t believe this was some conspiracy, either. All she could do was hear him out, and that’s exactly what she intended to do.
First, she left the guy they had assigned to help her sitting at the systems with some labor-intensive assignment that would keep him busy the rest of the morning and probably well into the day. With that part taken care of, she then told him she was going to take a shower and get some rest. She went into the master bedroom, locked the door and then turned on the shower. There was a window that led onto a fire escape, and after donning warm clothes and a jacket—careful to insure she brought her wallet and phone—MacEwan went out the window and down the ladder until she reached the alleyway below.
Much to her dismay, MacEwan realized there was no exit to the rear. That meant she’d have to find some way of getting past the guards posted in a vehicle parked outside the apartment building. That was no mean trick, and since she couldn’t scale the side of the adjoining brick building, or leap the gaps between the two roofs without breaking every bone in her body, her ability to escape would be solely determined by how clever she could actually be. It didn’t take her long to come up with a plan, and a highway billboard—visible from the alley—gave her the idea. It was a picture of a fireman holding a young child, both of them covered in soot and ash, and a caption cautioning children not to play with matches.
MacEwan dialed the fire department immediately. She didn’t want to send them out on an emergency run, just in case they would be needed somewhere else, so she asked for assistance from them in lighting her furnace. That would be considered a public assistance call, and it would be the lowest priority—thus it wouldn’t divert them if a true emergency came in. Still, it was going to cause quite a ruckus, since she’d called it for the old woman she noticed living in the apartment below. True to form, the fire department, an engine led by an officer’s car, showed up within ten minutes—ready to render whatever assistance they could—and pulled up right in front of the building. With all due diligence, the firefighters climbed from the truck and went inside. MacEwan peered out of the alleyway and saw that truck was completely blocking the view of the agents. She burst from concealment and headed to the next corner. Fortunately, as throughout much of D.C., there were a line of cabs waiting on the busy side street.
MacEwan climbed into the first cab and gave the driver the address. Actually, it surprised her that Malcolm had wanted to meet in the parking lot of the DARPA offices. That didn’t seem quite right for a man fearful for his own life, and moreover a man who was trying to escape detection. Nonetheless, she wasn’t going to question it. She’d known Malcolm Shurish for years, and she’d never known him to be deceitful. He’d always been wholly dedicated to his work, and she had no reason to believe he’d lie to her now. Besides, it didn’t hurt to listen. And she wasn’t afraid he’d do anything, because if this was all just a deception, she had her gun and she was quite able to protect herself.
What made her feel guilty was leaving Cooper and his friends in the lurch. She wasn’t holding up her end of the bargain, but from what she understood recently, her mother was no longer in danger. So really, the terms of the deal were off. Nonetheless, she was a woman of her word, and she would complete her assignment. But she couldn’t do that effectively if Shurish was being wrongly targeted, and the real terrorists were still out there and plotting America’s destruction. And if Shurish was innocent of any wrongdoing, then he would be willing to come back with her and help her crack the code. That would prove his innocence and show the government, once and for all, that he was a patriot and ready to do whatever was necessary to protect his country.
MacEwan arrived at the DARPA offices. The parking lot was deserted, save for a few cars, and she wondered how silly it would look for her to show up in a cab and then just stand outside waiting. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait, because as soon as she’d paid the cabbie and he was out of sight, Shurish pulled up in his car. MacEwan got in immediately and soon the two were on their way, headed down the interstate and out of Washington.
“Where are we going?” MacEwan asked.
“To my house,” Shurish told her.
“Won’t they be watching for you there?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “They’ve already been there and searched the place. I sincerely doubt they will return.”
“Malcolm, you must tell me what’s going on. I’ve risked my neck to get to you, and I think you owe me an explanation.”
“Soon, my dear,” he replied. “Very soon I will explain it all.”
“No, Malcolm, you will explain it now.”
He moved so quickly that MacEwan didn’t have time to react. She hadn’t known he was capable of such speed, otherwise she would have better prepared herself. She felt something small and sharp strike her in the side of the neck, something he was holding in his hand, but when she tried to reach for the pistol in the pocket of her overcoat, she was unable to move. It was almost as if something had paralyzed her. And then she could hear him laughing and talking, but she couldn’t really understand what he was saying.
The world closed in around her, and all she saw was darkness….
17
Seattle, Washington
“Disappeared?” Bolan said, echoing Brognola’s words. “What do you mean disappeared? People don’t just vanish into thin air, Hal.”
“All other things being equal,” Brognola replied, “I’d agree with you, Striker. But this is a special circumstance.”
The Executioner was safely aboard a Learjet C-21A, his trusted friend and pilot at the stick. Jack Grimaldi had been through many of the same hells Bolan had, most at a higher elevation, but he was a tough SOB and a hard-charger all the same. The Executioner respected him, not just for his guts and his spirit, but also for his undivided loyalty and unswerving devotion to their friendship. Not to mention the fact the guy was one of the best damn pilots on the planet—no, the best—and Bolan could always count on him to be there when he was most needed.
