War Everlasting
The occupants were taken by surprise, but they reacted with speed and resolve. Unfortunately for them, they were no match for the mettle of the Executioner. Years of combat had honed Bolan’s skills, and some thugs with guns, even assault rifles, weren’t going to be any match.
He waited until he was nearly on top of them before maneuvering the sedan out of their path. The driver of the Jeep blinked first, however, and the soldier waited until he knew for certain which direction the driver would choose before heading in the opposite one. The Jeep rushed past him, and the driver kept his speed, powering down only a little as he swerved off the road and slowed so that he could turn. Bolan had a different plan, bringing his vehicle to a skidding halt and then going EVA.
From the arsenal in his pack he withdrew a Diehl DM-51 grenade and an FN-FNC assault rifle that was chambered for 5.56 mm ammo. With an effective firing range of nearly 400 meters and a muzzle velocity just shy of a thousand meters per second, it was a lethal tool in Mack Bolan’s hands.
Bolan lined up the sights on the careening Jeep as the driver tried to slow enough to make a turn without flipping the vehicle or tossing out its occupants. He figured the first, best option would be to disable the driver. The gamble paid off as he sighted on the windshield just as the nose of the Jeep swerved in his direction. Bolan stroked the trigger twice, delivering a 3-round burst in each instance. The first three rounds spider-webbed the windshield at the base, effectively blocking the view of the passenger, and the second burst made contact with the driver.
A red smear splashed across the windshield, and the vehicle immediately began to falter and shimmy. The passenger was undoubtedly leaning over the console attempting to keep the vehicle under control, but he had no idea where he was going, thanks to Bolan’s handiwork on the windshield. It had the desired effect, and the three men in back decided it was better to take their chances on foot than stay inside the Jeep bound for whatever crazy and unpredictable path the passenger managed to navigate.
Bolan swung the muzzle of the FNC into target acquisition before the trio had barely gotten boots on the ground. The first guy managed to stand, but that was all he had time for as the Executioner delivered a volley from his weapon that caused the man to stagger back, his body flailing under the impact of the high-velocity rounds. Another hardman managed to find cover, but not before Bolan winged him with a shot that tore a fleshy chunk from his arm.
The third guy reached cover behind a rock, but that position didn’t give him any advantage over Bolan. The gunner didn’t think his enemy could defend himself against three armed men, and he’d remained ignorant of the fact that Bolan had reduced their numbers by better than half. The gunner broke from the protection of the large outcropping and tore for higher ground that would give him the best advantage against Bolan. The Executioner sighted in on his enemy, leading him just enough to account for wind and speed before he triggered a 3-round burst. All three rounds connected. The impact drove him to the ground where he twitched a few times before going still.
Bolan swung the assault rifle toward the target he’d winged before, and noticed the Jeep was now stopped and the passenger had gone EVA. The guy was definitely toting some kind of high-powered rifle with a scope, probably a hunting piece. Be it 7 mm or .30-06, it didn’t make much difference—if he’d brought that kind of weapon to this game, then odds were good he knew how to use it with proficiency.
The Executioner intended to make sure he never got that chance.
Bolan broke from the cover of the sedan, concerned they might try to take out his transportation if they couldn’t get him directly. If the sniper decided to take out a tire or two, Bolan would be pinned down with no place to go. He had to get in close enough to make some noise and shake up his enemy, and he thought he knew exactly how to do that. The DM-51 grenades would come in handy for this play. He primed the first one as he charged toward the sniper on an intercept course.
The Executioner tossed the grenade at the large rock the sniper had rushed toward, then threw his body prone in the dust just as the wounded gunner shot at him. The soldier rolled to avoid the angry rounds that burned the air just inches above his head or slapped into the dirt where he’d lain a moment before. He got to one knee, steadied the FNC and triggered a sustained burst in the direction of the enemy gunner just as the grenade exploded. A volley of hot lead ripped holes in the gunman’s body, shredding vital organs. Bolan turned his attention to the sniper who had done exactly as predicted and headed in a different direction following the explosion. Unfortunately for the sniper, there wasn’t decent cover to be had nearby. He apparently felt the Jeep was his next best option.
