Fire in the Sky

by Don Pendleton

  Hands shaking in anticipation, he turned the map over and slowly began to read through the long alphabetical list of cities and towns, saying each name aloud and thinking about any implied relationship to his code list.

  He stopped at the Gs, at Gila Bend, a tiny place in southwest Arizona on state highway 85, just off Interstate 8. The Gila monster is a lizard indigenous to that region; the words "twist" and "bend" could be synonymous. Twisted Lizard — Gila Bend. It fit. But what in the world could it mean?

  There was a knock on his door. Bolan quickly stuffed everything into his briefcase, mind reeling, and hurried to open the door. Ike Silver stood there, weaving slightly.

  "I'm drunk," the man said and walked past Bolan to stand in the darkened lab area. He drank deeply from a half-full quart of Scotch and looked around. "It's dark in here."

  Bolan pointed toward the glowing office in the rear. "Come on back, Ike, and you can tell me all about it."

  "Delighted," Silver said, following Bolan through the darkness. As they walked, Bolan as a matter of course picked up a lab stool and carried it back with him.

  They reached the office and sat, Bolan making sure none of his intelligence work was in view. "Okay, Ike, what's the problem?"

  "You're a son of a bitch, you know that?" the man said, pointing his finger as if it were a gun.

  "I've been called worse."

  Silver waved him off. "I somehow go for weeks without knowing how wasted my life is," he said, words slurring heavily. "But you find it n-necessary to remind me when you get the chance. You think I don't know what I am? You think I'm so stupid that the... uselessness of all this doesn't pound on me?"

  "Ike, I…"

  "No!" the man yelled, setting his bottle on the government-issue desk. "Let me finish what I got drunk enough to say. I'm weak and I'm a coward. I stood up for myself once a long time ago and paid for it for years after that. I was crushed, my spirit broken when my university chair was taken away from me because of past political mistakes. I even tried to commit suicide."

  The man rolled up his sleeves, exposing jagged scars that ran across both wrists. "I'm so smart, but I cut myself across the arteries instead of along them. So, I failed...and lived."

  "Your problems are behind you," Bolan said. "You can get yourself together."

  Silver stood. "My cowardice isn't behind me!" he exclaimed loudly, a hand to his chest. "That's my real problem, isn't it?" He dropped back onto the stool, tears just touching the corners of his eyes. "I fought the system and it broke me. I've been hiding here ever since. I could hide it from the others... but not from you, Sparks. You refuse to play our games."

  "Is that why everyone feels I don't belong here?"

  The man nodded. "You don't take us as seriously as we take ourselves. You insist on putting our bullshit on human terms."

  "You know, Ike," Bolan said, reaching out to pat the man's arm, "if you can face up to your problems, you can lick them. You're a coward merely because you think of yourself as one."

  Ike stood again, wearily this time, and walked to the desk, picking up his bottle and looking at it. "Anyway," he concluded, taking a small drink and moving to the door, "I just wanted to tell you that you were right about me... and that I'm sorry."

  The man walked slowly away. "We all have fears," Bolan called to Silver's retreating back. "Cowards are the ones who pretend they don't."

  The man stopped walking and turned to smile warmly at Bolan. "Thank you for that."

  All at once, there was a pounding on the door. "Mack Bolan!" a voice called loudly. "This is the United States Air Force. You will open the door and surrender to us immediately!"

  "Who am I speaking to?" Bolan asked, his hand going to the telephone, his mind racing. There were no outside windows in the lab, no other exits.

  "This is the Air Force! You will open this door and surrender yourself!"

  The phone was dead in Bolan's hand. He tore the heavy receiver out of the unit and stuck it into his waistband.

  Silver was moving back toward him. "Who are those people?"

  "Bolan!"

  "There's a civilian in herewith me!" Bolan called, then looked at Silver. "They want to kill me. It's not your fight."

  "They can't come in here like this," Silver said. "What can I do to help?"

  "You got a gun on you?"

  "Heavens, no!"

  "Surrender now!" came the voice from the hallway. "We only want you. The civilian will not be harmed!"

