“Senator, the last thing I would suggest is you might be intimidated by them. Believe me, I wouldn’t have the nerve. But out in the open they would have the opportunity to kill you. I wouldn’t like that to happen.”
Randolph smiled. “I understand precisely what you’re saying and I’m touched by your concern. I thank you for that, but this is more important than the safety of one elderly senator. There might still be matters I can help with. Stahl isn’t the only one with contacts in the military and the administration. The people I can go to have been friends for many years. Anything they do for me is from loyalty and because they are, for the most part, honorable people. I’m quite aware that word has become something to snigger about in corners these days. But I still believe in it and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”
“No reason you should be.”
“Stahl buys his loyalty. That’s fine up to a point. But bought friendship only goes so far. If people see the gravy train about to jump the tracks, loyalty doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
“And that means it’s advisable to stay below the radar, Senator. We have secure computers and telephones installed in the house. Use them.”
Randolph smiled. “I suppose you’re right. Eric wouldn’t lose any sleep if I was killed.”
“Then let’s not make it easy for him.”
“As much as I want to rattle his cage, I understand what you’re saying. I’ll stay in the background, Matt, you have my word on that.”
They both heard the sharp rap on the door. Bolan recognized the short pattern and put out a hand as Randolph’s head turned abruptly. The Stony Man blacksuit who had been waiting in the background opened the door.
“Breathe easy. It’s a friend.”
Carl Lyons stepped inside. He made his way to where the pot of coffee sat and helped himself to a mug. “How far have we got?” he asked.
“I’ve been sent off to the bleachers,” Randolph said, failing to hide his smile.
“With the information the senator has, I’ll feel happier if he’s here where we can keep an eye on him,” Bolan said.
“Makes sense to me,” Lyons agreed.
“Oh, I give in,” Randolph said.
“Let me make a call, Senator,” Bolan said. “Get you settled before we move on.”
Randolph nodded.
Bolan stood and crossed to the telephone, having a quiet word with Lyons, who then joined Randolph. After Bolan had made his call and arrangements through Brognola he rejoined Lyons who was in conversation with Randolph.
“Isn’t my disappearance from the scene going to be noticed?” the senator asked. “Don’t you think it might cause concern?”
“It’s something we’ll have to chance,” Bolan said. “And it might give Stahl something to worry over.”
Randolph smiled. “Perhaps the word could be circulated I’ve come down with an illness. An age-related sickness.”
Lyons smiled. “Senator, I only hope I look as well as you when I reach that age.”
“Ha, young man, I stopped concerning myself about aging when I reached seventy. I mean, what’s the point?”
“How long ago was seventy?”
“I’ll let you figure that out, son.”
Lyons took a swallow from his mug. “Senator, I was sorry to hear about your investigator.”
“I had known Rick for a long time. He was a good man.”
Lyons glanced away for a second. The death of any cop, even an ex-cop, always settled hard on him. He had been one himself and he felt the pain for them.
“It won’t be forgotten,” Bolan said quietly.
“Damn right,” Lyons said.
“Doug used to be in the service,” Bolan explained. “I guess it always stays with you.”
“I understand.” Randolph pushed to his feet and crossed to where Lyons stood, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for your concern.”
Randolph turned to Bolan. “Like you told me. These people are not playing games. This is all real.”
“Very real.”
“Then you do what you have to and take them down, son. Whatever it takes. This country has more than enough to handle without a damn war at home.”
“Senator, how do you see Stahl’s play?”
“He will engage his political influence to raise every block he can to prevent the President from bringing in military support to defend against these acts and the threat to his presidency.”
“Can he do that?”
“A man like Stahl. Oh, yes, he’ll do his damnedest. Matt, have you heard of the Posse Comitatus?”
“Some act brought in way back that won’t allow the acting President to use the U.S. military on American soil?”
“Broadly speaking, yes. Currently a great deal of its original power has been eroded because of prevailing necessity. There are ways around it, but to work that there has to be a congressional acceptance of the particular circumstances of the request.”
“So is the President bound by this?”
Randolph nodded. “He has no choice in the matter. It’s on the books. The Posse Comitatus Act specifically prevents him from using any branch of the Armed Forces before it has been brought before Congress.”
“Even in an emergency?”
“Here we have the problem. What constitutes an emergency? The definition could be bandied about in discussion. Anyone against the President could argue the invalidity of the request. Get a group of dissenters and the legalities and finer points of law could tie up a decision for hours in the House. Maybe days.”
“Which would be what the conspirators want? To prevent anyone coming to aid the President in the face of a hostile takeover? All he would have would be the Secret Service. And they’re not an army.”
“Exactly. Stahl has his cohorts box the President into a corner with no one able to come to his defense while they confuse Congress. That son of a bitch General Carson uses his influence to lock out any communication with the military. His supporters back those moves. And we have a stalemate. It leaves the way open for them to force the President to stand down because he has nothing he can fight back with. The Brethren continues its street attacks, proving again and again how ineffective the administration is. Americans being killed in their own cities is a sure way to alter public opinion. My theory would have Carson and his military then accuse the Brethren of traitorous acts against the American people. He could direct his strike forces to wipe out the militia and take credit for restoring control.”
