Zero option, p.2
Zero Option, page 2
The unexpected glare of the headlights engulfed Buchanan, pinning him against the desert backdrop like a butterfly to a collector’s board. He half turned, throwing up his hands to shield his eyes from the light. All he saw was the wall of light, then he picked up the roar of the engine as the driver stood on the brakes. The pickup dipped and rose like a bucking mustang. The rear slid from side to side, then it was on him. Buchanan put out his hands to ward it off, making a desperate lunge to get out of the way. He didn’t make it. The front of the truck caught him a glancing blow, not hard enough to kill him, but forceful enough to lift him off his feet and throw him in the air. He came down on the side of the track, hitting hard, coming to rest against a jutting outcrop.
Stunned, his body in agony, Buchanan picked up the sound of the truck coming to a stop. Doors banged. It seemed a long way off, and then he heard voices. They were faint, and spoke in a language he couldn’t understand. The voices closed in on him. He felt hands touch him. He tried to resist.
And that was all he remembered…
CHAPTER ONE
Nassau, Bahamas
Jack Grimaldi pushed through the hangar door and made his way to the office on the far side. He could see Jess Buchanan through the glass partition. The young woman was bent over a high desk, working on a flight plan for an upcoming charter flight.
The Stony Man pilot had known the young woman for some months, ever since she had been caught up in a mission involving Able Team. Grimaldi had stepped in when Jess had been threatened, dealing with the perpetrators. Since then he had visited her on Nassau whenever he could. The pair had a natural camaraderie that allowed them to enjoy each other’s company. This particular visit had added interest. Grimaldi had persuaded Mack Bolan to fly across to Nassau. The Executioner had taken one of his infrequent R&R breaks, and Grimaldi had gained a deal of satisfaction when Bolan had agreed to join him. The soldier had met Jess once before, so they were all anticipating a quiet few days. For Bolan and Grimaldi it would be a welcome break from the ongoing visits to the war zones and the ongoing struggles against the evil that ravaged the world.
Jess glanced up as Grimaldi neared the office, waving a hand behind the glass. As usual when working, she wore coveralls and a long-peaked baseball cap over her blond hair.
“Hey, Tex, how’s the Alamo?” she asked.
Grimaldi smiled. The remark was a throwback to the first time they had met. Grimaldi had been using a cover ID that had him as a Texan. She sometimes teased him by recalling the cover name, just to catch him off guard.
“Ha, ha, ha,” he said.
As he drew near, he slipped an arm around her slim waist and kissed her on the cheek. Buchanan turned her head to eye him.
“Is that the best you can do?”
“During office hours. You never know when the boss might be around.”
“I am the boss. Remember?”
“Hell, so you are,” Grimaldi said and completed his greeting.
“Now that’s more like it, Tex.”
For a moment the woman drifted away, her mind occupied by something else.
“Still thinking about that phone message?”
“Sorry, Jack. I know it’s crazy but I get the feeling there was more to it. I know I haven’t seen Uncle Doug for some time, but he sounded strange. Like he wasn’t sure about things. Damn, it’s hard to explain.”
“You know him better than me.”
“I hope he calls again. Last time I saw him was when we buried Dad. He calls and I’m out. And what did he mean about keeping quiet about his call? Not talking to strangers? Jesus, Jack, I missed his call.”
“No way you could have known he was going to get in touch, Jess. Likely he’ll call again. Don’t give yourself a hard time.”
She nodded.
“So what’s on the agenda today?” Grimaldi asked.
“The choice is yours.”
Grimaldi glanced at his watch. “Lunch. Then waste time till Mike arrives. Figure we work something out.”
“I’ll need to tidy up. Get into some clean clothes. Can you wait while I do that?”
“I can do better. How about I come and help?”
Buchanan laughed, pushing him away.
“If I let you do that, we’ll be eating at midnight.”
“Romantic meal under the stars sounds good,” Grimaldi said.
