"I watched him for a long time yesterday. He just looked retarded. You know, sort of drooled on himself, seemed real clumsy."
Again the pair sat in silence.
The sounds of two pairs of boots advancing along the corridor came clearly.
Kathy listened intently, judging the distance from the door to the stomping feet.
When the steps stopped before the door, the girl let her slim arm encircle the shoulders of the frail little woman.
The knob twisted a quarter turn. Two figures in spotless fatigues entered the room.
Anxiously, Kathy scanned the faces of the pair. Both were alert, wary. Hope died within her. She knew the routine. A guard and a zombie or two zombies meant food. Two guards, no zombies, meant only one thing.
This time, Kathy poised to defend the old woman at her side.
9
USING THE MOONLESS NIGHT to his advantage, Bolan, on his belly, covered the final hundred yards separating him from the fence. With the M-1 cradled in the crook of each elbow, he followed the graded drainage ditch. Though sharp chunks of stone and exposed edges of larger rock bit into his body, Bolan never slowed.
As he covered the final distance to the fence, he saw the glow of high-intensity lights that came and went in the area between the fence and the compound. He lay in the scant shelter offered by the ditch and mentally timed the lights as each glowed for a short time, then joined the night's black. In minutes the warrior was satisfied. The concealed lights were rising above ground and shining for a short time in no specific pattern. Even the duration of their glow varied. A guy who ran the erratic lighting pattern was up against a computer.
Again he advanced, this time until the base of the fence's heavy wire was within easy reach. From one of his slit pockets Bolan withdrew an electronic device no larger than a pack of cigarettes. Two wires that ended in alligator clips dangled free.
Silently saluting the electronic genius of Gadgets Schwarz, Bolan fitted the pair of tiny insulated clips to the fence and made certain each was making solid contact. With his thumbnail he flicked the switch to activate the device. For seconds the little digital dial remained inactive, then the tiny numerals glowed red. Four digits. Eleven hundred volts! The fence was a Mankiller.
After three seconds, the lighted indicator lost its color as the four numerals vanished. Twenty-five seconds passed before the numerals reappeared. Again they vanished after three seconds.
Bolan used the next twenty-five seconds to study the main gate just to his left. Because it was electronically operated, Bolan could see no way of opening it from the outside. Not without blasting the hell out of it. Again the tiny numerals glowed red. Twenty-five seconds. Right on schedule.
What about the smaller gate left open on the northern side of the fence? Did they kill the power for the entire fence when that gate had to be opened? More likely, it was protected by insulators so it could be opened and closed manually. That was a chink in the compound's armor. If there was one such flaw, perhaps there were others.
Twenty-five more seconds elapsed. Again the numerals glowed. Bolan reached for his steel cutters. Even with their insulated handles he did not want to deal with eleven hundred volts; he would wait for the gap.
Call it intuition. Just as he prepared to extend the carbon-steel cutters toward the fence, he hesitated. In that instant the tiny numerals again came to life, even though only eight seconds had passed since the previous charge.
They stayed on for twenty seconds. Then the digital indicator darkened once more. Six-teen seconds later it lit up for twelve seconds, then twenty seconds passed, and again it glowed, this time for eight seconds.
Thus the big guy noted a second chink in the compound's defenses. Despite the staggered charges of the killer current, it was set for total intervals of twenty-eight seconds. He watched it through another pair of cycles to confirm his findings. When the indicator again darkened, Bolan set to work on the fence. The tempered jaws of the cutters nipped through the heavy wire with only the slightest urging as Bolan's wrists transmitted the power of his arms into the instrument.
Allowing himself a safety margin of three seconds in each cycle, it took less than two minutes to open an entry space in the heavy wire, big enough to crawl through but not so complete a gap that it would break the circuit. Replacing the cutters that had served him well in recent hours, Mack folded open the wire during the next cycle.