The sudden screech of tires demanded Bolan’s full attention. Coming up the road at a roaring clip were three squad cars. Unalaska police. Bolan looked for the sniper, watching as the man managed to get to some brush—he would be invisible from that angle.
Not that it mattered; it was obvious that the cops were headed right toward Bolan.
The Executioner took off for his sedan even though he knew the effort was wasted. His chances of escape were grim, at best, a prediction that became fact as Bolan reached his car. The three squads ground to a halt with a squeal of tires, and a half-dozen armed officers emerged, the muzzles of their weapons pointed at him.
The soldier considered his options, then did the only thing he could—he let his weapon fall to the ground and raised his hands.
CHAPTER THREE
The woman who pushed through the plate-glass door had neither height nor size on her side. Despite that, she somehow managed to carry an aura of authority.
Bolan sat in the chair of her office—he’d found it interesting that the officers brought him straight into this office instead of depositing him in a lockup—his hands cuffed behind him. The steel bracelets were tight, and they bit into his wrists. He’d thought about asking one of the officers to loosen them, then thought better of it. If he didn’t make any trouble for them, he might get cooperation. He would definitely need it if he planned to talk his way out of this one. The arrival of this woman with brass on her collar and a glint in her eye told Bolan immediately that she might give him the chance he sought.
She stopped just inside her office door, looked him in the eye, and grabbed his shoulder. She nudged him forward in the chair and reached behind him. A moment later, the cuffs eased off his wrists, and she loosened one while using the other, now no longer on his left wrist, to manacle him to the arm of the chair. Since the chair wasn’t bolted to the ground, it wouldn’t do her much good, but he decided not to point that out.
She took the keys and reattached them to the keeper on her police belt, then unbuckled the gun belt and slung it over a nearby coatrack before taking a seat behind her desk. She sighed, glanced over a few papers that the officers had left there with Bolan, then looked at him. Bolan pegged her in her mid-forties. She was an attractive woman, with long dark hair that she wore in a ponytail, and dark brown eyes that looked misty under the bright lights of the office.
“Your ID says your name is Mike Blansky,” she said.
“That’s right,” Bolan replied easily.
“Is that your real name or a cover?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she said. “Let’s try this. My real name is Brenda Shaffernik. I’m the deputy chief of the Unalaska DPS. Now it’s your turn.”
“The name’s Blansky,” Bolan replied. “Just like my ID says.”
“Okay, we’ll go with that, then. So why not tell me exactly what you were doing on Airport Beach Road shooting at a bunch of people?”
“Because they were shooting at me first.”
“Really? That’s all you’ve got?” Shaffernik shook her head and sat back, folding her arms. “You know, when they called me out of a conference with the mayor and director to tell me about this, I told them to bring you straight here. I thought maybe this might have something to do with what happened out in the Bering Sea yesterday.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, come off it!” Shaffernik slapped her hand on the desk. “If you’re not military, then you’re a government agent of some kind here to investigate the disappearance of a military aircraft.”
Bolan took a moment to consider her statement and then said, “All right, Shaffernik, I’ll give you the no-bull version. If you’re privy to what’s happened already, then there’s little chance the military will be able to keep this secret. I’m going to trust my instincts over how Wonderland would prefer this be handled. I’m here in a rather unofficial capacity.”
“Special military black ops or something?”
“I’m the ‘or something.’” Bolan pinned her with a cool gaze. “Frankly, I’m a freelancer here by special request of those who would prefer to remain anonymous.”
“Politicos?”
“Let’s just say they’re well above your pay grade.”
Shaffernik nodded with a knowing smile, and that cast a wicked aspect to her dark eyes. “Okay, sounds like you’re leveling with me now. That’s all I want. So how much can I know?”
“Well, maybe if you tell me what’s been happening around here, I can tell you something to help you maintain order.”
