Orbiting Omega

by Don Pendleton

  The pilot was storming after the bigger bird, which still had its navigation lights on. It was a quarter of a mile ahead, moving down the valley. Bolan quickly reloaded the 20-round, double-column Childers magazine and jammed it in place.

  Five minutes later the pilot had gained on the bigger aircraft. He picked up his radio mike and spoke a cryptic three-word coded message. Then he turned to Bolan, a .38 revolver in his hand. He looked down at Bolan's hand and saw the Childers aimed at him.

  "Hell, I'm no hero," the pilot said and put the .38 away. "Who are you and what happened to Sergeant Curtis?"

  "The sergeant got tied up for a while, so I took over for him. If he'd gone in we would have had four corpses back there and no way to get back the MIRVs. I've been there, Captain. I've seen the look in a man's eye when killing becomes the most important thing in the world, no matter what side it hurts."

  "What now?"

  "Your contingency orders."

  "Damn. If the chopper got off I was to shadow it and report its position for a knockdown."

  "There won't be any splash this time. Your people should know that by now. So we follow Yamaguchi until he sets down somewhere."

  "That might be quicker than we figured. That bird ahead is losing altitude fast and she isn't stable. She's going in."

  "Can he set her down soft?" Bolan asked.

  "Depends how high he is over those trees and what you shot up in that tail rotor."

  "Stay with him. We've got to be there when it hits."

  20

  The pilot of Bolan's helicopter stared below into the murky darkness at the navigation lights of the other bird.

  "That chopper can't stay in the air long, not the way it's gyrating."

  "Is that a clearing up ahead?" the Executioner asked.

  "Could be. We'll know in a minute because that's where it's going to land or crash." Bolan's pilot increased his forward speed to maximum and slanted in, closing rapidly on the wildly swinging helicopter. It made forward progress and stabilized for a moment, then settled to the ground in a mountain clearing.

  "Set down as close as you can get," Bolan shouted. The pilot nodded as he circled the chopper on the ground. Its landing gear was broken and the aircraft now leaned to one side. The rotor blade had barely cleared the ground.

  "Let's go in," the pilot said, flying the bird into the grassland. He went into stationary hover two feet off the ground. Bolan jumped out before the wheels touched and ran for the stricken chopper. As he approached, a shot slashed past him and he dropped into the grass and rolled to his right.

  Bolan thought he could hear someone talking in the big helicopter. Then the door burst open on the side closer to the ground and two forms came out. Here there was no light from a gasoline fire, only spill light from the downed aircraft.

  "You out there. This is Yamaguchi. I'm taking over your bird. I don't care how many guns you have. I have what you want — Dr. Dunning. First, I need both of you to transfer these six boxes of diamonds into the other chopper. Any hesitation and I put a pair of .45 slugs through the old man here. Let's move it, you two. It's going to be daylight too damn quick."

  "Yamaguchi," Bolan thundered at him, "where in hell did you get the idea the U.S. wants Dr. Dunning alive? I'm the Army sharpshooter they brought in to waste this dude. You'll be doing me a favor by blowing him away right now.

  "Hell, Yamaguchi, we don't want your scientist friend. My pilot and me decided to go free-lance. We gonna team up and waste both of you, and the pilot, too, and take off with that two hundred million in uncut diamonds."

  "No sale," Yamaguchi said. "I talked to the President. I know what he wants. Hell, you need this guy to get your pet MIRV back."

  "Just told you, asshole, we ain't the U.S. government out here. We're on our own. Your scientist guy don't mean shit to us. We just want the diamonds. You understand now?"

  The pilot of the downed bird came out the lighted doorway carrying a small cardboard box. As soon as he got twenty feet from the helicopter and well into the darkness, he dropped the box and ran, zigzagging for the closest patch of trees.

  "There goes your work force, Yamaguchi. And the Air Force is on its way here now with gunships. They can blow you and your friend into a thousand pieces.

  "You ready to deal with us yet?" Bolan lifted the Childers shotgun and sent two rounds into the end of the fuselage near the back rotor, the lead slugs shattering the thin metal.

