Nightmare Army

by Don Pendleton

  “You really think we’ll be able to break out of here? I don’t even know where the hell we are right now.”

  “Out the door, down the corridor, left at the large intersection, right at the second one down, back through the airlock, and we’re in a truck and home free. Fear and despair only work if you allow them to. Trust me, we can get through this, but we’ll have to work together, all right?”

  Briggs nodded. “All right... I’m with you.”

  “Good. Why don’t you change? Dressing in the assigned clothes gives captors the impression you’re cooperating and willing to work with them. They’re more inclined to believe that you’re accepting your position.” He picked up the shirt and loose knit pants and held them out to her.

  Briggs snatched them out of his hand and crossed her arms. “Face the wall, please. And if you can find a way to cover that camera lens, I’d appreciate it.”

  Bolan took the larger set of clothes and turned toward the opposite corner. “Unfortunately it’s too high up, set into the wall and covered with wire mesh, so there isn’t much I can do about it.”

  “That’s all right, I’ll be quick. I wonder when they’ll serve dinner. I hate to say it, but the mention of food made my stomach rumble.”

  Bolan pulled the T-shirt over his head. “Yeah, mine, too. Just take it when they bring it in. No need for any kind of tantrum or display, and it probably won’t get us anywhere anyway. Besides, I’m betting we’ll need our strength before this is all over.” He walked over to her and sat on the bench, patting the cold metal beside him. “We’re going to be all right. I promise.”

  She regarded Bolan warily, then sank onto the bench and leaned against him. “I hope so. I’m just so scared right now.”

  “I know,” Bolan said as he tried to figure out just exactly how they were going to escape their captivity.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Barbara Price sat at her desk and tried to remain busy—mainly to keep her mind off Bolan’s situation.

  Unfortunately she had done everything she could at the moment. Charlie Mott and Dragonslayer, Jack Grimaldi’s state-of-the-art combat helicopter, were on their way overseas at that very minute. Also, with Hal Brognola’s assistance, she had initiated a sting operation with the CIA to take down Sambele and his minions; no one sold out American agents and got away with it on her watch.

  With nothing on her plate until they uncovered more intel, she’d been reviewing after-action reports on recent Phoenix Force and Able Team missions for analysis and feedback.

  Her monitor flashed, indicating a call from Tokaido. She answered quickly, since he hardly ever contacted her unless he had pertinent news. The computer hacker’s boyish face appeared on screen. “What did you find?”

  “A lot of interesting coincidences,” he replied. “That all add up to something seriously weird going on down there.”

  “For example?”

  “That recently acquired Stengrave subsidiary, the Michelangelo Corporation, has been sending equipment and supplies to the DRC—a lot of both. However, once it gets there, it all just magically disappears.”

  “Disappears?” Price frowned. “Explain.”

  “For starters, there’s no official Michelangelo project in the country, not even the hint of a company presence. Whatever’s happening down there has been going on since 2009, and their overall budget for this mystery operation has reached more than one hundred million dollars.”

  “That’s an awful lot of money to sink into the jungle with nothing to show for it.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Tokaido replied. “Also, the company itself has been really shady about logging the money. Invoices and payments were routed through subsidiaries and shell companies, shipments of building materials and computer systems were sent to Europe and Asia and then written off as ‘lost’ or ‘stolen.’ This happened far too often to be simply isolated incidents. It’s almost as if they don’t want their corporate owners to know what’s going on. I’m still tracking the money, as I’m sure this goes deeper.”

  “All right, good work, and absolutely stay on it. Any update on Striker’s location?”

  “We’re still working on it. Twelve kilometers outside the city, he was transferred from the government employee’s vehicle into a deuce-and-a-half truck, which then headed deeper into the jungle.”

  “Okay, so where did it stop?”

  “That’s what we’re still triangulating. It reached a series of jungle-covered hills and then disappeared. Vanished right before our eyes.”

  Price’s shoulders slumped. Without a target, she couldn’t send in a strike team. Even though she tried not to show it, Tokaido still noticed.

  “We’ll find him, you can count on it. Besides, Striker’s been in plenty of tight spots before and he always finds a way out of them. Hell, Jack and Charlie will probably get there and find he’s already taken the place out by himself.”

  Price smiled again, gamely this time. “You’re probably right, Akira—and thanks.” She squared her shoulders. “Okay, so what do we know about the area where the truck disappeared?”

  Now the young computer hacker was the one frowning. “Topographically speaking, not a lot. Congolese building and development records are fluid, to say the least, when they exist at all. However, one of our satellite monitoring programs has been tracking encrypted burst transmissions from a region within thirty klicks of where the truck disappeared. They’re being bounced off several satellites, but I’ve tracked those kinds of communications before. The path the truck was taking headed pretty much toward where the bursts are coming from.”

  “Now that’s promising,” Price said. “Try to narrow it down as far as you can, then send those coordinates to Jack and have him scout the area. If we can get any kind of fix on Striker, we’re that much closer to finding him. Let me know whatever else you turn up.”

