Shadow Hunt

by Don Pendleton

  Bolan waited for Remy at the door and a minute later he arrived. The giant black man materialized out of the swamp shadows, a grin on his face. “How’d you do?” Bolan asked.

  “Three,” he answered. “Maybe a fourth, but it was hard to tell for sure. You?”

  “About the same,” Bolan answered. They listened to the yelling on the beach subside.

  “Time to go,” the soldier said.

  They went back inside, and Remy reset the wires and the timer, then he handed Bolan a waterproof bag. “Put your gear in that,” he said. “At least we won’t have to worry about mud and muck getting into our weapons that way. Water wipes off.”

  “True enough,” Bolan said, putting his hardware into the bag, then slipping on a pair of swim goggles that Remy gave him.

  “Deep breath,” he said. “It’s a two-minute swim.”

  With three big fast breaths to build up the oxygen, Remy dived headfirst into the trapdoor opening. The Executioner mimicked Remy and went in after him.

  The water was so murky Bolan could barely see his own hands. The tunnel was just wide enough for one person. The soldier used the roots that encroached into the tunnel as handholds to maneuver through the narrow space. The tunnel angled slightly down, then turned to the left, and he dragged himself around the corner.

  He felt a sharp tug on his shoulder, and realized that the bag carrying his weapons was hung up on a protruding root. Bolan reached back and began to yank on it, fearing he’d have to cut it loose just as help came from an unexpected source.

  The shack exploded with a deep, muffled thump, and both the water and the sides of the tunnel shuddered. The shock wave dislodged his bag, and with his lungs burning, the soldier continued on, pushing harder against the walls. The explosion ruined the last of any visibility he had—he moved completely on feel.

  The tunnel began to widen and slope back upward, and Bolan hoped the surface was near. He kicked hard with his legs, reaching out with his hands, and his grasping fingers slid through the mud and found the lip of the tunnel. As he tried to pull himself out, his legs became tangled in the roots along the tunnel wall. He kicked at them, but it felt like they were tightening their hold.

  Bolan pulled the knife from his boot and reached back to cut through the tentacles that were trapping him. His chest was on fire, and every millisecond more made it feel like his lungs were going to explode. Spots started to fill his vision, and he could feel tingling in his limbs from the oxygen deprivation. One more cut and he was finally free.

  He broke the surface, gasping for air, and saw Remy holding a finger to his lips, indicating the need for quiet. Once he caught his breath, Bolan pulled himself the rest of the way out of the tunnel. It appeared they were on another spit of land almost due south of where Remy’s shack had been. From here, he could see the fire burning where the little building had been, and the smoke wafting through the moss and the trees.

  “Sorry about your place,” he whispered softly.

  Remy shrugged, but Bolan could see that the loss weighed on his new friend. “Maybe it was time to move on anyway,” the big man said. “Someplace quieter.”

  Bolan couldn’t help but chuckle, and Remy did the same, then they moved quickly away, leaving land and wading through a short stretch of water to a stand of trees. Remy pulled the branches away to reveal a small metal boat laden with supplies. They pulled themselves up and into the little boat. The sound of angry voices carried across the dark swamp, and Bolan felt a small wave of disappointment. One of them was Salerno’s.

  Remy pointed through the trees, then handed Bolan an oar. Together they began to silently paddle through the trees and away from the smoke-filled air. After they were a good half mile or more away, Remy put his oar away and started the small outboard motor. They continued their escape, moving rapidly away from the little island the ex-SEAL had called home.

  Bolan set down his oar and looked at his hand. A small leech had attached itself for the ride. He dislodged the unwanted passenger, then examined his arms and found two more with a similar intent. He looked over at Remy, who was also removing several leeches with one hand, while he guided the boat with the other.

  Flicking the black creatures away, Bolan muttered to himself, “And he likes this place?”