  When the sound of the firing stopped, the night silence closed around them.

  Nothing.

  Bolan waited two more minutes, then began working silently forward. It took him five minutes to cover the fifty feet to the stricken chopper. The lights were still on inside. The Executioner pressed his ear against the metal skin, and for a moment he thought he heard a soft groan. He dropped down and looked over the step plate on the door. Inside the canted helicopter he could see someone in the seat, his head thrown back. Bolan guessed it was Dunning.

  Bolan lifted the Childers and surged through the door, his eyes sweeping the cabin and cockpit areas that he could not see before.

  The kidnapper was not in the chopper. Bolan hurried to the scientist and studied the unconscious form. A finger test on Dunning's pulse showed a strong, steady heartbeat.

  Satisfied the scientist was all right, Bolan looked around. Another cardboard box had broken open, spilling hundreds of the uncut diamonds on the floor.

  He fingered some of the rough gems. Magnificent, and real. He picked up ten of the rough stones and put them in the shotgun shell pouch on his web belt. Then he shook his head and he pulled them out again, placing them in the container. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it. He'd continue to depend on people like Kurtzman, who could channel funds from the Stony Man cache.

  Bolan jumped out the door into the darkness and ran back toward the other chopper. He found the pilot standing by the open door, holding a revolver.

  "Yamaguchi's gone and Dunning is hurt. You can pick him up and the diamonds and take them back to the mountain meadow by the hijack trailer." Bolan said.

  "Our Japanese friend is probably trying to circle around and get my bird. I'll stay right here, radio in the news and have some help come in. What about the other pilot?"

  "He ran into the woods. After it gets light you can pick him up. Then come back and get me. First I want Yamaguchi's eyeballs served up on a platter."

  "How will I find you if he's running?"

  "Have a portable two-way?"

  The pilot shook his head.

  "No problem. I'll find him at daybreak. Then I'll start a big bonfire and send up a smoke signal. Just follow it and try to get there before the forest rangers. They'll raise all kinds of hell."

  Dr. Dunning was moving and moaning, trying to sit up. Satisfied he'd be all right, the Executioner ran under the helicopter and headed for the woods. As soon as he gained cover in the trees he stopped and listened. Nothing.

  Bolan settled down with his back to a tree. Without some audio input there was nothing he could do until morning. Then he would use his tracking skills, find the place where Yamaguchi had entered the woods and trail him. He had to remember the pilot was in the woods, too, but he would not move far from the clearing. And with dawn the flyer would run back to the chopper in the meadow.

  Half an hour later a fighter plane streaked low over the valley, just skimming the treetops. It made three passes, then screamed off into the night. Another half hour and a huge chopper soared in, circled and snapped on its stream lights, turning the area into daylight.

  It gradually settled down between the two birds.

  Bolan had moved back to the fringe of the trees and saw six armed men sprint out the door of the big chopper. They ran toward the shot-up helicopter. Four more men with guns came out and formed the rest of the security ring around the three aircraft. Bolan settled down to wait.

  * * *

  An hour later the first gray streaks of dawn lanced the quiet mountain meadow. Bolan imme
diately began searching the area for signs of passage. He found a trampled young pine tree, then ten feet ahead, a boot print in a gopher mound.

  The line of travel seemed consistent: downhill and toward the end of the valley, which opened into another valley.

  Like the night, Yamaguchi was on the run.

  After a mile the Executioner was still finding signs of the hijacker's flight. Then Bolan thought he caught a whiff of smoke. He sniffed, looking around for a rise in the terrain. He spotted a small hill and made his way to the highest point where he could look right across the valley. His sense of smell had not betrayed him. Less than half a mile ahead he saw a thin column of light blue smoke spiraling up through the pines.

  Yamaguchi must have started a fire to ward off the mountain chill. Bolan ran as fast as he could. His leg was stiff this morning, and the bandage was dirty and leaking blood. Only a minor inconvenience.