  "All right!" Bolan called. He should have expected this after the way he had drawn out Peg Ackerman. "I'm coming to the door."

  He started for the door, Silver trailing behind him. "You said they wanted to kill you! Why are you giving up to them?"

  Bolan just looked at him.

  "It's because of me, isn't it?"

  "It's not your fight," Bolan said quietly.

  Silver pulled on Bolan's arm to stop him. "You're wrong, Sparks, or...Bolan or whatever your name is. This time it is my fight. Those people can't come in here and push our researchers around."

  Bolan frowned at him. "This is real, Ike."

  "Open this door immediately!"

  "No, sir!" Ike called loudly. "He will not open the door! This is a private research facility, and you cannot come in here. My name is Isaac Silver and I…"

  The clatter of an automatic weapon drowned out Ike as the door shivered, the knob blowing off.

  "Come on!" Bolan yelled. He grabbed Ike by the arm and propelled him back toward the office.

  The door burst open, and several men in uniform charged into the darkness of the lab.

  "Fire at will!" the squad leader called. Bolan threw Ike to the floor in front of him as the SPs opened up with M-16s on full-auto, bright flashes of light strobing the room.

  They crawled through the office door as the whole lab came apart around them in a deafening chain-saw rattle of glass and plaster. Blinds danced madly on the office windows as gas-powered slugs whistled through them to smash into the opposite walls. One round exploded the ceiling light, the rooms thrown into inky blackness.

  Outside, beakers were turned into glass shrapnel as the bullets tore up the equipment on the lab tables. Someone's M-16 tore into the mouse cage, the square metal box dancing and sparking on the table before crashing to the floor, the few still living mice scurrying wildly away.

  "Give me a lighter!" Bolan yelled to Ike above the din. "Quickly!"

  He poured the rest of the Scotch into the paper-filled trash can while Silver dug into his pockets for a lighter.

  "H-here," the man stuttered, his hand shaking uncontrollably.

  Bolan grabbed the lighter and pulled his briefcase onto the floor.

  The autofire stopped.

  "Here they come," Bolan said, thumbing up the flame on the lighter.

  "Move in," the squad leader ordered. "Spread out. He might be armed."

  Bolan pulled a wad of paper from the trash and set it alight, the whole room glowing with hazy light. He dropped the flame into the can, and the alcohol went up with a loud whump. A bright plume of blue-white fire burst from the can, followed by thick gray smoke.

  By the light of the fire, Bolan reached into the briefcase and took out two of the experimental atomizers of ketamine compound, one for each hand. They'd caught him without his weapons, but he wouldn't go down easily.

  "Take the empty bottle," he ordered Silver.

  "But what...?"

  "On three I want you to throw it through that window by the door, then be ready to follow me out this side window. Ready?"

  "God...I'm scared."

  "Me too," Bolan replied. "And Ike, I want to thank you for what you did back there."

  Bolan watched him smile in the flickering light of the trash fire.

  "I'm ready," Silver said.

  "One!" Bolan called, and suddenly water was pouring on him from above —the sprinkler system. Fine, it would generate more smoke. "Two..." Ike was coughing from the smoke, and Bolan's eyes were
burning furiously. "Three!"

  Ike stood and threw the Scotch bottle through the remains of the window with a loud crash; automatics were up and tracking, 5.56 mm hornets whipping across the room.

  Bolan, screaming, stood and charged the window opposite, the chair out in front of him like a battering ram. "Come on!" he called, and smashed into the window space, diving through behind the chair.

  He rolled, coming up in a crouch to see Ike, silhouetted against the backlight of the fire, trying to climb through the window.

  He was too slow.

  The guns swung his way, chopping him in two just as he got a foot on the lab side of the office.

  There was no time to mourn. Bolan reached forward, grabbed the chair and charged directly at the nearest muzzle-flash.

  Before the Security Policeman could get off a shot, the chair connected with flesh that gave, and the man was driven back against a table. He fell to the floor with a groan. As the SP struggled to his feet, Bolan sprayed him in the mouth with one of the atomizers. His flailing stopped in seconds.

  "Someone's down!"