  “You got it. I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve determined the best position for Jack to start his sweep. Akira out.”

  The call window disappeared.

  Price sat back in her chair, pondering everything that had just happened. Something about it just wasn’t fitting together, especially this uncovered information about the Michelangelo Corporation—information that their owner company didn’t seem to know about. The mission controller had never been one to believe in coincidence, and all of the evidence uncovered on the heels of the biochemical assault on the Armenian village smacked of something larger in the works. But how was something that like not popping up on any law-enforcement radar?

  Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time a terrorist group had managed to carry out their plan, despite hints of the operation being uncovered, she thought as she accessed Stony Man’s top-secret list of back doors into just about every major law-enforcement organization around the world. That’s why Stony Man existed, after all—to make sure they didn’t get away with it again.

  * * *

  FIRKE STARED at the rows of dozens of ampoules of oily black viscous liquid; each nestled in its own foam cutout inside the stainless-steel briefcase. “How many are there?”

  “Sixty,” Richter answered. “If applied properly, each one has the potential to infect a minimum of four to six thousand of the target genotype. After the initial contact, it will take care of further transmission, of course.”

  “Of course.” Firke closed the lid and made sure the locks were secure before picking up the case. “Incredible work, Doctor, as usual.”

  “We do what we can.” A smile played around Richter’s lips. “Are you sure you have to go so soon? After all, thanks to you, we are about to begin the latest round of tests on the man who almost ruined the Armenian operation. I thought you would be interested in seeing how he fares.”

  Firke regarded the doctor coolly. “The only way I’d be interested in seeing t
hat bastard again is in the sights of my pistol right before I put a bullet into his face. Besides—” he raised the briefcase “—you have your orders and I have mine.”

  “Which must be carried out as soon as possible. I understand,” Richter said. “Safe travels.”

  “Very kind of you, Doctor.” Firke walked to the door, then paused as if he had just remembered something. “I think you should know that on my last trip here, I was ordered to arm the fail-safe system in this complex. In the event of discovery or an accident—”

  “I have all of the proper codes,” Richter patted his lab coat. “Do not worry, it will be taken care of in the event circumstances require it.”

  “Good. Goodbye, Doctor.”

  Carrying the briefcase firmly in his hand, Firke left the compound, strode to his waiting Land Rover and got in.

  “To the airport,” he said, resting the metal case on his lap. “It’s time to begin remaking the world.”

  * * *

  DR. RICHTER CAME for Bolan and Briggs ninety minutes after they had been placed in their cell. He entered the cell, accompanied by three guards.

  “Brought the entire welcoming committee, I see.” Bolan rose wearily to his feet. His back had stiffened after the kidney shot, but he wasn’t about to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.

  “It’s time. Both of you will come with us.”

  Leaning against the wall, Bolan crossed his arms. “What if we refuse?”

  The doctor’s neutral expression didn’t change. “Then you both will be shot with a stun gun, no matter if only one of you resists, and you’ll be taken regardless. I think you’d both prefer to walk under your own power...especially you, Mr. Cooper. I don’t think you’ll want to be suffering from any residual muscle spasms in the next few minutes.”

  “Well, since we don’t seem to have a choice....” Bolan turned to Briggs and nodded toward the door. “Come on. It’ll be all right.”

  Briggs rose from the far end of the bench and approached warily, as if ready to bolt at the first opportunity. She crossed her arms and fell into step beside Bolan as they left the room.

  Richter set the pace, with one guard beside him. Bolan and Briggs followed, with the other two guards behind them. “So, what do you have planned for us?” Bolan asked.

  The tall scientist, his head bowed to avoid the low ceilings, glanced back with a sardonic look on his face. “I must admit, I’m torn between telling you, to see if you can comprehend my work, or keeping it from you to better judge your natural, unbiased reaction.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge? I’m sure I can handle whatever you plan to throw at me.”

  “We will see, Mr. Cooper, we will see. I can tell you that this installation was originally built to research and develop medicines from the rain forest. Did you know that there are thousands of plants in these jungles around the world whose properties are barely known? Lately, however, our employers have assigned us a different direction to pursue.”

  They came to another airlock door and Richter produced a small key card, which he inserted into a slot at the side of the entrance. Walking into another airlock, they went through the decontamination process again before stepping out the other side into a large laboratory. The guards remained alert and close at all times.

  The room was at least fifteen yards wide by twenty-five yards long, and filled with lab tables, computer monitors and other complicated machines Bolan didn’t recognize. It was ringed on all three sides with large windows, each of which looked into a separate room. To the left was a room just as large, filled with at least a half-dozen large, listless, black-furred apes, all being monitored by white-coated scientists. Ahead was what looked like some kind of large observation room that had been transformed into a jungle habitat, with a tree sprouting in the middle and, as they approached, Bolan saw dirt and tall grass covering the floor. Behind the windows of the entire right wall was another kind of laboratory, where silver-suited people, covered from head to toe in environmental safety suits worked among centrifuges, more computer monitors, glass test tubes, beakers and pipettes.