  He came up silently on the smoke trail. It was in a heavily wooded ravine. The Executioner watched the area from above for a minute, but saw no movement. He darted silently from tree to tree until he could see the small fire. But no one was in sight. Bolan moved in as close as he dared without giving away his position. He scanned the area, looking for tracks or some indication of direction.

  Then it hit him. It was a trap!

  No sooner had the realization dawned on him when the deadly sound of a gun being cocked came from behind. He started to turn.

  "You fell for it. Don't move, sucker. Not yet. But I do want to see who you are before I kill you. Now, hands over your head and turn around slowly."

  The Executioner moved as directed and saw Yamaguchi's grinning face and flattop haircut. He was smaller than Bolan had expected.

  "You lose," Bolan said.

  "Uh-uh. This .45 is centered on your chest. Who the hell are you? Federal?"

  "It doesn't matter. Winning and losing matter. And you lost your two hundred million in diamonds."

  "But you lose your life."

  "You didn't think I'd come out here without a backup. The pilot is over there with his M-16 trained on you right now."

  "Bullshit. There ain't nobody. I've been watching you for five minutes."

  "Suit yourself." Bolan saw the man's eyes flicker as a look of doubt crept across his features. The Executioner knew that Yamaguchi was itching to turn, but afraid to take the chance.

  The Oriental scowled and tightened his grip on the .45. Then, when Bolan thought he had given up on the idea, Yamaguchi shot a quick glance to the side. Bolan dived to the right as soon as Yamaguchi turned his head.

  The Executioner heard the .45 roar and felt a jolt on his chest where the Ingram submachine gun was tied, but nothing more. Another slug whizzed by, but Bolan had rolled behind a huge fallen pine and out of sight.

  He brought up the Childers and took a quick look over the log. The Japanese man had disappeared. Bolan crawled to the end of the twenty-foot log and looked again. From the new angle he could see Yamaguchi watching the other end of the fallen tree where Bolan had been moments before.

  Bolan triggered six rounds from the body-shredder at the partly hidden figure. Bolan heard a scream of pain. As he watched, Yamaguchi shifted farther behind the tree.

  Wounded? Or a bluff? Bolan stood and dashed to a thick ponderosa. He saw Yamaguchi dart to another tree, but there was no time for a shot.

  "Give it up, Yamaguchi. Your army is dead or deserted. Your diamonds are gone and it's down to you and me. I figure you have two rounds left in that .45 and no spare magazines."

  Bark over Bolan's head splintered as a .45 slug chewed into the tree. The Executioner ducked and peered around the other side.

  "I have six more magazines, hotshot. But I'll need only one slug to send you to hell. Come get me."

  Bolan checked the Ingram. It was useless. The .45 round had jammed the mechanism. But it had saved his life. He unslung the weapon and dropped it to the forest floor.

  Then he raised the Childers to assault-fire position and ran toward Yamaguchi, pumping a burst of doubleought buck at the man's hiding spot.

  There was no return fire.

  When Bolan got there he found that the Japanese had slipped away. The Executioner moved behind the pine and cautiously poked his head out, then behind him. As he listened, his trained ear picked up some slight sounds — crackling pine needles. Bolan moved that way, silently, the Childers ready. He gained the top of a rise in time to see a boot disappear behind a tree. Bolan did the same, then peered out from near the ground.

  Yamaguchi looked to the rear, toward Bolan, then ran forward.

  This time Bolan caught him in the open and saw that he was limping, favoring his right leg. The Executioner fired a round past Yamaguchi. The man stopped and turned slowly, the .45 held at his side.

  The two warriors stared at each other.

  Yamaguchi let the weapon fall to the ground. "You won't shoot an unarmed man."

  "Bad bet," Bolan said and triggered the combat shotgun. The round jammed.

  There was a desperate silence.

  Yamaguchi screamed in anger, drew a six-inch hunting knife and rushed toward Bolan. The nightfighter only had time to pull the K-Bar knife and slip the jammed shotgun off his shoulder.

  "I'll slice you into dog food!" Yamaguchi screamed.

  Bolan held the K-Bar like a saber, the blade pointing outward in a classic fighting stance. He dodged the charging Oriental, the deadly swipe missing Bolan's knife arm by a fraction of an inch.

