Exit Code

by Don Pendleton

  Grano brought out his pistol, but Bolan still had the Beretta in hand. The Executioner snap-aimed and squeezed the trigger twice as he threw his body on top of the kid and sent both of them to the floor. The first shot was high and wide, but the second found flesh. The bullet struck Grano in the shoulder and flipped him off his feet. Two men behind him caught his body, and Ape now had pistol in hand and was ascending the steps in order to get a clear shot. Bolan took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger twice more, this time more sure of his target. Both rounds caught Ape in the face, the first ripping away the upper part of his neck while the second punched through his upper lip and split open the back of his skull. Blood sprayed the wall to his right and his body staggered drunkenly before crashing into Pescia’s apartment door and collapsing.

  Bolan was on his feet in seconds, and he hauled the kid with him. He shoved the youth toward the old woman’s still partially open apartment door. She stood just inside, screaming with her hands covering her ears. Bolan got the youth through it before closing the door tightly. He assessed his targets before moving the selector switch to 3-shot bursts. The two who had caught Grano were still tending to their wounded boss, while another had produced a .45-caliber pistol and was lining up on Bolan. The Executioner dropped to one knee as the guy opened fire, and two rounds chipped chunks of wood and plaster from the wall.

  The Executioner raised the Beretta and squeezed the trigger. This time, three rounds left the muzzle and all three connected with the Mafia gunner’s upper torso, catching him in the lower gut, solar plexus and sternum. The man’s body jerked spasmodically as blood and pink frothy sputum spewed from his mouth. He fell prone on the steps, his gun flying from deadened fingers, and Bolan could hear the dull thud of the impact even as he turned and descended the stairs.

  For a moment, Bolan had been tempted to seize the advantage and take out the remainder of the force, but he could not bring himself to shoot men tending to one of their own wounded. While this was a war of attrition, and not governed by the true conventions of humane warfare—if there could even be such a thing—Bolan found himself compelled to follow certain moral and ethical standards in fighting the enemy. Killing those who were trying to help a wounded comrade went beyond those ethics, and the Executioner wouldn’t compromise them. Hell, he couldn’t compromise them. Otherwise, he became that which he most despised: a barbaric and thoughtless murderer who did not kill for duty or purpose, but instead for lust of blood.

  Bolan had reached the first-floor landing and was about to pull the door open when he felt a presence behind him. The Executioner crouched and launched a vicious foot sweep to knock the charging opponent off his feet. At least, Bolan thought that would happen. Instead, the beefy Mafia hood was simply knocked off balance, and the Executioner stepped in to finish the job quickly. Bolan launched a front kick that the guy blocked, not without effort. The man counterattacked with a ham-sized fist to the jaw that sent the warrior reeling into the opposite wall.

  The man was big and his punches were like sledgehammers. Bolan could feel it all, the shock to his jaw and the ringing in his ears, but he recovered quickly enough to keep the hulking brute from locking viselike fingers around his throat. Bolan turned into the charge and dropped low, firing an uppercut that had his entire shoulder and right arm in it. His opponent’s teeth slammed shut and his head snapped back, but it still wasn’t enough to drop the guy. Bolan didn’t let up, and he launched an elbow strike to the chest. The blow knocked the wind from the man and cracked bone.

  Despite the effect of Bolan’s strike, the guy managed to grab the Executioner’s hair and land an iron hard punch to his stomach. Bolan felt the wind rush from his lungs in response to the blow, and before he could recover the guy had one hand on his throat. Bolan felt as if his voice box and trachea were about to become mashed together. The Executioner managed to turn enough to loosen the mammoth’s grip, and then as he raised his foot to stomp on the guy’s instep, he grabbed the handle of the Colt Combat Commander knife he kept strapped to his boot. Bolan let his foot fall on the guy’s instep. The man grunted with pain but he didn’t loosen his grip at all.

  A moment elapsed before the Executioner found the position he needed.

