Zero option, p.23
Zero Option, page 23
“Senator, when the information in those files is made public your government takeover is going to disappear,” Bolan said. “Once the President has the details, every one of your conspirator friends will feel the cold. You know what they do with traitors? Lock them away in a secure federal facility and lose the key.”
Stahl thought about that for a moment, then he visibly relaxed.
“Belasko, it doesn’t need to happen that way. We can work this out. Do you realize how wealthy I am? The Stahl Corporation is my legacy. I have more money than the Federal Reserve. I could make an accommodation. For you and the young woman. Think about it, Belasko. It has to be better than this. Risking your life for what? Some vague notion of justice and democracy? People get themselves killed, but nothing really changes. Money is power. It buys off the troubles of the world. Now, how does your job stack up to that?”
“Pretty good,” Bolan said, his voice taking on an icy tone.
Stahl frowned. “I don’t understand. What’s so good about your life?”
“It allows me to deal with people like you, Senator,” Bolan said, removing plastic riot cuffs from a pocket of his blacksuit.
“We’ll just sit you down here, and I’ll put in a call to a friend who’ll arrange a pickup. I’m sure you’ll have a lot to tell the Feds.”
MOMENTS LATER the black SUV drove out of the warehouse, Bolan at the wheel. Claire Valens sat in the passenger seat beside him.
The stormy weather closed around the SUV as the soldier drove through the site’s rusty gates, leaving Eric Stahl and his dreams of power in a heap on the dirty floor of a deserted warehouse. Bolan had used Stahl’s cell phone to call Brognola at the Justice Department and arrange for a team to pick up the senator, and to tell him Stengard was dead.
Maryland lay ahead.
And closure.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Valens had loaded both M-16s. She rested them against her knees as she stared out through the windshield of the SUV. One of the rear windows, shattered by Bolan’s fire during the battle at the warehouse, let in the chill rain. She could feel the cold against the back of her neck. She turned to look at Bolan’s profile as he drove. His face was battered and bloody, but she felt the resolve that came off him strong and undiminished. He would never give up, she realized. No matter how strong the odds against him.
“Do you think Ryan will hurt them?” she asked.
Bolan was thinking about that, too.
Joshua Riba, Saul Kaplan and Doug Buchanan.
“If he realizes there are no more options, he might use them as bargaining chips. Stengard is dead. Ryan won’t know about Stahl.
“The problem is, we can’t be sure who works for who in this damned town. Ryan may call in help from someone we don’t have a clue about.”
“I think we have that covered,” Bolan said.
He took out the cell phone he had appropriated from Stahl, along with a SAC key card. He was hoping the card might let them get inside the R&D building.
Bolan tapped in the number that would connect him with Stony Man. It was time to get the backup on stream.
Barbara Price answered.
“It’s me,” Bolan said, then gave her an update on the situation. “Have Stahl’s files revealed anything about insiders leaking information?”
“Wait until you hear.”
“Just the bare bones.”
“Aaron has names our friendly senator was keeping in his files. You wouldn’t believe the stuff he had on people. That man is seriously sick. The upshot is, there have been a number of arrests in Washington. Two on the White House staff. One was a woman who had access to confidential presidential databases. Senator Stahl is going to have to answer some awkward questions. Just a second. Hal’s on the other line.”
“Striker,” Brognola said as he became part of a conference call. “The pickup team is on the way. We’ll have Stahl on ice within the hour.”
“It’s over. Thank God.”
“Not quite. I’m on my way back to the Stahl weapons facility in Maryland. Buchanan and Kaplan are still there. I need to get them out, so we’re not in the clear yet. Give me a little time before you send in the troops. Hold them off. Local enforcement, as well.”
“What’s been going on there?”
“A little in-house upset.”
