Dukas returned to the stove and checked the soup while Bolan watched, resting while he had the chance.
Beyond the walls of the cabin they could still hear the howling wind. The cabin was solid, able to withstand the battering. Though neither spoke, both were wondering how long they might be forced to stay.
They consumed the hot soup with relish. There were soda crackers in another carton, and they ate them as well with enthusiasm. Even Casper managed a few mouthfuls before he drifted back into a restless sleep.
The sound of the strong winds outside reminded them of their position and finally brought them to reality. Bolan eased open one of the window shutters and took a look. It was barely possible to see more than a few feet through the blinding white swirl of snow. Bolan secured the shutter again.
“Nothing we can do until morning,” he said. “Did you say there might be some communications equipment?”
“I’ve already had a look. Nothing,” Dukas said.
Bolan took out the transceiver he had taken from the man he’d shot. He examined the item.
“Can you call on that?” Dukas asked.
“I can change the frequency and send. Depends if anyone’s listening on the other end.”
“What about them?”
“Once I change the setting they won’t pick up. All their sets will be on the same frequency so they’re able to communicate.”
“Hey, I forgot something.” Dukas went to one of the cupboards. She opened a door and jabbed a finger at a printed notice taped to the panel. “Emergency numbers. I’m an idiot. There are numbers here to contact the sheriff’s department in Maple Lake.”
Bolan checked out the text. It listed telephone numbers and radio frequency settings. He set the transceiver to the recommended frequency and keyed the receive button. All he heard was a low static hiss. Bolan checked the transceiver’s power level. It was high. He tried again. Nothing.
“We’ll try again later,” he said as he switched off the unit to conserve power.
“So what do we do now?”
“Keep warm and try to rest. Right now we’re not going anywhere.”
Bolan reached for his weapons and spent some time checking and making sure they were all fully loaded.
“Seeing you do that brings it home what we’re doing here. I almost forgot about those men out there hunting for us.” Tears filled her eyes and she wiped them away with an angry gesture. “I told myself I wasn’t going to let this happen again. Then I remembered how I used to come up here with Tira. We swam in the lake. Rode all over the mountain—”
“Just hang on to those memories, Erika. Do that and you’ll have your friend. Do her that favor and she’ll always be with you.”
They stoked the fire, dragged out all the blankets they could find and settled for the night. Despite her protests, Dukas finally took one of the bunks. She was asleep in minutes. Bolan checked Casper. The pilot seemed to have settled and at least his wounds had stopped bleeding. Bolan dragged a mattress off one of the empty bunks and dropped it against the back wall of the cabin. He took his MP-5 and sat on the mattress with a blanket around his shoulders, facing the door.
He took out the transceiver and ran through the channels again. There was nothing except the hiss of static. He switched it off again and placed it beside him.
He felt weariness wash over him. His eyes were drooping and he knew he was not going to be able to stay awake through the night. Too much had happened in a short span of time. He seemed to have been on the move ever since he had taken that call from Barbara Price, telling him one of their own had problems and needed help.
BOLAN WOKE WITH A START and stared around the cabin. Then he glanced at his watch and realized he had slept most of the night.
The stove was still warm. The lamps lit against the shadows. Bolan glanced across the open room. Dukas and Casper were still sleeping. He eased to his feet, working the stiffness from his body, turning to feed some wood into the stove, coaxing the red embers into flame.
Sound reached him from overhead and he picked up the hiss of frozen snow being blown across the cabin’s slant roof. The noise told him there had been a partial freeze during the night. The soft snow had hardened into crystals. Bolan opened a shutter. It was not fully light, but he could see that the overpowering whiteout had expended its fury. There was only a light fall now. The constant wind was shifting the snow, blowing it back and forth over the landscape. That would make travel somewhat easier for them.
And for the men who had been trailing them the day before, he thought. Bolan closed the shutter.
He checked out the supply cupboard and found a metal coffeepot and a supply of ground coffee in a sealed tin. He smiled as he took them to the table. This was real cowboy country. He crossed to unbolt the door, opening it so he could scoop handfuls of snow into the pot. He secured the door and placed the pot on the stove.