“Don’t need much help there,” Shaffernik said. “Keeping order here has never been a problem for me. The director and chief let me run the show. They’re more...politicians. And as such, they handle the politicking and leave the policing to me, although Chief Meltrieger is an experienced and decorated policeman with more than twenty-five years of experience and a hell of a fine cop. I respect him, and I’m honored to be working under him.”
“And I’m sure you can police this island with one arm tied behind your back under normal conditions,” Bolan stated. “Unfortunately, what happened to me today doesn’t qualify as normal. Now, what do you know about the men who attacked me?”
“Nothing, so far.”
“Locals?”
“No, not a single one of them. And before you ask, we had no luck finding your mystery guy with the rifle. This isn’t necessarily a big island, but a guy like that could ditch that thing in the bay and blend in with the locals in no time at all.”
“Maybe,” Bolan said.
“Were they professionals?”
“Depends on your definition of the word,” Bolan said. “They didn’t react like I would expect professional combatants to do. There were also other places they could have chosen to mount an assault like that.”
“Or certainly easier places.”
Bolan nodded at her, suddenly finding a bit more respect when he considered Shaffernik’s observations. He wasn’t dealing with an amateur here by any means.
“So let’s say a professional did send them,” Shaffernik replied. “How would they have known about you or your affiliation with the government? Especially if you’re the freelancer you claim to be.”
“I don’t know,” Bolan said. “But I’m guessing if someone’s smart enough and has the proper resources to bring down military assets, they’re smart enough to figure out I’m not one of the crowd. Which is where I’m going to need your help.”
“My help?”
“Yeah,” Bolan said. He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a small card with a phone number emblazoned on it. He set it on her desk with a nod. “That’s an encrypted number. It invokes a secure line, no matter where you call from. Talk to whoever answers at the other end and ask whatever questions you want. I guarantee they’ll corroborate what I’ve told you.”
Shaffernik frowned. “I’ll get to it. But for now I’ve decided to take what you say at face value.”
“Because?”
“Because, for one, a common thug wouldn’t be armed with assault weapons and military-grade explosives, let alone get them on to the island successfully with the entire region on high alert. That suggests some sort of strings got pulled. We’re in the aftermath of what our military liaisons have only told us could be a full-blown terrorist action.”
“You see, it’s that kind of information that can help me,” Bolan said. “Exactly the kind of intelligence that might take me hours or even days to get from the US military, even with backing direct from the Pentagon.”
“It would also expose any cover you might hope to operate under.”
“And that’s another reason I think you’d be invaluable,” Bolan said. “You’re a quick study.”
His remark produced an amused expression. “I’m a sucker for short explanations.”
“Me, too,” Bolan said. “So maybe you can give me one regarding the plane that was headed here.”
“Shoot.”
“There were four passengers aboard that military hop, along with two crew.”
“Right.”
“According to their flight plan, they were coming here.”
“Also correct.”
“Why?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Why?” Bolan splayed his hands. “There’s no military installation here on Unalaska to speak of, and all the military bases on the other Aleutians are closed except for a couple of remote airspace monitoring stations. Yet there were six military personnel bound for Unalaska, then they disappear.”
“You think something here provoked this? What the hell could it be? There’s nothing of any significant value on Unalaska that I know of.”
“Then how does a rescue ship, also filled with military personnel, fail its check in? A nearly four-hundred-foot cutter vanished without a trace.”
“What?” Shaffernik shook her head emphatically. “All I knew about was the plane. I didn’t know anything about any ships disappearing!”
Bolan wanted to bite his lip and curse, but he refrained. It wouldn’t do any good at this point, and she’d know immediately from his reaction that he’d blundered into saying something he shouldn’t have. He’d just assumed she knew about the ship, too. It wasn’t a mistake he’d make again. The best he could do now was cover his tracks and hope she still wanted to work with him.
“What makes you think they’d announce something like that publicly?” Bolan said. “Especially when they don’t know what they’re dealing with. They’re not just going to come right out and tell you about it.”
“Of course,” Shaffernik said, her complexion darkened by anger. “So...why did you tell me?”
“We were going to be straight with each other. Now you know the full story and why it’s more important than ever that I maintain my cover.”
