Exit Code

by Don Pendleton

  “Welcome back to the world of the living, my dear,” Shurish said, chuckling at her with a sardonic expression. “I am honored to have the pleasure of your company during such an historic moment.”

  “Go fuck yourself, Malcolm!”

  “Now, now,” Shurish chided her, wagging his finger and shaking his head. “That is certainly not the language I would expect from any respectable woman of your talent and intelligence. You surprise me.”

  “Didn’t you know, Malcolm?” MacEwan responded with as much distaste as she could muster. “I’m still a good old-fashioned Texas girl. And if I had my six-shooter with me, I’d blow your head clean off.”

  “Tsk-tsk, such a temper,” Shurish replied.

  “Definitely not what I would have expected from such a good-looking broad,” a stranger’s voice said.

  Shurish and MacEwan turned with surprise to see a man standing at the base of the steps, his weight balanced precariously on a cane. His hair was almost pure white, as was his complexion, and his eyes were yellow with liver disease. The skin itself was dry, and flakes of it were visible against the expensive, three-piece Armani suit that hung almost robelike on his bony form. Three large men stood around him like giant trees shading and protecting a seedling, and the bulges in their jackets betrayed their entire purpose. MacEwan looked toward Shurish, looking for some sign of recognition, but it wasn’t there.

  “Don’t look so surprised, Dr. Shurish,” the man said, followed immediately by a cackling laugh. “We are partners, after all. At least, I thought we were, until I found out you had abandoned poor Rhatib and sent Abdalrahman off on some wild-goose chase. Did you think I wouldn’t take whatever steps necessary to protect my investment?”

  “But…but…” Shurish stammered, “the alarms and the intruder detection system should have alerted—”

  The man waved his hand and said, “Child’s play for my technical people. We’ve been watching this place for weeks. We knew about your little hideout here in the Appalachians.” The man made a show of looking at the surroundings, and then continued, “Of course, I prefer something a bit more contemporary and larger, shall we say, but everyone has different tastes.”

  “I don’t know who you are,” Shurish said, reaching for a desk drawer near him, “but you had better get out of here!”

  “Ah, now, Dr. Shurish, I wouldn’t do that,” the man said as the three bodyguards suddenly drew weapons. “Surely you know that my men could kill you before you ever got to your own gun. So let’s not play childish games. After all, we are still partners and I don’t yet think you would have been stupid enough to screw me over. Would you have done something like that, Doctor?”

  And then, MacEwan saw a look spread across Shurish’s face, an expression of realization and unbridled terror. He whispered, “Lenzini.”

  Nicolas Lenzini smiled. “Correct.”

  “But you’re not—”

  “No, I’m not the man you met. That was one of my many body doubles. You see, I’m dying of…well, many things is probably the best way for me to put it. Riotous and gluttonous living has left my body little more than a rotting shell. But I swore I would live long enough to see my empire grow and prosper. And my legacy will be realized by your system as soon as it goes online.”

  “You will not live to see that system go online,” Shurish said. “You have betrayed the New Islamic Front, and they will not let you live once they know you have betrayed them.”

  “And who is going to be left to tell them, eh, Doctor?” Lenzini said. “Are you planning on exacting retribution against me for the NIF? You don’t believe in their cause any more than I do. Poor Malcolm Shurish, an overachiever, poorly mistreated and greatly misunderstood by his government. You didn’t honestly believe that I would forge any sort of true alliance with the likes of your people, did you?”

  “You set up this entire thing?”

  “No, you set it up, Dr. Shurish. You and Rhatib, and your silly little terrorist network. I’m simply the one who will control it.”

  “You can’t control it,” MacEwan interjected.

  “Shut up, bitch!” Lenzini shouted and then succumbed to a violent fit of coughing. He had one of his men help him to a chair while the other two kept Shurish and MacEwan covered with pistols. When he’d settled down, and the coughing had subsided, he continued, “I will deal with you in good time, woman. For now, I would keep your mouth shut! This is a matter among men.”

  Lenzini returned his attention to Shurish. “So what is it to be, Doctor? Are you going to honor the terms of our arrangement, or do I kill you now?”