  Bolan slashed the back of the guy’s hand with the knife, and suddenly he was free. The warrior finished the job quickly, twisting inward and shoving his shoulder against his larger opponent to knock the man off balance. The technique distracted the guy long enough for Bolan to find a new position and in that second of vulnerability, the victor was decided. The Executioner swung upward with the knife blade, driving the point through the guy’s throat and burying it to the hilt. The man staggered backward, both hands rushing to pull the knife from the tender tissue as he managed to gurgle a squeal of shock and pain. Only seconds passed before his eyes glazed over, and he collapsed against the wall and slid to the ground.

  Bolan put his foot to the guy’s chest and removed the bloody knife. He wiped it clean on the dead man’s shirt and returned it to its sheath. He quickly retrieved his bag, which he’d dropped during the scuffle and continued to the rear exit door and out into an alley. He couldn’t risk going back for his car. He’d grab a cab and head for the airport. That would be a safe enough port at which to wait.

  And it would be good to see a familiar face.

  16

  Washington, D.C.

  “You must not go, Malcolm,” Sadiq Rhatib said.

  “But you see, my dear Sadiq, that is just the point,” Malcolm Shurish replied. “I must go, for my own sake and for the sake of our mission. If you should fail here—”

  “But I won’t fail,” Rhatib said in protest.

  “But if you should, we must be able to implement an alternative strategy, and we must be able to do so quickly. And I am the most logical choice.”

  Rhatib sighed, and Shurish could tell that he didn’t want to give in. Nonetheless, Shurish knew this was their only choice in insuring success, and he was quite aware that Rhatib knew it as well. A disaster was about to unfold, and too many of their previous contingencies were riding on Abdalrahman’s success in bringing down the American agent, Cooper. Still, that wasn’t enough upon which to bank their entire scheme. Shurish had a “plan B” ready and waiting.

  “Do you know where she’s being kept?” Rhatib asked.

  “Not precisely, but I know that she is back in Washington, and I know she’s helping them try to shut down our system,” Shurish replied. “I’ve been tracking her little steps. She is so predictable that I cannot help but laugh. Who else has such a unique signature? The woman has no concept of security. She’s leaves a trail of clues to her identity wherever she goes. She has no idea that my program can instantly detect anyone who attempts to crack the security codes I’ve put in place.”

  “Not to mention that you predicted exactly what they would look for in this network of Lenzini’s.” Rhatib smiled and added, “My uncle was not entirely fair with you, Malcolm. You are truly brilliant in some ways. In fact, your genius very much mirrors my own.”

  “It is kind of you to say so,” Shurish replied with a bow, although he wasn’t really feeling that kind of respect.

  There was no mistaking the fact that Sadiq Rhatib was exceptionally brilliant. Shurish would have been the first to admit it. But Rhatib’s genius had been limited. His intellectual maturity had been stunted by Abdalrahman, who had brainwashed him with high ideals of religion and duty to country. Nonetheless, Rhatib had managed to penetrate the Carnivore system for a short time, and he’d also cooked up the idea of enlisting American companies to unwittingly aid in their cause. It was the greed and capitalism of the West that caused them to be so short-sighted when it came to battling against terrorists.

  “Still, I would not underestimate her, or the resolve of her friends,” Rhatib continued. “You recall that she proved herself quite competent, and was even able to ruin my plans to turn American society on its ear using Carnivore. It was her accursed interference
that set back my original timetable and nearly ruined our plans.”

  “Patience, my young friend,” Shurish replied. The statement was genuine, although he heard the mocking in own tone of voice. “You are beginning to sound like your uncle. We will deal with this woman, but in our own good time. The most important thing is for us to concentrate on completing the plan. Once the network is in place and locked down, and I’ve activated the code, we will not only have control of the majority of American defense systems, but we will also control the better part of the Internet.

  “And then we shall use those defenses to destroy the military capabilities of other countries. We shall use American missiles to defeat aircraft, American bombs to level cities. And then, when we have banded the other countries in support of Islam behind us, we will launch our own attack and simply shut down their defenses,” Shurish said proudly.

