* * *
DARKNESS—THEN LIGHT.
Heat and cold.
Mack Bolan felt a combination of sensations enveloping him. He no longer knew where he was. Not that it mattered. He was unable to move. His limbs and body had taken on a lethargic feeling. He drifted, and then just as swiftly he was back in a hushed reality. No sound. Only a cocoon of silence.
Searing light behind his eyeballs made his head hurt worse than before.
Without warning he began to laugh, a far-off sound that seemed to bounce back to him from the wall of white light around him. He felt the laughter fade, a feeling of anxiety taking its place. His mixed-up emotions swung like a pendulum.
Hot, cold, dark, light, laughter, concern: Bolan fought it all, trying to get a grip on reality before madness took complete control. He concentrated on snatching at a splinter of sanity, holding it in his mind, and fraction by fraction he dragged it closer.
He was stronger than any drug. His will could defeat it. Had to defeat it before the power of the drug scrambled his mind and left him a gibbering wreck.
You are Mack Bolan. Hang on to that.
These people are trying to gain control over your mind. Don’t let it happen. Do what you do best.
Fight them.
Survive.
Beat the bastards.
The white light grew stronger, sucking him in even deeper.
Don’t let them win.
Keep them out.
You are who you are.
Mack Bolan.
Bolan.
Use the techniques learned at the Farm. What was the Farm...?
* * *
SOMEONE WAS SLAPPING his face, rolling his head from side to side with the stinging blows. Bolan opened his eyes and stared up at Rackham. Before the man held his emotions back, Bolan saw something in his eyes. He recognized unease. Rackham was uneasy about something. He was doing his best to conceal his feelings, but in that moment before he composed himself, the man revealed the desperate force driving him. The exposed emotion was gone in seconds, but not before Bolan had registered it. He filed the moment away, hoping his severely disturbed brain pattern would allow him to hold and retain the memory.
“I see you’re with us again, Cooper,” Rackham said. “Time to start cooperating.”
“Cooper?”
“Don’t play games. We found your ID in the car you wrecked. Credit cards. Driver’s license with your photograph. Matt Cooper. That means I know who you are. More important is what you are and what information you carry around in your head.”
Bolan let his emotions settle as he stared up at the man.
“It will be in your best interests to talk to me.”
“My best interests would be served by getting out of this place,” Bolan stated.
“No. Your salvation lies in telling me what I need to know.”
“Is that what the good doctor has been pumping into me? Some kind of truth juice? If so, I have to tell you it’s been a waste of time because I don’t have any idea what you want.”
“Cooper, you’re in no position to play innocent. Just tell me who sent you here. The same people Bremner works for? Give me what I need to know and it’ll all be over very quickly.”
“Not much of an incentive for me,” Bolan said quietly. “I tell you what you want to hear, then your trained dog over there uses his shotgun to blow my head off.”
The shotgunner found that amusing. “Hell, it’ll cure your headache for sure.”
Bolan turned and looked directly at the guy. He didn’t say a word. The telling was all in his cold blue eyes, and the shotgunner got the message.
Bolan saw that Pembury was no longer in the room.
“The medical treatment over?” he asked.
“Pembury went to check on the young lady,” Cody said.
“You see, Cooper,” Rackham said, “as far as you’re concerned this is a no-win scenario. Most definitely a between-a-rock-and-a-hard-place situation. I’m the rock and Cody, over there, is the hard place.”
“Dress it up all you want,” Bolan said. “I don’t have anything useful to say. Between your chase team who brought me here and Pembury’s serum, there’s nothing in my head. The knock on my head means right now I’d have a hard time telling you what day it is.”
“You know Bremner.”
“The name came to me out of the blue. Apart from that I don’t have a clue who he is.”
“And you expect me to believe that?”
“Believe the truth. This whole setup is a blank to me. I don’t know you. I don’t know what your game is. But you seem to know me.”
“Your name? That wasn’t difficult. Like I said, we picked up your belongings from your car. And you were armed. That tells me you’re not just a regular guy. I’d say you were undercover. Just like Bremner. Cooper, I don’t like that. It’s telling me not to trust a word you say. Which isn’t what I need. It’s telling me not to turn my back on you. You say you don’t know me, but right now you want to tear out my throat.”
“What do you expect? As soon as I show up, your trained monkeys do their best to take me down. Haul me and my friend to wherever we are and throw me in here so Dr. Jekyll can pump me full of his drugs. And now you expect me to talk about things I don’t have any idea about. And you wonder why I might be a little pissed.”
Rackham studied Bolan, his expression changing. He was showing that look in his eyes again, a barely concealed uncertainty the soldier found interesting.
“Things not running the way you expected?” Bolan said. “Screwing with your schedule?”
“Don’t push me,” Rackham said. “One word and Cody will blow your head off. Just one word.”
“If you wanted that we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You need me to tell you there’s nothing to worry about. There’s a reason for that, and until you get the answers you want you have to keep me alive.”
