Lethal Payload

by Don Pendleton

  Bolan frowned into the middle distance.

  Kurtzman nodded. “And I’ve taken it down that route. All the way down to the last permutation. Let’s say every single French foreign legionnaire in French Guiana converts to Islam and they take the spaceport. And they have the scientists in place and lined up to switch the payloads. That rocket would still never leave the launch pad. If the spaceport were taken, France would assault it. Mirage VI supersonic strategic bombers could cross the Atlantic in about two and a half hours and destroy anything on either of the two launch pads.” Kurtzman scratched his head. “For that matter, worst-case scenario, the spaceport has been taken, the rocket is modified, and we are sixty minutes and counting to Armageddon, the French could pull a Final Option of their own and nuke the facility from one of their subs in the Pacific. I’m sorry, Striker, but the Ariane-5 just doesn’t work as a terrorist weapon.”

  “Do me a favor anyway.” Bolan typed in the name, number and address from the paper he held. “Find me everything you can on a Dr. Feresteh Mohammedkhani, currently working for the French national space program in French Guiana. I believe she’s Iranian, probably immigrated to France and went to university at the Polytechnical School. Her specialty is rocket design.”

  “I’m on it. What are you going to do, meanwhile?”

  “I don’t know. I think Jolie knows more than she’s telling me, but not much. I’m going to buy her lunch and see if her superiors have cleared her to tell me anything interesting. By that time, I’m hoping you’ll have something on Dr. Mohammedkhani, and I’ll pay her a visit.”

  “Contact me in two hours. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Striker out.” Bolan closed up the link and finished his coffee. An afternoon rainstorm broke out and beat down on the streets. People in the streets ducked into doorways. Bolan jogged across the street to the hotel. Inside, the man at the front desk gestured to him.

  Bolan caught the disturbed look in the man’s eyes and his hand crept toward the concealed Beretta 93 R. “Yes?”

  “Your…lady friend. She is gone.”

  “Gone?” Bolan locked eyes with the man. “Where?”

  The man flinched. “I do not know, sir. But she looked very unhappy, and was in the company of a number of very unpleasant looking men. I almost called the police.”

  “What kind of men?”

  “Javanese I suspect, and rough looking. One of them had very frightening eyes, I…” The man’s eyes bugged as the machine pistol appeared in Bolan’s hand. The soldier took the stairs three at a time to the second-story landing. He went down the hall and could see that the door to his room was standing open. Bolan flicked his selector switch to 3-round-burst mode and went through the door.

  There was no sign of a struggle, save for a Colt Delta Elite lying unfired on the carpet. Bolan lowered his pistol as he stared at the bedstand. The twelve-inch snake-curved blade of a kris was sunk into the wood. The blade impaled a piece of paper. Only four words were written on it. The words were written in English.

  “Leave or she dies.”

  11

  Cayenne

  “Everything is going according to plan.”

  “Everything was going according to plan before. You said the American was a hunted man, and there was nowhere he could hide from the legion.” Babar looked askance at the Commander. “So he went to the legion camp and made friends with the commanding officer.”

  “Yes…” The Commander regarded Babar dryly until the giant broke eye contact. “This American does appear to very resourceful.”

  Cigarette spoke. “You think kidnapping the woman is enough to draw him off?”

  “No, I do not believe so. Not at all. But that was never really my intention. The way this man is, he will act. It will be his undoing.”

  “But what about his allies?” Babar inquired. It was clear the giant would not be satisfied until he had personally pulled the American’s head from his shoulders. “He keeps calling upon resources he should not be able to use. As I said, he has made war against the legion, yet somehow acquired the cooperation of the commandant of the Jungle Warfare School.”

  The Commander smiled again. “I am counting on it.”

  Babar blinked.

  “We have contacts in the French foreign legion, do we not?” the Commander chided.

  Babar smiled.

  “And we have at least one contact I can think of in Action Direct, no?”

  Babar smiled to reveal his gold teeth.