The aroma of the coffee roused Casper. He groaned at a stab of pain when he moved, then remembered what had happened to him and lay still.
“Hey, Coop, how we doing?” he asked. His voice was low, weak, and he held no illusions as to his condition.
Bolan filled a mug and carried it across. He helped the pilot sit up.
Casper tasted the coffee and the grounds that had escaped the pot. “Great, coffee and breakfast in the same cup. Coop, you should patent this.”
Bolan took a mug to Dukas and gently shook her awake. When her eyes opened, she stared up at him until her memory kicked in.
“I was somewhere else,” she said. “And not a very good place.”
Bolan handed her the mug and returned to get some coffee for himself.
“We buried alive?” Casper asked.
“Not as bad as it might have been,” Bolan said. “We should be able to get through to Maple Lake.”
“Count me out. No way I can make a trek in my condition,” Casper said. “I’m not about to hold you back.”
“That’s crazy,” Dukas said. “We should go together. We have to with those men out there looking for us.”
“I’m a liability,” Casper said.
“I’m not leaving you behind,” Bolan said.
“Go. Get the hell out of here,” Casper said. “Leave it too long, those trigger-happy idiots might still show up.”
“And find you?” Bolan shook his head.
“Think straight, Cooper. All I’m doing is holding you back. Take me along, you’re crippled. Can’t do what you need to. They’ll pick us off easy. On your own you can handle them.”
Bolan knew Casper was right. He had no doubt the strike team would show up at first light.
His mind worked on a plan.
“This is how I’m going to do it, and I’m not running out on either of you,” he said.
He outlined his idea, making it clear there was no other way.
Casper opened his mouth to protest, but Bolan had already turned aside, picking up the MP-5 and spare magazines. He took the M-16 and handed it to Casper, along with its extra mags. He passed the Glock to Dukas.
“Keep the shutters secure, door bolted. Make sure the smoke can be seen from the stack. That door is their only way in and if they get by me you have a clear line of sight.”
“You sure about this?” Dukas asked.
“I don’t see any other way. Just do what I said. Lie low and keep quiet.”
Bolan had filled a mug with more coffee and drank as he talked and prepared. He zipped up his thick coat and pulled on his woolen cap and gloves. “Should be light in about a half hour,” he said.
He opened the door just wide enough to slip through, Dukas following to secure it once he’d gone. She put a hand on his arm.
“Take it easy,” she said.
The moment Bolan was gone she closed and bolted the door. Turning, she went to the stove and pushed in more wood, then sat beside it, her back to the wall. She dragged a blanket over her shoulders and held the Glock in her lap.
STAYING IN THE SHADOWS, B
olan crept close to the cabin, then eased into the brush and out of sight. He worked his way around until he was twenty feet from the cabin and able to blend into the dark shadows. He held the MP-5 close, eyes searching the shadows, and waited for the day—and the enemy—to come to him.
Bolan checked his firing position, feeling the movement of the wind and the drift of the falling snow. He knew which direction would bring them to his killing ground. That was what it would become, he’d resigned himself to the fact.
The sky had started to pale in the east. Snow continued to fall. The wind, ice chilled, stirred the brush, caught tree foliage and made it tremble. Bolan’s eyes adjusted to the coming light. He scanned his field of fire, moving his eyes and nothing else. He kept his head down, exhaling gently so the vapor from his breath didn’t show.
12
Jatko completed the call and broke contact. He did not look happy.
“I know that expression,” Billingham said.
“They just found Zelliger’s body. His weapons are gone and so is his transceiver. Bullets that killed him smashed his GPS unit.”
“So nothing positive to report?”
“Zelliger exchanged fire before he died. Bullet marks showed on a tree trunk. And there was blood as well.”
“So we assume one of them was wounded. Might slow them. Are the others following?” Billingham asked.