“Cooper, you’re very sure of yourself,” Rackham said. “Don’t push me too far.”
“The pushing hasn’t even started yet.”
“Cody, go get Pembury,” Rackham ordered. “Now.”
Cody turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Bolan had been assessing his position even as he kept Rackham talking. Whichever way things went, he figured he had to make a move sooner rather than later. His first priority was getting himself and Laura Devon out of this place, giving himself some space while he tried to work out just what was going on. Confined here, his chances of survival diminished with every passing minute. He was no nearer an explanation but the threat against his life was clear. So he needed to escape.
His first move was freeing himself, getting the shackle off his wrist so he could move freely and at least attempt to break free.
He reached out his right hand and caught hold of Rackham’s jacket, pulling the man toward the bed. Rackham’s body tilted forward, putting him off balance before he could raise any kind of resistance. He fell across Bolan, who brought his left arm forward and looped the steel cable around his tormentor’s neck, pulling it taut. The thin cable bit into Rackham’s flesh, restricting his breathing. The man struggled against the coil of chill metal.
“You keep struggling,” Bolan said evenly, “and all you’ll do is make it worse.”
Rackham clawed at the cable. The steel had already sunk into his flesh, and his fingers were unable to gain any kind of grip. He sucked in a ragged breath.
“This won’t get you anything,” he said, his words coming out in a hoarse croak.
“It appears we’re both in trouble, then.”
Bolan swung both legs off the bed, fighting the dizziness that swept over him, and maneuvered Rackham around until he had the man in front of him.
; “If Cody starts shooting, we’ll both get hit,” Bolan said. “I suggest you tell him to stand down.”
The door opened and Pembury stepped into the room, Cody behind him.
“Close the door,” Bolan said, tightening the coil around Rackham’s neck.
Pembury moved away from Cody, his eyes flickering back and forth between Bolan and Rackham.
Cody leveled the shotgun, tracking it on Bolan’s head. “You let him go,” he said.
“Or?”
“Or I put your brains on that wall.”
“However close you get, your boss is going to catch the spread pattern. A shotgun isn’t for pinpoint shooting. Even you must understand that.”
“Maybe I’ll still risk it,” Cody said, not too convincingly.
Rackham thrust out his hands and waved them at Cody. “The hell you will. For now do what he says.”
“He...”
“He’s strangling me,” Rackham gasped, barely able to get the words out.
Cody maintained his position for a while longer, struggling silently to come up with a workable solution.
Bolan tightened his grip a fraction more, felt Rackham lose a degree of resistance.
“He’ll kill him,” Pembury said. “The man only has to tighten that cable a little more and Mr. Rackham loses oxygen to the brain.”
Cody wasn’t enjoying the fact he had little choice. He was fighting the urge to pull the trigger on Bolan. The barrel of the shotgun wavered. He wanted to fire so bad it hurt, but deep inside his brain common sense fought and won. The shotgun lowered.
“Take the gun and put it on the bed,” Bolan said to Pembury. “Fingers away from the trigger.”
Pembury handled the shotgun as if it were a live snake ready to strike. He placed it on the bed and stepped away.
“Somebody better have the key for this shackle,” Bolan said.
“No chance,” Cody said.
“Then I finish Rackham. You pick up your shotgun and take me down and nobody goes home happy.”
“Do it.” The command rasped from Rackham’s throat.
Cody thrust a hand into his pants pocket and came out holding a key.
“Give it to the doc.”
Pembury took the key and moved in Bolan’s direction.
“You know what to do. Just don’t get between me and Cody.” Bolan’s eyes remained fixed on Cody as Pembury stepped up close. His hand was shaking and he had difficulty locating the key slot.
“No stupid moves,” Bolan cautioned the man. “I still have this loop around Rackham’s throat.”
Pembury finally worked the key into the slot. He turned it and Bolan felt the shackle slip free. Pembury backed away until he was in the far corner of the room. Bolan flexed his left hand as he moved Rackham forward. He maintained his grip on the loop around the man’s neck.
Bolan reached for the shotgun, closing his fingers over the weapon.
That was the moment Cody made his move. Taking advantage of Bolan being briefly distracted, he lunged forward, going for the weapon.
Bolan yanked on the steel cable and swung the gasping Rackham aside. The man stumbled, clawing at the cable, desperately sucking air into his starved lungs.
Cody hit the end of the bed, throwing himself across it, reaching for the shotgun.
Bolan had already slid his hand over the weapon. The moment he had a solid grip on the shotgun, the soldier snatched it off the bed. He acknowledged the overwhelming weakness in his body brought on by Pembury’s injections and knew he was in no shape for a drawn-out struggle with Cody.
As the big guy reared up off the bed, still clawing for the shotgun, Bolan stepped back. Cody came at him again. The Executioner swung the weapon in a hard, brutal arc that struck Cody in the throat. Choking, he dropped facedown on the bed and Bolan slammed the shotgun down across the back of his muscled neck. He struck hard, and Cody went limp.