Ignoring the random glow of the high-intensity lights, Bolan slipped through the hole in the fence. Behind him was the safety of the ditch, plus the firepower of the M-1. Ahead was a fortified compound defended by many dozens of highly trained men.
He spent precious numbers studying the digital-readout. Certain he had the current's staggered cycles correct, he prepared to close the gap in the wire. Using the insulated cutters, he pushed the flap of wire back into place. As he worked he heard the chopper blades.
Though Bolan's entry area would be visible on close inspection, it could not be spotted from a hundred yards. Unless the fence had an electronic break-and-ground detector, his entry would not be known until he decided it should be, and that was the chance he took.
The chopper came in from the southeast. Once the bird reached the open meadow, the pilot changed course and veered sharply from his flight path. With the distinct whump-whump of the main rotor as his guide, Bolan tracked the chopper's movements by ear.
The pilot flew a quick half circle around the open meadow, keeping just above the trees that fringed the mountainsides around the open valley. When the pilot completed 180 degrees, he gained altitude, crossed the open space in a rush and headed for the center of the compound. There it landed.
The chopper's approach indicated the pilot was only too aware the area was under siege. Bolan permitted himself the satisfaction of knowing he had the defenders spooked.
As the main rotor slowed to an idle, Bolan began his crawl across the open area toward his goal. The copter could not have arrived at a better time. It was a distraction. Furthermore, the random glowing of the lights became more his advantage than the guards'.
As each light glowed briefly, the eyes of the men on post automatically turned in that direction in an effort to detect movement. Not only did that destroy any night vision they had, but it kept even the best of men from maintaining total surveillance.
Like a mountain cat with its belly to the ground as it moved toward its prey, Bolan covered the open area, totally committed to his goal, hungry but not greedy, at a peak of alertness.
The compound's lighted center cast a soft glow into the night sky while creating shadows along the edge of the cement-block building that was Bolan's immediate goal. Once he reached the base of the newly constructed building, he crouched to survey the situation.
He heard voices. Words, occasional phrases, but nothing that could identity the group within. Someone important had arrived in the chopper. Bolan listened intently. Whoever had arrived was ahead of schedule. That was fine with Bolan. The more the merrier.
He became aware of movement north of where he crouched. The rising glow of one of the lights revealed a guard bearing his auto-carbine as he dropped to one knee, covering his partner, who moved toward the open north gate.
The silenced Beretta 93-R appeared in Bolan's hand, eager to do his bidding. He stealthily moved to within thirty yards of the guy providing cover.
Without pressing closer, Bolan raised the auto-pistol. At the stroking of his finger the weapon dispatched a 9mm whisper of death into the night—and into the body of the man holding the auto-carbine. The jacketed slug found its target just beneath the guard's right armpit. He was flung hard to the side by the bullet's force.
Bolan, his pistol on single-shot, sent a second round. The remaining scout was running for the sanctuary of the compound. The jacketed slug, issued with a slight cough that only the nightscorcher could hear, hit its moving target in the top left of the guy's dark green fatigue shirt. He slumped to the ground as the explosion of his
heart brought his forward momentum to an abrupt end.
Mack Bolan turned to look back at the roof line of the building he had just left. He studied it very, very closely.
"I'VE GOT GRIMALDI ON THE LAND LINE." The Bear's voice interrupted the activities of the others who shared the War Room at Stony Man Farm.
The Bear switched over to the wall speaker. The pilot's voice filled the room.
"Nothing to report here, Hal. Striker has been out of radio contact since I left the drop site."
"Most likely Striker's transceiver can't reach you because of the surrounding mountain ridges and peaks," Hal Brognola said into a console microphone.
"Right," Grimaldi agreed.
"Then Mack is on his own again," April Rose said softly, staring directly at her desktop mike.
"Right to a degree, April. I'm more than a hundred miles from his site. Conditions need to be ideal for us to have transmission."
April Rose gazed at the far wall as though she could see through it, as though she could cover the distance that separated her from Mack Bolan.