“A few passes by Air Force jets over the Brethren compounds dropping a few bombs and it would be over.”
“That’s how I see it, Matt—the Brethren being used to set the scene by their wanton acts against the country, falling into the trap Stahl and Carson set for them.”
“And Stahl comes out as the hero of the hour?”
“He’ll use his influence. His radio and TV stations to broadcast his offer to step in and take over. The President will be presented with an ultimatum. An act of resignation. His acceptance to stand down and for Stahl to be sworn in under emergency powers.”
Bolan slammed his fist on the desk. His frustration had got the better of him for a moment. “This is crazy, Vernon. You’re telling me the leader of the nation can’t do a damn thing to prevent this? That he’s going to be alone while his enemies gather their forces and do what they damn well want?”
“It’s the difference between democracy and anarchy. And Stahl and the Brethren are using America’s own statutes to aid them in their plan. Stahl may be a stone-cold bastard, but he’s smart, too.”
“With all respect, Vernon, I don’t really give a damn how smart he is. In my book he’s taken that one step too far. It’s gone beyond forgiveness. There’s only one thing I want and that is to get close enough to change his mind.”
“Change his mind? My boy, I see you’re using the word in an extremely loose form.”
Randolph’s assumption was correct.
Change translated into stop.
To shut down.
To end.
In Bolan’s own parlance it had become the time to employ his much-used brand of closure.
It was time for the Executioner to act.
MORE THAN AN HOUR later Bolan tossed the final folder Randolph had handed him onto the coffee table. He glanced across the room in time to see Lyons coming out of the kitchen area with a fresh pot of coffee. Randolph had taken the opportunity to retire to one of the bedrooms and take a rest.
“Mind reader, too, Carl?”
Lyons nodded. “Anyone who can read for that long in one session deserves a fresh refill.” He filled Bolan’s mug, his own, then sat. “So what do we know about that we didn’t before?”
“More than I wanted to. The senator has collected information that adds up to scary reading.”
“What’s our next move?”
“Right now we only have guesswork on Stahl’s operation. Randolph’s theory is sound, and I trust his judgment. But we don’t have enough real proof of what he intends. We do have solid evidence on the Brethren’s way of stirring the pot.”
“Such as?”
“Big support in rural areas where communities have been pushed to the edge through government programs. Farmers losing out to conglomerates. Livestock producers in the same trap. Unemployment. Trading on bad times and political uncertainty. The Brethren makes sure that every time a community looks to be going under they get their people in and do everything they can to support them with cash and goods. At the same time they work on their vulnerability, get the people on the side of the Brethren. They step in at the worst time of these people’s lives and give them hope, promises that the Brethren will make things right.”
“So we concentrate on them?”
“Regardless of how Stahl sees the Brethren, they’re still a threat in their own right. Carl, we’ve hit them hard already.”
“So we keep doing that?”
“Yes. Weaken them. Cut them down piece by piece. Go for every target we can. Make them realize what they’re doing is going to cost them. We’ve cut off their cash source now that M’Tusi isn’t going to be supplying more diamonds. We need to keep hitting anything with the Brethren’s mark on it.”
“That could make Stahl nervous. Push him to make his move before he’s ready.”
Bolan smiled. “Now why didn’t I think of that part of the scheme?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Stony Man Farm, Virginia
Bolan found Lyons in the War Room, alone, paperwork spread out in front of him, a mug of coffee in his hand. He sat across from Lyons and waited until the man was ready to talk.
“The more I read this stuff, Mack, the more angry I get. And before you say anything, I understand I should be able to step back and see it as a professional. Hard not to, man. I keep looking at those photographs of the kids who died in those explosions. Bad enough they had to die, but when the bastards who did it are Americans themselves…”
He trailed off, raising his head to make eye contact with Bolan, and saw his own emotions mirrored in his friend’s eyes. Lyons ran a hand through his hair, frustration, a feeling of having let the dead down, a rage burning inside that was not going to die down until complete closure of the mission had been achieved.
“The Brethren will claim what they did was for the betterment of the country, that the failure of the administration, the President, whatever excuse they tag on, pushed them to these extremes. They have grievances with the way America is governed? I have no problem with that, but the way they’re conducting their argument is beyond any civilized excuse. We could beat our heads against the wall and say why weren’t they listened to, or disbanded, before it came to this? The Constitution allows them the right to disagree. To put their point of view. To call the government to account. Same thing there. It is their right. Carl, our wake-up call only came after they did what they did. But they’ve gone beyond any constitutional right. Declaring war on America, just to showcase their agenda has put them in our firing line. We do what we have to in order to set the record straight.” Bolan picked up a couple of the photographs. The images, stark and all too real, had the same effect as they had on Lyons. “Don’t forget these, Carl. Let them remind you, but don’t let them take over. Just let them know we won’t forget them.”
Lyons leaned back. “Okay, sensei, where do we go from here?”
“Aaron has a lock on Clair Valens’s cell phone. We’ve pretty well accepted now that she’s gone missing and it has a connection to Stahl and the Brethren. I’d like you to follow up on that. Valens is smart. She’s got guts. She’s also a little headstrong.”