  IT TOOK THE BETTER part of two hours for Bolan and Remy to get out to the edge of the swamp where the Executioner had left the SUV hidden. He opened the back and changed into dry, clean clothing. The black BDU pants and gray T-shirt felt comfortable after peeling off the swamp-soaked clothes. Bolan offered an extra set to Remy, who shook his head with a smile.

  “No way those’ll fit me,” he said.

  “True, but I wanted to make the offer,” Bolan said. “I’m going to get in touch with Agent Black and see where we stand.” The disposable cell he’d been using was waterlogged and ruined, so he removed a new one from the compartment in the back and dialed the FBI agent’s number.

  It only rang twice on Bolan’s end before he got an answer. “Grady Black,” the voice on the other end said.

  “Agent Black, it’s Cooper,” he said. “We’re on the run again. They found Remy’s shack and attacked in force. It seems like Costello has an endless army.”

  “How the hell did they find you out there? I looked on a map at your location in case you needed help. If Remy hadn’t given me the coordinates, there would have never been a reason to be looking in that part of the swamp.”

  “I have no idea,” he said. “Maybe Costello has people scouting the area more regularly than we guessed. Either way, tell me you got into the drive and have good news.”

  “I have great news,” Black said. “That thing was a gold mine. We’ve got enough evidence to make the arrests and when it’s over, they’ll all be going away for a long time. The best part is it’s not just one piece of evidence, it has account numbers, timelines—Smythe was very thorough.”

  “Excellent,” Bolan said. “What’s your next move?”

  “I’ve run everything up the chain of command, and just got the green light to start putting a field team together.”

  Bolan considered the situation. “Are you sure that was the right move?” he asked. “Getting that many people involved?”

  “No,” Black admitted, “but that’s the way it works, and I’ve got to follow protocol or the arrests won’t stick. I think if something was amiss I wouldn’t have been given the go-ahead. My supervisor is handpicking the team, and they should be here within the hour for the first briefing.”

  “All right,” he said. “Just be careful and keep your eyes and ears open. We don’t know how long of an arm Costello really has, and I have a strong suspicion that they have someone on the inside there. Too many things have been kept quiet over the time period that we are looking at for it to have gone on under the FBI’s radar. So let me reiterate, watch your back.”

  “I will,” he said, then added, “I’d like to have you on the team when we go in, Cooper. If we get lucky, maybe your friend is still alive and we’ll find him. None of this would have been possible without you or Remy, and you really deserve the credit.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “Where are you staging your men at?”

  “About a half mile or so from Costello’s compound. There’s an old church. That’s our main rendezvous point. I can send map coordinates to your GPS unit. We’re scheduled to go in about ninety minutes.”

  “That should be fine. We’ll meet you there,” he said, then hung up.

  Bolan quickly filled Remy in on Black’s plan. “You don’t have to get any more involved with this, Remy,” he said. “I respect that you wanted out of this kind of business, and you’ve already done far more than you had to. You’re not a soldier anymore, you have a choice.”

  The ex-SEAL was quiet for a minute, then replied, “Sometimes you can’t fight who you are, and you can’t ever hide from it, not really. I think you had the right of it when you told me that it sounded like I did my job and got r
id of a scumbag. It shouldn’t matter to me what country they come from, whether they’re Americans or Russians or Italians. If I can help put an end to them hurting people, then I’ll help.”

  Bolan nodded, pleased to see this change in the man’s thinking. “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s go get these bastards.”

  15

  During the night, a heavy bank of clouds had rolled in. The sky slowly lightened as the sun came up, but the early part of the day promised serious rain, and the distant rumble of thunder threatened worse than that. Bolan and Remy arrived at the church well ahead of Agent Grady Black’s men. They parked the SUV in the back, where it would be out of the way of law-enforcement vehicles.

  Remy glanced at the sky when they got out. “It’s going to pour buckets,” he said, as another roll of thunder crossed the sky.

  “Agreed,” Bolan side. “Let’s get inside.”