  “And we have contacts in the local police,” the Commander finished. “Babar, my friend, I am counting on our American calling on whatever resources he can muster. He knows he cannot find the woman alone. He will have to seek help. The minute he goes to the legion, we will know it. The minute he contacts Action Direct headquarters, we will know it. The minute he contacts the local police, we will know it.”

  Cigarette stubbed out his smoke. “Should we go and insure it?”

  “No, not yet. The trap is set. When he makes his move, as I say, we will know it. All our accomplices need is five minutes’ warning, and they will be ready for him.”

  “Yes,” Babar said. “But what about us? I think Cigarette is right. We need to take this matter firmly into our own hands.”

  “Do you know something?” the Commander asked. “I agree. We will assemble the strike team. We get the word when he moves. When he moves, we do. We will let him walk into the trap.”

  “And we will be outside waiting.” Babar grinned. “Should he once more prove himself resourceful.”

  “Exactly.” The Commander’s eyes burned as he looked into the American’s short and brutal future.

  Guiana Space Center

  “WE HAVE a problem.”

  Dr. Poulain nearly jumped out of his shoes as Bolan materialized behind him in the parking lot. He sagged against the door of his Mercedes clutching his chest. “You nearly made me change my pants, my friend.”

  “I’m sorry, Doctor, but it was necessary to speak to you alone.”

  “Just what sort of problem do we have? Have you discovered something new?”

  Bolan shook his head. “Jolie has been kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?” Poulain’s face fell. “By whom?”

  “Terrorists. The ones I tracked to French Guiana. They want me to break off my investigation.”

  “But, you must—”

  “I can’t, and I won’t.” Bolan’s face was grim. “Jolie’s probably already dead, or wishes she was, and even if I leave and break off my investigation, even if they let her go, she won’t break off hers. They’ll have to kill her anyway.”

  “So…a rescue.” Dr. Poulain’s jaw suddenly set. “Or revenge.”

  “Those are the only viable options.”

  Poulain nodded. “I will contact Ilyanov, he will—”

  “I would rather you didn’t do that.”

  “But…” The scientist shook his head. “Ilyanov is a foreign legion commando, he can—”

  “The activities of the French foreign legion have been compromised.” Bolan’s voice was stone. “So have those of Action Direct, and I don’t know just exactly how bad it is or how far up the chain it runs.”

  Poulain’s eyes hardened. “I keep a pistol in my car, and I have a shotgun at home. What is it you propose?”

  Bolan smiled grimly. The little rocket scientist seemed to be in deadly earnest. “I’d like you to get on the phone. Jolie has at least one team that I know of working under her, two men—”

  “Roland Aretos and his partner, Alain Reno. I do not know them well. However, when Jolie returned to France for a month last year, she gave me the phone number of the big one, Roland, to call in case there was some kind of intelligence crisis at the space center. I have met him a few times, socially. Alain is relatively new. I have seen him assigned to visiting dignitaries as part of security. Other than that, I do not know much about them.”

  Neither did Bolan. “Gut instinct, do you trust them?”


  “Roland struck me as a brutal man.” Poulain nodded slowly. “But I do not doubt his loyalty to France, or to Jolie. Alain I simply do not know.”

  It would have to be enough. “Call Roland. Tell him you have an intelligence emergency. Don’t tell him what kind, and tell him that you can’t talk over the phone. Tell him to meet you at your house immediately.”

  “You drive.” Dr. Poulain pulled handed Bolan his keys. He took out his cell phone and began searching its address book for the number. Bolan revved the engine as Poulain began speaking rapidly into the phone in French. The doctor suddenly stopped talking and listened for several minutes as Bolan drove toward town. Poulain lowered the phone and looked over at Bolan. “Aretos says he will meet you at my house. He is in Kourou. He says he can be there in five minutes.”

  Bolan did the math. The facility was out and away from the city, and it would take him ten minutes breaking every speed limit. He had wanted to be the one waiting, but the cards had been dealt and would have to be played as is. “All right.”