“More likely a rehearsal for WWIII. I picked up on some disturbance there. I had an idea you might be involved, so we clamped down on any interference. The President made it federal business and ordered everyone to stay clear and I mean everyone. He has seriously upset a lot of people around town. I suspect the ones making the most noise are involved with Stahl and Stengard because they sense something’s up. It’ll be interesting to see what happens when the dust settles. Locally the story is something about possible radioactive leakage. Local cops have set a two-mile exclusion zone. The President can’t expect to keep it indefinite, so finish it fast.”
“Radioactive leakage. The Man has some imagination.”
“They’ll let you through. All you need to tell them is the code word ‘Peacemaker.’”
“Who chose that? You?”
“Yeah.”
“Watch it. You’ll be developing a sense of humor next.”
“Working with you I need one. Call me when we can come in.”
THE CODE WORD got them through the police roadblock after a slight delay. There were a number of local PD vehicles ranged across the road, lights flashing through the rain. Wooden barriers had been put in place, as well.
“You look a little rough,” the local police captain said when Bolan leaned out of his window to speak to him.
The cop didn’t look too happy. The threat of a radiation leak, plus the miserable weather, wasn’t the kind of thing to make for a happy evening. He was huddled in his waterproof jacket, a plastic cover over his peaked cap, probably wishing he were closer to retirement than he actually was.
“It’s been one of those days,” Bolan told him.
“I’d say. You had some unhappy clients.”
Bolan touched his bruised cheek. “You know how people get grumpy.”
“Tell me about it. My wife for one wasn’t too happy at me having to do this tonight. Hey, this thing going to spread?”
Bolan shook his head. “No problem there, Captain. We’re going to contain it. Shut the problem down for good.”
Bolan surveyed the assembled patrol cars. The barriers blocking the road.
“You got the instructions? No one else comes through until I get the all-clear from my people.”
“You think anyone would want to go in there?”
“You’d be surprised, Captain.”
Bolan eased the SUV forward, taking it around the opened barrier.
The captain watched it go, and found himself wondering why a radiation containment team would have bullet holes in the back of its vehicle. He turned those thoughts away. He had his orders.
BOLAN SLOWED the SUV as they approached the service road leading to the SAC facility. He killed the lights.
“When Ryan isn’t able to contact Stahl, he’s going to start worrying. The guy’s reckless, but I wouldn’t say stupid. If he suspects things have gone bad, he’ll look at his own position and what he can do to survive.”
“You don’t think he’ll just run?”
“Possibility. Like we already agreed, I think he’ll consider his options. He could walk out and find the place surrounded. But he might just see Buchanan and Kaplan as bargaining pieces. He could use them to get himself and his men clear. Use them as hostages. Or not.”
“He could say to hell with it all and kill them, then take his chances.”
“He could do that, too. The sooner we get in there the better. Give him something else to think about.”
“Such as?”
“Who to shoot first. You or me.”
“I can see you’ll be great fun on a date, Mike.”
Bolan reached for his M-16. Full magazine, with a couple of extras stowed in his blacksuit pockets.
“You set?”
Valens nodded, not willing to answer, because she didn’t trust her voice at that point.
Bolan increased his speed along the service road. Skirting the deserted main buildings and on toward the isolated R&D block.
“You think Ryan might have men outside keeping watch?”
“There can’t be that many left,” Bolan said. “But it’s another possibility.”
They approached the R&D building. It was shrouded in darkness except for a few isolated security lights on tall poles dotted around the area. Bolan took the SUV up to the main door and braked.
They sat and checked out the immediate area, but saw nothing, which didn’t guarantee anything.
Bolan picked up his M-16, opened his door and stepped out. The chill bite of the rain hit him. He ducked his head and made for the R&D door.
“Jesus, where you guys been? You have problems or something?”
The voice came from Bolan’s right. Ryan had placed a man outside, and the guy had recognized the SUV, thinking it was part of the team returning from Washington.
Bolan waited as the man closed in, picking up the sound of his boots on the ground. Then heard a heavy impact. A second blow followed. The sentry grunted, folding forward to drop facedown on the ground, his weapon clattering beside him.