  Rhatib clapped his hands together and gleefully interjected, “We will bring this country to its knees!”

  “Imagine it,” Shurish said, looking off into the distance, his mind racing with the thrill of their plans. “Imagine the look of shock on the Americans’ faces when their systems suddenly shoot down British and Israeli planes. Imagine how puzzled they’ll be if they are subjected to attacks and, despite all of their efforts, they are unable to respond.”

  “Military stockpiles will dwindle quickly as well,” Rhatib declared. “And as the Americans lose faith in the ability of their government to stop the nightmare, trading will stagnate, and this capitalist and imperialist economy on which they have so long relied will collapse under their feet! Corporations will lose billions of dollars, because stock trading and buying and selling will be in our control! Millions of dollars will disappear with the push of a button!”

  “And they’ll be powerless to stop any of it!” Shurish could hardly hold back the emotions that swept over him. The scientist willed himself to become calm. Of course, it wasn’t over yet, and there was always a chance of failure as long as Cooper and MacEwan still drew a breath. He would have to instigate his alternate plan quickly, if all was to go as he’d designed it.

  “I must leave you now, my friend,” he said, grabbing Rhatib by the shoulders and embracing him ceremonially.

  “May Allah guide your steps, Malcolm,” Rhatib said.

  “And yours, my brother.”

  Shurish left the makeshift complex and drove toward Washington, D.C. He watched carefully to insure he wasn’t being followed. It was true that he trusted Sadiq much more than he would ever trust Abdalrahman, but he felt like things were beginning to unravel. He had to be ready with an alternate plan—and he had one—and to use every strategy to protect himself if Abdalrahman was unsuccessful in his mission to destroy Cooper.

  Very few people knew that Shurish had masterminded this entire thing. He’d pulled all of the strings, made the arrangements and even gotten the NIF operating inside American borders virtually undetected. He had forged the alliance with Nicolas Lenzini and had arranged for the networking of Lenzini’s systems to American defense computers. But most importantly, he was the one who had engineered and devised the plan to use Rhatib’s technical genius to hack into the Carnivore system and divert attention way from the real plan.

  The very thought of it made him smile.

  Despite what Umar or Sadiq thought, it was Shurish who had real control over the system. The military leaders at the Pentagon and fellow scientists at DARPA had laughed at him when he first proposed Operation Poltergeist. It was too costly, some had said, while others presumed it simply wasn’t worth the effort to investigate further. That had been the final straw for Shurish. Malcolm Shurish, Ph.D. in information systems with a concentration in artificial intelligence, and he wasn’t good enough for his own country. That was right after the attacks on the World Trade Center, and that was when he’d decided America had gotten exactly what it deserved. He was one of them, but they treated him like a criminal. They interrogated him and questioned his ethics and practices; they searched his home and grilled his relatives; they temporarily suspended him from any sensitive projects and it was some time before he was fully reinstated.

  All of that after what he’d done for what he’d thought were his government and his people. In one sense, Umar was correct that they were no longer his people. Still, he could not help but feel some devotion and allegiance to them. He didn’t want to destroy them, but he was dismayed by the smug arrogance with which the country’s military leaders had treated him. He had an IQ that well exceeded the limits of anything those small-minded generals could ever hope to achieve, and he didn’t feel he should have to prove that genius.

  In fact, it was time for him to use some of that genius now. He removed his cell phone from the console where it had been charging and dialed a special access number into DARPA headquarters. An operator answered immediately.

  “Yes, this is Dr. Shurish,” he said. “My code clearance authorization is one-seven-two-nine-five-alpha-gamma-delta, code word for this period is periwinkle.”

  “One moment, sir, while we confirm your authorization and code,” the operator dutifully replied.

  Shurish could hear her typing the information into their computer systems. The very thought was almost laughable, since he was basically in control of those systems. With the aid of other scientists, he’d designed them and he knew every back door and security hole in them. But the operator could go on and verify all that she wanted to verify—he had all the time in the world.

