Bolan nodded and turned to Nischal. “Get Kolodoka out here.”
She jogged to the car and opened the door, quickly explaining the offer to the Russian. Kolodoka appeared long enough to give the orders, as Nischal returned to stand behind Bolan.
“I don’t see any better choices,” Vitaly admitted, “and I like killing Americans.” He put his guns on the ground, took off his coat and started to move forward with his man at his back.
“Then come get some,” Bolan said, dropping his own weapons and moving to meet him, trusting Nischal to watch the other man carefully.
From the outset, it was obvious that Vitaly had been trained in Sambo, the mixed martial art form from Russia, whereas Bolan’s training had been much more varied. They were a near match in reach, but Bolan had speed. Elbows, hands and knees all engaged at once as the two men clashed and grappled, each seeking an opening to take the killing blow that would end the fight.
Vitaly managed to get in close, and Bolan had to ram his knee into his ribs to break out of the Russian’s hold. He needed to do the unexpected, and that meant going to the ground, where he wouldn’t have the advantage of speed.
Bolan faked a stumble on the uneven pavement and Vitaly grinned, surging forward as Bolan fell.
As they hit the ground, Bolan snapped his legs up, wrapping Vitaly’s throat in a choke hold with his knees and using his own body weight against him. Grunting, the Russian tried to escape, twisting and turning, but all of the force went directly into Bolan’s already braced shoulders.
As he tightened his grip, preparing to finish it, he saw Fedar make his move out of the corner of his eye.
The underhanded throw was almost perfect, and the slim blade of the stiletto moved too quickly for Nischal to see until it was embedded in the back of Bolan’s thigh. With a cry of rage, Nischal took a run at Fedar. Bolan grunted in pain, his hold on Vitaly loosening. The Russian broke free, grabbing Bolan’s ankle and twisting it painfully before jumping clear.
“Now we’ll fight,” he snarled as Bolan rolled to his feet.
The Executioner could feel the blood dripping down the back of his leg and knew that he had to finish this quickly or his own end would be at the hands of this Russian animal. Dying in a warehouse parking lot in Kathmandu was not what he’d had in mind when he’d started this mission.
He braced himself for the Russian’s next attack.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Nischal saw Fedar throw the knife, but there was nothing she could do to intercept it. Instead, she charged at the man, surprising him with the ferocity of her attack. Like his boss, Fedar had trained in Sambo, which involved a lot of locks and grappling moves. Nischal, however, had trained in two forms: tai chi and aikido. She flowed like water, eluding his grasp and delivering stinging countermoves that soon had him infuriated.
“Hold still, woman,” he said, rushing her. She stepped away once more and turned, but a crack in the pavement tripped her up. He was on her in a second, his arms wrapped around her throat in a choke hold that would render her unconscious in very short order—if he didn’t just break her neck instead.
She flailed against him, but he was much stronger. Nischal began to see stars and clawed at his arms, trying to get even the smallest breath of air. She felt a pang of sorrow that she’d let the Colonel down, that Solomon and Raju were probably dead somewhere.
“Just relax,” Fedar whispered into her ear. “It will be over in a second.”
“Like hell it will, mate,” a voice said from behind them.
Fedar released her to face this new attacker but had barely turned when Solomon drove the blade up between his ribs, twisting it ferociously. Fedar spasmed once, twice, then died and Solomon dropped his lifeless body to the pavement.
Nischal gasped for air. “Nick!” she said, running to him. “You’re alive.”
“Of course I’m alive,” he said. “Just waiting for my moment. Plus it took me a while to get here. This is bad country for hitchhiking. I ended up in the back of a truck with some goats.”
“What about Raju?”
“I sent him off to the nearest village. Too many close calls. He’s a good kid, brave and loyal, but I wasn’t about to let him get killed on our behalf. As much as he was trying to.”
She hugged him quickly, grateful for his aid and his presence and relieved about the boy. Then she turned to watch Colonel Stone face off with Vitaly. Both men were bloodied and battered.
“Stone, stop playing around with that stupid Russian and kill him already,” Solomon called. “It’s cold out and I want to get inside.”
* * *
BOLAN HAD BEEN able to keep Vitaly off long enough to see that Solomon had somehow appeared out of nowhere and managed to save Nischal’s life. Now it was just Vitaly and him. “Let’s get this over with,” he said. “I’d hate to keep this going after sundown.”
Vitaly seemed shaken by Fedar’s sudden death but nodded. “With pleasure.”
They closed on each other once more, but this time, Bolan didn’t bother to grapple with the man at all. Solomon was right—it was time to stop playing around. He allowed Vitaly to wrap him in a bear hug, then swung his arms wide, clapping his hands down as hard as he could on the Russian’s ears. He almost felt the popping sensation as his eardrum’s ruptured.
