The sailor nodded. “Still, this doesn’t seem right.”
Jaye’s eyes narrowed and he scanned the slender scientist again with his night-vision binoculars. Unfortunately, the light-enhancement optics washed out things like finer features. Recognition was severely hampered in the green haze of the binoculars.
“Should we turn back?” the sailor asked. “This feels like a trap.”
“We identify that scrawny bastard on the sand first,” Jaye said. “And even if it is Stevens, we put a couple magazines into him to make sure he doesn’t get up again. Then we blow out to our island. Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be home free.”
That’s when a familiar silhouette stepped out of the darkness on the shore.
Jaye froze as he recognized the figure of the man he’d battled in North Korea. He swung up his SIG 550, but there was the flash of a muzzle on the beach. The sailors in the Zodiac raft jerked violently under the concentrated assault.
Jaye howled in rage, holding down the trigger on his SIG, but there was one final brilliant flash of light.
“THEY’RE EXPECTING a bony-assed dork on the shore,” Stan Reader had explained, shaving his hair down to the nub like Stevens had worn his. “You’ll need the bait.”
Mack Bolan had been doubtful, but with red sunglasses, and his hair dyed red, Reader could pass for Dr. Kent Stevens at a distance, in the dark. The ruse wouldn’t last for long, but Bolan was too tired and too achy to argue.
“The Navy’s been tailing Stevens’s sub for the past day,” Bolan had explained. “You’re the only one still walking around from the Salt Lake team.”
“Anything to drop the hammer on the last of these conspirators,” Reader answered. He stuffed both a Walther P-99 and the .357 Skorpion into the back of his baggy shorts, covering both with his loose Hawaiian shirt. “How do I look?”
“Like a crazy man ready to go on vacation in a tropical paradise,” Bolan returned.
“So, just like Stevens,” Reader said with a wink before putting on the sunglasses.
Grimaldi had dropped them off in Dragon Slayer, brought to Southern California in the belly of a transport jet. The assault helicopter was ready with a full payload of tank- and submarine-busting missiles. Bolan said to wait until they were certain of the target, and that meant that Grimaldi would have to hover behind the tree line before they dealt with the pickup team. The ace Stony Man pilot hated being left out of the action on the beach, but the submarine couldn’t be allowed to escape.
The potential for the underwater craft’s mischief in the wrong hands, smuggling or engaging in warfare against coastal cities was too great.
Bolan tested the weight of the FN M-240 machine gun. The cannon was a modern update of the classic BAR of World Wars I and II, converted to belt feed instead of magazines, and rechambered from .30-06 to 7.62 mm NATO. The old warrior had returned to service with the United States military. Bolan’s arm had recovered from the flesh wounds inflicted in the battle with Stevens and with the sling and a pouch for the 200-round belt in place, he was ready to lay down a sheet of withering fire on the enemy.
The Zodiac raft buzzed closer to the shore, and through his own night-vision binoculars, Bolan could make out the shapes of sailors armed with assault rifles.
This wasn’t a military training exercise, especially with their oddball mix of weaponry.
This was Stevens’s pickup team.
Bolan stepped into the open and unleashed the full fury of the M-240. At 800 rounds per minute, the belt of machine-gun ammunition was gobbled by the FN, spitting out heavy slugs that punctured the inflatable raft and its occupants. The water churned as Captain Jaye gave one last howl of defiance, burning off the magazine from his SIG rifle before the combined fury of Bolan’s machine gun and Reader’s pistols chopped him into a lifeless husk. The raft and the corpses within were sucked beneath the waves.
Dragon Slayer, bristling with half a dozen Hellfire missiles, burst from the tree line and raced toward the submarine. Grimaldi had a lock on the boat and cut loose with all six missiles. While normally the job of breaking apart a submarine was left to the 100-pound warhead of an ASROC torpedo, the combined might of 160 pounds of high explosives erupted along the sub’s black hull. Metal tore and buckled as the shaped charges easily punctured the craft, creating six huge holes in its frame.
Metal groaned as Grimaldi swung around again and cut loose with the GECAL machine gun to shred anything remaining. Diesel engines blew flame and hot smoke through the wounds in the sub, and it broke in two, sinking to the bottom of the ocean.
The Executioner let the M-240 drop to the sand and sank to the ground. Reader plopped down beside him as Grimaldi swung the helicopter to land on a stretch of beach wide enough for the craft.
“That’s that?” Reader asked.
Bolan nodded. “The end of this conspiracy. There’s always another one out there. I could use a good man on the team.”
“And I can always use a guy like you for my company,” Reader returned.
“I work for myself,” Bolan said.
“So do I,” Reader answered. “But if you ever need my help…”
“Thanks,” Bolan told him.
Reader laid back on the sand and tucked his arms under his head. “Looks like a beautiful night.”
For all the mayhem of the past week, Bolan agreed.
He stared into space, drinking in the peace and quiet, relishing them.
One more victory against Animal Man had been won, but his War Everlasting was still far from over.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-7464-1
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Douglas P. Wojtowicz for his contribution to this work.
CONTAGION OPTION
Copyright © 2007 by Worldwide Library.
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