“So, what could I possibly do to help you? You sure as hell know more than I do about what’s going on.”
“Yes, but you know this island like the back of your hand,” Bolan said. “I have a lead. Now I need to make a connection with someone inside the Onalash Corporation. Know anybody?”
“I might,” Shaffernik said. “I just might. But we have one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s going to look strange if I release you.” She waved at the congregation of officers that were bustling about the central area just outside. “Everyone in my command just observed you brought in on a half-dozen beefs, including violating federal weapons laws and attempted murder.”
“Self-defense,” Bolan reminded her.
“Maybe so, but word gets around quickly. Even if I release you, as I’m not really inclined to do, your cover won’t last long once you’re back on the streets.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
Shaffernik didn’t reply immediately. Then she said, “Look, maybe if I have two officers follow you. I’ll give them a story, that you’re represented by an attorney and I got a phone call from the magistrate advising I had nothing solid to hold you on.”
“You think they’ll believe it?”
“What choice do they have?” she asked with a quirk of her lips. “I’m the deputy chief.”
For the next five minutes she stood up and launched into a tirade, putting on a show and yelling loud enough she could be heard. She even included some nice obscenities just to make the frosting taste all that much better for all of the officers observing her. Then she came around her desk, behind which she’d paced during her angry production, reached down and uncuffed Bolan’s wrist.
“Nice job,” he whispered.
“Thanks.” She pressed her lips together and added quickly, “Let’s just hope I didn’t oversell it.”
* * *
BOLAN USED THE pay phone to call a cab, then placed a second call to Jack Grimaldi.
“So, what’s the gig?” the Stony Man pilot asked.
“I’ll call again once I reach my destination. I’m going to need a resupply.”
“You want it supersized?”
“Better keep it to the minimum, this time.”
“What happened to the other stuff?”
“Don’t ask. Just be ready when I call.”
“Your wish is my command.”
“Thanks.”
Bolan hung up and took a quick glance at the central booking and processing area, but everyone appeared to be busy. Two men stood in a corner conversing with Shaffernik. Bolan knew she could sell the plan if she wanted to. That didn’t concern him as much as the fact he’d decided to trust her implicitly. It wasn’t something he could put his finger on—it just...was. The Executioner had learned to trust his gut over the years. Shaffernik was different. He’d meant his remark about her being a quick study.
Only time would tell if his instinct to trust her proved correct.
Bolan’s cab awaited him when he stepped into the street. The light was fading fast, and the temperature had dropped dramatically. The lack of light would last only a couple of hours, so Bolan figured now would be the best time to make the acquaintance of the locals. He found them just where Shaffernik had told him they would be—an old tavern down by the docks short on modern facilities and long on personality—many just off work and still dressed in clothing styles that ranged from uniforms to run-of-the-mill dock wear.
The music in the place had reached a volume that nearly deafened the soldier. It seemed intolerable when combined with the boisterous laughter and shouting of its more inebriated patrons, which Bolan noted most of them were. This was the crowd he’d have to infiltrate, and for a moment he began to wonder if Shaffernik’s words had been a little on the prophetic side. Nothing but a tight-knit crew here, a fact that became obvious when no less than a dozen pair of eyes settled on him as soon as he entered the place.
Bolan kept an impassive, almost tired expression as he sidled up to the bar and ordered a beer on tap. The bartender passed it along to him and shouted to be heard over the noise. “Cash or you want a marker?”
The soldier thought about it for a moment, shook his head, dipped into his pocket and withdrew a wad of bills. Careful to keep the stash covered with his hand, he peeled off a five dollar bill and slapped it on the bar while mouthing “keep it,” before turning to search for an open seat. A dollar tip on a four-buck beer; not miserly but not overt. He figured that ought to solidify his cover some.
There were a decent number of tables crammed into the place, an assortment filling every nook and cranny, and the patrons had every seat filled. Mostly women occupied the chairs and men either sat next to them or hovered close by on their feet. Bolan watched a minute or two, but he didn’t recognize a single face in the crowd, save for the two cops who came through the door a moment later, now dressed in civilian clothes. Bolan watched, noticing that they got the same attention as everybody had given him. The sense of a presence on his right commanded his attention.