Jatko nodded. “They are now. Last night’s whiteout stopped them cold. Only good thing is it would have stopped them as well,” Jatko replied.
“Our people had the Humvees for protection. What did those three have? Unless they found cover maybe they froze to death.”
Billingham peered at the on-screen map. Leaning over, Jatko indicated a spot.
“They were still moving in the general direction of Maple Lake yesterday.”
“Maybe it’s time we showed our faces there.”
THERE WAS NO SUN. TO BOLAN’S right, snow fell from a sagging branch and made a soft sound on impact. Overhead, the wind gusted through the tops of the trees and created a ripple of noise. From the corner of his eye he could see the spiral of wood smoke coming from the cabin’s chimney.
The Executioner had picked up movement in the trees on the far approach to the cabin—one armed figure, moving slowly. Then a second and third, spaced out as they emerged from the white forest. The lead man raised a hand and signaled for a stop.
Three so far. They all wore the same dark, combat-style clothing, weighed down with weapons and ancillary equipment. The lead man crouched, his two partners following suit, and spoke into his transceiver, waiting for a response. Two more figures materialized from the shadows, crouching like the others to reduce body bulk, waiting for the next command.
The lead man finished his conversation and clipped the transceiver to his belt again, then signaled his team to move forward.
No doubt they had seen the cabin and the scattered fragments of smoke.
Two of the incursion team angled in the direction of the cabin, weapons at the ready, while behind them the lead man swung his free arm to send the second pair in from the opposite direction.
Bolan raised the MP-5 and acquired his first target, stroking the trigger as soon as he had his man. Before the first man hit the ground Bolan had switched to his partner. The man responded swiftly, turning hard and bringing up his weapon, searching, the delay costing him his life. Bolan hit him with a burst to the chest that backflipped him into the snow. Angling the MP-5 around, Bolan let go with a sustained burst, the 9 mm slugs taking the second pair out, bringing them to their knees before they were able to seek and find the hidden shooter. As they slid to the bloody snow Bolan eased to one side, using trees as cover as he moved swiftly around the lead gunner. The man was twisting back and forth, seeking his elusive target, his transceiver in one hand as he yelled into the speaker. Bolan revealed himself, stepping out of deep cover, his MP-5 bearing down on the solitary figure, who for reasons of his own refused to quit and dropped the transceiver, raising his M-16 and cutting loose with a sustained burst that sprayed the area with 5.56 mm slugs.
Bolan hit him with a savage volley that cut the man down like straw in the wind, dumping his tattered and bleeding body on the ground.
The last echo of autofire drifted off into the trees. Wind rattled the brittle foliage, dislodging hard crusts of snow from the branches. Bolan’s boots crunched over the ground layer as he moved from man to man, checking for signs of life and moving weapons clear. He had counted his targets and all were down.
Bolan moved quickly, aware that the last man to go down had called in. There was no way of knowing how many more were backing up this first team, and Bolan had no intention of staying to find out. He gathered extra ammo for the M-16, then headed back to the cabin. He announced himself and pushed his way inside the moment Dukas unbarred the door.
“We need to move,” Bolan said. “One of them called in, so reinforcements might be on the way.”
“More?” she asked. “Have they got an army out there?”
“Hiring people to do your dirty work comes cheap. Throw money at them, and they don’t ask questions,” Bolan replied.
Casper made an effort to stand, insisting he was capable of walking.
“Ten minutes out there and you’ll have that leg bleeding again,” Dukas said.
“So what? I get carried again?”
Bolan nodded. “Let’s go, flyboy.” He hoisted Casper over his shoulder. “If you have to hang on, just keep your hands from around my neck.”
“If he complains,” Dukas said, “I wouldn’t mind being carried.”
“Be more fun,” Bolan said.
“Now you’ve hurt my feelings,” Casper said.
