Other guns joined in, the sharp reports echoing in Bolan’s consciousness as he hit the slope and bounced and rolled, out of control. He smashed through brush and thumped against hidden rocks. He felt the chill of thick snow on his face.
The fall seemed to last an eternity. He was helpless to fight against his descent. If he hadn’t been wearing the MP-5 on a sling around his neck, he’d have lost the weapon. Sound thundered in his ears. A heavy rumbling. He realized it was disturbed snow following him down. If he survived the fall, he might still end up buried beneath tons of snow.
He tried to halt his descent, but there was nothing to hold on to. And then, suddenly, there was no ground beneath him. He was in the air, the sky spinning before his eyes. He was free-falling, then came to a sudden and shocking stop. Breath was forced from his lungs. Above him was the sky and falling snow. And still that ominous rumbling. Bolan turned toward the sound and saw a dense mass of snow racing toward him. He tried to move, to drag himself clear. He barely had time to turn onto his side before the avalanche hit and he was buried.
13
Lec Pavlic had reached Maple Lake in late afternoon, just ahead of the heavy storm. The wind was driving the snow down the slopes in solid sheets. It was impossible for him go any farther, and he’d considered parking and waiting out the storm. As Pavlic reached the final marker that told him the town lay three miles ahead, he spotted the Maple Lake Motel Lodge and eased the four-by-four off the road. He sat and watched the swirling snow blanketing the road and hiding everything in its path, recalling what the attendant at the gas station had told him. Three miles in the sort of weather closing in might easily turn into a nightmare. Pavlic decided to wait out the storm and try to get into town the next morning.
He climbed out of the four-by-four, locked it, and with his bag in his hand he tramped across to the office where he had seen a light. Pushing through the door he felt warmth close around him.
“Well, hellfire, you’re the last thing I expected to see today.” The speaker stood behind the desk. Short and stocky, with a mane of white hair framing a creased, tanned face, the man was clad in a check shirt and he grinned at Pavlic. “You drove all the way to Maple Lake just so you could stop here? I am flattered.”
Pavlic dropped his bag at his feet and brushed snow from his coat.
“Well, I did drive all the way here. That part is true enough. I was hoping to reach the town tonight, but the way that snow is building up I do not think I could make it.”
“Might only be three miles, but when that whiteout drops you won’t get out of the parking lot. So it looks like we’ll have your company tonight,” the man said.
“That will be fine.”
They spent a couple of minutes completing the formalities.
“Just the one night?” the clerk asked.
“Yes, I am hoping to complete my business quickly and return to Denver as soon as I can.”
“That might not work out so easy. Looks like we’re in for some heavy snow. Could be the road out gets blocked. If it does, you might be here for a while.”
Pavlic had been aware of that possibility all the way in. He had tried not to allow it to deter him. Bad weather, or not, he had to get to Maple Lake and retrieve his package. He had to get his hands on the disk before Radin, Billingham or Granger. He knew that Billingham would have alerted Granger to Pavlic’s presence in America. Once Granger had the story, Pavlic was sure he would move heaven and earth to find him.
Granger had the clout to employ shady characters to do his dirty work. In his coveted position, well inside the high security shield that his work for the military and the government allowed, the man seemed impervious, able to command all kinds of covert help. He was so deeply entrenched that any misdemeanor could be dealt with, leaving him to his top secret, ultrasensitive work for the U.S.
Pavlic was a loner. Out in the cold, in more ways than one, and he was looking out for himself. The package that his niece had sent to Maple Lake meant too much for him to abandon. If he could regain possession and remove himself from the hands of his former friends, he stood at least a chance of getting out alive. If they reached it before he did, his life was over. Once destroyed all evidence would cease to exist and they would have won.
In his room he stood at the window watching the snowstorm close in. The world beyond the sealed glass had turned to blinding, obliterating white. Despite his mounting anxiety, Pavlic knew he would have to be patient. The only consolation was that it would be the same for anyone who might be searching for him. The weather was something not even the money and power of his enemies could control.
