Bolan grinned. "Later, Jack."
The connection broke.
"Maybe we'll all know more in a few minutes," Bolan said as he handed the phone back. "The guy I mentioned has arrived."
"The man who explained the tattoo to you?"
"Yes."
"How would he know about this when the Allied forces knew nothing of it?"
Bolan stared at the Israeli captain levelly. "He wasn't on the Allied side."
Tsurnick's face hardened. "A Nazi. You didn't tell me we were going to be dealing with a Nazi."
"He's not a Nazi now," Bolan argued. "He was once a German soldier fighting for something he believed in, and he's perhaps the only resource we have for uncovering this operation."
Tsurnick said nothing further, and Bolan wondered if the Mossad agents would be willing to put the events of the Holocaust behind them long enough to settle whatever menace lurked under Phoenix Enterprises.
13
"At the darkest hour of his life, Field Marshal Rommel called me," Joachim Koltzer said, "and revealed Wolfgang von Thoma's bizarre scheme." The old man sat in a folding chair in the Israeli hangar office surrounded by Mossad agents and told his story in unflinching detail. "As you know, Rommel committed suicide the following day at Hitler's request."
Bolan could feel the tension in the room, thick and electric. Turrin and Grimaldi took up wall space to his left, on either side of Helene, who sat spellbound in another folding chair. Tsurnick and eight of his men occupied the rest of the available space. Through the large plate-glass window overlooking the main hangar area, Bolan could see the bright afternoon sunlight glaring in through the open bays. The rest of Tsurnick's men were dressed in the appropriate airline coveralls, preparing for a fictional inspection they'd told the Egyptian air officials about.
Koltzer was rapier-thin with an erect carriage that was evident even when seated. Dressed as he was in a lightweight trench coat and inexpensive business suit, he looked ordinary, like someone you would barely glance at if you happened to pass him on the street. The fingers on his hands were almost fleshless, the right forefinger and thumb stained yellow from chain-smoking.
"What else can you tell us?" Tsurnick asked.
Bolan could hear the rancor in the Israeli's voice and knew Koltzer heard it, as well.
Koltzer gestured to the files Bolan had purchased from Faisal. "You already have all the hard evidence I have." He paused to light another cigarette from the butt of the first. "What you do not have is the supposition and guesswork I have accumulated over the past few decades. And it is still not much more than that."
"What happened to Wolfgang von Thoma?" Tsurnick asked.
"Sometime in the 1940s he became William Thomas, financial wizard."
"Why didn't you tell someone about this?" the Israeli captain asked.
A small smile flirted with Koltzer's thin lips. "Who was there to tell, Captain? The Nazi hunts after the war were every bit as bitter and vicious as the genocide of the Jews. Had I stepped forward I would have been found out, as well. I fought for my country during the war, and I am not afraid to say so."
"You're not now," Tsurnick said.
"Nor then." The man's gaze hardened. "But if I had come forward with the story I tell now, would anyone have listened, or would I have just been placed on trial with all the other Nazi war criminals?"
Tsurnick didn't back down from the other man's glare.
Koltzer looked back at Bolan. "There is not much else to tell, my friends. Over the years I heard small amounts of gossip, passed-on tales that this German scientist or that German military man had been recruited by von Thoma after the war, even shortly before. But I could not keep up with every move the man made. Von Thoma, or Thomas, was a clever man. He kept his interests diversified. Twice, I thought he had abandoned the building here in Cairo. Even our mutual friend had trouble tracking everything that transpired since the end of the war. I assumed von Thoma had given up his plans for any kind of world power play. The international scene had gotten too dangerous, too closed in to try any kind of coup without sacrificing millions of lives."
"But it was what he wanted," Helene offered.
Bolan looked at the girl.
She sat in the chair, not looking at any of them. Her fists were knotted in her lap.
"How do you know?" Bolan asked.
