Whatever was going on with the old spy’s health seemed to get worse as the day wore on, which meant the earlier they set out, the more time they’d have him at his best.
Once they were packed, they hiked through the snow from the previous night and slowly made their way back to the long, stony wash that led to the road where they’d last seen Vitaly and the missile.
Nischal studied what remained of the tracks on the ground. “They got out before the storm hit,” she said. “It would’ve slowed them eventually, but still, they could be in Nyalam by now.”
Bolan scanned the empty landscape. “I was counting on some of Feng or Chen’s vehicles to be here still. It’s a long hike back to Kathmandu.”
“Oh, you needn’t worry about that, mate,” Nick said cheerfully. “Another storm would come along and kill us long before we reached Kathmandu.”
“Perfect,” Bolan replied, but stopped before he could elaborate. The sound of an out-of-tune engine was echoing through the mountains and getting closer.
“Take cover,” he ordered, moving back into the wash.
They’d stocked up on ammunition at the temple, but Bolan had hoped they wouldn’t have to cut into their supplies quite so soon. If it was Vitaly or Chen—or any of the other warlords in the region—they wouldn’t have a choice.
The truck wasn’t in view yet, but suddenly Solomon stepped out of cover. “What in the hell are you doing?” Bolan yelled.
“Getting ready to hitch a ride. I’d know that truck anywhere,” he shouted in reply. “Come on out.”
The vehicle rounded the curve in a cloud of dust as Bolan and Nischal climbed down. The beat-up rust bucket rocked to a stop right next to Solomon. As Bolan advanced, he saw Raju peering over the steering wheel, grinning like a loon.
“Where did you come from?” Solomon asked jovially, leaning into the truck. “And how can you see over the dash?”
“From the monastery,” Raju explained. “It was a long walk back after those men took the big truck. But I had to help!” His voice was fierce.
Bolan was relieved that the boy was safe, especially because he was responsible for putting him in danger. He would have preferred Raju stay put at the monastery, but now that he was here, Bolan couldn’t deny that the boy had gotten them out of a bad situation.
“You’re a good kid, Raju,” Bolan said. “Now why don’t you take a break and let me drive?”
Raju slid over, then they all climbed into the truck and set off after the weapon.
“Raju, what’s been happening at the monastery?” Solomon asked.
“The big man, the Russian, came with his men. They killed many and hurt more. They also took or destroyed your supplies.” The boy looked down sadly. “There was no one there to stop them.”
Solomon sighed. “I’m sorry, Raju.”
“You mean the stash of weapons in the cave?” Bolan asked.
“Yes,” the boy answered.
“Well, now we know how Vitaly’s thugs are so well-armed,” Bolan said, trying to contain his ire. “Have you heard anything else?”
Raju nodded. “The Russian trapped Chen last night in a canyon to the north. He killed him and all his men, then took the big missile.”
“How do you know?” Nischal asked.
“There are no secrets for those who live in Tibet. We only have secrets from outsiders. It’s safer that way. Well, it used to be.”
“It still is,” Nischal said. “Goodness speaks in a whisper, but evil shouts.” She turned to Bolan and Solomon. “So now what? We don’t have the firepower to take him on directly.”
“We’re going to have to get creative and hope the storm held him up,” Bolan said. “Solomon, is there a place we could set up an ambush? Maybe something a little farther out of the mountains. We’ve seen how well retaking it out here has worked.”
Solomon was thoughtful. “Yes, yes, there’s a place near Nyalam that would funnel them into the perfect position, but we’ll have to change our route to get ahead of them. It’s a good thing Chen led him north. The terrain is rough, but it’s our only shot at getting there ahead of him and setting up in time.”
“Anything else?” Bolan asked.
“You’re going to have to drive faster.”
* * *
BROGNOLA POURED HIMSELF a glass of water, took a sip, then waited for Quan to enter the Cabinet Room. As the man walked through the door, his perpetual sneer did little for Brognola’s mood.
“Welcome again, Mr. Quan,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
“Your President is not meeting with us?” he asked.
“He’ll be along shortly, but I thought perhaps you and I should have a talk first.”
Quan circled the table and pulled out a chair, then slid into it. “I don’t see how anything you can say to me is relevant to the discussion. You’re just the toady with a clever title who has the ear of the President.”
“And what’s your clever title, Mr. Quan?” Brognola returned. “I ask unofficially, of course.”
Quan’s eyes flashed. “Your lies are unofficial, but the President’s lies are not. And as you know, I am but a humble diplomat in service to the People’s Republic of China.”
“I see,” Brognola said. “Diplomat, is it? So far, you’re doing a bang-up job.”
The door opened behind Quan, startling him into standing.
“Keep your seat, Mr. Quan,” the President said, waving toward the chair.
Brognola tried not to laugh as irritation splashed across Quan’s face.
“Has Mr. Brognola explained everything, then?”
“No, sir,” Brognola replied before Quan could respond. “This...diplomat preferred to hear the information from you.”
