In the open, however, they’d have all the space to engage him that they needed. And with four times his speed, they’d have no trouble reducing him and the chopper to an oily smear on the countryside.
Grimaldi throttled down as he reached the end of the gap, and the MiGs overshot him, bursting into open sky. He flipped down his goggles, tied in to the optically guided weapons systems of the magnificent aircraft. The computerized systems locked on, and Grimaldi fired off two Redeye missiles. The MiGs spotted the pursuing warheads and hit their afterburners, jetting farther off into the sky, giving Grimaldi some more breathing room.
He shot like an arrow toward the bioweapons production plant, spotting a skirmish on the grounds as North Korean soldiers opened fire on a lone warrior.
Pinned at the base of a burning slaughterhouse, the Executioner held off the enemy army with his usual skill. Grimaldi checked his six and reengaged the infrared baffles, sweeping over the roof of the engulfed building. He switched control to the GECAL .50-caliber machine gun mounted in Dragon Slayer’s belly. Targeting a clot of heavily armed North Koreans, he pressed the firing stud and ripped them to shreds. Body parts flew in a reddish-tinted frothing cloud of dirt and gristle from the mighty impacts of .50-caliber bullets at 6000 rounds per minute.
That broke the will of the defenders and they raced away, abandoning their assault on the Executioner.
Grimaldi spotted the MiGs racing in at top speed, missiles launching. No active radar pinged on the chopper’s alerts, and he pivoted the aircraft.
Heat-seeking missiles ignored the relatively cool engine exhaust of the high-tech stealth helicopter, slamming into the slaughterhouse boiling with napalm. They exploded inside, bringing down sections of the roof.
Grimaldi milked the trigger on the GECAL and swept one jet fighter with a 6000 rpm storm of armor-piercing slugs. Its wings were torn off by the sizzling salvo, its main fuselage plummeting nose-first into the ground only a few hundred feet short of the burning building. He turned and fired the GECAL again, but he ended up only clipping the tail of the second aircraft as it peeled away. Smoke trailed from the fighter as it wended a path of retreat.
Grimaldi swung Dragon Slayer around and lowered the landing gear. The panel doors opened.
Mack Bolan broke across the cleared battlefield and leaped, hooking the passenger compartment door with his fingers. He dragged himself into the mighty airship.
“You okay, Sarge?” Grimaldi asked.
Bolan was silent as he hauled himself into the passenger couch after slapping the door control. Hydraulics hissed as the shell of Dragon Slayer closed back to a streamlined whole.
Grimaldi frowned and throttled up, steering for Wonsan.
“Where next?” Grimaldi asked.
Bolan looked at the burning meat-packing plant, face a mask of grim anger.
“Sarge?” Grimaldi prodded.
“We’re heading for Japan,” Bolan told him. “Everything points back to the U.S.”
Grimaldi nodded. Dragon Slayer would be parked at a secure location until it could be returned to Stony Man Farm. In the meantime, he would pilot an F-14 or an F-18 trainer at supersonic speeds from Japan to Los Angeles, or wherever else on the West Coast that the Executioner directed him.
Maybe sometime between here and there, Grimaldi might even learn why his friend was so emotionally shaken.
Then, knowing what it would take to rattle Mack Bolan, Grimaldi figured that he could wait to deal with that nightmare.
Stony Man Farm, Virginia
“JACK AND STRIKER just cleared Tongjosun Bay,” Aaron Kurtzman announced. “Someone jammed communications on the Wonsan area, but things are clearing up.”
Hal Brognola wiped his brow. “Any incident?”
“Some Chinese spec-ops team hit a meat processing plant just outside of town,” Akira Tokaido announced. “They also experienced an earthquake in the harbor area. Hang on…”
Brognola frowned and glanced at Barbara Price.
“One MiG was shot down,” Kurtzman said. “The remnants of the military contingent at the meat processing plant have linked it to the Chinese spec-ops team.”
“China?” Price asked.
“Mack,” Brognola said. “Apparently his disguise held enough. And he had someone to confirm his story.”