  Bolan heard feet pounding toward his position and had just enough time to grab the man's M-16 and roll away.

  Fred Haines's voice boomed from the doorway. "What the hell's goin' on in here?" Then the lights came on.

  Bolan jumped to his feet, the room a smoke-filled nightmare around him. "Run, Fred!" he yelled, and saw a blue uniform exposed through the shifting smoke.

  He fired a short burst, which emptied the gun. A scream pierced the lab, followed by the thud as a body fell to the floor. Two down.

  The warrior hit the floor again, drawing fire as he crawled past the body of the man he'd paralyzed to take cover behind one of the tables. He was completely surrounded, and had no idea of how many Air Force men were actually in the room. Water continued to pour from the ceiling sprinklers and was now an inch deep on the floor. He wished he'd had time to stop and search the body for more ammo, but the body had been too much out in the open.

  "I think he's out of ammo, Sarge!" an SP called from the haze.

  The smoke was beginning to dissipate, and its cover wouldn't last much longer. He had to somehow gain that door.

  "Okay," the squad leader called. "Hendricks, Jenks, Webber...take him!"

  Three of them.

  Bolan jerked to his feet, throwing the M-16 at the wraiths he saw splashing toward him through the smoke and water. He grabbed the telephone receiver from his waistband and jumped to the tabletop, launching himself at his assailants.

  Bolan came down on two of them, all three losing their footing on the slippery floor and landing in a heap. He drove the heavy receiver repeatedly into the face of the SP on his right, the guy groaning as the cartilage of his nose broke.

  The other SP on the floor with Bolan took a second to get leverage, then threw the warrior beneath him; the third man, still standing, tried to get a clear shot.

  "We've got him!"

  Bolan had seconds to act before he would be immobilized. The man on top of him bared his teeth, reaching back to pound Bolan with a big fist. Hand free, Bolan came up with the atomizer, hitting his assailant full in the face.

  The man gagged then screamed, lurching off Bolan to grab at his throat. As Bolan pushed to his feet, he shoved the stricken SP into the airman with the M-16, both of them tripping over the injured man on the floor. Something snapped, was pulled off the E-3's neck as he fell. Bolan looked down to see the man's dog tags in his hand.

  Through the dissipating smoke he saw that airmen were on all sides. He dived between the tables, coming up with a dripping automatic.

  The SPs had given no thought to a coherent plan. Thinking Bolan an easy target, they had neglected to post men at the door, which was the only escape route. Bolan vaulted over the top of the lab table, M-16 blazing, auto-fire raking the room and pinning down his attackers.

  As the Executioner splashed toward the doorway, an airman leveled a carbine at him. Not even breaking stride Bolan swung around the M-16 and diced the SP from sternum to pelvis, the guy's uniform exploding red as he jerked spastically, falling forward onto the table.

  Bolan leaped over the table, coming down hard on the floor and rolling through standing water as screaming death tore up the room around him. Staying low and using the tables for cover, he rushed through the door and into the hallway.

  Breathing hard, he leaned against the doorframe, the paneled wall opposite splintering to pieces under the withering, directed fire. Bolan pushed off the doorframe and sent a short burst back into the room, driving the airmen back. Now they were the ones who were trapped. The only way out was through that door.

  He stood, switching the M-16 to single shot in order to conserve the last of his ammo. He whirled to the sound of the next office door opening, only to see Howard Davis poking his head out.

  "What's happening, David?" he asked. "It sounds…"

  "Get back inside!" Bolan ordered. The boy jerked quickly into his office and slammed the door.

  Bolan pivoted and fired twice into the lab, hitting an airman in the thigh. The man dived behind a lab table, crying out in anger and pain. There had to be six or seven more, and the warrior didn't have the firepower to take them all.

  He turned back and glanced down the hall. Could he make it to the elevators and stay alive? He'd have to try.

  Then he saw Chuck, moving cautiously down the hall with his gun drawn.

  "Dr. Sparks?" he called tentatively. "Is there something…"

  "Behind you!" Bolan yelled, and the boy turned to see Arthur, Smyth's robot, rolling up behind him.