Stony Man Farm, Virginia
“OKAY,” AARON KURTZMAN SAID. HE waved a folder in the air. “This is everything we’ve been able to gather on the information provided and it lays the groundwork for some interesting theories.”
He waited until everyone in the room was paying attention.
“The floor’s yours,” Barbara Price said.
“Thorne Billingham, Milos Radin, Maric Jatko, Lec Pavlic. The tie-in for all of them seems to start around 1995, near the end of the Bosnian conflict and the reconstruction era. They were all involved in various facets of the administration. Advisers, financial, construction, contracting. That was a time when the area was in total confusion. So many agencies involved. Endless conferences. Planning committees. Funding, supplying, logistics. It was a mess.
“Move on a couple of years and all our above names have suddenly started to rise up the ladder in a loose conglomerate that has its fingers in a lot of pies. The main men are Radin, in Sarajevo and Thorne Billingham in the U.S. Now there’s a third name to add. Ramsey Granger.”
“One of the biggest military contractors? That Granger?” Carmen Delahunt asked.
Kurtzman nodded. “The same. His name came up during one of our sweeps. It appears he was one of the group back in 1995. We almost missed him first time around, but there was a tenuous connection with Lec Pavlic and when we dug deeper it seems he and Granger have met a lot over the years. Stepping back, we discovered that Granger was working with Billingham at the time.”
“Nowadays our group is at the top of the heap. All are wealthy, well connected, and through a network of companies they’re all in bed together. Granger is the most successful. He’s a platinum member of the government contractors’ club, a military supplier who’s into every facet of research you can name. A lot of it very hush-hush. That means he has powerful backing. Granger has access to places and people most of us could only dream about.”
“But what did these people do in 1995?” Akira Tokaido asked. “It had to have been pretty heavy to make them chase like this. Whatever Pavlic has in that package has caused some serious panic.”
“I was thinking about that,” Kurtzman said. “So I expanded my data searches for around that time in Bosnia. Not even certain what I was looking for until I hit on this.”
He activated one of the wall monitors and they all watched as the information scrolled across the screen.
It gave details of six people who had vanished in that time slot. Five men and one woman. They had been listed as the victims of an unnamed ethnic execution squad. Their names were given, along with photographs.
“What makes you think these people might be involved with the Pavlic affair?” Price asked.
“I managed to access some data stored by a security agency in Sarajevo going back to the time the six vanished. The name of the woman who disappeared kept coming up, and I finally traced her to a section investigating rumors of money disappearing from various reconstruction funds. Seems she was doing undercover work looking into this allegation. The investigation wasn’t getting much in the way of results, so it was sidelined. Then the building where the woman worked was hit by a stray artillery shell and demolished. A number of personnel were killed. When the department was eventually re-created, with new people, the fraud investigation was never resurrected. But some data had been filed on a central computer else
where and it’s still there. Hasn’t been accessed for years.”
“Any names?”
“None of our main characters initially, but guys named Karel Medusku, Sev Malik and Jev Ritka. But he’s out of the picture. Had an accident recently that left him in a coma. They all have associations with Milos Radin, going back to before the disappearance of the six. Now on their own these are just bits and pieces. Move them around and they start to connect. Maybe they’re thin links, but there are too many of them to be coincidence.”
“We going to follow this through?” Tokaido asked.
“What do you think?”
“Silly question, boss. I’ll get right on it.”
“I’m going to try and make some contact with the authorities in Sarajevo,” Kurtzman said. “See if they have any back story on all this.”
14
The Executioner could feel someone tugging at his arm. He wanted to stay where he was. It felt good. Soft and warm. But the distant voice was getting louder, and he felt sure he knew it. He opened his eyes.
Erika Dukas was bending over him, shaking his shoulder, and she was yelling at him to wake up and get his butt moving.
