Bolan didn’t reply. He waited until Casper spoke again. “Yeah, okay, I miss the action.”
Increasingly heavy snow lashed out of the leaden sky, the flakes thick and heavy. Casper was depending on his radar to keep him on course. If he was concerned, he didn’t show it. He was a more than competent pilot, handling the bad weather with calm assurance. Bolan left him to it after a time. He returned to the passenger cabin and resumed his seat, relaxing as much as he could. He knew he should get some rest while the opportunity presented itself. There might not be much on offer once they reached Colorado. The opposition was going to be close by, he was sure. After everything that had already happened, they weren’t about to quit. It was the only thing they all had in common.
THE EXECUTIONER OPENED HIS EYES as the Cessna began to vibrate around him. He took a moment to clear his head before pushing to his feet, reaching out to brace himself against the sway of the cabin floor. As he made his way forward, he saw Dukas was rousing herself.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Just on my way to find out.”
Dukas glanced out of the cabin window and was shocked to see the sky thick with swirling, heavy snow. She stood and hurried forward, seeing Bolan’s tall figure hovering behind the pilot’s seat.
“Hey, have you seen what it’s like out there?” she asked.
If Bolan heard he made no reply.
She heard Bud Casper’s calm voice. “Coop, you want the good news, or the bad news?”
“I’ll bite.”
“Bad news is there ain’t no good news,” Casper said grimly.
Bolan leaned over the copilot’s seat. There was little to see beyond the windshield. The wipers were struggling to keep the screens clear.
“Weather has gone ballistic—and I mean ballistic.”
“How bad is that?” Dukas asked.
Bolan was checking the instrument array. “Bud, are we off course?”
“Some. I keep losing the radar signal. I guess we’ve drifted off our flight path. Been trying to pull her back, but the controls are getting sluggish. Build up of the snow and one hell of a temperature drop. And that wind out there is way up the scale. Hate to say it, folks, but we caught all the bad luck in one throw.”
“Any good news?” Dukas asked.
“Coffee is still hot.”
“Bud, where were we last time you had a solid fix?” Bolan asked.
“I was getting ready to lose height for landing approach. Lost communication before I got through to the field. Didn’t have time to do anything because she started pitching and rolling. One of the problems in this mountain region is you get weird changes in air currents. Especially in bad weather. That was about when we started to lose line of flight.”
The Cessna dropped suddenly as they encountered another air pocket, and Casper fought the controls. “Day keeps getting better and better,” he muttered.
Bolan picked up an uneven beat coming from the starboard engine. He saw that Casper had noticed too. The pilot glanced through the side screen, his hand moving to the engine controls, and he started to work them. The irregular pulse of the engine settled for a moment, then returned.
“We’re losing her,” was all he said. “Damn.”
“I have a feeling we’re not going to make the Maple Lake strip,” Dukas said.
“You have to state the obvious?” Casper replied.
The starboard engine died, made an attempt to power up again but choked and the propellor stalled. Casper made immediate adjustments to compensate, but not before the Cessna swooped and tilted. “All we need is a whiteout to make the day perfect.”
“Could that happen now?” Dukas asked.
“If it does and we’re still in the air, you’ll know,” Casper said. “I’m going to look for a soft landing spot and try to bring her down. And I need to do it soon.”
“Do it then,” Bolan said.
He turned to Dukas. “Go and strap yourself in tight.”
She made no argument as she turned away.
Bolan dropped into the seat next to Casper. He locked his own seat belt, then donned the copilot’s headset and started to put out a distress call.
The Cessna lost height rapidly, cleaving its way through the wind-driven swirls of snow. Casper hauled back on the controls as he struggled to maintain a stable descent. Working with a single engine did little to help the situation. He had made a couple passes over his chosen landing site, having assessed the possibility of the long, open strip between opposing peaks. It was the best he was going to be offered. The snow and ice buildup on the wings and control surfaces had increased, and keeping the Cessna in the air was becoming harder. He decided that attempting a risky landing was preferable to crashing. Once he had made his decision he went for it without further delay.
Beside him, Bolan was still putting out calls. He had received no response. He understood the problems. The bad weather conditions and the surrounding high peaks could have been affecting the transmissions. Dead spots occurred in these mountainous regions. Taken together the problems added up to nothing encouraging.
He felt the Cessna drop again, heard Casper mutter something vaguely obscene. The pilot made swift, sure adjustments to hand and foot controls, pulling the reluctant aircraft back on course for the mist-shrouded landing space ahead. It was coming up fast, very fast, and even Bolan found the sight disturbing. There was a feeling about this kind of situation that stayed out of reach, leaving him totally unable to intervene. He was a spectator, facing a possible disaster, a voyeur held by the spectacle, beyond being part of it, simply waiting.
The landing wheels hit. The Cessna bounced back into the air, the airframe vibrating wildly. Casper juggled the controls and brought the plane down again, this time keeping it there. The vibration began again, the ripples sweeping back and forth, blinding clouds of disturbed snow obscuring their surroundings. The howl of the engine rose, and Bolan felt himself pushed against his seat belt as the Cessna fought gravity and its own forward motion. Their speed dropped surprisingly swiftly, the heavy vibration lessening as well, and the forward rush became a steady roll, then a swaying halt.