“And where are you going to be?”
“Colorado. They say mountain air is good for your health.”
Lyons knew the Brethren’s main compound was somewhere in the rugged mountainous region of the state. If Bolan was heading in that direction, he was about to disprove the theory about the air being healthy—for anyone who claimed to belong to the Brethren.
The Executioner’s campaign was homing in on their main base.
THE EXECUTIONER wore his familiar blacksuit and tough-soled combat boots that would withstand the rugged terrain. His Beretta 93-R and the Desert Eagle rested in their usual places, and a fighting knife was sheathed on his belt. His combat harness held additional magazines for both handguns, and for his main offensive piece of ordnance—an M-16 fitted with an underslung M-203 grenade launcher. He had a number of M-406 HE rounds for that. Bolan didn’t consider any other selection of grenades for the weapon. This was going to be a seek-and-destroy penetration. His mission brief was clear in his mind: locate the compound and raze it to the ground, cripple Seeger’s main base and take down any of the militia who stood in his way. The Brethren had laid down the ground rules for the confrontation already. Bolan was about to return the favor.
In his backpack Bolan had an ample supply of Kissinger’s C-4 packages, which he would use to bring down as much Brethren hardware as possible. There were a number of fragmentation grenades in there, as well. In a pocket of his blacksuit he had a power cell unit to set off the detonators he would fix to the C-4 once he had planted the explosives.
Following the dual strikes against the Brethren bases in New Mexico and Chicago, Bolan assumed the Colorado compound would be on high alert. He qualified that with the knowledge he was going up against a militia group, not militarily trained professional soldiers. He accepted the presence of Deacon Ribak and figured the man would have done some work with Seeger’s mainly civilian members. He doubted the entire force would have combat experience and would lack the discipline of such men. Even so, Bolan did not dismiss the Brethren gunners. It was possible to get shot by an enthusiastic amateur as well as by a veteran, and Bolan had never underestimated any enemy force. It was a reckless attitude and the kind of thinking that could result in unexpected injury, or at worst death. There was also the likelihood that Seeger had drawn at least some ex-military into his ranks.
Lyons had left well before Bolan. He had a different type of mission, one that would require a different approach, so he’d moved out while Bolan was still preparing and checking out his equipment.
Kurtzman had supplied coordinates that he downloaded into the compact GPS unit Bolan would take along. From his computer, aided by satellite scanning, Kurtzman had an extremely detailed course plotted for Bolan.
The Executioner was forced to rely on Air Force cooperation for the second time. He was going to make another parachute drop into the area and make his final advance on foot. He had been hoping that Jack Grimaldi and the SOG’s unique combat chopper, Dragon Slayer, might have been available. The helicopter, with its stealth approach facility and awesome firepower, would have made a great difference, but Grimaldi and his bird were away on an overseas mission.
With his equipment in place and his GPS formatted, Bolan received word that his Stony Man chopper was ready to ferry him to the U.S. air base where his flight was ready to go. He made his w
ay through the farmhouse and out into the cool night air. This current mission seemed to have become a relay of coming and going, with little breathing space in between. On other forays Bolan often commenced and carried out missions without ever setting foot on the Farm. This time around, the complexities of the jigsaw had forced Bolan and Lyons to use the SOG’s facilities to the max. The ability of Kurtzman and his team to extract solid information from different sources could not be denied, nor the patient skills of Barbara Price. Hal Brognola, running interference and arranging backup and security for innocents caught up in the conflict, all of them had a hand in strategic and logistical support.
He strode to the helicopter pad and climbed on board. As the hatch closed behind him, Bolan dropped onto one of the seats, his pack and rifle at his feet. He felt the aircraft surge with power, swinging briefly as it left the ground. The pilot corrected easily, turning the aircraft and setting his course for the air base. Bolan leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes to snatch a little rest. He had the combat veteran’s ability to catnap at any spare moment, using the time he had. The drone of the chopper faded as he relaxed.
Colorado
IT WAS JUST STARTING to get light.
Warmth started to chase away the chill as Bolan gathered his black chute and bundled it together. He worked it into a gap between two rocks, pushing the final folds in with his foot. Crouching, he took out his GPS unit and checked his position. His goal lay to the west, up the unforgiving rocky slopes of the mountain. He returned the GPS to his blacksuit pocket, zipping the flap. He adjusted the straps of his backpack, freed the M-16 from his shoulder and moved out.
At the starting point of his trek to the compound the way was reasonably easy. It would become harder as he started to climb. He could see why Liam Seeger had established his base in this part of the country. The mountainous terrain was off the regular track. There were few, if any, established trails. The barren, craggy slopes encouraged little to grow hereabouts save for hardy scrub and stunted trees. It was remote and removed from any communities. People only came out here for a definite reason. In the far distance the mountains rose to meet the sky in serried ranks. Streams and rivers tumbled over ancient stones. This was vast country, primitive and with its own particular grandeur. Here, too, within this unspoiled place, the Brethren had begun to spread its poison, sending out its soldiers to spread their evil in the towns and cities of America.
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