Price nodded, remembering the prosthetics and contact lenses the Executioner had arranged for. “Thing is, Dragon Slayer’s heading for Japan.”
“I’m screwing their signals,” Kurtzman told them. “Dragon Slayer is what we see. They’re seeing aircraft splitting up and heading toward Mainland China, Taiwan and South Korea, as well.”
“You’re just going to make their ‘beloved leader’ paranoid of everyone in their neighborhood, aren’t you?” Brognola cracked.
Kurtzman laughed. “He already is. I’m just giving him an option to rail against whoever he wants.”
Brognola shook his head. “Get us in contact with—”
“Striker to Base.” A familiar voice cut in over the speakers. It was Mack Bolan, and he sounded very tired.
“Striker?” Price asked. “You okay?”
“I’ll live,” Bolan answered. “I have a lead on the mastermind behind this affair.”
“It didn’t come from North Korea?” Brognola asked.
“They were only pawns. Expendable pawns,” Bolan replied. “They’ve been smuggling cattle carcasses to the U.S. for at least the past ten years.”
“Aaron told us you suspected that in association with the cattle mutilations. They’ve been using the bodies as cushioning for air-dropping contraband,” Price mentioned.
“That’s the cover for that.”
Brognola scratched his head in confusion. “The cattle mutilations are cover for a smuggling operation that itself is another cover?”
“They’re smuggling infected meat,” Bolan explained.
“Wouldn’t the meat be useless?” Price asked. “Unless they cured it ahead of time…”
“They’re smuggling in cattle infected with prions,” Bolan said. “Mutant proteins. They survive cooking. Anything less than total incineration is useless.”
“Prions…” Price began. “You mean, Mad Cow?”
“Mad Cow. Scrapie. CJD,” Bolan stated. “The same proteins induce the same diseases across several species.”
Price and Brognola looked at each other. “Surely the CDC can handle something like that,” Price offered.
“We’re talking approximately 100 tons of carcasses,” Bolan said. He took a deep breath. “They’ve been breeding and testing this for the past ten years. I saw firsthand what the results were.”
There was an unspoken note of dread in the air, and Brognola shuddered. “So, it is effective against humans.”
“Especially since they’ve been adding human flesh to the same mix. The cattle in the slaughterhouse, easily five hundred head, were being fed from proteins of infected humans and cattle, making it far more likely that the prions will spread to people. The cattle corpses sent to the U.S. are loaded with it. Grind them down into protein meal, and you can spread it even finer,” Bolan said.
“A plague,” Price muttered. “Creutzfeldt-Jakob has no cure, and it can kill within a year.”
Brognola cleared his throat. “I’ll get on the line to Atlanta and give them a heads up.”
“Hal, they’re going to have their hands full otherwise,” Bolan interjected.
“What do you mean?” Brognola asked.
“Dugway Proving Grounds. You have some contractors on the ground there already investigating?” Bolan asked.
“Yeah. At your urging, mind you,” Brognola stated. He took a deep breath. “Good Lord…”
“If an entire city is hit with a cloud of anthrax,” Bolan said, “you’re going to have the CDC and the U.S. Military biological warfare division with their hands full.”
“Tying up resources which could otherwise be used to control an outbreak of Mad Cow or CJD,” Brognola cursed. �
�I’ll get in touch with my people on the ground.”
“Do that,” Bolan told him. “I need transportation to the U.S.”
“Already putting through the paperwork for you to get on an F-14 to San Francisco,” Price announced. “That fast enough?”
Bolan was quiet for a moment. “It will have to be.”
“Jesus,” Price muttered. “It’s that bad?”
“Remember the deal at O’Hare Airport a while back?” Bolan asked.
“An attempt to cause a nationwide Botox outbreak. But you stopped them cold,” Brognola said.
“Not all of them. I know Able Team and Phoenix Force took down two of their compatriots, but there’s still Stevens out there,” Bolan told them. “Stevens was the guy who planned the Botulinum spread.”