  “Even if I die, Sadiq will still have total control of the system,” Shurish said. “You can kill me, but you will never possess the key to our systems, or to the communications satellite we hid.”

  “Oh, yes,” Lenzini said mockingly, “I forgot to tell you about that. You see, your communications satellite is about to be destroyed. It seems that is a failure on the part of both sides. My men could not kill the man who penetrated our organization, a man named Frankie Lambretta, and neither could Colonel Abdalrahman kill this same man, whose name I believe is Cooper. So, that means your satellite is gone, as is my network. However, I know that you have an alternative program that will still allow us to seize control of the American defense systems at both Norad and the Pentagon. And that will be enough.”

  “He’s talking about Operation Poltergeist, Malcolm,” MacEwan said. “He knows about it.”

  “Oh yes, the woman is right for once,” Lenzini added. “We do know about this special code that reassembles data at high speeds and when combined with your programming algorithms it sends a code through the SuperNet systems and reroutes all defense control to one system.”

  “The system you have right here,” MacEwan said quietly, realizing now what Shurish had done to secure his future. Suddenly, she felt the bile rise in her throat and an unspeakable hatred for the man she’d once worked for, a man she had looked up to with unquestioning loyalty and respect. “You’re a monster! You’re going to let this man manipulate you into destroying your own country! You can go to hell, Malcolm! Do you hear me? You can go to hell!”

  And as Shurish stood and stared at her in complete shock, Nicolas Lenzini cackled some more and replied, “He’s already there, my dear.”

  19

  Seattle, Washington

  Thirty seconds remained.

  Mack Bolan deflected another violent lunge by Abdalrahman. This time, however, the warrior was ready for the counterattack when it came. His opponent dropped to one knee and tried to sweep Bolan’s feet out from under him, but the Executioner jumped over the attack. The force of Abdalrahman’s movement left him off balance, and Bolan used that to his advantage. He drove his boot upward and caught the terrorist under the chin with the kick while the man was still trying to regain his feet. Abdalrahman let out a cry of pain as blood spewed from his mouth and several teeth broke away.

  The terrorist rolled away and came to his feet, his eyes filled with contempt as he studied Bolan beneath his eyebrows. He weaved on unsteady feet and waited for the Executioner to make his next move. Bolan edged forward slashing at the man with his knife. He had no intention of actually executing an attack on the terrorist as much as he did keeping him off balance. Bolan looked in Abdalrahman’s eyes and realized that the man who stood before him was a culmination of all the hatred and fanaticism of the New Islamic Front.

  Twenty seconds…

  “You will not leave here alive,” Abdalrahman growled. “It is my destiny to make sure you do not.”

  “Maybe that’s your destiny,” Bolan said, “but I make my own.”

  The warrior stepped forward again, and Abdalrahman took another step backward. He tripped over one of the large clamp-and-bolt mechanisms that stabilized the base framework of the satellite dish. He tried to keep his balance by moving sideways, but it drew his attention and compromised his defensive posture.

  Bolan moved on that. The soldie
r jumped over the framework and fired a rock hard punch to Abdalrahman’s head. The man reeled from the blow, twisting and trying to escape, but he was stopped by the crisscrossed pipes and slick metalwork of the monstrous dish. Abdalrahman was seething as he turned and attempted to fight, but Bolan knew he couldn’t let up the assault. The soldier launched a side kick to Abdalrahman’s solar plexus, driving the air from the man’s lungs. Abdalrahman let out a wheeze even as he swung his knife wildly, but Bolan had the upper hand and he easily avoided Abdalrahman’s moves of desperation.

  Ten seconds…

  Abdalrahman screamed with everything he had left and put it into a mad charge at Bolan. The warrior stepped aside and clotheslined the terrorist, and as his adversary fell backward, Bolan drove the Colt Combat Commander knife into the base of his neck. The terrorist’s eyes went wide as he took his last breath and his body stopped receiving signals from the brain. His body trembled spasmodically and he collapsed to cold, gray floor of the warehouse.