Bolan let go of held breath as the Cessna came to a full stop. He hadn’t realized just how tense he was. Sinking back in his seat he glanced across at Casper. “Hell of a job there, Bud.”
Casper didn’t speak until he had cut the engines and shut down the power. He cleared his own throat. “We hope you enjoyed your flight and don’t forget us for your return trip.”
“No problem with the last part,” Dukas said from behind them. “This is one flight I will never ever forget.”
Casper twisted in his seat.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine, Bud. A little shaky but fine.”
“We all ready for a hike?” Bolan said.
“Does this guy ever give up?” Casper inquired.
Dukas shook her head. “What do you think?”
9
Colorado
A couple of times Lec Pavlic had felt the powerful four-by-four slide and he had almost lost control. He forced himself to slow down. The road from Denver, though almost empty of traffic, was hard to judge. He was not used to the huge vehicle and its power, and despite his need to get to Maple Lake he forced himself to take more care. His chance of survival was going to fall to zero if he found himself in a roadside ditch, or worse, careering down one of the steep slopes he was seeing as he drove higher into the mountains.
He had been driving for almost three hours, leaving the main highways behind for a narrower road that wound its way into the craggy heights in a series of sweeping curves.
According to his GPS route finder he was still on the right road, moving closer, though slowly, to Maple Lake. The young woman at the car rental agency had keyed in the required coordinates for him and had run through the way to read the display.
Through the falling snow he spotted the lights of a diner and gas station. He decided to take a break. The
strain of driving the winding slopes was getting to him. Some food and coffee would help, and he decided that it would also be wise to top up the gas tank. The last thing he needed was to run out of fuel.
He drew up at the pumps and climbed out as the attendant came from the office.
“Hell of a day,” the young man said. “Fill her up?”
“To the top, please.”
The attendant zipped up his thick jacket, turning up the collar and yanking down the long bill of his cap. He started to fill the tank. “Where you heading?”
“Maple Lake. You know it?”
“Yeah. You got business there?”
“Oh, yes. I’m checking out some property for my investment company. They’re looking to put some money into the town. I hear it’s a nice summer vacation spot,” Pavlic said.
The attendant smiled and checked the sky.
“Ain’t exactly summer right now, mister.”
“I was in the country on other business and head office said to check out the place. They pay my salary, so I do what I’m told. This time I will just be looking the place over.”
They made small talk until, the refueling complete, Pavlic followed the young man into the office. He paid for the gas and gave a generous tip.
“Hey, thanks. You take care on those roads. The weather forecast isn’t too good.” He grinned suddenly. “If this keeps up, you might get stuck in Maple Lake until the summer. At least then you’ll see just how nice it is.”
“Good thought,” Pavlic said. He indicated the diner’s parking lot. “I’m going to park over there and get some coffee and food before I drive on.”
As he left the SUV and tramped through the snow to the diner and its welcome warmth, the young man’s words kept running through his mind.
You might get stuck in Maple Lake.
That very thought had been in his head for a while. If he ran into Billingham and company he might very well get stuck in Maple Lake—permanently.
“THEY’RE DOWN,” ERIC DUPRÉ announced. He swiveled his laptop and pointed out the salient points of the display. “They missed the landing site by a wide margin.”
“Of course,” Billingham said.
“Just as you suggested,” Radin said. “So what do we do now?”
“We find them,” Jatko said. “It’s why we came here. To prevent them getting their hands on the disk and finding out what’s on it.”
“Have you noticed the weather out there? It’s the reason they’ve ended up off course. This isn’t going to be a walk in the park,” Radin said.
“Milos, we are on the ground. Our team is equipped with the best money can buy.” Billingham gestured at the cargo, including a couple of civilian Humvees, stowed in the belly of the C-130 Hercules that had brought them to Colorado and the internal freight division where the plane was now parked next to a cargo warehouse. “They are well armed, every man carrying a satellite GPS unit. They’re tied into Dupré’s computer system so they won’t get lost. He already has that downed plane on-screen. We send out our team and they can run a wide sweep over the area. I don’t believe it will be hard to find our quarry. They’ll be heading for Maple Lake.”
“The team is ready to go,” Jatko said. “You want to talk with them first?”
Billingham made his way along the cargo bay and confronted his hired team. Led by Jatko, who had his own men—Milic and Anton—along as well, the group was clad in all-weather clothing and carried the best equipment money could buy. In addition to the GPS units, they were all equipped with digital transceivers that would enable them to stay in contact with one another and Billingham’s command base.
“You all know why you’re here. Simple enough. The people we’re after are attempting to get their hands on something belonging to the company. That has to be prevented. Kill the two men, but I want the woman alive. You all know me. I pay well for your expertise. That also demands total loyalty. I think you know what I’m talking about. If the package falls into anyone’s hands, it is to be brought directly to me. Do not even entertain the thought of making a personal deal for the package. Do your job, accept your pay and we can do business again in the future. Do we understand each other?”