The President leaned back in his seat. “This is an unusual situation, Mr. Quan. Normally, I don’t have time to meet with lower-ranking diplomats, but since you’re the man China sent, you’re the one I’ll talk to.”
Quan played it smart and stayed silent.
“What we’ve discovered is much of what you’ve already surmised about the situation,” the President continued. “There appears to have been a skirmish in the warehouse district of Kathmandu and an old Russian storage facility of some kind was compromised.”
Quan waited, the silence permeating the room.
“Do you have any other information, Mr. President?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Quan. That’s what we’ve got at the moment, but I’m sure you have resources in the area looking into this matter, as well.” He sent the diplomat a piercing gaze. “I’m sure everyone in that part of the world is very concerned, since who knows what those tricky Russians were storing practically on Tibet’s doorstep...”
“I assure you, Mr. President, that our resources in the area have been properly engaged in discovering the truth of this situation. So you are telling me that you have no...resources of your own in the area? No troops?”
The President sighed. “Mr. Quan, as we discussed before, such measures on our part would bring about serious international repercussions and might well violate any number of treaties or at least goodwill agreements. We have intelligence sources in the area, of course, but troops?” He shook his head. “Troops would be out of the question.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Quan said, then pushed back from the table, stood and made his way to the door. Then he paused and turned back. “One last question, if I may?”
“Fire away,” the President said.
“Given what you’ve said, may we assume that anyone found conducting operations in Tibet that were not authorized by my government can be considered a threat to our security?”
“Mr. Quan, I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to deal with unauthorized personnel within your own borders,” the President said.
/> “You would not wish us to contact your government with this information or have your government negotiate on their behalf?” Quan asked.
The President got to his feet. Most of the conversation had gone exactly as they’d planned it, and this was the final play.
“Mr. Quan, you’ve implied that I’m a liar more than once since we started talking, and you’ve said it outright when I wasn’t in the room. Don’t bother to deny it, since it’s all been recorded.” He leaned forward. “Tell your government that you’re coming home—today—and for them to send someone else. You’re not welcome in my country anymore and the next person they send better be more respectful.”
Quan’s eyes widened as he realized what had just happened. It was possible that he’d be forced to resign in disgrace, and that was probably the best outcome he could hope for. Still, Brognola had to give the man credit for keeping a straight face.
“It shall be as you say, Mr. President,” he said. “Any outsiders we find will be dealt with in our own way.” He swallowed. “And I will be on a plane to Beijing before the day is out.”
“Very wise, Mr. Quan,” the President replied. “The Secret Service agent outside the door will escort you to the exit.”
Quan spun on his heel and left.
After a minute, the President turned to Brognola. “That went well. But are you sure it will buy Striker some time?”
Brognola nodded. “I hope so. The Chinese are very serious about protocol and Quan broke about a dozen rules in his last visits. If nothing else, it might limit how much attention they’ll pay to what’s going on over there because they’ll be busy cleaning house. Anyone or anything he’s touched will be investigated—including this current fiasco.”
“Then let’s hope Striker gets the job done in time. If the Chinese catch him, there won’t be a damn thing we can do for him.”
“That’s a risk he’s aware of, sir,” Brognola said. “It’s just part of the job, so we didn’t give them anything they didn’t already have.”
“It’s a dark time we live in, Hal,” the President said.
Brognola nodded, his thoughts far away. Hopefully, Bolan would do what he always did and find a way to win.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Solomon guided them onto a road that was little more than a rock-strewn goat path up the steep side of a mountain. As Bolan drove, he could see where a possible pass opened up high above, but the truck was struggling mightily to make the climb. “Are you sure this is the way?” he asked. “It’s not looking very promising.” As if to emphasize his point, they hit a large hole in the road and the whole vehicle screeched in protest.
“This is my alternate route out,” the old man said. “I check it at least once a month to make sure the road is clear of any major obstacles.” He looked at the sky, then quickly added, “And just because the damn snow is moving in again doesn’t mean it won’t work. We’ll get through.”
“What if this turns into a full-scale blizzard?” Nischal asked.
Solomon shrugged. “That’s a risk we run anywhere out here. You know that. We need to take our chances and keep moving forward. It’s our only shot at getting ahead of that nuke.”
Nischal was quiet for a moment, and Bolan glanced over to see her biting her lip, as if deciding whether to speak or not. “Nick, what made you decide to steal it in the first place?” she finally asked.
Solomon sighed. “I’m tired of my home being used as a pawn for the superpowers. No one really cares about Tibet. They only care about their political agenda. Every bloody idiot with a cause leeches onto Tibet like it’s a symbol made just for them. A nuclear strike launched into China would give the rest of the world something else to worry about besides trying to burn down monasteries or calling the monks who live in them criminals—or worse.”
“They’d know the nuke was launched from here,” Bolan said. “You don’t think there would be repercussions?”
“Not if they found out it was a crazy retired operative. They wouldn’t care. China would use it as an excuse and all the attention would be on the United States and the Russians. Tibet would only be a footnote.”