  Three seconds…

  The Executioner was moving for the exit, his heart racing and his lungs expanding as his heart pumped life-giving blood to every muscle and cell in his body. He went through the still-open door without breaking stride and emerged onto the pavement. Fires from hot tracer rounds had engulfed several of the nearby buildings, and the NIF terrorists were running around in disorganized fashion as the Learjet passed overhead and spit another violent storm of rounds at them.

  Bolan keyed up his headset just in time to hear Grimaldi quietly say, “It’s away, Sarge, and I sure as hell hope you’re clear.”

  The Executioner was perhaps twenty-five or thirty yards from the warehouse when he heard the first AGM-130 crash through the roof. He knew the safety distance from the blast radius and he also knew he couldn’t possibly hope to make it out alive. Still, he wasn’t about to give up on the idea. His legs screamed in painful protest as he continued to sprint for the fence line. Bolan reached the corner where he’d first entered and ignored the wire that sliced through his blacksuit and cut into tender flesh as he dived through it. He rolled out of the dive and came to his feet in continuous forward motion.

  The warrior suddenly felt the marshy grasslands and the cold splashing of water and in a harrying moment of sheer survival instinct, he threw himself into the thickening grasses and pressed his body as close as he could to the swampy terrain, facedown in the water, hands over his head.

  The vibration of the explosion rumbled through the ground and even in his position Bolan could imagine the sight. The flame from the missile would climb to a height of a hundred yards or better, and turn anything within half a city block’s radius into molten slag. Bolan could feel the sudden, intense heat on his back, but he knew it wasn’t hot enough to cause injuries from that distance. The aftermath of the explosion would rain dust and debris and carry it in the winds for hours. Still, the mission had been accomplished and the Executioner had once more made it out alive.

  Yeah, he’d made it!

  As Bolan pulled his face and then the rest of his body from the icy mud and water with a sucking noise, he could hear something very faintly—a voice calling from somewhere—a familiar voice calling almost plaintively. Bolan stood wearily and wiped the mud and grass as best he could from this eyes and mouth. What was it? Where was it coming from? The area around him was quiet—deathly quiet—and almost surreal. Then Bolan realized that the receiver of his radio had partially dislodged from his ear, and the voice he heard wasn’t a distant voice, but simply a faint one.

  Bolan reinserted the earpiece. “Eagle One to Striker, I say again—do you copy, over?”

  “Eagle, this is Striker,” Bolan replied. “I’m all clear. See you at the rendezvous.”

  And Jack Grimaldi simply laughed.

  Stony Man Farm, Virginia

  “MISSION ACCOMPLISHED, boss,” Carl Lyons told Brognola over the speakerphone.

  His words raised cheers of relief from Harold Brognola, as well as Price, Kurtzman and Kissinger, who were also present to hear the announcement.

  “Nice job, Ironman,” Brognola said, and since the Stony Man chief rarely used the nickname, everyone knew he meant it. “Rhatib’s alive, correct?”

  “Roger that,” Lyons said. “He wasn’t stupid enough to put up a fight. We had a time getting inside their base at the wharf, but it was nothing we haven’t seen before. All terrorists were either killed or captured, and we took Rhatib alive, along with all of the equipment he was using.”

  “What about MacEwan?” Kurtzman asked. “Did you find Tyra MacEwan?”

  There was a long pause before Lyons replied, and everyone in the room knew what the answer would be. “No, I’m sorry, Bear. No sign of her.”

  “Well, let’s not jump to conclusions. She could still be alive.”

  “What about Striker?” Lyons asked. “Any word from him or Jack?”

  “They’re on their way back,” Brognola replied.

  Lyons’s sigh of relief was audible over the speakers.

  Brognola continued, “It seems there was a major communications network in Seattle, and it was primed and ready for action. Striker says he thinks they were able to take it out of action before anything could be done with it, and the White House has confirmed that aside from a few glitches here and there, all defense systems are operating normally and remain fully under our control.”