Out the corner of his eye Bolan saw Pembury edging for the door. He turned the shotgun in his direction.
“You can forget that, Doc. I need you right here.”
Pembury scuttled back into his corner.
On his knees Rackham was wheezing, clutching his bruised throat. Bending over the man and searching him, Bolan located a 9 mm SIG Sauer pistol holstered on the man’s hip. He took the weapon and tucked it behind his belt.
Bolan uncoiled the steel cable and pulled it with him. He snapped the shackle around one of Cody’s wrists, making sure it was locked. He drew the key from the slot.
Crossing to the door and turning the internal lock, Bolan then leaned against the wall, moving the muzzle of the shotgun to cover Rackham. He turned to Pembury.
“How long will this damned drug stay effective, Doc?”
“You’ve had three doses. It’s going to be hours. A lot will depend on how resistant your system is.”
“Okay, now tell me what the hell all this is about. First—who is Bremner?”
“He...he was an FBI undercover agent sent to find out what goes on here... Are you going to kill me?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Is Bremner dead?”
Pembury’s already pasty complexion paled even more.
Before he could say anything Rackham thrust out an accusing hand. “You keep your mouth shut. You know the rules.”
He staggered to his feet, still favoring his raw throat. The steel cable had bitten deep, leaving a weeping, livid raw wound on his throat.
“And you, Cooper, are in trouble so deep you’ll never get out.”
Bolan wedged the shotgun against the man’s stomach.
“Take a deep breath and reconsider any threat you’re about to make,” he said.
“I’d do as he says,” Pembury said.
“And I’m going to take advice from you?” Rackham said. “If you’d done your job properly, Cooper wouldn’t have been capable of breaking free.”
“Now it’s my fault,” Pembury said. “Every time something goes wrong somebody’s to blame, but never Greg Rackham.”
“You sniveling...” Rackham said.
“Go to hell,” Pembury yelled.
Rackham took a step in Pembury’s direction. Bolan hit Rackham with the shotgun, a brutal swing that slammed the barrel alongside Rackham’s jaw, snapping the man’s head around and dropping him flat on the floor.
“I hope that hurt,” Pembury said.
“I think that’s a given,” Bolan replied. “Change of plan, Doc. We need to get out of here before he’s missed.” Bolan jerked a thumb at the door. “What can I expect on the other side?”
“The facility. And Rackham’s people. There must be a half dozen of them overseeing the research team.”
“Researching what?”
“A virus based on the smallpox strain, altered by the techs in the lab.”
“You have any idea what Rackham wants it for?”
Pembury nodded. “The man wants to sell it on the open market. It’s what this is all about. Rackham already has a potential customer. One of his people is going to make a deal tomorrow.”
Chapter 8
“His name is Ray Callum,” Pembury said. “He has a sample vial of the virus Rackham is planning to sell to this North Korean client. It’s what they’ve been working on in the lab the last few weeks. It appears they have succeeded.”
“And what the hell is this virus again?”
“A strain of smallpox. Rackham’s had the team working on it day and night. I can’t give you an insight into how it works because I don’t know. All I can say is Rackham had it tested in the lab and made a video for Callum to take along with the sample. It shows the effects on victims he used.”
“Was Bremner one of them?”
Pembury nodded. “He is now. Rackham was s
et on making an example of him. He thought it was funny taking an FBI agent and treating him with the virus. It’s his way of showing he can’t be messed with. Bremner is badly infected.”
“And how did he mess with you?”
Pembury flinched as if he had been physically struck and tears filled his eyes.
“My excuse why I’m doing this? To save my young wife and child. Rackham has her held hostage, and he knows there’s nothing I can do because she’s an illegal from across the border. My daughter is barely four years old. He has shown me pictures of her and told me what he would do if I didn’t cooperate. He’s threatened her family, too. Tell me, Cooper, what could I do?”
Bolan could understand the man’s dilemma. Whichever way he turned, someone was going to suffer.
“The young woman brought in with me. Where is she?”
“Three doors along.”
“Has she been hurt?”
“I don’t think so. At least not yet.”
“Can you tell me where Callum went? Who he’s meeting?”
“A representative from North Korea is all I know. Callum hands over the virus and the video and collects a down payment.”
Pembury took a pad from his lab coat and wrote details on it. He tore off the page and thrust it at Bolan.
“This is where Callum is meeting the buyer.” Pembury gave Bolan a detailed description of Callum. “They talk in front of me because they have my wife and child. They have me virtually imprisoned here. The bastards are so sure of their power. Sometimes they simply ignore me when I’m in the room. So I stay in the background and listen. I pick up information. Cooper, will you help me?”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Then take the woman and get out of here. There are vehicles outside. Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll create a diversion. Go and stop Callum from handing over that sample.”
“If they find out, it could be hard on you.”
“I’ll take that chance. The way things are now I’m willing to do anything. I don’t expect to come out of this very well, but I have to cling to some kind of hope.”
“Would Callum be able to identify me if I show up at this rendezvous?”
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