“Mojo,” Price muttered. “He’s been linked to biochemical warfare, on our side and theirs.”
“And he’s got a whole base full of lethal little bugs to unleash on Utah,” Bolan warned. “He’s probably the one who arranged the bank robbery. Maybe he had a money trail leading to that bank.”
“Kirby Graham said that his pal, Reader, figured it out,” Price told him. “Between a huge electromagnet to wipe out tape drives to the physical destruction of the bank, any records leftover—”
“That haven’t been hacked,” Bolan interjected.
Price looked to Kurtzman.
“Someone hit their offsite records. Whoever broke in wasn’t as good as some we’ve faced, but it doesn’t matter. Logic bombs and worms have turned their entire network into a mass of useless, corrupted data,” Kurtzman explained.
“They’re working for the end run,” Bolan stated. “Is Salt Lake City on alert?”
“The FBI, Marshals and the S.L.P.D. are busy trying to control a war between Korean gangs,” Price told him. “A lot of gang-bangers have been killed, and there was an attack on a police station that killed an officer.”
Bolan grunted. “It’s the end run. With the gang war as cover, everyone in the area will be too busy watching out for violent gangs to worry about Dugway, leaving only the facility’s security.”
“We figured it out,” Price said. “But that doesn’t mean we can stop anything.”
“I’m on my way,” Bolan retorted. “Just tell Graham to keep his head down.”
“We’ll do that,” Brognola stated. “I’ll try to get the CDC alerted to the infected feed.”
“One biological disaster at a time,” Bolan replied. “Which means that we stop the Dugway intrusion as soon as possible. Are Carl’s and David’s teams available?”
“No, they’re busy,” Price responded. “Then I’ll make do with Graham and Reader,” Bolan said.
He killed the connection.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Park City, Utah
Kirby Graham listened to Hal Brognola’s assessment of the situation. He asked a few questions, but other than the report, there was little else to go on.
“Striker is on his way,” Brognola explained. “You’ll be his contact and liaison. He’ll be traveling light.”
“I’ve got a friend who can set him up,” Graham replied.
“Yes. Mr. Reader’s Class III license might come in handy,” Brognola said. “I assume his collection is a little more impressive than the ATF records we have indicated.”
Graham chuckled. “He’s strapped. If Striker needs a couple peashooters, we can accommodate him.”
“I’m sure he’s listening in,” Brognola said. “The line does show multiple listeners.”
“The jig is up, Stretch,” Graham called.
“I don’t have to tell you what we know about you, Professor Reader,” Brognola returned.
“No, you don’t,” the scientist answered. “Just so we understand each other, I am intimately acquainted with your dossier, too.”
Brognola chuckled. “I’m not surprised. Can we count on your assistance with our operative?”
“Yes,” Reader replied. “I’m just curious.”
Graham held his breath. Reader’s curiosity was notorious for getting him into trouble. The inquisitive genius might just alienate Stony Man Farm if he pressed too hard.
“I can’t give the identity of our agent,” Brognola stated.
“Just one operative, however?” Reader asked.
“He’s good,” Brognola answered.
“He’d have to be very good,” Reader responded.
“Agent Matt Cooper,” Brognola stated. “We’ll send you his official dossier.”
Reader glanced to Graham. “I’m certain it’s a finely crafted piece of fiction, Mr. Brognola—”
“With enough truth to allay your fears, Professor,” Brognola cut him off. “Kirby, you can let Agent Marrick know about our operation, as well.”
“Thanks.” Rachel Marrick spoke up. “I may enjoy playing snow bunny at the ski resort, but I hate being out in the cold.”
“Don’t worry, Agent,” Brognola replied with a soft laugh. “Things will warm up soon enough.”
“Oh, yeah, I think,” Marrick stated, doubt hanging off her words.
“No, definitely not a yeah,” Brognola responded. “This is a major emergency.”
“I figured that one out when the bank collapsed downtown,” Marrick replied. “But thanks for cluing me in. So why can’t we arrange for more help?”