  “Well, we, ah, how do I put it?” Lyons replied. “Let’s just say we convinced this Rhatib character that it was in his best interests to provide us as much information as he could. He told us that Shurish was involved with the operation, and that they were originally working out of a temporary location beneath a house he has somewhere in the Appalachians.”

  “That wouldn’t be far from here,” Brognola replied.

  “That’s exactly what we were thinking.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Well, we were only able to get a general location from Rhatib, but it’s a narrow enough grid that if Bear could locate it, we might be able to get to this failsafe system and stop it in time.”

  Price nodded her agreement with the plan. “And if our theory is correct about Shurish being responsible for luring MacEwan into a trap, we might be able to pull her out of the frying pan, as well.”

  “I think you’re both right,” Brognola replied. “We’ll get back to you on this, Carl. In the meantime, your number-one priority is to insure the secure transfer of Rhatib to federal custody. All other mission objectives are secondary.”

  Brognola could tell the Able Team leader wasn’t happy to hear that sort of order, but he knew the team would do their job with all the efficiency and professionalism he’d come to expect. “Roger that, Chief. Able Team out here.”

  Brognola aimed a level stare at Kurtzman. His tone was grim, but he tried to remain optimistic as he said, “Bear, it’s up to you now.”

  Kurtzman nodded. “No pressure, though, right?”

  “You’ll make it happen, Aaron,” Price said, putting a hand on his arm and showing him a confident smile. “You’re the best we have, and you’ll come through.”

  And with that, Aaron “The Bear” Kurtzman turned to the keyboard and began working his own unique brand of magic.

  “WE THINK WE’VE FOUND Shurish’s little retreat,” Brognola told the Executioner. “Aaron’s sending the grid coordinates now by secured uplink to Jack.”

  “What do you know about it?” Bolan asked.

  It was Barbara Price who answered, “It’s a large hideaway in the foothills of the Appalachians, about forty miles inside the Monongahela National Forest. It overlooks Lake Moomaw.”

  “I know the place,” Bolan replied. “I’ve done plenty of hiking and camping through there. It’s quiet and out of the way, and it would be the perfect place for Shurish to set up a freestanding system that didn’t require any outside support.”

  “I was going to send Able to check it out,” Brognola told him, “but they’re still tied up with the t
ransfer of Rhatib. I told them that’s the priority, and I don’t know how much time we have left.”

  “I’d have them stick with that, Hal. That’s the best use of resources. Jack’s reviewed the coordinates, and he’s advising that we’re less than thirty minutes from the area. I’ll take care of this.”

  “Striker, be careful,” Price said. Bolan could hear the concern in her voice. “Shurish is by no means stupid, and we don’t want to underestimate him.”

  “I hear you,” Bolan said. “I’ll be watchful. Out here.”

  The Executioner removed the headset, lightly punched Grimaldi on the shoulder with a grin and moved into the back of the plane to prepare for the operation. It was only a matter of time before Shurish got his own system up and running, and Bolan was a little surprised he hadn’t already implemented the failsafe. According to the information Able Team had drawn out of Rhatib, and passed through Brognola, Shurish had set up a temporary operation at the target location, but then moved the operations back to Washington, D.C. That didn’t make much sense, unless Shurish had something to hide. Well, if he was working out of this new location, and had some backup plan, Bolan would find out about it soon enough.

  The other troubling factor was the news about Lenzini’s disappearance. The Mafia crime lord had managed to evade the FBI tails arranged by Brognola and Leo Turrin by using one of his body doubles. Bolan couldn’t really blame them, though, since they didn’t know what Lenzini really looked like. Brognola had arranged, through his DOJ contacts, to convince federal prosecutors to strike a bargain with Serge Grano and his crew—both for their culpability in Lenzini’s numbers rackets as well as their stalking of a federal scientist—and so that would probably provide enough information to topple what was left of Lenzini’s operations in a number of areas. But Lenzini himself was unaccounted for.

  Bolan would deal with him eventually, but now it was time to pull out all of the stops and deliver the final blow. The Executioner could only hope he’d find Tyra MacEwan alive. And if she wasn’t, Malcolm Shurish and anyone else responsible for her death would pay with their lives.