  The church itself was an old, clapboard building, with a steeple that had long since fallen in on itself. Even in the dim light, Bolan could make out the moss-coated top of the bell that had once called people to worship. The back door was still locked, but the wood was rotted and weak. Remy shoved one broad shoulder into the door and it splintered around the lock, creaked alarmingly, then gave way completely. A loud peal of thunder shook the sky, and they stepped inside as the rain slashed down in heavy sheets.

  The door led into a small room that had likely once served as a small kitchen, but was now nothing more than empty cupboards and green sinks. Another door led into the main part of the church, and they stepped through quietly. There was something about a place of worship that could make even the most hardened fighting man a little quieter. Perhaps that was why terrorist attacks on churches and mosques seemed so heinous; they were an attack on the idea of faith itself, an assault on the healing power of belief. Bolan wasn’t one hundred percent certain what he believed, but whenever he stepped into a building like this one, his thoughts at least briefly turned to the idea of a world without war. He didn’t think it would ever happen, the nature of humankind was far too conflict-oriented.

  He and Remy saw that the pews hadn’t been disturbed, so they took a seat in the last row to wait for Black and his men.

  “Are you a religious man, Cooper?” Remy asked.

  The soldier thought about the question for a moment, then shook his head. “Not in any traditional sense, no,” he said.

  “I think it’s what we do,” Remy said. “No matter how much it’s needed or necessary, no matter how bad the bad guys are, we kill people and that takes something away from the universe. Makes it damn hard to be at peace with the world.”

  Bolan considered his next words carefully, then said, “What we do gives the people in the world a chance at peace, so maybe whatever the answer is, we get a pass on the formalities.”

  “You think?” Remy asked.

  “I sure hope so,” he said.

  At that moment, the front doors of the church burst open with a loud bang and smoke rolled into the sanctuary. The noise of the storm had covered the approach of whoever was outside, and both men dived behind the pew and pulled their pistols.

  A loud whine of feedback echoed through the building, then a voice said, “Marshal Cooper! Remy Fountainou! The building is surrounded! Come out with your hands up and leave your weapons inside!”

  “Is everyone in this entire city corrupt?” Bolan said, more to himself than to get a reply from Remy, who had crawled to the next pew over and taken a position that would cover their retreat. He held up two fingers and pointed behind Bolan.

  Looking carefully through the drifting smoke, the soldier held up four fingers in reply and pointed behind the ex-Navy SEAL. He popped a smoke grenade and rolled it, banging and clanging into the center of the church. He counted a silent eight, and then the grenade popped and smoke began to billow, adding to the haze from the door explosion. Again Bolan held up four fingers and pointed behind Remy.

  Staying low, knowing they only had seconds, they made eye contact. Bolan showed a count with his left hand. One. Two. Three. Both of them came up firing.

  Bolan aimed his Desert Eagle over Remy’s shoulder and fired three times, then dived forward, heading for the doorway into the desolate kitchen area. Remy’s gun barked as well, and as the Executioner hit the ground, rolling, he turned to make sure that he could cover the big man’s exit.

  The officers who’d snuck into the church as part of the ambush had mostly hit the deck when they opened fire, and Bolan knew he’d accounted for at least one of them. With all the smoke it was difficult to tell, but as Remy moved forward, Bolan saw that two of them were right on their partner’s heels.

  “Down, Remy!” he shouted, and the big man dived forward. Bolan fired at the closer of the two men, the .44-caliber round punching into his left leg and knocking the man off his feet. The second gunner showed more sense and dived over a pew, rather than risk getting shot with a such a powerful weapon. Bolan fired two more rounds into the wooden back of the pew, showering the cowering man with sharp shards of wood and forcing him to keep his head down.

  “Clear,” Remy said behind him, and Bolan turned to follow. They ran out the back door of the church, already moving in a zigzag pattern as gunshots echoed behind them.