“You were really planning on launching a nuke and killing thousands of people?” Nischal asked.
Bolan glanced at the old spy in the rearview mirror. He was staring out the window and running his thumb over his opposite hand and massaging the palm. Bolan could tell that he was at war with himself.
“I don’t know, but I wanted Tibet to have a choice, a real chance. We all need to be able to make our own choices and Tibet doesn’t have any at all. No matter which way we look, all we see are people who want to use us for a cause or strip us of our rights.” He shook his head. “Alina, sometimes when all the choices are gone and all that’s left is the wreckage of what was or what could have been, you just try to make something—anything—happen. So I did.”
The group fell into silence as snow began to blanket the road. Bolan downshifted, trying to stay out of the snowbanks as best as possible and hoping he wouldn’t hit anything that would disable the vehicle. Hiking out of this mountain pass would be unpleasant at best.
* * *
VITALY TRACKED AROUND a curve, his jeep almost running into the back of the truck carrying the weapon. Cursing, he floored his brakes, then jumped out of the jeep and stalked to the driver’s door. The first gentle snowflakes had turned into beaded pellets, and they hit him full force. He stood on the running board and tried to shield his eyes from the weather.
“Why are you stopped?” he snarled.
“We can barely see the road, sir,” the driver said. “It’s not safe to continue.”
“Do you see that stone wall on your left?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then keep those damn rocks on your left and push forward. I don’t care if this is the storm of the century.”
“Yes, sir!”
Vitaly jumped down, stalked back to the jeep and slammed the door shut.
“Fedar, if they stop again, you’re going to shoot the driver and take over. I want out of this godforsaken wasteland.”
“I agree,” Fedar said mildly. “But I’d rather not die trying. If we have to stop, then let’s stop. The storm will pass.”
Vitaly turned cold eyes on his man. “Is that your final word on the subject, Fedar?”
Fedar saw the expression on his face and shook his head. “Not at all. Consider it a friendly suggestion. There’s no money in dying.”
“There’s no money at all if we don’t get to Kathmandu before Grigori shows up and takes over,” Vitaly snarled. “So just do it my way.”
“Yes, sir,” Fedar said. “You’re the boss.”
* * *
THE FRIENDSHIP HIGHWAY had a distinctly unfriendly feel to it as Daiyu Lin moved into position with the men Li Soong had sent to tag along. The glimpses of the barren hillsides through the blowing snow left little room for doubt that Kathmandu was a beacon of civilization compared to the rough country of Tibet and the mountains that both protected and isolated it.
Lin watched the GPS carefully as he approached the coordinates he wanted, then slowed as he spotted the small road that would hide him until it was time to spring the ambush. He pulled off and his small convoy followed behind him.
He got out of his own truck, then waited until the other men joined him. “Get everything in place now, before this storm makes it impossible,” he told them, taking in the bleak landscape. “Once it’s done, move the vehicles away from the road and take shelter on the far side.”
Li Soong’s man nodded and ordered the others to get started but paused for a moment. “And while we take shelter, what will you do?”
“Wait,” Lin said. “Wait and watch.”
“For what?” he scoffed. “No one will be out in this mess. They’d
be crazy.”
“Not crazy,” Lin replied quietly. “Desperate. Now get to work.”
* * *
THE LIGHTS FROM the taxiing jet moved down the runway, the white outline of the plane barely visible through the snow. Kolodoka sat in his limo, rolling the ice in his glass and silently debating whether he’d have another drink before his comrade arrived. He decided to wait. The jet moved into the hangar and the steps dropped open. Anisim Grigori, the head of Russian Intelligence, was a complicated man, but he was smart enough to know that serious trouble was brewing in Kathmandu. He’d decided to come himself to see that things were properly resolved, and when word reached Kolodoka of his impending arrival, the spy couldn’t help but take advantage of the situation.
He opened the limousine door and stepped out, raising an empty glass in mock salute.
Grigori didn’t move for a long moment. Kolodoka wondered if perhaps he thought he would be shot on the spot. Interesting, especially because he’d considered it himself, but watching him squirm was so much better than having him killed. Finally, Grigori picked up his travel bag and moved closer.
“Felicks,” he said, containing the surprise in his voice quite well. “It is good to see you, though...unexpected. I didn’t know you were in Kathmandu, nor would I have expected the honor of having you personally meet me at the airport.”
“The least I could do when I heard you were coming,” Kolodoka said. “Shall we get out of the cold?” He didn’t wait for an answer but climbed back inside the sleek, black car and waited as Grigori followed.
Once the door was shut, Kolodoka poured himself another drink, then offered one to Grigori. “This is excellent vodka,” he said. “As sons of Russia, we are brothers of a sort. I promise you that this is more than drinkable.”
Grigori took the offered drink, watching Kolodoka carefully, then nervously swallowed the liquid. Kolodoka knew the quality of the liquor would be somewhat wasted on a cretin like the man across from him.
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