Bolan turned and found himself looking into a pair of the darkest brown eyes he could recall seeing. They belonged to a woman who couldn’t have been a day over forty. She had a strong build but how shapely seemed more difficult to determine behind the bulky clothing and reefer jacket. She smiled at him as the song that had been blasting over the speakers came to a close.
“Hi,” she said in a husky voice.
“Hello,” Bolan replied with a nod.
They didn’t say much more to each other, which suited Bolan fine since the music started blaring, and he didn’t really feel like shouting. After a little bit of time, the woman tugged on his shirtsleeve.
“Are you new here?”
Bolan thought about a moment. She was attractive, and as he looked in her eyes he thought he saw just a glimmer of mischief there. He wasn’t sure now would be the best time to let a local latch on to him, but the more he thought about it, the more the idea seemed like a good one. If he could bring her around, a woman the rest of the bar patrons knew, it might be easier to get the crowd to accept him. He could blend in with them—become one of them, really, and that was the whole idea.
“Just got in.”
She nodded in the direction of the two undercover cops who weren’t looking nearly as inconspicuous as they thought they were. “I see you got friends.”
Bolan’s eyes flicked toward the two, then quickly away. He didn’t want to spook them; he needed them distracted for when he made his exit. He decided to play out some line and see who took the bait. “What makes you think they’re here to watch me?”
“Because they haven’t stopped watching you since they came in,” the woman replied.
“You’re pretty sharp,” Bolan said, genuinely impressed.
She laughed. “You look a little out of place.”
“Is that right?”
“I think you’re trying to look like you fit in, but it ain’t working.”
“What would you suggest?”
“You’d have to agree to leave with me,” she said. She waved at his attire, looking him up and down, then said, “Step out of your little comfort zone or whatever it is you’ve got going on here.”
“I’m not really looking for that kind of company.”
“And neither am I. But if you want to fit in, or even if you don’t but you’d like to draw less attention to yourself, there’s another way to do it.”
“Okay,” Bolan said, turning to set his half-finished beer on the bar. “Lead the way.”
As they were walking out, Bolan leaned over and shouted, “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“It’s Maddie Corsack. And yours?”
“Mike Blansky.”
She reached up to her shoulder and Bolan took her hand reflexively, resting it on her shoulder as if they were just a couple leaving. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Mike Blansky.”
CHAPTER FOUR
They were a half mile from the bar when it all went to hell.
The vehicle came out of nowhere and nearly smashed into the front of Corsack’s SUV, but Bolan was quicker on the draw and managed to grab the wheel in time to steer them off course. The enemy’s vehicle blasted by in a flash of headlights on metal in a bare miss. Corsack stepped on the brakes, and Bolan released the wheel. He’d have to leave the driving to her because the men who bailed from the enemy vehicle looked too anxious to do their jobs.
Bolan went EVA from the passenger seat before the vehicle had fully stopped, Beretta 93-R in hand. It was the only weapon Shaffernik had been able to return to him without drawing attention. The soldier aligned his sights on the first target and took him with a double-tap to the head. The 9 mm Parabellum rounds punched through the guy’s face and blew out the better part of his skull.
The Executioner had already acquired a second target when the roar of a big engine filled his ears—a two-ton pickup truck ground to a halt between him and his attackers. Bolan looked through the side window as it lowered and found himself staring at the grinning face of Jack Grimaldi.
“It’s about time,” Bolan said with a smile.
“Need a lift?”
“Some bigger firepower would help.”
“Got you covered,” Grimaldi replied before sticking his arm out the window, an Uzi in his left hand.
The Stony Man pilot fired a swarm of 9 mm slugs on full-auto burn as he swept the battle zone. The attackers suddenly realized they were no longer up against a lone gunman. They scattered for cover, but Grimaldi didn’t let up, taking two more of them out of the action without ever having to leave the pickup.