  “Your authorization is clear, Dr. Shurish,” the operator replied. “What is your request?”

  “I need to place an emergency call to Tyra MacEwan,” he said calmly. He gave the operator the number to the specially encrypted cellular phone she would be carrying.

  Shurish was confident she would have the phone with her. Employees of the Defense Advance Research Projects Agency were required to carry it everywhere, even off duty, and old habits died hard. Even if she was under the protection of a secret federal agency—which was obviously the same agency that Cooper worked for—she would have insisted on keeping it with her. MacEwan was all about duty and country and honor; he knew because he’d once been just like her—an eager, wide-eyed youth trying to move up in the system, and struggling hard for years before he finally became deputy director of the Information Processing and Technology Office. In fact, he was now acting director since his boss had gone on a ski vacation in the Alps with his family. Tragically no one had heard from him in months, nor his wife and children. It was just another example of Shurish’s ingenuity, and his ability to remove anyone who stood in his path.

  The familiar, husky voice came on the line and broke Shurish from his reverie. “This is MacEwan.”

  “Tyra, this is Dr. Shurish.”

  “Malcolm?” There was a long pause, and Shurish could tell immediately someone was with her. He heard furious typing at the keyboard, but only a moment elapsed before her voice filled his ear again. “Where are you? Do you realize they’re looking everywhere for you?”

  “Who is looking for me, Tyra?” Shurish asked.

  “Well, um, the FBI for starters!” she exclaimed.

  Shurish could hardly contain his laughter, thinking about how quickly she’d had to recover from that one.

  “Our own people are searching for you, as well. They say you’ve done something wrong, Malcolm. They’re telling me that you orchestrated this whole thing.”

  “I have done no such thing, Tyra,” Shurish said, trying his best to sound frightened. “You must believe me. I’ve been hiding for days, practically since you got back. There are these men…”

  “What men, Malcolm?” MacEwan asked. “What men?”

  “I don’t know who they are, but they’re definitely terrorists,” he said. “I’m sure of it! Tyra, I must meet with you. There’s nobody else I can trust, and I know if you just hear me out, if you just hear what I have to say, that you’ll believe me. I’ve never given you any reason to doubt me.”

/>   “I don’t know, Malcolm,” MacEwan replied. “I don’t know if they would allow me to go. I’m sure I’m being watched.”

  “You must meet me, Tyra!”

  “You should turn yourself in,” she said quietly.

  “I can’t!” he exclaimed, pouring it on thickly now. “They’ll come for me. The government can’t protect me. Look at what happened to you. They could barely protect you!”

  “But they have protected me, Malcolm,” MacEwan insisted.

  Shurish was beginning to wonder if this was going to be as easy as he’d first envisioned. They were definitely trying to use technical methods, probably by hacking into DARPA computers, to track his signal. Not that it mattered—Shurish had already thought of that. The system was currently bouncing the signal all over Washington, thereby making any sort of true triangulation of his position impossible. Not to mention the fact that he’d removed the global positioning satellite chip from the receiver long ago, and replaced it with a ghosting device. If they attempted a satellite downlink to the phone, all it would do was echo a return signal that amounted to little more than high-frequency gibberish.

  “Don’t try to track me, Tyra,” Shurish told her. Maybe if he was honest, he could convince her that he was innocent of any wrongdoing. “I swear to you that I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “What about Poltergeist, Malcolm?” MacEwan asked. “Did you think I wouldn’t remember your Poltergeist program?”

  “They stole it from me,” Shurish replied. “Don’t you see? They set me up at the very beginning to take the fall, and I let them do it. Don’t you remember everything they put me through? Have you forgotten so soon, Tyra? They tried to find wrongdoing in everything I was and everything I created, but I came up innocent. I came up clean, just I am clean now. Please, you have to help me. Please, Tyra…Please…”