Bolan turned to see Claire Valens standing over the guard. The back of the guy’s head was red with blood and his neck had an unnatural twist to it.
“Let’s hope he was the only one,” Bolan said.
He checked the man’s pulse. There wasn’t one.
They relieved the man of his weapons, an M-16 and a sheathed knife. Bolan took the knife. He stripped the M-16 and threw the various pieces into the darkness. The magazine went into one of his pockets.
Valens kept watch as Bolan took the key card from his pocket and swiped it through the card reader on the wall. The doors slid open. They went inside, crossing to the elevator doors. The soldier used the card again, and they entered the elevator.
There were four levels to choose from.
“Level two,” Valens said. “I was watching when Ryan took us down.”
Bolan punched the appropriate button, and the elevator dropped.
“Ryan might have someone stationed by the elevator,” Bolan said. “Don’t stick your head out too fast.”
“As if.”
The elevator slowed and finally stopped. There was a pause before the doors slid open. Bolan and Valens stayed to the sides of the opening, waiting.
A shadow fell across the opening, and Bolan heard breathing, the soft rustle of clothing.
The muzzle of an M-16 appeared, probing, then a head and shoulders. It was one of Ryan’s hardmen.
“Somebody playin’ games?” the guy muttered.
He took another, hesitant step, still unsure.
It was a step too many.
Bolan hit him full face with the butt of the M-16, hard enough to put the guy down on his knees.
“Check outside,” Bolan said.
Valens stepped over the man as Bolan grabbed his arm and hauled him inside the elevator.
The hardman spit blood, reaching out to resist. He got one hand across Bolan’s throat, fingers digging in. His effort pushed the soldier back against the elevator wall and for seconds they struggled. Bolan let the M-16 dangle from its sling as he fought back.
He put his right palm under his adversary’s chin and pushed back hard, feeling the pressure lift the guy onto his toes. He rammed his left hand into the guy’s side. The knife he had taken from the sentry was in that hand. The blade slid in under the guy’s ribs, the keen blade cleaving flesh and internal organs as Bolan worked it savagely. His opponent uttered a trembling moan, then stiffened, his grip on the Executioner’s throat slackening as his own functions began to fail. He fell back, pulling himself off the knife, hands over the bleeding wound. As Bolan unslung his M-16, the man slid to the floor of the elevator.
Valens was crouching against the wall, her rifle covering the corridor. She glanced at Bolan, noting the bloody knife before he sheathed it. She said nothing.
“That way,” Bolan said.
They walked the corridor, the soldier in the lead, Valens just behind, watching their backs.
“The office Stengard used,” Bolan said.
The door was ajar, so he moved to check the interior. The office was deserted, but showed signs of having been used. There were plastic cups on the desk, and he could smell the coffee they had recently held. Something caught his eye. A flickering TV monitor.
“Stay by the door and keep watch.”
Bolan moved inside the office and checked out the screen. It showed the Room, a wide-angle view.
He saw the couch with Doug Buchanan stretched out. Kaplan was at his side, talking to him.
Dr. Menard and his assistants were at the computer station.
Joshua Riba was there, too, slumped on a frame chair, under the watchful eye of a gunner. Four more were in the Room.
Bolan recognized one of them as Cal Ryan.
Ryan appeared agitated. The man had a cell phone in his hand. As Bolan observed, he punched in numbers, put the phone to his ear and listened. From his reaction it was obvious he wasn’t getting any response—Bolan had turned off Stahl’s cell phone. Ryan cut off the call and spoke to one of his men. The guy nodded and turned away. He went to the door and pushed it open and stepped out of the Room.
“Damn…”
Bolan spun away from the TV monitor.
“Valens.” The crackle of an M-16 interrupted his warning. As Bolan reached the office door he heard the slugs impacting against the wall. Valens expressed her anger verbally, then returned fire.
Bolan cleared the office door.
He saw Valens down on one knee, rifle to her shoulder as she traded shots with the hardman farther down the corridor.
