The door swung open, slamming against Freeman as he and Tilman stumbled back.
Schwarz ducked low as he went through, his Beretta tracking ahead as he took in the scene.
The man he assumed to be Conklin struggled for breath, reaching for his pistol.
Tilman was in a half clinch with Freeman, pushing at the man’s right arm to divert the pistol his adversary was trying to bring on line.
The woman, Hendrick, turned from a bag lying on one of the seats, the dull gleam of a pistol in her hands. She kept up the movement, swung the pistol in Tilman’s direction and pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot was loud in the confines of the compartment. The slug went wide, ripping through the wall.
Tilman smashed his elbow back into Freeman’s face as the man slid sideways around the CIA man’s body. Freeman grunted, blood spurting from his crushed nose, and Tilman snatched the pistol from his fingers, twisted and jammed the muzzle into his opponent’s body. He triggered three fast shots. As he began to turn, Hendrick fired again. This time she hit Tilman in the left shoulder.
Schwarz saw Conklin raise his pistol, the muzzle zeroing in on Tilman.
The CIA agent came face-to-face with Hendrick and began to pull the trigger of Freeman’s pistol, the heavy weapon jacking out rapid shots. Two hit the woman, slamming her back against the compartment’s window, the rest of the volley plowing into wall and glass. The window blew out, and rain swept into the compartment. The woman went down with a shocked expression on her face.
Conklin hit Tilman with point-blank shots that cored into his chest.
From his kneeling position on the floor, Schwarz angled his Beretta up and put half a clip into Conklin, pinning him to the compartment wall for long seconds before he dropped.
The rattle of the train came in through the broken window. As Schwarz pushed to his feet, his Beretta tracking the compartment, he felt the cold slap of the rain blowing inside. He could hear distant shouts as passengers reacted to the shooting. He took a slow look at the bodies on the compartment floor. There seemed to be a great deal of blood.
“Jesus…”
Schwarz glanced at the sound of the voice.
The uniformed conductor was standing at the compartment door, his face pale, eyes wide with shock.
Reaching inside his jacket, Schwarz pulled out his Justice Department badge and showed it to the man. He had introduced himself previously, but the man seemed paralyzed and needed to be prodded into action.
“Special Agent Rinelli,” he said harshly. “Snap out of it. You’d better call ahead to the next stop. We may need medical aid. At least the medical examiner.”
“Yes, sir, Agent Rinelli. What happened—”
“Just call ahead. Keep everyone away and close the door.”
The conductor took one look at the pistol in Schwarz’s hand and fell silent. He backed out, pulling the door shut.
Schwarz moved around the compartment checking the bodies. The only one showing signs of life was Pete Tilman. He had been hit hard. He stared up at Schwarz.
“I’m not even going to ask who the fuck you are,” he said. He had to talk slowly because of his damaged jaw.
“I’m not with them,” Schwarz told him.
Tilman shook his head. “They all screwed me.” He raised a hand and pointed to a slim attaché case lying on the seat. “You want the prize? Take that. Bring the mothers down.”
That was all he said before he died.
Schwarz took out his cell phone and called Stony Man.
“Hey, Barb, is the boss home?”
She put Brognola on the line.
“Yeah?”
“Did somebody once say rail travel was the safest and most peaceful way to travel?”
“I think I’ve heard something like that, why?”
“Don’t you believe a word of it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Just do it, Rik.”
Brandt recognized the hard shine in Chomski’s eyes and knew this was no time to argue.
“Okay. I’m gone.”
“Hawkins will take the main road. You go the back way into town. You can be there well ahead of him.”
“What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“Guys in blue, riding horses and calling themselves the fucking U.S. cavalry. Jesus, Rik, think.”
“If he does link up with anyone?”
“Just observe. Make notes but don’t spoil his surprise.”
Brandt walked away, leaving the bright lights of the house, and climbed into one of the parked SUVs. He moved off, and Chomski watched the taillights disappear into the gloom.