Vitaly released Bolan, staggering backward, dizzy and unbalanced. Pressing his advantage, Bolan slipped to one side, locking up the Russian’s swinging right arm, then driving the elbow sharply down, breaking the arm and causing Vitaly to bellow in agony.
Bolan stepped behind him, wrapping him in a hold very similar to the one Fedar had applied to Nischal but with one difference. Vitaly thrashed, trying to break free, but Bolan wasn’t concerned with how much or how little oxygen he had in his lungs.
Bolan twisted, canting his left hand in one direction and pulling with his right in the other. Vitaly’s neck snapped, the sound alarmingly loud in the silence that followed.
“Better,” Solomon said in approval. “Much better. Another decade or so in the field and we’ll make a real fighter out of you yet.”
Exhausted, Bolan staggered away from the body. On the other side of the convoy, the last of Vitaly’s men threw down their weapons in surrender.
Kolodoka reappeared, directing his men to the right places.
“You fight very well, for a man who isn’t even here,” he told Bolan.
“Thank you,” the Executioner said. “You should see me in person.”
Nischal and Solomon crowded in then, and Kolodoka drifted away, a giant of a man following in his wake.
“Are you all right?” Nischal asked.
“He’s fine,” Solomon said. “He’ll be right as rain in the morning, and then we’re off.”
“Off?” she asked. “Off where?”
“Someone’s got to deal with these Russians on their own turf, plus there’s a mess of trouble in some of the other Slavic nations. I’m sure that’s where they’ll send us next.”
Nischal and Bolan exchanged a glance. Once again, with the sun going down, the old man had lost his grip on the present day. Nischal’s face was sad with the knowledge that the man she loved like a father wasn’t the same man he’d always been.
“I’ll get him situated in a hotel, and then once it’s dark, we’ll move the platform,” she said, pitching her voice so that only Bolan could hear her.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll stay here and keep an eye on things and get myself cleaned up.”
“Come on, Nick,” Nischal said, taking the old man’s arm. “Let’s go get settled in for the night.”
Bolan watched as she led him away. Even now, with his mind disappearing, Solomon’s skills were sharp. It was a shame to see him deteriorate.
* * *
NISCHAL GUIDED THE hea
vy mobile platform through the gates and into the street. They were following a lead SUV, provided by Kolodoka, for the short drive to the airport. Bolan didn’t feel much like talking and, apparently, neither did she.
Twenty minutes later, the SUV pulled onto a side road next to the airport and Bolan saw the jet waiting for them. Nischal drove up to it and climbed down from the cab. The SUV would take them back to their hotel.
The Air Force officers that met them nodded solemnly at them. “Try to be careful with it,” she said as she looked at the vehicle, which was pockmarked with bullets and covered with mud and ice and gravel. “We’ve babied her all over the place.”
The officer laughed and signaled for his men to load it aboard the aircraft, and they watched in silence until it was done. “Want to wait until it’s airborne?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Bolan said. “I’m not leaving until it’s gone and totally out of my hands.”
“Agreed.”
They waited some more, sitting in the back of the dark SUV, until the flight took off.
“It’s over,” she said. “We did it.”
“I suppose so,” he said.
“So what’s next?”
“A shower and a shave,” he said wryly. “And then, who knows? Unfortunately, stopping one war usually just means another one is brewing somewhere else. I’ll go where I’m needed when the time comes.”
Nischal nodded, then smiled sadly. “You know, even though the mission’s done, I still feel like I’ve lost an important battle.”
“What’s that?”
“Nick. He’s just...he’s not himself anymore, and I doubt he ever will be again, at least not for longer than a few hours a day. I feel like I’ve failed him. Maybe we pushed him too hard...”
“Nischal,” Bolan said, meeting her eyes. “You can’t blame yourself. Nick was a damn good operative—one of the best—and I’ll never forget everything he did for us on this mission. It’s a shame, what’s happening to him. But we can’t change it. No one can.”
“Still,” Nischal said, her tone resolute. “I’d like to stay here with him, make sure he’s all right. He taught me so much, it’s the least I can do.”
Bolan couldn’t argue. He’d been wrong about Alina Nischal—she had more than held her own on this mission, and he knew she hadn’t even tapped into her full potential as a field agent yet. But she had to do what she believed was right. And Solomon would be safer, more comfortable, with someone like Nischal looking after him.
“Well, the show’s over,” he said. “Might as well head back to the hotel.”
Nischal agreed and Bolan tapped the driver. As the buildings of Kathmandu sped by, Bolan reflected on Solomon’s condition, thankful that his own mind was intact. He’d seen a lot over the years, things he sometimes wished he could forget. But it was the memories—good and bad—that kept him going, made him more determined than ever to keep fighting. This mission, Solomon, Nischal...after tonight, they’d be memories, too. And tomorrow, he’d find out where he’d be making new ones.
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9781460379127
Perilous Cargo
Copyright © 2015 by Worldwide Library
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Dylan Garrett for his contribution to this work.
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