“She did it on her own,” Bolan continued. “Didn’t she?”
“We think so, yes. Unless somebody snatched her out of the shower and carried her down the fire escape. But I’m not real sure I’m buying that since you’d think someone would notice a wet, naked woman being carried down the sidewalk during morning rush hour.”
“So what’s your next move?” Bolan asked.
“Well, we believe that if she left it was probably to meet someone. The guy we sent to work with her was positive that he heard her talking to someone. We had the phones bugged, and nothing came in on that. She must have had her own phone. We also talked with her mother, and she swears that MacEwan never called her, or vice versa.”
“So she just got up and walked out.”
“Well, it’s possible she set up a decoy. About thirty minutes before our guy decided to check on her, and subsequently discovered she was missing, a fire truck arrived for what they say was a public assistance call to light the furnace of the woman downstairs.”
“Okay, so we think she used that as a diversion.”
“Yes, and it would have been a pretty clever one except for the fact that the entire building is heated by a sin
gle boiler in the basement. There’s no furnace to light, and there are no individual heating units in the apartments. We make sure that thing undergoes regular maintenance, seeing as it’s one of our safehouses.”
“And to prevent someone from doing exactly what she did.”
“Precisely,” Brognola replied, “although the fire department didn’t have any way of knowing that at the time. We’d always counted on any deceptions of that nature to come through the nine-one-one system. I don’t think anybody would have accounted for a call from the operator direct to one of the station houses.”
“Like I told you before, she’s one sharp cookie.”
“Well, since we know she didn’t get a call over that number and she wasn’t talking to her mother, we’re guessing she set up the whole thing so she could slip away. That leaves us believing she did it so she could meet someone.”
It only took Bolan a second to come up with a name. “Shurish.”
“That’s what we’re thinking, as well.”
“That guy is slippery, Hal. You need to find him, and you need to find him quick, or I guarantee you that’s the last we’ll see of MacEwan.”
“I’ve got Able Team on its way back right now,” he replied. “The guys will start scouring the city and work their way out. In the meantime, I assume you’re still going after your final target.”
“Well, at least the final target out here. The last target is in Boston.”
“You’re talking about Lenzini?”
“Yeah.”
“Actually, he’s here in Washington according to all of the intelligence we’ve had in the past twenty-four hours. And, we suspect that the NIF may finally be on to you. The little numbers you did on the Mob in San Francisco and Los Angeles have effectively neutralized their operations. Lenzini’s seething, and the phone taps we have say he’s no longer willing to commit resources.”
“Wait until talk of my latest exploits gets back to him,” Bolan grumbled. “He’s out one lieutenant, and I don’t think that Serge Grano’s going to be in any shape to come after me for a while. By the time he’s ready to take up the sword again, his boss will be long dead.”
“Well, watch for the NIF, Striker. We’ve got intelligence briefings on some very strange movements. We now believe that Umar Abdalrahman’s in this country, and we think he’s coming after you. He might even try to stop you before you reach Seattle.”
“I’ll be watching for him. And, Hal?”
“Yes?”
“Find MacEwan,” Bolan said quietly. “Find her before it’s too late for all of us.”
“We’ll do everything we can, Striker. Good luck.”
“Out here.”
Bolan signed off and switched back to the plane’s internal frequency. For a while, he just looked out the window at the twinkling lights twenty-thousand feet below. Every so often, the lights would disappear and the plane’s flashing strobes would reflect off a thick, billowing cover of clouds. Sometimes, the cloud cover wasn’t so thick, and then it was like floating through a translucent sheet of cotton. The Executioner was avoiding an uncomfortable conversation with Grimaldi regarding Tyra MacEwan’s disappearance. He knew Grimaldi heard every word that had been said.
The Executioner fixed his friend with a concerned stare. “You feeling all right, Jack?”
“Still a bit sore from the number they did on me in Afghanistan,” Grimaldi replied. “But I’m hanging in there, Sarge. How about you? Are you doing okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I know you’re only asking me if I’m feeling all right because of the fact MacEwan ran off to who knows where.”
“Yeah, well, maybe a little, Jack.”
“Listen, Sarge, there isn’t a damn thing anybody can do about it. MacEwan knew the risks and she also knew what could happen if she left the protection umbrella. I’m sure she was just doing whatever she thought was right, and I’m also sure she’s smart enough to take care of herself.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re thinking straight on this.”
Grimaldi fired the Executioner a wicked grin and a wink, and then said, “Of course I am. Just lie down on the couch back there and we’ll talk about anything else you’d like.”
“All right,” Bolan said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I get the point.”
“What’s your plan?”
“I figured it’s time for us to dish out some of what we took in Afghanistan,” Bolan replied. “So if you’re looking for some payback, now would be the time. Feel like some action?”