10
MAURICE LEVALLE MOVED BRISKLY across the raked gravel to get clear of the helicopter. With his left hand holding his graying hair in place and his right holding a thin attaché case, the tall lean man did not glance back.
Ahead of him, Kurt Holbein was leaving the medical building. The project director's thin lips were tightly compressed. He openly looked at his heavy gold watch to let his superior know the irritation he felt at the other's early arrival.
LeValle smiled, transferred the case to his left hand and accepted Holbein's outstretched palm.
"Good to see you, Kurt. And, yes, I am aware I'm ahead of schedule. I only hope my early arrival did not inconvenience you or the lovely Ms. Vitalli."
"Not in the least, Maurice. Your arrival is always an occasion of great pleasure for us.
Coffee? A drink? Perhaps a few minutes to freshen up?"
LeValle's dark eyes locked onto Holbein's.
"Women freshen up, Kurt. Thank you, but no. Let's join Lavinia in her laboratory at once. She is there, is she not?"
"She's there."
LeValle led the way from the gravelled area into the building's interior and to Lavinia's quarters, which he entered without knocking.
"Ah, Lavinia." He approached her with both arms held wide, the slender case suspended from his left hand.
Their embrace lasted seconds and held no real warmth. It did, however, cause Kurt's blood to boil.
Without being asked, LeValle selected a chair from one of several surrounding a circular table. Lavinia and Kurt seated themselves on either side of LeValle so that they faced each other across the table.
"Bring me up to date." LeValle's tone was chill.
During the next three minutes LeValle sat motionless, only his eyes giving evidence of the attention he gave to the words of Lavinia Vitalli. When her recital ended, the three sat without speaking.
Holbein showed intense interest in studying his long-fingered hands. Lavinia gazed intently at the man in the expertly tailored three-piece suit, while LeValle's eyes focused on a point just beyond the white wall opposite him.
"Too slow. You're not moving rapidly enough," LeValle said finally.
"I have to disagree." Lavinia kept her voice deliberately flat. "We've made enormous progress in the short time allotted to me. I'm at the point of total success. Already we have half a dozen—no, seven—subjects who work daily around the area."
"How many failures?"
Lavinia shrugged to indicate how unimportant her losses were. "What is a failure? I've lost a number of subjects while bringing the drug to perfection. Those were not failures. Laboratory losses are to be expected—they are a necessary part of any scientific procedure."
"Ah, Lavinia. Let us not debate the problem. You were supposed to be beyond that point when you left Italy. And that was nearly six months ago."
"Due to the lack of human subjects, I could do only so much," Lavinia insisted.
"Dogs, monkeys, sheep. I can advance only so far with them. The hyperactivity compound HA-27 is perfect. It requires no further laboratory testing. In fact—" deliberately Lavinia avoided the eyes of Kurt Holbein "—it is ready for field testing. I'd like to suggest we select a test site while you are here this evening and let Kurt get on with it."
Holbein's hands clenched. Feeling LeValle's mocking gaze, the project director forced himself to appear relaxed.
"I've already selected several potential test sites for you to consider," Holbein said to LeValle. He would deal with the vicious bitch later, at a time of his choosing.
"Let's return to the problem of mind domination for the moment." LeValle's words were smooth. "I'd like to see a few of your successes."
Lavinia moved to a phone and punched four buttons. She issued an order, re-cradling the instrument without awaiting a response.
Seconds later a gentle knocking sounded on the laboratory door.
"Come in." Lavinia's voice was just loud enough to carry through the door.
Three middle-aged men, clad in fatigues that showed some lack of care, entered the room. Their movements were mechanical. The door closed firmly behind the three.
Lavinia advanced to meet the trio midway across the room.
"Stop."
The three halted.
"You." She touched one with the tip of her index finger. "Come with me."
He followed as the strikingly beautiful terrorist walked toward the counter that lined most of one wall.