“From that touching little scene I take it you don’t entirely trust our Mr. Hawkins?”
Chomski didn’t need to look around to know it was Riotta who had spoken.
“I would expect someone like you to understand the concept of insurance, Joseph.”
Riotta stood beside him, dragging on a long sweet-smelling cigar.
“I understand completely.”
“I could be wrong. If I am, no harm done. But I’d rather have it pinned to the wall than get caught napping. This Hawkins came on the scene pretty close to when things started to get frayed around the edges. Now, that might have slipped by Oliver, but I’m not such a trusting soul. Okay, he hasn’t done anything I can put my finger on, and the guy did good work on that turnaround we pulled on Calvera. But he gets to me. He’s too sharp to be the loser he makes out. There’s more there than just a smart mouth. He’s got it up top, and that worries me.”
“Fine. The way things have been happening, you might be right. Do what you have to but keep it between us for now. Oliver has enough to deal with.”
“Where is he?”
“Closeted very privately with our Chinese compatriot.”
“Honest opinion, Joseph. What’s going on?”
“I believe Han is finished back home. If he goes back he’ll end up in prison, or he’ll find himself very dead one morning. I have an idea he’s about to make a deal with Oliver.”
“What kind of a deal?”
“Consider his background, Ralph. Mr. Han has been responsible for working deals on behalf of the Chinese government. Seeking suppliers and arranging the purchase of items. In the course of that dealing he will have built up a long list of contacts. He’ll be in the know concerning people who want to buy and sell. And what is the nature of our business?”
Chomski smiled. “Son of a bitch,” he said softly. “Goodbye Chairman Mao, hello Uncle Sam.”
HAN PLACED THE PAIR of flash drives on the table that stood between the two recliners. He picked up the tall flute of chilled white wine and took a sip.
“As a gesture of my intentions, I would like to offer you the chance to examine some of the files I have stored there,” he said.
“Downloaded before you said farewell to Mother China?”
“Exactly. I realized there was little chance Beijing would offer me an early pension plan, so I awarded myself a bonus.”
“Su, you do realize that because of what happened at Guang Lor, the U.S. government may find a link between us both? If they do, we’ll have all manner of aggravation. People are going to be very upset. Vengeful. Countries do tend to suffer from righteous anger when their secrets are stolen and passed to hostile administrations.”
“You were a soldier, Oliver. I also served in the military before I moved into government work, and then immersed myself in industrial espionage and deceitful practices. I have been aware of risk and personal danger for many years, and never once did that prevent me from carrying on. Why should it now? What am I supposed to do? Take my money and scurry off into some quiet corner of the world and raise rare orchids? No, my friend, I think not. The boredom would destroy my soul. I would rather take my chances with someone like you. If we combine our talents and our knowledge, I am sure we could create a thriving enterprise.”
Townsend raised his glass. “I’ll take a look at those files, Su. I’m sure I�
��ll like what I see.” He thought of something else and leaned over to pick something up from beside his recliner, handing Han the heavy package. “You wanted this.”
Inside was a SIG-Sauer P-226 pistol and a couple of additional magazines. Han examined the weapon, smiling in gratitude.
“Thank you, my friend. I assure you I feel safe in your company but I am also aware that certain factions in Beijing, once they discover I have gone, will not feel so well inclined toward me.”
“Su, I know exactly what you mean.”
Port Cristobal
HAWKINS PARKED OUTSIDE one of the many bars in Port Cristobal. From his previous visit he remembered the place as having a frontier town atmosphere. Port Cristobal had once been a Spanish settlement, and many of its buildings reflected the influence of the occupation. In contrast there were an equal number of timber structures merging with the white-painted stone buildings. Neon signs battered the humid night air, throwing garish light across the streets.