  “This is impressive,” Bolan murmured, though he had no real idea what he was looking at. What he was sure of, however, was that he had found the origin point of the virus outbreak in Armenia, and it had to be stopped, one way or another.

  Briggs, however, was not nearly as interested in their surroundings. “What are you doing to those apes? They look ill.”

  “Unfortunately this species does not thrive well in captivity. We’ve been extracting samples from them for experimentation, but that is of no concern to either of you.”

  He turned to Bolan. “You, Mr. Cooper, are going to be the test subject for the latest variation of our biggest success to date.”

  That got Bolan’s full attention. “What?” As he said that, the guards around him snapped to full alert, pointing their weapons at him. “The virus you used on Arkatar?”

  The scientist passed off his concern with a shrug. “Not that precisely—a more refined version of it that should have less negative side effects. I would think a man of your capabilities would be intrigued at the opportunity to be turned into Superman for a short time. Now, we need to get some basic measurements from you, blood type, resting pulse rate, that sort of thing.”

  “Not a chance.” As he spoke, Bolan measured the distance between himself and the scientist, evaluating whether he could reach the man without getting shot first.

  Richter regarded him with a speculative expression. “Let me tell you what you’re thinking right now. ‘If I can take a hostage, can I escape from here?’ I can assure you that there is no chance of that happening. My guards will kill both of you in an instant rather than risk an escape.” Even as he said that, Richter edged a step backward.

  As Bolan listened to the scientist, he sensed that the man was perfectly serious. “Right.”

  “Of course, I hope it won’t come to that,” Richter continued. “I mean, we could always strap you down before injecting you. There is also the hostage we hold—” his gaze flicked toward Briggs, who was hugging herself as she looked around, shivering in the scientist’s lair “—but rather than resort to such crude tactics, I would prefer that you simply allow us to run your test in peace and quiet.”

  “But if I don’t, you also have the guys with the guns.” Bolan glanced around one last time, but failing to see an avenue of escape, he sighed. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  “Matt, you can’t seriously go along with this!” Briggs had snapped out of her daze.

  “Again, I don’t see that we have much choice in the matter.” Also, it’s a given that my refusal would probably mean a quick death instead of a slow one, he thought. “Besides, the doc here will make sure I come out of it in one piece, right, Richter?”

  “Mr. Cooper, you’ll be pleased to know that my entire hypothesis depends on it. I have high hopes that a more disciplined mind will be able to handle what I have in store for you. Now, if you would step over here, please.”

  With a shrug, Bolan walked to the table, covered by the guards at all times, both careful to remain at least ten feet away from him. Richter’s assistant attached a blood pressure monitor to the Executioner’s finger, then drew two small test tubes of his blood. He then attached an electrode to Bolan’s temple. “This is to get a baseline of your brain wave patterns. Just remain calm and silent, and try not to think about anything in particular.”

  Bolan sat for a few minutes, busy contemplating just how he was going to get himself and Briggs out of there, and coming up empty.

  After a few minutes the tech removed the electrode from his head. “We’ve got it.”

  “What’s next, Doc?”

  “Since we have enough for a baseline comparison—it’s hardly what I would call a complete workup, but I imagi
ne we can get your physical records back in the States—we might as well begin the actual experiment. Stand and roll up your right shirt sleeve. Remember, please don’t do anything you might regret.”

  When Bolan did so, he was grabbed by the two guards, one to each arm, and held fast. “I said I’d cooperate. What’s with the goon squad?” he asked as they marched him over to the thick steel-and-Plexiglas door that led to the jungle observation room.

  “That, actually, is for our own protection, Mr. Cooper.” Richter was fiddling with a pair of small gray devices that looked like futuristic pistols, fitting a small ampoule containing some kind of thick black liquid into the reservoir. “Hold still, this might sting a bit.” He pressed the tip to Bolan’s upper arm, and he heard a brief hiss. Richter immediately followed that up with the other gray tube, pressing it against the same spot. “Start the timer now. Get him into the room.”

  “What am I supposed to do in there?”

  “Another man will join you shortly. When you see him, you will know what to do.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Bolan asked as the guards pushed him toward the door, which slid open as they approached. They shoved him through, the door closing on its own behind him.

  This room, approximately the same size as the main laboratory, was hot and quiet. Somewhere, Bolan heard the steady drip of water, but other than that, all sound had been cut off. He couldn’t hear anything from the outside lab. He took a cautious step into the area, hands held away from his sides, ready to defend or attack as necessary. Coming across a stained patch of dirt, he knelt beside it, touching it with his fingers. He scratched off a bit and lifted it to his nose, smelling the unusual loamy scent of the jungle earth, along with a familiar odor he’d smelled too many times before—spilled blood.

  Bolan rose, every sense on sudden alert as he looked around, trying to gauge where an attack would come from. However, as he stood there, he realized he could now hear everything inside the room. From the soft hiss of the air-recirculator to the minute noises his shoe made as it brushed across the dirt, to the faint rustle on the far side of the room—