  Poulain punched the hold button. “Aretos says he already knows.”

  Bolan scowled. That wasn’t good. “How?”

  “He did not say. He says you and I are to come alone. He says you are to come unarmed.” Poulain shrugged fatalistically. “Will you meet him? Or do you have another plan?”

  “You said you keep a pistol in your car?”

  “Yes.” Poulain opened up his glove box and pulled out a French 1935A. The little pistol was flat, lustrously blued and had elegant lines. Bolan had fired one before. They were very accurate, quite reliable, and like all prewar French pistols they were also woefully underpowered.

  “You any good with it?” Bolan asked.

  “I can keep most rounds in the black at twenty-five meters.”

  Bolan locked his gaze with the scientist. “Who do you trust more? Me, or Aretos?”

  Poulain frowned. “Well, I do not wish to seem a traitor. But I trust you.”

  “Good. I believe you. There’s a good chance this is an ambush. If it comes down to it, give Roland my gun, but keep yours in your pocket. Stand close to them. If you have to shoot, shoot Roland first. Shoot him twice, once in the body and then once in the head. Then give Alain the same.”

  Poulain considered this. “Very well.” He cocked his pistol and put it into his coat pocket. He took Aretos off hold and told him the meet was a go.

  Bolan took out the Beretta 93-R and handed it to the doctor after he clicked the phone shut. Poulain’s eyes widened when he saw the machine pistol, and he set it in his lap. They drove for a few minutes in silence until they reached the outskirts of Kourou.

  Poulain glanced at the road ahead. “Turn right.”

  Bolan turned onto a gravel road that paralleled a small river. The road twisted along with the curves of the banks and was lined with tropical trees. Several drives pulled off the road through the trees.

  “Many of the engineers keep cottages here.” Poulain pointed. “My drive is just ahead.”

  Bolan pulled onto a short drive that led directly to the river. A small but well-appointed cottage sat at the river’s edge with its own pier and speedboat at dock. A black Renault SUV was parked out front. “Is that yours?” Bolan asked.

  “No.” Poulain shook his head. “They beat us here.”

  Bolan parked the Mercedes and stepped out. Aretos and Reno immediately appeared from around either side of the house. Each of them carried their weapons in their hands. Poulain stepped out of the car, but the two agents seemed to ignore him. They leveled their pistols at Bolan. “Drop your weapons. Slowly,” Aretos said.

  Bolan opened his jacket by the corners to show his empty holster. As he did so, the skeleton handle of his boot knife slid into his palm from out of his sleeve. Even wearing soft body armor he doubted he could survive wading through two cylinders of .357 Magnum rounds to get close enough to use it. But the steel was still cold comfort in his hand as he dropped his coat and kept the blade concealed along his wrist. Poulain held up the Beretta by the barrel. “I have his gun. He has come in good faith.”

  One side of Aretos’s single, heavy eyebrows rose slightly. He jerked his head, and Reno took the pistol from the doctor. Poulain stepped back behind the two French agents.

  Poulain’s right hand slid into his pocket. The Action Direct men took no notice. Bolan had their full attention. Poulain silently drew the pistol and pointed it at the back of Aretos’s head.

  Aretos’s face split into an ugly grin. “I think you have taken an awfully big risk, mon ami.” He holstered his pistol. “Come on. We are wasting time—”

  He turned to find Dr. Poulain putting his own pistol back in his pocket. He whirled and looked back at Bolan dryly. “First you sleep with my boss, now you turn France’s leading rocket scientist against me.” The big Frenchman shook his head ruefully as he walked into Poulain’s cottage. Bolan sheathed his knife and they all followed.

  The soldier’s eye immediately went to the blood-streaked piece of paper on the coffee table. Aretos sprawled onto the couch. He waved at the note as he lit a cigarette. “This was received a few hours ago.”

  Bolan picked it up, and he and Poulain both read the note.

  “Kill the American. We let her go.”

  A corner of the bloodstained note had been cut out.