"I was there," she replied. "Ris told me about a lot of it. Thomas, von Thoma, whoever he really was, counted on a nuclear war between the United States and Russia to bring about Ragnarok, the Norse vision of the end of the world. He named the plan Ice Wolf."
"It fits," Koltzer said softly. "If you remember, gentlemen, Hitler tried to adopt the Norse gods and pantheon as the official religion of Germany. It suited his ideal of the perfect German soldier — blond hair, blue eyes, big men in stature. Wolfgang von Thoma possessed all of those. Judging from the madness Rommel said burned within the man, I can see him wanting to hold to those ideals."
"Ris told me," Helene said, "the plan was to wait until the United States and the Soviet Union started trying to make friendly overtures to each other, then kill the leaders of both countries at once, leaving them only each other to strike out at. There, in the underground complex of the Phoenix building, Ris and his men would be safe from the nuclear weapons, able to go out and rebuild whenever and wherever they wanted to."
"The underground complex can't be big enough to house enough people to make a stand in the carnage that would be left," Tsurnick said.
Helene looked up with tears in her eye. "Damn it, don't you understand? This is a madman's dream! Haven't you heard a word of what this man has been trying to tell you?" She pushed the tears away angrily. "The world may die in the next few hours while you sit here and worry whether or not it's possible."
"And Ris believes in the plans of his father?" Bolan asked.
"Ris doesn't think for himself." She looked away as if afraid to dredge up that part of her history. "From birth his father trained him to be everything his father ever wanted to be — a soldier, a leader. Those and more. He even had Ris help him commit suicide when he realized he wouldn't live to see Ice Wolf come true. Ris was sixteen years old. Can you imagine what that did to his mind?"
Bolan gave her a moment to regain her composure. He glanced at Koltzer with an upraised eyebrow. The German nodded. Tsurnick's face only held grim disbelief. A cold snake lay coiled in the pit of Bolan's stomach because he did believe. He had seen for himself the ravages of fanaticism in many different hellgrounds.
"I had heard that von Thoma sired two children," Koltzer said.
"No, just one."
"Ris?" Bolan asked.
"Yes, and he became everything his father wanted him to be. Even his name wasn't his own," Helene continued in a broken voice. "His given name is Fenris. His father named him after the Norse wolf-son of Loki. According to myth, the Fenris wolf will devour Odin and bring about the end of the world. That was the future Ris was given, and it was inscribed in the blood of his father."
"How does Ris plan to set things in motion?" Bolan asked.
"By assassinating the American and Soviet leaders himself."
Bolan glanced at Grimaldi; the pilot nodded and left the room. If Phoenix Enterprises owned any planes at the airport, Grimaldi could find out quickly.
"And by using the satellite Phoenix Enterprises gave the Egyptians last year. It will interfere with the Star Wars program and the Russian equivalent to make it look as if both sides have started a nuclear war only hours after the assassinations. Ris has been in contact with a number of leaders of different movements whose ideals don't differ greatly from his own. He's using them all to achieve his goal. And there are more nuclear shelters around the world with factions of the Ice Wolf group who will follow Ris's lead. You've got to hurry. There can't be much time left." She looked imploringly at Bolan. "Please. I couldn't tell this to anyone before. I never had the chance. You've got to believe me!" She pointed at Koltzer. "You've heard w
hat he's said and you know we haven't had time to make this up between ourselves."
"I believe you," Bolan said. He glanced at the Israeli captain and saw indecision on the man's face. "Coming?"
* * *
In the cockpit of the Israeli airliner, Bolan used the special frequency he had set up with Kurtzman before leaving the States. He recognized the Bear's voice at once. "Striker."
"Go, Striker." Kurtzman's voice was neutral.
"I need some intel, guy."
"Same file?"
"Yeah. I'm looking for a satellite that was given to the locals."
"By the parent company?"
"Yeah." Bolan glanced at Tsurnick, who sat in the pilot's seat, knowing the man's decision would be helped along by Kurtzman's answer. He knew the pressure the guy had to be operating under. Bolan usually ventured through his sorties solo, with a government that would deny his involvement. Tsurnick couldn't. If his involvement was found out, there would be vast international repercussions in this part of the world.