“Depends,” Grimaldi replied. “I’d prefer an F-18 Hornet, but this’ll do for us. She’s been modified with the usual compliment of four 30 mm cannons, and the underside is equipped with a pair of AGM-130s.”
The Executioner nodded, quite impressed with the modifications to the civilian Learjet. Just one of AGM-130s would do well against the major network hub rumored to be outside of Seattle. The AGM was a guided, air-to-surface missile, and could be fired and targeted by Grimaldi from the cockpit. The missile was commonly deployed by the Air Force, and its weapons systems officers swore it was perfect for taking out preplanned targets as well as targets of opportunity. It would be more than enough to handle anything the NIF could throw at them.
“You’ll be able to trigger this thing once it hits?” Bolan asked.
“Roger that,” Stony Man’s ace flier replied. “Those babies can go off either on impact or by triggering. I can make sure it’s well into the ground before I let her go.”
“Good, because I’d hate to have civilian casualties out of this. All right, here’s the plan then. It should be dark by the time we get over the target. I’ll do a high-level jump first, and that should give you time to touch down and fuel. I want to make sure we’re clear of bystanders before you do your stuff. Once we’re clear of this, I’ll head for the airport and meet up with you there.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Grimaldi replied. “You just make sure you’re out there before I come in, Sarge. I’d hate to see you get fried crisp with the bad guys.”
Bolan nodded. Turning high-yield military payloads out on civilian areas wasn’t exactly his first choice, but there was a lot more at stake if they didn’t accomplish the mission. Truthfully, the Executioner didn’t have any idea what he’d be up against. The entire thing was difficult to predict. One thing he did know was that his country was counting on him. If he didn’t stop it here and now, the terrorists stood a big chance of seeing their plans come to fruition, and who knew what would happen then. Just as before, he didn’t have any choice. There was no way in hell he could let them get away with it.
No way in hell. Yeah.
THE JUMP STARTED just like any other, although Bolan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to parachute into a location in his own country.
Well, the ends would justify the means. Bolan clicked on his radio as soon as his chute had fully deployed, and tested his signal to Grimaldi. The pilot came back in a crackled but clear enough reply. Bolan figured he’d have thirty-seven minutes tops, provided everything went on schedule, and that was a best guess since he didn’t really have a schedule. He landed without incident, and five precious minutes elapsed while he disconnected his chute and cleared himself from his jumping gear. Add to that the three minutes from jump point to ground, and he was down to under thirty to accomplish his mission.
Fortunately, his parachute had provided significant guidance and given the low winds, he was on target. The bright lights surrounding the perimeter of the huge warehouse complex were visible in the distance. Bolan began to trot through the deep, marshy grasses. He ignored the cold splashes of water that doused his boots and the pants of the clean blacksuit Grimaldi had brought. He’d managed a few hours of sleep during the flight and had eaten a hot MRE.
The Executioner wasn’t the only one rejuvenated. Strapped beneath his left arm was the well-oiled, fully loaded Beretta 93-R with two spare magazines, and the Desert Eagle riding in a low-s
lung holster on his right thigh. He wasn’t carrying grenades or wearing a harness, but there were spare 30-round magazines tucked into concealed pockets of the blacksuit for the M-16 A-2 clutched in his fists. The warrior was prepared for combat, and he was planning on bringing his own unique brand of justice to the enemy.
At a nice, even pace to reduce the risk of injury from a sprained ankle or a fall, Bolan managed to reach the warehouse complex in twenty minutes. He went prone at a corner post of the ten-foot-high fence that lined the perimeter, careful to remain in the shadows. The place didn’t look like it was heavily guarded, but the Executioner quickly changed his mind when he saw a white pickup truck driving along the perimeter. Besides a driver, an orange light flashing atop the cab illuminated two men seated on the back rails of the pickup, each carrying some sort of hardware. They looked like bolt-action rifles, but Bolan couldn’t be absolutely sure from that distance; he would assume the worst until some other hard evidence presented itself.
The soldier turned an upward glance to three towers of various heights, the tallest looked like a miniature water tower, and stood as high as the main warehouse. The other two were clearly observation towers, lower in height, but Bolan couldn’t see anyone manning them at the moment. It was possible the two in back of the pickup truck were simply hitching a ride, and that was exactly where they were headed.
In that case, Bolan would have to make sure they never reached their destination. The Executioner did another scan of the area and then went to one knee and removed a pair of heavy-duty wire cutters from the hollowed butt of the M-16 A-2, normally reserved for a cleaning kit. The Executioner tapped the wire cutters against the fence rapidly to insure it wasn’t electrified, and then went about the work of gaining entry. Once he’d created a large enough egress, he pushed his way inside, stored the wire cutters and did another assessment. He couldn’t see the truck any longer, and that concerned him. He didn’t know much about the place. For all his intelligence—none—it could have been equipped with a full alarm system or a division of NIF troops posing as security.
Exit Code Page 17