  Reno tapped the note with his finger. “It matches Jolie’s blood type. A DNA match is being done, but that will take hours even with top priority. We are operating under the assumption that this is for real.”

  Bolan pulled the note he had received from inside his jacket and handed it to Reno. He grimaced and gave it Aretos. “I gather you are not going to leave?”

  “No, and frankly I’m hoping you’re not going along with their demands, either.”

  “No.” Aretos’s cruel face broke into a smile. “We will kill you when we feel like it. Not at the demand of men who are already dead.”

  “The question is, where is she?” Reno frowned. “And who has her?”

  Bolan took a package wrapped in newspaper from his jacket lining and laid it on the coffee table. Aretos unwrapped it. The three Frenchmen stared at the twelve-inch dagger Bolan had brought with him from the hotel. “Caporal-Chef Ki Gunung has her. You need to run fingerprints on that as soon as possible.”

  Aretos jerked his head, and Reno rewrapped the dagger and ran out without a word. Aretos glanced back at Bolan. “You are full of surprises. Can you tell us where she is being held, as well?”

  Poulain looked at Bolan hopefully.

  Bolan had given the matter a great deal of thought. “Ki is a French foreign legion deep reconnaissance commando. If he wants to hide, all he has to do is pull a fade into the jungle. We’ll never find him.”

  Aretos nodded. “Yes, but you do not believe he is hiding.”

  “No, he’s not. He left his calling card, and I suspect the Javanese quarter in Cayenne is small. It won’t be too hard to find him.”

  “You suspect a trap.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Bolan nodded. “A great big one.”

  “Foolish.” Aretos scowled. “What is to prevent me from assembling a strike team and burning him and his little ambush to the ground?”

  Bolan sighed. “Action Direct has been compromised.”

  Aretos glared.

  Bolan ignored the Frenchman’s anger. There was no way to sugarcoat the situation, and time was short. “They have someone on the inside. The minute you contact headquarters and start assembling your team, someone is going to slip Gunung the word, and he’ll disappear. The same will happen if Ilyanov and legion internal security tries anything.”

  “So we are fucked!” Aretos stabbed out his cigarette angrily. “We sit on our hands and do nothing? Is that what you are saying?”

  “No. Action Direct and the legion can’t take any kind of action.” Bolan shrugged. “But I’ve got nothing better to do, and I suspect we have an hour or so before the enemy starts to wonder why they can’t locate y
ou and Alain. That makes three.”

  Aretos’s ugly smile returned.

  “Four.” Poulain stepped forward.

  Aretos’s lip curled derisively. “Put it back in your pants, Doctor.”

  Poulain was determined. “You need all the help you can get.”

  “Very well.” Aretos’s disdain was palpable. “Tell me. Other than getting yourself killed, and my career ruined for losing the leading rocket scientist of France on an unauthorized raid, just what is that you think you can do?”

  Poulain didn’t back down. “It was a long time ago, but I did my National Service. I was trained as a forward observer, and I know which end of a MAS-49 rifle is which.”

  Aretos looked at Bolan helplessly.

  The soldier shrugged. “He was willing to blow your head off.”

  “Yes.” Aretos glared back at the doctor. “So he was.”

  Cayenne

  ARETOS PULLED Poulain’s Mercedes into an alley. The SUV was there, and Reno was waiting. Bolan glanced up as it started to rain. “I need to get some equipment.”

  “No. You do not leave my sight.” Aretos’s jaw was set. “You do not disappear. You do not run your own operation. You stick with us, or we put you in the ground like the note said.”

  Bolan met the Frenchman’s stare but detected no deception. Just his own worry and suspicion. The soldier wanted to go to get a full warload of armor and weapons, but he could not afford a fight with his tenuous allies.

  This day, it was going to be done the French way.

  “We’re going to need guns,” Bolan said.

  The French agent’s wolfish smile returned. “That I can do.”

  They got out into the rain, and Reno popped the hatchback of the Renault. Blankets were piled in the back. Aretos yanked off the top covering.