It was close to eight o’clock, and Port Cristobal was warming up. There was a burgeoning oil industry in Santa Lorca, and the town welcomed the income the field crews brought in. A sprinkling of Americans was in evidence from the U.S. oil companies. Hawkins sat behind the wheel of the SUV studying the crowds. He was going to have to fake this visit and report back to Townsend he hadn’t spotted any suspicious characters. A wry smile edged his lips as he scanned the crowd. In truth there were any number of suspicious faces out there. Not that it indicated the presence of any threat.
Hawkins climbed out of the vehicle, locked it and made his way through the pedestrians filling the street. He chose the first substantial bar he found and made his way inside. He elbowed his way to the bar and ordered himself a beer. When it came he found it was a familiar American brand, well chilled. He leaned against the bar and surveyed the customers. He spent a slow ten minutes drinking the beer, then wandered back outside and made a steady tour of the town.
He was solicited a couple of times, had an offer of genuine Rolex watches, shares in an oil well, and after a long half hour found himself close to Port Cristobal’s dockside.
The waterfront was quieter. The last time Hawkins had been here was during the Phoenix Force mission that had first brought them into contact with Jack Regan. The confrontation had ended in a bloody firefight, a fiery explosion and a frantic flight from the country.
He paused in shrouding gloom, staring out across the water, and decided that when he returned to the main street, he would use the chance to call Stony Man to give them the lowdown on the situation.
Hawkins turned and came face-to-face with the last person he had expected to see in Santa Lorca.
RIK BRANDT HAD PICKED UP Hawkins with minutes of his arrival in Port Cristobal. Brandt had been in town for a quarter hour before the SUV showed. Hawkins parked outside a bar and sat for a while studying the area before climbing out and entering one of the bars.
When Hawkins left the bar, wandering the streets for a time before going in the direction of the docks, Brandt fell in behind him. He stayed out of sight, but close enough to observe Hawkins.
And then Brandt got the break he’d been hoping for as a figure moved out from an ally to confront Hawkins. The two men stood talking. It was clear they knew each other and when the newcomer stepped into the light from a window Brandt realized he knew the man’s face.
The last time he had seen it had been inside the gun shop at Landry Flats when Hawkins had gone to collect Townsend’s shotgun.
“Ralph, you are going to love this,” Brandt muttered as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and made the call.
RALPH CHOMSKI PUT his phone away and turned to find Townsend. The man had completed his talk with Su Han, and the pair was back with the others, seated in the living room. Chomski recalled what Riotta had said about leaving Townsend out of the loop. That was canceled now. He made his way across the room, catching Townsend’s eye and jerking his head. Townsend, relaxed and enjoying the company, frowned, then reluctantly stood and joined Chomski.
“What’s got you smiling, Ralph?”
“You know how it is when it all comes together.”
“Don’t do enigmatic,” Townsend said. “You got a fur ball, spit it out.”
“Your current buddy, T.J., is screwing us, Oliver. I just had the call from Rik.”
Townsend stepped back mentally, taking a moment to absorb what Chomski had announced.
“You sent Brandt after him? Without telling me?”
“Because if I’d suggested it, you would have had a hissy fit, Oliver. So I did it behind your back and we hit pay dirt. Bawl me out later, but listen to what I have to say first.”
A muscle in Townsend’s cheek tensed, bunching beneath the skin. He took a long swallow from the glass in his hand, then stared into Chomski’s eyes.
“This had better be good.”
“Hawkins went to town. Didn’t do anything except go in a bar and wander around. Then he went to the docks and met this guy. Rik says it’s plain they know each other, and more important, Rik recognized the guy. Last time he saw him was in Landry Flats in the gun shop the day Hawkins picked up your shotgun.”
“Brandt’s sure?”
“Rik isn’t the sharpest but he doesn’t make mistakes like this. He says the guy knows Hawkins. They were talking like best buds.”
Townsend considered the facts. He didn’t say anything, but when he turned to look at Chomski his face was set. Without warning he hurled his tumbler against the wall and it shattered into glittering fragments.