"Striker?"
"Yeah?"
"I found it. Awarded by PE, Inc., on March 6, 1982."
"How soon could we arrange a scrub on the bird?"
"It would be at least a couple of days before it could be done. And that's if you think we have enough factual evidence to convince the Department of Defense boys. Want me to get things rolling?"
"Negative. If it's going to be done on time, it looks like it's going to have to be down by ground control."
"Affirmative, Striker. Anything I can do from this end?"
"Wish me luck. Striker out." Bolan hung up the microphone and reached for the blueprints of the Phoenix building that had been included in Faisal's package. None of them showed the underground complex, but Bolan was able to put it together for himself after listening to Helene's description. "Are you with me?" he asked the Israeli. "If not, I'm going in alone to see how many rocks I can turn over and hope the Egyptians aren't slow on the uptake."
Tsurnick leaned forward to look over the blueprints. "We're with you."
"Thanks."
"Let's just hope we'll be in time," Tsurnick said. "How do you plan to get into the underground complex?"
"Consider what we're dealing with," Bolan said. "We have an underground complex that's prepared for an all-out nuclear war. They plan on shutting themselves off from the surface world, but they still have to have a source of power. They can't depend on batteries or any kind of stored energy. That'll be using too much power to imagine that any resource like that would be enough. But they're sitting next to a power supply that will run for centuries."
"The Nile," Tsurnick said.
Bolan traced the river beside the building with a forefinger. "Exactly. And I'm willing to wager there's at least one water-powered generator concealed somewhere along that river wall. That's how we're getting in."
There was a knock on the cabin door, and Jack Grimaldi stuck his head in. "There was a plane owned by Phoenix Enterprises, Mack, but it took off three hours ago."
"Damn." Bolan checked his watch. There was still time to manage the hit-and-git strike and make it back to Washington before the meeting at the White House, but they'd be operating on tight numbers. He glanced back at the blueprints. He would call Brognola to warn him, fax a picture of Fenris Thomas and hope things turned out for the best, but he couldn't leave Egypt yet. No matter what, the threat of the killer satellite had to be taken out first.
Bolan moved, taking money from the ops fund aboard the airliner, mentally preparing a list of items for Turrin to purchase in the city. Scuba gear would be something Tsurnick's contacts wouldn't have on hand.
* * *
Leo Turrin floated easily under the surface of the river, watching the Executioner work. It amazed him how cool the man could be while working under pressure. This was Turrin's second tour along the river bottom. His hands were raw from pulling himself along the rough riverbed, searching for something that could be identified only as being something that didn't belong there. Hell, they were the ones that didn't belong. The little Fed was surprised none of the regular river traffic hadn't noticed them by now.
Glancing up, Turrin saw the dark shadow of the Israelis' rented boat hovering over his position like some protective storm cloud. He could tell from the darkening of the sky beyond the surface of the river that it would be dark soon, reminding him that an assassin was already stalking Washington, D.C.
He studied the bottom as he swam, conscious of the three other people covering the area, as well. He scanned the silt bed, which was covered with green broad-leaved plants he couldn't identify. Look for something that doesn't belong, Bolan had said. Everything Turrin saw seemed to have a specific place, from the plants to the worn-smooth surface of the riverbank to the silt that constantly shifted across the river bottom.
A shiny object caught his eye, and he changed course to intercept it. He floated, standing almost on his head, as he used his knife to pry the object loose. He wanted to curse when he found out it was just an empty can. He pitched the object away, watching it sparkle slowly through the river flow as the current carried it north to the Red Sea. Then just as suddenly it changed directions, breaking off at an angle to seek a new direction. For a moment the can rested against a lower portion of the riverbank before moving on.