They moved out quickly, aware that their pursuers could be close. Bolan found himself wishing the snowfall was heavier so it might bury their tracks, but that was something he couldn’t control. They angled away from the cabin and headed cross-country, staying as close to cover as they could. Their progress was slow. The frozen top layer of snow wasn’t strong enough to support their weight, and they were hampered by breaking through the crust, sinking into the deeper, softer snow beneath. Casper, though he stayed silent, was clearly in pain from each step. The partially closed wounds had opened, and even Bolan felt the warm blood that soaked through both Casper’s and his clothing. He pushed his feelings to the back of his mind, ignoring the involuntary gasps of breath coming from the hurt pilot, and would have given heartfelt thanks to see Jack Grimaldi swooping down from the lead gray sky.
Dukas suggested they rest a couple of times, but she got a negative response from Bolan. He wanted to gain some distance before they took any kind of break. When he checked his watch for the first time, he saw they had been moving for almost an hour. He also noticed that the sky had darkened considerably and they were walking into more snow. It was increasing quickly, the drift pushing in at them, so that it would drop over the tracks they were leaving behind. It was a small comfort but at least a positive edge.
They came to a jagged ridge that ran across their path, east to west. Bolan saw Dukas studying the lay of the land, her eyes moving back and forth as she positioned herself against the distant and higher peaks.
“I was right,” she said. There was no excitement in her voice, just the direct statement of fact. “Over that ridge we should be able to see the town. Only a few more miles.”
Bolan simply nodded. It felt like too much effort to speak.
“Hang on, Bud, we’re almost home,” Bolan managed to say.
Casper grunted something unintelligible. He didn’t even protest when Bolan hoisted him into a more comfortable position across his shoulders.
They moved off and started the long trek to the floor of the wide valley that encompassed Maple Lake. There were blurred outlines of buildings clustered along the south shore of the lake that gave the town its name. Moving forward, they skirted the edge of a long drop-off that led into a deep cut. Thick brush covered the slope, the shap
es softened by the thick carpet of snow.
They had only been moving a few minutes when Bolan picked up the muffled sound of helicopter rotors. He stopped in his tracks, scanning the sky and saw that Dukas was doing the same.
“Which way is it coming in?” she asked.
Before Bolan could answer, the dark shape loomed out of the swirling snow, causing its own disturbance as it dropped down to intercept their path. Almost blinded by the powerful lash of the rotor wash and the icy rush of air chilling them, they backed away until the rim of the drop-off forced them to a halt.
Bolan eased Casper to the ground, hauling his MP-5 into position as the chopper, a dark-colored Sikorsky S-76, eased on. The side hatch slid open and revealed a number of armed figures hunched in the opening. Dark muzzles swung to line up on the three figures.
“No way,” Bolan said, and before any of the men in the chopper could react he opened fire, raking the hatch and the clustered figures with 9 mm defiance.
The burst of slugs hammered the chopper’s sides. Some cut through clothing and into soft flesh. Two gunners fell out of view. A third fell forward, screaming in panic as he pitched through the hatch and crashed to the ground below.
Bolan saw Bud Casper rising to his feet, the M-16 in his hands. The man let go a wild yell and opened up with the automatic rifle, going for the canopy, the 5.56 mm slugs peppering the Plexiglas. The wounds on his leg and shoulder had burst open again, and bright blood glistened on his clothing, yet somewhere he had found the strength to deal himself into the fight. He raked the canopy again and it splintered.
The chopper pulled back, more gunmen showing in the hatch, weapons crackling as they tried to lock on to their targets. Bullets hit the ground around Bolan and Casper.
“Get her out of here,” Casper yelled above the roar of the chopper.
As he spoke, he turned and lunged at Dukas, giving her no chance to resist. He slammed into her and pushed over the edge of the drop-off. She gave a scream of alarm as she tumbled down the long slope.
In the split second they faced each other, Bolan saw Casper was smiling. The pilot launched himself at Bolan and his attack was hard and uncompromising. The loose snow underfoot denied Bolan any purchase, and he felt himself stepping into air. The last thing he saw was Bud Casper’s figure as the pilot turned back to face the returning chopper, his M-16 still crackling.
Deadly Contact Page 10