Jatko nodded. “They understand.”
“One more thing. Mr. Jatko will pass out copies of a photograph. There’s a chance that the man shown there might turn up. I want this man dead. He is a threat to all our livelihoods. He is out to damage the company. Under no circumstances is he to be allowed to interfere with our business. See him—kill him. This is not negotiable. I will pay a high bonus to see him on the ground with his brains next to him.”
Jatko stepped forward to give his final instructions.
“Make sure your GPS and transceivers are online. As soon as that’s done, move out. Dupré will keep you informed of the location of that Cessna. Find it and the people on it. Keep all weapons out of sight until you’re off-road. No point in attracting attention.”
Radin followed Billingham and Jatko back along the plane. They walked down the loading ramp and, heads bowed against the wind-driven snow, made their way into the storage hangar they were using. In one corner was a block of offices, Karel Medusku sat on a hard chair, silent, deep in a mood of his own making.
“Was it necessary to say that?” Radin asked Billingham as they entered the office. Behind them Jatko quietly closed the door, leaning against it, staring across at Medusku’s hunched figure.
“About double-crossing us? Of course. They already know I do not play games. I was simply reinforcing the matter. Paid help sometimes need reminding who the paymaster is.”
“I was thinking more about Pavlic. If he does show his face and realizes he has no chance at getting hold of the disk he might decide to talk. Even though it might condemn him too,” Radin said.
“I worked that out myself, which is exactly why I gave those instructions. The last thing we need is Pavlic making a final grand gesture. I won’t take the chance of him turning up and spilling his guts on national television. I’ve been thinking what he might do since he vanished from Washington. He’s on his way to Maple Lake. I know it. So if he does show his face he will get it shot off.”
Medusko looked up. He was pale. Graying stubble covered his jaw. “This is not going to get us anywhere,” he said.
“Ah, it still talks,” Jatko said. “Do you have something constructive to say?”
Medusku stood up, confronting Jatko.
“You believe you are smart. But none of you were smart enough to stop Pavlic from leaving the country and flying to America. Not smart enough to prevent him moving the package to a safe location. One man has fooled us all. Doesn’t it make you think he might stay one step ahead and expose us all?”
“Look at the men and equipment we have assembled, Karel,” Radin said. “I think we have the advantage now.”
“It won’t work. We thought we had the perfect solution ten years ago. It has caught up with us. You know what? I think we were wrong then, and we are wrong now.”
Jatko’s laugh held a mocking tone. “Wrong? Wrong to protect ourselves?”
“Suddenly we are the victims?” Medusku asked. “The people we murdered were the victims. We killed them and sold our souls for profit and power.”
“No,” Jatko shouted. “Those mongrels were the enemy.”
“You seem to have forgotten we were at war back then,” Radin said.
“Are you going to say what we did was an act of war? Or simply an excuse for slaughter?”
“Conflict has the effect of creating situations that call for decisive action,” Radin said.
Medusku shook his head. “So I comfort myself by believing those six people were our enemy?”
“Weren’t they? Just recall who they were. From the opposing side. All we were doing was gaining an advantage over the enemy side. The definition of armed conflict,” Radin replied.
“Oh, I see. And the money? The political maneuvering? That had nothing to do with it?”
Radin’s face stiffened, color flaring in his cheeks.
“I didn’t think even you could be so naive, Karel. It became necessary for our survival. It is what happens during war. The need to survive is an instinct as natural as breathing. Take those instincts away, and how long would we stay alive?”
“We had no choice, Karel,” Billingham said. He had been standing back, listening to the ongoing argument. His intervention was an attempt at calming the moment down. “No choice.”
Medusku forced at bitter smile. “Ah, the oldest excuse in the book. We had no choice. You are wrong, Thorne. We always have a choice.”
“Yes,” Radin said, “and we made ours. Even you, Karel. I don’t have any recollection of you objecting at the time. Or during the decade since.”
“You are right, Milos. I’m as guilty as you all. I have blood on my hands. The problem is, I see it every time I close my eyes. I hate what we have become. Look at us now. One young woman dead and another being pursued across America. For what? Just how many do we have to kill to keep our secret?”
Jatko’s pent-up anger burst to the surface. He lunged at Medusku and caught hold of him by his coat. He swung the man around and smashed him against the wall.
“As many as it takes,” he screamed. “You think I care how many? Or who they are? Watch and see.”
“Your answer to everything, eh, Maric. If it doesn’t suit you, eliminate it,” Medusku said.
“Exactly. So if I was you I would choose my words carefully from now on.”
Medusku smiled wearily. “You don’t frighten me any longer, Maric. There’s nothing you can threaten me with that I haven’t already accepted.”
“Maybe I will put you out of your misery soon then.”
Medusku simply shrugged. He returned to his seat.
They turned and left the office, heading through the warehouse. Midway Jatko stopped in midstride, his face set and pale. He remained where he was, waging an inner struggle that seemed to be consuming him.
Deadly Contact Page 8