  “Make for the swamp!” Remy said.

  Bolan followed the big man, knowing that the hanging moss, the low branches and the pouring rain would make excellent cover. As soon as they got clear, Remy turned and checked for pursuit. “Stay out of the water here if you can,” he said over his shoulder. “The gators are thicker in this part of the swamp.”

  Several gunners ran out of the back of the church, firing in their direction, and Bolan pushed Remy to the ground as a hail of gunfire cut through the trees. “They’re firing blind, but you’re big enough to make me question luck.”

  More gunfire erupted from the other side of the church, and a small group of men dressed in civilian clothes appeared, running around the corner and almost taking out the cops before they knew what was going on.

  “Where the hell did they come from?” Remy asked.

  “Must be from the compound,” Bolan said. “The gang’s all here.”

  “That’s a hell of a setup for them.”

  “Let’s keep moving,” Bolan said, “and find a place to lay low. I’d rather avoid a prolonged firefight. At this point, we don’t have any allies, and we’re going to need some help.”

  They headed across a shallow patch of water, moving on a diagonal away from the church and the compound, until they came across a solid strand of trees and stopped once more. They could hear confused shouts still in the distance, but getting closer.

  “Over there!” a voice called. “I think I see him.”

  Remy and Bolan peered through the trees, trying to figure out what was going on. Finally, Bolan spotted the small cadre of men that had been coming around the corner of the church. These definitely weren’t police officers, which made them Costello’s men, but whomever they were looking for wasn’t the two of them. One of the men was pointing and waving his arm in the opposite direction. Bolan’s gaze tracked the commotion and he saw another man in the distance, struggling through the swamp.

  The falling rain and mist that rose from the swamp water obscured the form almost completely, but Bolan could tell that the person was leaning on something to support his weight. The figure stumbled, fell into the water with a splash, but levered himself back up again almost immediately.

  “One of theirs, you think?” Remy asked.

  Bolan shook his head, watching carefully. The rain slackened for a moment and the man turned in his direction. It was Rio. Bolan began to bolt from his hiding place, but Remy’s large hand fell on his shoulder and pulled him back.

  “Look,” he said, pointing toward another copse of trees where several police officers were emerging.

  “Damn it,” he said, turning his gaze back to where Rio was struggling with several of Costello’s men. At least B
olan knew the U.S. marshal was still alive, still fighting, but for the moment, the best they could do was stay put and not get captured.

  It took over an hour for the police and Costello’s men to leave the area. Bolan and Remy quickly made their way back to the church and got into the SUV. They drove off, winding away from the church, until the Executioner found a spot where they could pull over and talk about their next move.

  Bolan had been thinking about the current situation as he drove and had decided that he had been running around without a real plan. Or even any good intelligence on the area.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ve been going at this all wrong. I came down here to find Rio, and somehow got caught up in who all is involved and where all the players are at instead of plowing through the problem to get to the end.”

  “Agreed,” Remy said.

  “So, I don’t care about that anymore,” he finished. “Our only local source of help was Grady Black, and with this ambush, he’s either being held or he’s dead. I don’t think he was playing me false.”

  “Neither do I,” Remy replied. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have taken Lacroix in or helped Sandra. No, I think he’s probably dead. They had been able to keep him in the dark in the past, but with the new evidence he was able to move forward and that put him in the ‘need to get rid of category.’ He found the evidence that he’s needed for a long time, and it probably cost him his life.”

  “So, someone in the local FBI office is dirty, too,” Bolan said. “Which means even more people are hunting us and will probably try to blame us when it’s discovered that Grady is missing.”

  “I’m with you,” he said. “I don’t enjoy being hunted, and maybe it’s time we went to the top of the food chain, rather than the middle. I’ve never been much of a bottom feeder. Makes me wonder though.”

  “About what?”

  “If Rio and Black were taken out of play, I wonder how many others sniffing around have suffered the same fate.”