Before she could respond, the sound of the hangar door being slammed open caught her attention. Through the office window she and Grimaldi were able to see a group of five men. They paused to locate themselves, then started across the hangar floor, one hanging back to cover the entrance door.
“Who are they, Jess?” Grimaldi asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve never seen any of them before.”
“Do they look like potential customers to you?”
“Not impossible, but I somehow don’t think so. They look more like FBI. Or IRS.”
Buchanan moved to the door and stepped through into the main hangar, followed by Grimaldi.
For some reason he felt himself growing tense. There was something almost official about the group. Not just the uniform way they were dressed, but more in the way they handled themselves, how they walked, checking out their surroundings, one of them hanging back to cover the door, slightly turning so he could see out across the strip. He kept his right hand close to the fastened button on his suit jacket. Just so he could quickly get to the shoulder-holstered handgun he was carrying. Grimaldi had already spotted the slight bulge under every jacket. It was so slight that it would be missed by the average citizen.
But Grimaldi was no average citizen, and there was no way these people were customers. His suspicions made him step forward, slightly in front, blocking Buchanan from the men. His stance, outwardly easy, told them he was on the alert, watching for any problems.
At the forefront of Grimaldi’s mind was the telephone message from Jess’s uncle.
Don’t talk to strangers.
“What can I do for you?” Grimaldi asked.
The lead man, his white-blond hair cut short, body solid under the loose folds of his suit, turned his head slightly so he could see Buchanan over Grimaldi’s shoulder—but he spoke directly at Grimaldi.
“Are you Jess Buchanan, mister?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t have business with you, and you are interfering in mine.”
Buchanan touched Grimaldi’s arm, moving to stand beside him. “I’m Jess Buchanan. What do you want?”
“We need you to come with us. No arguments. No questions. You just do it.”
“Just like that? You walk into my place and I do exactly what you want?”
The man smiled as if he were calming an unruly puppy. “Now there’s a good girl. You see. No fuss. No bother.” Then his manner changed in an instant, the smile turning cold as Grimaldi tensed and put out a warning hand. “I already gave you an order, mister.”
“Order? Where do you think you are, friend? This isn’t a military base and you’re no damned squad leader.”
“No?”
Grimaldi caught movement off to his left. One of the suits lunged, his move fast and smooth as he arced in at Grimaldi. His left hand, previously at his side, rose to show the dark configuration of a hard-looking compact shotgun. The guy brought up the weapon, securing it with his right hand, and he was already into his swing as he stepped around the lead man. Grimaldi brought up an arm to ward off the blow. The solid steel barrel cracked against his forearm, the blow delivered with maximum force. The impact drew a pained grunt from Grimaldi, and he swiveled hard, his right hand catching Buchanan’s shoulder, pushing her aside as the lead man went for her.
As she stumbled out of the immediate area, Grimaldi swung his right hand and caught the lead man across the side of the face. The blow stung and the man’s head rocked. He stepped back, anger showing in his cold eyes as the shotgunner closed in, swinging the weapon again, slamming the butt into Grimaldi’s side, a savage blow that cracked ribs and drove the breath from the Stony Man pilot’s lungs. The others were moving in now, dark shapes converging on Grimaldi. He was no slouch when it came to defending himself, and he used his moment of freedom to set himself, gritting his teeth against the swell of pain from his broken ribs. The pain was sharp, sweat popping across his face as Grimaldi forced himself to fight back.
He got in a few telling blows, had the satisfaction of seeing bloodied faces before the overwhelming odds closed around him and he went down under a deluge of blows from weapons and feet. He struggled to push himself upright, the continuing blows starting to wear away his resistance. His face was dripping blood. He tasted it in his mouth. A savage kick drove in over his left eye, splitting flesh to the bone. He felt the hot gush of blood, which washed downward and blinded his vision. Somewhere out of the blur of movement and sound he heard Jess. She was yelling, fighting hard. Through the swirl of dark coats he caught a glimpse of her.