  Chuck looked back at Bolan. "It's just Arthur, I..."

  The robot slammed into him, driving him against the wall.

  "No!" Chuck screamed in pain. "No-o-o!"

  Bolan watched in openmouthed horror as the robot's powerful arms reached out and crushed the guard's head. The skull broke with a loud crunching sound.

  The robot then turned to Bolan, the photocells that were its eyes glowing manically. It began rolling slowly, creaking, toward Bolan.

  Auto fire from the lab snapped Bolan's attention back to his assailants. They were laying down a heavy pattern, preparing to charge at the door.

  Bolan pivoted again, blind, and fired once more into the lab, keeping them back. Even if he stayed on single shot, they could force him out of ammo quickly.

  He turned to face the robot, which was twenty feet away and closing. Bolan brought around the M-16, firing once, twice, the bullets pinging harmlessly off Arthur's heavy armor. And still it came.

  The warrior was trapped — the robot a mere ten feet away, the killzone of the doorway inches behind him. He popped two shots into the lab, then tried to shoot out the robot's remote-controlled eyes, but missed.

  Suddenly a screaming figure came barreling down the hallway, Fred Haines charging full tilt onto the back of the robot. His face was strained with rage as he rose, pulling at the robot's head with powerful hands.

  Bolan turned back to the doorway, surprising a water-slick face no more than two feet in front of him. He got off one shot, blowing out the airman's left eye. The body, slipping on the sprinkler-slick floor, tumbled forward, sliding through the doorway. Bolan grabbed the gun from the man's lifeless hands.

  He brought the weapon up and fired a hard burst this time, driving everyone to cover. Then he turned in time to see Howard Davis come out of his office with the long pike he used when guiding the dolphins through their paces.

  The robot was turning in circles, trying to dislodge Haines, who had covered the photocells with his hands, blinding the machine. Howard poked hard at the rolling legs of the robot, trying to unbalance it.

  "The wall!" Bolan yelled. "Try for some leverage!"

  Howard moved in front of the thrashing machine, jamming his pike hard into the panel-and-Sheetrock wall, anchoring it. When the robot creaked forward and met the pike, Howard threw his weight on his side of the pole and the robot tottered with the un
equal weight distribution. Finally it fell forward with the screaming Fred Haines riding it to the floor.

  Bolan pulled away from the doorframe, turning to the others. "Are there stairs down?"

  "Off the break room!" Haines shouted above the din of the weapons fire.

  "We'll need a diversion!"

  "Trust me!" Haines ran down the hall.

  "How did I do?" Howard asked.

  "Great! Now get the hell out of here! Don't take the elevator. Someone was down on Two manipulating Arthur. Now get!"

  Howard was up and running, putting a hand to his mouth as he passed Chuck's body. Within seconds, Haines was beside Bolan again, a wine bottle in each hand, a piece of torn cloth dangling from the necks.

  "Molotov cocktail?"

  Haines grinned. "I guess my checkered past has come in handy after all."

  Bolan reached into his pocket and pulled out Ike's lighter. He hitched the M-16 onto his shoulder and took one of the gasoline cocktails from his companion.

  "Ready?" he said, thumbing the lighter.

  "You bet," Haines replied, eyes dancing.

  Bolan lit the fuses, and he and Fred lobbed the bombs through the doorway. The bottles smashed against a table. Orange fire bloomed through the opening, and men screamed in agony.

  "Let's go!" Bolan yelled as the gas spread across the water, turning half the room into an inferno.

  They charged down the hall toward the waiting area, Haines scooping up Chuck's gun as they passed the dead guard. Firing continued behind them. Someone, probably Howard, had used a lobby chair to block the elevator doors, blocking that avenue. Chuck's guard station phone rang incessantly.

  They could hear a commotion behind them, but kept running and didn't turn to look. They hit the swing doors of the canteen on a dead run, pounding into the break area.

  "There!" Haines yelled, pointing to the red exit light in the far corner.

  They never slowed in their race to the door, bursting through it to the stairs just as the uniformed killers broke into the break area, firing on the run.