Bolan got to his feet, shaking off the surplus snow.
“Might be wise to stop yelling,” he said. “Sound carries up here.”
“Thanks for your help, how are you, might be a better start,” she snapped.
“You’re right,” he said. “Hey, Erika, how are you? And thanks for digging me out.”
She grinned suddenly, turning to scan the slope they had fallen down. Bolan didn’t follow her gaze. He was looking at the raw scrape on the side of her head, just below the hairline. Blood had streamed down her face, running into her collar. He caught her shoulders and drew her closer.
“Why, Matt, this is so sudden and me looking a real mess,” she said, laughing.
He gently inspected the gash. She became aware of the pain, moving her head a little. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
“I know that.”
He quickly opened her backpack and pulled out a strip of material he could use to clean the wound. From more of the material he made a small pad, got her to hold it over the gash while he wound a strip around her head to hold it in position.
“The Colorado fashion accessory no girl should be without,” she quipped.
Bolan nodded. He became businesslike immediately, taking the MP-5 and checking it thoroughly. He made sure the action was clear and undamaged, the barrel free of hard-packed snow. He repeated the procedure with the M-16 Dukas had over her shoulder.
“How did you find me?” he asked.
“I landed in some thick brush over there. The avalanche missed me completely. I was watching and saw where you landed.”
“Any other injuries?” he asked.
“By tomorrow I’m going to have bruises in places I never had them before.” She paused. “We were lucky. What about Bud? Is he dead?”
“I have no idea. Right now, harsh as it might sound, we have to forget about him and think of ourselves. What he did saved our lives, so we have to make sure it wasn’t wasted. You understand, Erika?”
She nodded. “I’m getting used to putting my grieving on the back burner. When this is over, you’re going to have to provide me with a giant box of tissue.”
“Let’s move out,” Bolan said.
As they made their way, Dukas asked, “You recognize anyone in that helicopter?”
“No, but I did see the logo just under the pilot’s canopy before the shooting started. That chopper belonged to Granger Industries.”
“Isn’t he a big name in military contracting? Design and development in weapons and such?” Dukas asked.
“More than big. Ramsey Granger is the hottest player in the game at the moment. Very ambitious. Few scruples. Lots of friends in high places.”
“They’ll be coming for us, won’t they?” she asked.
“You could be a big threat until they know whether or not you learned anything,” Bolan said.
The soft hiss of sliding snow warned them company was on its way. Bolan saw it was coming from the steep slope behind them. Their pursuers were attempting the fast way down, but there was no way they could do it in total silence. He turned to Erika, indicating a dip in the ground.
“In there and stay out of sight.”
She obeyed immediately, circling the depression until she was on its far side, then dropped into the hollow.
Bolan cocked the MP-5, moving along the base of the slope until he was level with the moving traces of snow. Following it up the slope he saw three armed men rappelling down. They saw him, and one let loose with a burst from the submachine gun he was holding in his left hand. The slugs pounded the snow yards off target.
Bolan raised his weapon and returned fire. There was no hesitation in his actions. The lines had been drawn and the battle engaged. That was the way they wanted it, so Bolan would let them see what real war meant.
He triggered in the direction of the shooter and saw his 9 mm slugs punch into the man’s upper body. The shooter jerked, his rappelling line locked, so he stayed where he was, blood spattering the snow below him. The moment he’d fired Bolan tracked in on the other two, the MP-5 crackling repeatedly. He saw the suspended figures jerk and writhe, trapped on the exposed slope. The bullets blew dark flecks from their clothing and bright blood from their flesh as the Executioner’s killing fire struck home. One had failed to lock his line and he plunged down the slope. He landed hard, his body sprawled in death.
“Go,” Bolan said to Dukas.
She scrambled to her feet, and they ran as fast as they could through the crust of frozen snow, knowing there would be other gunners behind them.