Bolan had the extra time to aim before the gunner spotted him. He hit him with a burst to the chest, the impact driving the guy to the floor.
“You okay?” Bolan asked.
Valens nodded. “Only pissed because he took me by surprise.”
“Stay that way. It’ll keep you sharp.”
“Comforting words.”
They heard the door to the Room crash open and another gunner burst into the corridor, his weapon up and firing.
Valens gasped as a slug took her in the right shoulder. She was half turned by the impact, stumbling and going down. Bolan caught sight of the wide-eyed expression of total shock on her face.
He turned on the man and triggered a burst that hit the guy in the left hip, blowing away a chunk of flesh and bone. The guy went down, fumbling with his rifle. Bolan hit him with two more bursts, fragments of the guy’s blacksuit flying as the 5.56 mm slugs cored into his chest. The guy was flung back against the wall, leaving a bloody smear as he toppled to the floor.
THE SECOND GUNNER had left the room.
The crackle of gunfire that followed stirred Cal Ryan to action.
“Time to get the hell out of here,” he said.
His two surviving men exchanged glances. “Cal, what’s going on?”
“Shit is going on. I can’t get through to Stahl. We’re stuck in this damned place with no backup. Any bright ideas?”
“We can use these as hostages?”
“And who do we negotiate with? Boys, we don’t have a line to anyone.”
“This is bad,” one man commented.
“This is the worst fucking deal I ever signed up for,” Ryan snapped. “And the first one of you hotshots who agrees I’ll shoot his eyes out.”
Ryan checked his M-16 and handgun. “The options have narrowed, boys. Stay and we’ll end up dead. We make a run for it we might get clear. No guarantees. Personally I prefer the second choice.”
“There might be a squad out there, waiting to blow our heads off.”
Ryan shrugged. “Only one way to find out. I’m betting there’s only that son of a bitch Belasko. The bastard outgunned Stahl and the escort. That’s why I can’t get through to Mr. High and Mighty Senator.”
“You could be wrong, Cal.”
“Everything you do has a positive and negative side. Of course I could be wrong.”
“So how do we get out of this room?”
“Any stun grenades left?”
“I got one.”
“Toss it down the corridor. As soon as it goes off, we vacate this place. Head to the rear door and lose ourselves in the woods beyond the perimeter fence. Then we commandeer a vehicle and get back to the safehouse. Don’t forget the cash reserve the colonel kept for emergencies. Change of clothes, clean car and we can lose ourselves before anyone can locate us.”
“What about this bunch?”
Ryan glanced at the captives, considering.
“What the hell. Dead or alive isn’t going to make a difference to us. Leave them. We need the ammunition.”
The hardman with the stun grenade slung his M-16, moved to the door and opened it wide.
Ryan and the remaining gunner stood to the side, waiting.
The guy with the stun grenade reached up to pull the pin.
JOSHUA RIBA WATCHED the proceedings with interest. He had noticed the crumbling of their resolve. Right now it was at its lowest, and he knew his chance was coming fast. Since Ryan and his men had taken control of the Room, Riba had been hoping something might offer him a chance. He had surrendered because he’d had no option. The odds were too great and the threat to Buchanan and Kaplan forced him to reach his decision. It was like Belasko had said—staying alive meant you could get another chance. Once you were dead, nothing else mattered.
As the hardmen started to arm the stun grenade, Riba slipped off his chair, braced himself and took a lunging run across the room. Before Ryan and the other hardman realized what was happening, Riba hit the guy with the grenade from the rear. The momentum of his charge took the pair out the door and into the corridor. They went to the floor, sliding across the smooth surface to crash against the far wall. The stun grenade rolled from the hardman’s fingers. He struggled to free himself from Riba’s embrace. The P.I. hung on, circling his adversary’s neck with his left arm, bracing his right hand against the back of the guy’s skull. He closed the loop, cutting off the man’s air, and squeezed until sweat popped from his forehead. He felt the man struggling, making choking sounds.