Anticipation flared to life inside Turrin as he finned over to investigate. Looking for something that didn't belong, he almost missed something that did belong but was missing. As was the case with most of the river bottom, kelp and other plants lined the wall, hiding whatever natural nooks and crannies that had been formed by the wearing action of the river.
Puzzled, Turrin inspected the area. Everything seemed normal, until he noticed the absence of silt near the bottom of the rounded-out section of the riverbank. Grabbing fistfuls of the plants that lined the wall, he pulled himself downward to the base of the curvature. He felt his hair suctioned toward the bottom and stuck out a hand hesitantly, discovering that the worn planes of the riverbank formed a natural draw for the flow of the Nile. His fingers explored the Up of the eight-foot crevice that seemed lost in the river's darkness, coming to a stop against a fine mesh screen only a few inches inside the opening.
Pushing himself off the riverbank, Turrin swam against the current of the river, pulling himself through the water toward the Executioner.
* * *
Bolan drew a diagram on a sheet of paper so that the others crowded around him in the cabin of the small ship would understand better. "Whoever set this up has designed an airlock on the other side of the false wall of the riverbank," he said as he sketched. "But you can bet that's not the only fail-safe that was designed in the system. Without the air lock, the water-driven wheel wouldn't operate. The river wouldn't make it turn. But there has to be a set of emergency doors as well that can be shut in case something happens to the air lock. So we're going to plan on punching a hole through this wall and taking out their next line of defense."
"Won't the river follow us into the underground complex?" one of the Israelis asked.
Bolan nodded. "The underwater team is going to have a lot of factors to deal with at one time. We're going to have to blow our way inside to begin with, and navigate the suction of the river being pulled through the air lock. Once inside, we'll still be battling the rise of the water as it fills the complex and contending with an enemy force whose size we can't even guess at."
"Wouldn't the river take care of the viability of such a headquarters?" another man asked.
"Unless they've had other safety locks installed to compartmentalize the rest of the installation," Bolan answered.
"And then there's the wealth of information that's undoubtedly somewhere inside," Tsurnick said.
"Right," Bolan agreed. "If we can recover that, then maybe we can plug up some of the intelligence leaks in the United States and Russia. But most of all, I want to take this installation out. Any intelligence-gathering will be a plus." He watched the men n
od in response. "This will be strictly an in-and-out operation, gentlemen, and it's going to be pure hell once we penetrate the perimeters of this thing. Our sole function as the underwater team is to blow up everything that gets in our way and head up through the building until we're on dry land again. The Egyptians can clean up the mess and sort through the rubble we leave."
"The land team will hit the front of the building at the same time the air lock is blown," Tsurnick said as he stepped forward to address his men. "Handle this as a civilian situation, because as far as we know, the businesses inside the building are legitimate. We want no innocent blood on our hands. Empty the offices as quickly as possible, securing the lower floor and blockading it immediately. According to the girl's story, the underwater team should be coming up through a false wall in the travel agency on the third floor. As they arrive you're to help with the wounded and get yourselves to the top of the building where the helicopters will rendezvous with us and transport us to the land vehicles, where we hope to lose radar detection. From there it should be a pleasant ride to the airport."
Bolan nodded at the Israeli and Tsurnick dismissed the men.
Tsurnick offered his hand. "I wish you luck with your mission, Mr. Bolan."
"And you with yours," Bolan replied as he took the hand. "Take care of Helene. We couldn't have gotten this far without her help, and Koltzer's."
Nodding, Tsurnick said, "Koltzer has already been escorted safely to his flight. I just hope it goes as well with our teams."
14
Bolan pressed the button on the detonator, and the false riverbank erupted. The water roiled around him, threatening to pull him from his position. Thick clods of dirt spun lazily through the water as a cloud of silt spurned outward, turning into an underwater fog that cut visibility dramatically.
The warrior flexed his legs and finned toward the underwater cave the explosives had created. The waterwheel had been blown from its moorings. Once he was in the new current, he didn't have to do more than guide himself through the opening.
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