Bolan directed them to a stand of trees, pale and ghostly where the snow had frozen to trunks and limbs. As they broke into the shadowed stand, autofire opened up behind them. Bolan stood his ground, bracing himself against a sturdy trunk and returning fire. He caught the lead shooter, chest high, the impact kicking the man off his feet, then changed aim and put another man down with shots that cored through hip and thigh.
Dukas started to fire her M-16. When Bolan glanced around, he saw a pair of shooters angling in from his blind side. He saw one go down, taking a couple of 5.56 mm slugs. The other shooter turned aside, moving back out of range.
Bolan raked his line with more 9 mm fire, halting their progress.
“Move on,” he said.
Dukas backed deeper into the timber, still firing until Bolan told her to save her ammunition.
Snapping in a fresh magazine he followed in her footsteps, watching her back as they moved. If Billingham and company wanted to get their hands on Erika Dukas, they were going to have to pay one hell of a price for that privilege.
The cat and mouse game stayed constant as Bolan and Dukas pushed their way deeper into the timber that covered the area. The falling snow was becoming heavier. The dense forest growth slowed its descent to the ground, but it was still getting through.
Closer to Maple Lake the terrain evened out a little. The thick snow underfoot kept movement measured and tedious. If they tried to rush, the snow held them back, so they were careful. Bolan noticed the temperature had risen slightly. It was cold, but it had become bearable.
After almost an hour he called a halt and they crouched in the shadow of an overhang.
“Think we’ve lost them?” Dukas asked, looking around.
“They’re still out there. They have their orders, and they’ll stick to them. Weather isn’t making it any easier for them. As long as this snow keeps falling, they’ll have a hard time picking up our tracks. It’s all we can depend on.” He put a firm hand on her shoulder. “You holding up?”
“One way or another.”
Bolan caught a sound. He checked out the way ahead.
“Sounds like an engine,” Dukas said.
“Ahead of us.” He peered into the falling snow. “Coming from that way. Humvee.”
<
br /> He indicated a long draw that made a shallow furrow in the landscape.
“Maybe they’ll offer us a ride,” Dukas said wearily.
“Yeah. But not the way you might expect. Use those trees for cover until the Humvee comes out of the draw. Show yourself long enough so they see you. The minute they move to step out you get back under cover. Understand?”
Dukas followed his instructions and headed for the timberline. Glancing back she saw that her companion had vanished, but she knew well enough that he was not far away. She eased between the thick trunks and waited, hearing the deep rumble draw closer.
Bolan saw the Humvee as it barreled out of the draw, wheels kicking up great showers of dirty snow. The driver had laid on the power to mount the final rise where the draw merged with the flatter terrain and the huge vehicle burst into view. It slammed on the ground, the rear sliding for a moment until the driver brought it back under control.
The man next to the driver threw out a warning hand as he spotted Dukas moving. She ducked quickly back into the tree cover as the Humvee slithered to a halt. The passenger door flew open and an armed man jumped out, leveling his M-16. The driver was seconds behind, reaching back to grab his own weapon.
The moment the men were out of the vehicle, Bolan made his move, leaning out from his cover and triggering a burst into the passenger that dropped him where he stood, then angling the muzzle across the Humvee’s hood to track the driver. The man recovered quickly, turning his M-16 in Bolan’s direction and even squeezing off a short bust before the Executioner’s weapon snapped again. The 9 mm slugs took him high in the chest and throat, spinning him away from the Humvee in a bloody spray and dropping him facedown in the snow.
Bolan waved for Dukas to stay where she was while he checked out the vehicle for other gunners. He slid down the steep bank and crossed to the Humvee. After checking the vehicle, he collected the dead men’s weapons and extra ammunition. He deposited the equipment inside the Humvee, then waved Dukas in. She joined him and climbed directly inside, slamming the door. Bolan got in behind the wheel.
Deadly Contact Page 11