She was struggling in the grip of the lead man. He held her with little effort, a crooked grin on his tight face. She reached out and took hold of his short blond hair, yanking hard. He jerked away, then suddenly, cruelly, punched her hard in the face. The last thing Grimaldi saw was Jess going limp, her mouth bloody, eyes starting to glaze over from the blow. He tried to yell to her but he was choking on his own blood. Someone stamped down hard on his left hand, breaking several fingers. Grimaldi felt himself being hauled up off the floor, pinned against the bench as more blows landed on his body. He made a vain attempt at resisting. His attempts were brushed aside. As his body began to shut down, oblivious to the continuing beating, all Grimaldi could recall was the final expression in Jess’s eyes…it had been one of pure terror. And then he went under.
MACK BOLAN STOOD as the white-coated doctor came into the waiting room. The medic held out a hand, gripping Bolan’s firmly.
“How is he?” Bolan asked.
“When you called you said you were family. I don’t see a resemblance.”
Bolan smiled. “Maybe I should have added that I’m all the family Jack has, Doc. We work together. Right now my friend is in trouble, and I want to know how he is.”
“All right, Mr. Belasko. Let’s sit down. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”
When they were seated, the doctor took a moment to collect his thoughts.
“Jack Grimaldi was brought in about five hours ago. He had taken one hell of a beating. We have three broken ribs on his left side. Came close to puncturing his lung. He also has three broken fingers in his left hand. In addition his upper torso, arms and face are showing severe bruising associated with the beating he took. He has a slight fracture in his right cheekbone, and it looks like someone kicked him above the right eye. Left a deep gash. His eye has swollen so he won’t be able to see for a while. In nontechnical terms your friend has been well and truly worked over.”
“Are any of the injuries life threatening?”
“No, but he’s going to be out of action for a while.”
“Is he awake?”
The doctor sighed; he knew what was coming.
“You want to see him?”
“I understand he needs rest. I’m not going to be there long, and I’m not about to put him under any kind of stress. I just need to see him for a couple of minutes. Then I’m gone.”
The doctor stood and beckoned for Bolan to follow him.
“If I say no, you’ll just keep pestering me. Am I right?”
“You got it.”
“I’ve already sent the police away when they wanted to question him. So why am I letting you in?”
“Did the police ask as nicely as I did?”
The doctor shook his head and chuckled.
Bolan followed the medic down the hall and to the private room where he could see Grimaldi’s prone shape on the bed through the window.
“I’ll be outside,” the doctor said. “And I’ll be watching. Any signs of distress, and I’m hauling you straight out. He’s been sedated to ease the pain, so he might not be fully awake.”
“Understood. And thanks.”
Bolan eased into the room. The lights were low and the room was silent except for Grimaldi’s slightly harsh breathing. As the soldier stood beside the bed, looking down at his friend, Grimaldi’s good eye opened and he stared up at his visitor.
“Hey, Sarge, thanks for showing up.”
“I’m going to make this quick,” Bolan said. “Your doc’s got his eye on me.”
“Sarge, they took her. They took Jess.”
“Who were they?”
“I don’t know. But they looked like they had military training at some time. The guy in charge had close-cropped white-blond hair. I got one in on his left cheek before they put me down.”
Grimaldi was talking slowly so as not to increase any pain he was suffering. It still had to have hurt, Bolan realized, seeing the strain on his friend’s face.
“Any idea why they wanted Jess?”
“The only thing I can tell you is she told me she’d had a call from her late father’s brother. Jess was out at the time, and he left a message on her answering machine. She hadn’t had contact with him for some time. He’s in the Air Force, Sarge, and his name is Doug Buchanan. The call came out of the blue. Jess said he sounded like he was under some strain. He warned her not to talk to anyone about hearing from him and to watch out for strangers. Coincidence?” Grimaldi fell silent for a moment. “What could they want from her, Mack?”