“Take your pick,” Brognola replied. “It could cause a national emergency. The last time the guy behind this kind of an operation went to work, he was trying to incite the government into an oppressive crackdown to suspend democratic process. The man you’re looking for has connections, and we don’t want to spook him. And he has a submarine crawling around the Pacific that had at least enough firepower to destroy a covert underground submarine facility in North Korea.”
“The earthquake reported in Wonsan?” Reader interjected.
“Precisely,” Brognola answered.
“How’d you find that out?” Reader asked.
“We had someone who was nearly at ground zero,” Brognola stated.
“And he just got out of the way of a thermobaric explosive?” Reader asked.
“Good guess on what was used,” Brognola commented.
“A nuclear explosion would have been too messy and gotten North Korea to throw around its own warheads in retaliation. A fuel-air explosive has the power, but without the radiation, to duplicate an earthquake,” Reader explained.
“That explains the firepower they had on hand to take out the bank,” Graham muttered.
“And you’re only sending one man?” Marrick repeated.
“With the four of you, it’ll be more than enough,” Brognola promised. “Graham, you can vouch for Striker from when you trained with him, right?”
“Yeah,” Graham answered. “And Striker is sharper than anyone in this room.”
He caught Reader’s doubtful gaze.
“He ain’t a rocket scientist, but still,” Graham stated.
“If you say so, I trust you, Kirby,” Reader replied. “And we’ll see if I can trust this Striker.”
“You can,” Brognola explained. “Even if you don’t trust me, you’ll trust him.”
Graham nodded in agreement. “Where can we pick him up?”
“Hill AFB,” Brognola advised. “He should get there in about six hours.”
Elsewhere
STEVENS STEEPLED his fingers, looking at the satellite footage of Dragon Slayer cutting out of the base in North Korea. He frowned as he realized that everything had been destroyed at the meat processing plant, but not before a bright and capable enemy operative could gather enough clues to figure out his apocalyptic plan.
“What shall we do?” Pave, his assistant and bodyguard, spoke up, watching the display on the plasma monitor. The confusion seemed out of place coming from such a huge and powerful man. At six foot eight, his thinning blond hair slicked back and pulled taut into a ponytail, he wasn’t tightly defined with rippling muscles, but built-in slabs of muscle cove
red with hard fat. Despite the fact that his biceps weren’t bare and raw, sinews and veins rippling across them, his arms were massive, nearly two feet around. A slight paunch formed under his huge, firm pectorals. Stevens didn’t want a body-builder for a guardian. Pave was practically built, as if he’d stepped off a Viking longboat. He was deceptively quick for a man so big.
Pave was the veteran of hundreds of street battles, and wanted for multiple murders. Stevens had bestowed his name on the giant as a double joke. Pave was a synonym for stone, and when he was finished with an opponent, the remains looked as if they had been made a part of the pavement.
“We continue with our plan,” Stevens replied. “He will attempt to intercept us, and we will have to carry them out as soon as possible.”
“But, the weather patterns…”
Stevens nodded. “I know. They will not be right for the next forty-eight hours. But once the wind shifts, Salt Lake City will be doomed. We will move our forces in immediately. Plan Delta.”
Pave nodded. “The stealth option.”
Stevens nodded. “Our inside people will keep up appearances until the breach.”
“And it could look like an accident afterward,” Pave replied.
Stevens grinned, and Pave shuddered at the gaunt, red-spectacled man whose smile resembled the lipless leer of a desiccated corpse. “That’s what we want them to believe.”
Pave nodded, but it was more a spasm than an acknowledgment of his agreement. Not that Stevens minded. He enjoyed the undercurrent of terror in all of his subordinates. He returned his gaze to the footage, replaying it.
Only one man got out of the plant. The helicopter came for only one survivor of the strike team, which meant that it had to be the one who thwarted his Botulinum outbreak at O’Hare Airport years ago. He’d only been peripherally involved, working with other masterminds, but still, the setback was annoying.
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