  Seeing his enemy slightly off balance, Bolan kicked out sharply with his right boot, driving leather into the man's thigh, pushing him backward.

  Yamaguchi's glazed eyes bored into Bolan's.

  "So, you fight dirty," the Oriental snarled. "I invented dirty!" He drove in hard again, slashing at Bolan's midriff. But the Executioner jumped back, avoiding the wicked steel.

  Bolan then lunged forward, the K-Bar racing upward to Yamaguchi's chest. The man caught Bolan's wrist in an iron grip, stopping the lethal thrust. Then the Oriental saw an opening — Bolan's unprotected left side.

  The hunting knife came stabbing down, but not fast enough. The Executioner blocked the maneuver, grasping Yamaguchi's knife arm.

  The two men were inches from each other, locked in combat, sweat glistening on their faces, breaths steaming in the early morning air.

  The Oriental's face was contorted into a deathlike mask as he tried desperately to overwhelm his opponent.

  Neither of the two gladiators gave an inch. Then Bolan's knee sped upward, piston fast, ramming into Yamaguchi's crotch. The man fell to the ground, screaming in agony. But he still clutched the hunting knife.

  Bolan used the opportunity to dive for the Childers. He released the magazine in the combat shotgun, repositioned the jammed round quickly and rammed the magazine into the weapon, charging it.

  Yamaguchi saw the action and swung his arm forward. The blade came whistling through the air toward the Executioner. Bolan moved sideways even as the Childers roared, bucking in his grip.

  Five rounds of double-ought buck shredded the Japanese man, pulping his face and turning his chest into a frothing mass of blood and exposed white ribs.

  Bolan held the trigger back until the Childers ran dry.

  The Executioner stared at the red, pulverized mass of flesh and bones on the ground, then turned and walked away.

  The ravaged mountain woodland reverted to its stillness, just like a thousand years before.

  Five minutes later Bolan found a clearing. He gathered some green pine branches and started a small fire. Soon a column of heavy smoke rose straight upward into the blue Arizona sky. Bolan sat down to wait, wondering how long it would take the chopper pilot to find him.

  21

  It was almost an hour later when Bolan saw the small helicopter circling the tower of smoke. The aircraft landed in a clearing at the edge of the woods. Bolan and the pilot carried the blanket-wrapped body of Yamaguchi and loaded it into the chopper.

  "
Figured the brass might want to see the corpse," Bolan said.

  The pilot hesitated before he lifted off. "By the way, who are you? You aren't military, not in that black skinsuit. How do you fit in?"

  "Just an interested citizen trying to do his part, that's all."

  "Sure, with combat webbing, hand grenades and that shotgun like I've never seen before. A woman came out of the woods and said she was with you. She had a chatter gun with her. What the hell is going on?"

  "My wife and I were up here camping, playing war games, and this guy and his army kept trying to kill us. Hell, we shot back with real rounds."

  "You expect me to believe that?"

  "Be damn glad if you do. I don't like a lot of questions."

  The pilot shrugged. "Well, they'll believe anything we tell them. If it hadn't been for you, Dr. Dunning would have been dead and Yamaguchi would be in Mexico with the diamonds and we'd be permanently out one MIRV."

  "Who do you work with?"

  "Oh, the name is Leslie, special agent with the FBI assigned to the President." He paused. "They will want a name. The woman said your first name was Mack."

  "Right, Mack Jones."

  The pilot grinned. "Sounds okay to me."

  They swung back over the mountain and soon settled in the valley below the trailer, but this time at the near end. Bolan could not believe how the peaceful meadow had changed. There were six large army choppers squatting on the grass. A field kitchen had been set up to one side, and sixty combat-equipped troopers were positioned in a defensive line.

  A small tent had been set up to one side, for the commander of the operation, no doubt. They landed between two of the big green birds and Bolan wished he could just slip away unnoticed, but two men ran up as soon as they touched ground and opened the door.

  "I'm supposed to take you to see General Zedicher right away," Leslie said. "Any problems?"