Bolan rested a gentle hand on Grimaldi’s shoulder. “Let me worry about that. One way or the other, I’ll find out.”
Grimaldi nodded, satisfied. He knew Mack Bolan well enough to accept those few words as a promise.
“You rest easy.”
Bolan turned to leave. At the door he paused as he heard Grimaldi’s whispered thanks. When he turned to look back, the Stony Man pilot had drifted into a tranquilized sleep.
Back in the corridor Bolan thanked the doctor and made his way outside. He stood in the warm afternoon sun, considering his next move. There was, he realized, only a single option open to him. Bolan walked to the street and picked up a cab. He told the driver his destination, then settled back and watched the tourists going about their business, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Taking time out to be a tourist had been the reason Bolan had come to Nassau. He had finally accepted Grimaldi’s invitation to join him and Jess on the island for a few days, and had been looking forward to the brief R&R. A break from the battlegrounds that dominated his life. Bolan might have dedicated himself to a life of struggle against the forces of evil, but he wasn’t so immersed that he failed to realize the need for a moment of respite. Endless missions took their toll. Time out had been called—but even that looked as if it was about to be canceled.
THE CAB DROPPED Bolan at the entrance to the charter airstrip next to Nassau International Airport. He paid the driver and crossed to the security hut. The soldier had spoken to the uniformed man earlier when he had arrived. Earl was in his late fifties, quiet spoken.
“How’s Jack?” he asked.
“He’ll pull through,” Bolan said. “That beating he took is going to keep him in hospital for a while.”
“Damned shame. I like Jack. Him and Miss Jess made a nice couple. I know he couldn’t get over here to see her as often as he wanted, but when he did they always had a good time. Miss Jess got real excited every time he called to say he was coming in.”
The Stony Man flier had that effect on people. His outgoing personality reached out to embrace anyone he met. Bolan didn’t fail to notice the way the security man talked about him. Jack—not Mr. Grimaldi.
“After it happened were the police told?”
Earl nodded. “They sent an officer after I called. He took my statement and had a look around. Thing was, the place was pretty quiet when it happened. Hardly anyone around. The cop who came, well, he didn’t put much effort into things. Problem is, the police are down on manpower. They didn’t even send down an experienced officer. He looked like he just got out of training school. He was a kid. Hardly knew the right questions to ask. Listen, Mr. Belasko, I know you’re a friend of Jack and all. I just wonder what’s going to happen to Miss Jess. Where is she? What did those people want with her?”
“I don’t know. But I want to find out. Earl, you mind if I go in and take a look around?”
“You take all the time you need. I got a phone in my booth. Anybody shows up I’ll make a call to Miss Jess’s office.”
Bolan made his way along the strip, crossing the concrete apron that took him by other charter companies until he was able to spot Jess Buchanan’s place.
He walked through the open hangar, making his way to Jess’s office. He hadn’t expected to find anything visible to offer any information. Bolan went directly to the telephone and checked the number. He took out his cell phone and speed-dialed Stony Man. The call was bounced off the satellite link and rerouted through a series of cutouts to the Farm. Bolan’s call was answered by Barbara Price herself. Bolan identified himself and told her what he wanted.
“I’ll get Aaron on it. How’s Jack?”
“Not at his best right now. He’s going to need some time to recover.”
“Listen, Mack, we’ll make sure he’s looked after. What do you need?”
“For now that check on all recent incoming calls to Jess Buchanan’s number. The only connection with her disappearance seems to be this out-of-the-blue call from her uncle. Doug Buchanan didn’t want Jess to say anything about his contacting her. Sounds like he was expecting problems.”
“You think maybe he’s in trouble with the Air Force?”
“Right now I don’t have any idea. Look into his background. See what you can find. If he was in trouble with his own people, I can’t see them handling it the way it happened. You going to have any problems getting information from the Air Force?”
“Let me worry about that. I’ll call the minute we have anything.” Price paused. “You take care.”
“You worrying about me?”