"Use that cloth. Clean the counter." Without waiting to see that he obeyed, Lavinia turned away. The man immediately began to do her bidding.
Lavinia set the second of the trio to work at polishing the already spotless floor of the big room.
The third she ordered to run on the spot.
"Very impressive," LeValle conceded. "I congratulate you. How long will they continue their tasks?"
"Until they are told to do otherwise. Or until they drop from exhaustion." Satisfaction was evident in her tone.
"They cannot be programmed to move from one task to another without supervision?"
"Not yet."
"How soon can you guarantee me a success rate of fifty percent?"
"Soon. Very soon."
"Give me a date."
Holbein's lips softened in a suggestion of a smile as Lavinia worried.
"One month, provided I have a sufficient number of subjects to work with."
LeValle nodded. "One month." Then to Holbein he said, "You will see that Lavinia has an adequate number of subjects with which to work."
It was Lavinia's turn to enjoy the squirming.
"Now," LeValle said as he brought his hands together on the table before him, "let's see your HA-27 in action."
"I think you will be pleased." Lavinia reached for the telephone but hesitated. "Shall I let them continue or have you seen enough?" She gestured in the direction of the three engaged in their routines.
"Quite enough, thank you."
"Kurt, would you see to them while I make this call?" Her voice was silken, honey sweet, her eyes bright with the sense of power.
Had LeValle not been present Holbein would have risked a verbal confrontation with the woman. As it was, he added yet another mark beside Lavinia's name, each mark indicating one more item that would be re-paid.
"It's a female," Lavinia said to LeValle. "Kurt has been slow in obtaining subjects, so we have only two remaining. One is old, the other a girl of about seventeen. I think the girl will provide a better demonstration for us." She punched the first digit on the telephone dial.
"No." Kurt faced the two of them. "You will be needing the girl later for your mind domination work. Best to use the old woman, since this demonstration will result in death."
Lavinia's laughter was mocking. To LeValle she said, "Kurt has been keeping the girl for himself. She's really quite attractive in a thin sort of way."
LeValle's expressio
n was one of interest. "Is she good?" He directed his question to Kurt.
The project director weighed his responses, finally chosing the proper one.
"She is an interesting diversion after a hard day's work."
"That being the case," LeValle turned to Lavinia, "let's sacrifice the old one." To Kurt he added, "I will test your assertion later this evening." His smile was sinister in its blandness.
RAUL HERNANDEZ STOOD REGARDING the chopper. He glanced at his watch for the third time in less than three minutes. As long as the machine remained on the ground it was his responsibility. Once it was in the air he could dismiss it from his mind.
His dark, restless eyes surveyed the inner compound. Good men. His troops were alert and on post.
"Sir."
Raul turned. A guard had halted three feet from him.
"Sir, both members of the detail sent to secure the coyote gate have gone down."
"Gone down?"
"Yes, sir. Logan has them in his night glasses. Neither is moving."
"Then the enemy is inside the fence?"
"There is no evidence the fence has been breached."
No evidence? Two men down. Hernandez kept calm against raging uncertainty.
"Thank you. Return to your post. Keep alert."
The chopper rotors began to whirl more rapidly. Thanks to God for small favors. At least the bird was on its way. That still left LeValle under his care, but that was the least of Raul's worries.
Once the helicopter cleared the compound area, Hernandez made a tour of the inner portion of the compound. He found his troops ready and willing to engage the enemy. Not once did Hernandez have reason to find fault.
As he neared the supply building, he withdrew a ring filled to capacity with keys. He approached the darkened building and entered. Snapping on lights as he went, the soldier approached the building's one locked door.
Once in front of the inner door, he used two keys to release the twin locks. Pushing the door open, he stepped into a small but well-equipped armory. He moved to a particular shelf.
Raul gathered five claymore antipersonnel mines from the two dozen available. With them and the necessary detonating devices in hand, he left the small room.
Executioner 054 - Mountain Rampage Page 6