Every head in the room turned at the sound.
“Hey, bubba, something wrong?” Regan asked.
“Nothing we can’t put right,” Townsend said. “Nothing at all.”
“HOW DID YOU TRACK ME here?” Hawkins asked.
“We hit Townsend’s ranch after you left,” Blancanales said. “Had it out with his crew and found out what we needed to know. Even met your old buddy Lerner.”
“Vic? He okay?”
“By now he’ll be answering questions, or staring at the walls of his cell.”
Hawkins shrugged. “He made his choices.”
They were in the hotel room Lyons and Blancanales had taken and were using as their base.
“We were caught off guard when you left in that chopper,” Lyons said.
“Kind of had me worried, too,” Hawkins admitted. “I had no idea at the time what it was all about.”
“You do now?”
“We’re at Jack Regan’s place a few miles out of town. Big gathering. Townsend and his people. And now this Chinese guy, Su Han, shows up, the one who bought all the stolen technology from Shadow. It appears Han was forced to jump ship. His people in Beijing need a patsy for the mess at Guang Lor and Han’s the last in line. I guess he didn’t want to take the fall so, he got the hell out before the ax man came to call. The way I figure it, he’s here to join forces with Townsend and combine their talents.”
“So we have all the eggs in one big basket,” Blancanales said.
“Not exactly,” Hawkins replied. “They’re waiting for a couple more. Another Chinese called Sammo Chen Low. He was Han’s financial adviser. Seems he got the word and legged it, too.”
“Who else?” Lyons asked.
“Pete Tilman, the CIA guy.”
“Gadgets is watching him,” Lyons explained. “If the word’s out, he might not chance coming all the way down here.”
Hawkins perched on the edge of one of the beds and ran his hands through his hair.
“Man, I’d rather be in the middle of a damn firefight than this covert stuff.”
“You had enough?” Blancanales asked.
Hawkins grinned. “No, I’m fine.”
He glanced at Lyons. “What’s the plan?”
“Right now you need to get back there and monitor the setup. Once we get them all together, we can move in.”
“And?”
Lyons had his Colt Python in his hand, thumbi
ng loads into the chambers. “We’ll handle that when it happens.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Blancanales said.
“You do have the U.S. Fleet anchored offshore to pick us up when the war starts?”
Lyons gave a wolf’s grin. “How do you think we got down here so fast?”
“He kidding?” Hawkins asked
“We hitched a ride on a couple of Navy jets. They winged it across the Gulf and down here. Landed us on a Navy carrier in the area. They choppered us inland and dropped us on a strip of desert a few miles along the coast.”
“T.J.,” Lyons said, “take this.”
Hawkins accepted a small black disk that was no larger than a quarter.
“When you want the cavalry to come in just squeeze it hard. That’ll activate the signal sender. We’ll tail you back to the house and wait outside. If we pick up that signal, we’ll be all over the place before you take your finger off the button.”
“I have your word on that,” Hawkins asked lightly.
“Would I lie to a friend of Mad Dog McCarter?”
Hawkins grinned. “Not a wise thing to even think about.”
JACK REGAN FINISHED his call and replaced the receiver on the cradle. He turned and crossed the room, peering out across the ground fronting the hacienda. Bright curves of light from the numerous security lights spread across the lawns and as far as the thick foliage that surrounded the property.
Regan wasn’t one to panic, but he did veer on the side of caution. It had served him well over the years, during his early days and his dealings with the CIA in Central America. Those had been heady, dangerous days but they were full of good memories. Regan’s association with the Agency had been fruitful. Not only had he made good money he had also made solid contacts that had, for the most part, stayed with him. He was still supplying clients who had started with him, and many of them were now powerful men in their own right, having come in from obscurity as rebels, to positions of authority. And in the volatile climate of Central America there was still a need for weapons. Jack Regan, with his global contacts, was able to supply most anything.
China Crisis (Stony Man) Page 24