Night's Reckoning

by Don Pendleton

  A lesser man than Bolan may have been caught out. Certainly, the Serb had closed on him so quickly that he couldn’t bring the Glock around to fire on him; but as he wanted to avoid noise, that may not be a bad thing. As the heavy man cannoned into him, Bolan rolled back, riding the impact. He brought his legs up as much as possible, to try to give him some purchase in the other’s midriff. At the same time he brought the Glock down on the man’s back and neck, using it as a club. Ideally, he would have hit him on the neck and laid him out, but the angle was not the best. The glancing blow did slow the Serb’s momentum, however, and allow Bolan to lever him backward with his knees.

  The heavy man stumbled on the narrow stairs, wavering before falling back, only panic and the luck of hitting solid stair with his back foot stopping him from going flat on his back.

  Not that this would do him much good. As he flailed, Bolan dropped the Glock and launched himself forward. He barreled into the man, driving him back onto the concrete and driving the air from his lungs. While the man flailed for air, Bolan clamped his hands around the Serb’s throat, reaching for the carotid and stopping the blood flow.

  The flailing ceased as the Serb lost consciousness. Bolan continued his grip until life followed consciousness. He didn’t like killing a man this way, but it was quick and it was quiet, and it was clean. He could have used his knife, but he had to walk back to his car—the noise of the short tap on the Glock was bad enough, but to leave a blood trail and to be marked would be unforgivable.

  Sure that both men were permanently out of the game, Bolan collected and holstered the Glock before leaving the house by the front door.

  As he closed it behind him and made for his car, taking care not to be noticed as he passed the house where he was supposedly still in the top room, he took out his cell and placed a call. The Koninklijke would be less than pleased to get an anonymous notification, but at least he could be sure that the armory in the basement would be cleaned up.

  Despite the hour, he resisted the urge to hurry. He wanted to do nothing to draw attention to himself—the last part of the night’s mission was too important for anything to stay him.

  Chapter 12

  Night had finally fallen by the time Bolan reached the embassy. He drove through the center of Den Haag, taking the diversions that were still in place following the violence that had erupted during his last tenure. Windows were boarded, some areas were still taped off and the whole section around the court and administration buildings was ghostly in its quiet. Although not a particularly residential part of the Hague, nor filled with leisure attractions, the nature of the business conducted had always kept the streets busy, and the restaurants, cafés and bars that did their business there equally occupied.

  Its emptiness was more than just a literal fact—it was symbolic of what happened when those with an agenda of violence got their claws into society. Bolan fought them the only way that had an immediate effect—fire with fire. Yet still it caused so much upheaval.

  This area would return to its normal life within a short while, and Grozny still had to begin trial. What Bolan had to do next was something that would hopefully prevent further damage in Den Haag.

  What it would do to the U.S. if he was caught was another matter.

  Bolan pulled up two blocks from the embassy building in a secluded side street. Much of the central section of the city was quiet following the violence, not just the area directly affected. This was another indictment of terrorism, yet it would serve him well this night as he was able to park and then make his way to the target without too much danger of being observed.

  He was also able to complete his preparations with greater ease. His smart phone carried plans of the embassy house and grounds from surveyors and town planners up to the point where the cotton merchant’s mansion it had been built as became a piece of foreign soil. It did not seem from intel reports that the interior of the building had been changed in any significant way, so he was able to glean the room layout. He hoped he would not need this knowledge, as his target for the night would be in a second-floor room that he would access and exit from the outside.

  Indeed, it was the grounds of the embassy that concerned him the most. It would appear that the Chinese had done little to change the garden and outbuilding layout from its condition when it had been purchased. The beds, clumps of trees and shrubbery, and the garages had remained the same. The foliage and the lawns were well tended—perhaps too well. Bolan was no horticulturist, and had neither time nor inclination to start, but even so, he could see from the reports that staff spent more time on maintenance than seemed necessary.

  He laughed softly to himself. They were planting more than seeds and bulbs: he wouldn’t be at all surprised to see sophisticated motion detectors, cameras and perhaps even much cruder explosive traps and tripwires littering the lawns and beds.

  His route from the outer wall—in itself undoubtedly wired—to the second floor of the main building would not be easy.

  But when had it ever been that?

  * * *

  XIAO LI WAS about to retire to his bed, even though the hour was early. He had a pounding headache, brought on no doubt by the failures that followed one after the other since he had arrived in the Hague. Coming back here had stirred memories that he had worked long and hard to suppress. His superiors had forced him not only to dredge these up, but also to reacquaint himself with that which had caused them.

  He had not enjoyed his dealings with the Serbs. Unlike Grozny, who was an animal but an intelligent one, these men and women had been lazy, ignorant and stupid, in his opinion. He did not doubt the fire of their cause that had driven them to him in the first instance, but he’d always had qualms about their ability to complete any kind of task satisfactorily.

  He had been proved, unhappily, correct. And yet despite the fact that he had acted exactly according to those who pulled the strings in Beijing, he was the one who would be blamed for the failure.

  There were only a few of the Serbs left standing. He knew this. He had attempted to contact them this very evening but had met with no response. It would not have surprised him to discover that they had taken the remaining cash and made a run. He would have to check this, come morning. If this was the case, then he’d track and dispose of them. So very inconvenient and unnecessarily messy—a thought that triggered a memory of Grozny and some of the unnecessary mess in which he had reveled.

  Xiao took off his spectacles and rubbed his temples. He felt as though his head was about to explode. This was not helped by the soft click of the door behind him. He knew that he had a visitor.

  He turned to see the younger embassy official who was his contact. Like Xiao, the man was working for two paymasters—the official regime, and the shadow group seeking to cover their tracks of two decades

  before. Unlike Xiao, the younger man had no direct involvement that could be held over him.

  “I have received communication,” the younger man began without preamble. “There is much displeasure at what is happening in this city. This should have been a simple operation. Much has been expended, in terms of capital and risk, and yet there is no result that can be deemed satisfactory.”

  “It is not for want of trying.” Xiao sighed. “I have liaised as requested, guided as directed and kept apart from the events. I cannot be linked in any way, and therefore this cannot be traced back through me. If I had been able to direct operations from a closer vantage point, as had been the model in past times, then perhaps some of this could have been avoided. But our masters know why this could not be the case.”

  “They expect you to be able to compensate. And your discretion, while not in doubt, may have been compromised. This, of course, makes it an imperative that this matter is resolved swiftly. You have spoken to the foot soldiers?”

  “I have. There is another meeting arranged to la
y a final action.” He was lying, and hoped that his compatriot could not read this in him. For his own part, he could not tell anything from the set expression of the young man. He had once been able to do this—but these days he felt as if every fear and insecurity was etched on his face. How had he been compromised? He had been so careful. And why had he lied? How would he resolve this? He did not have the time to ponder these questions before his compatriot spoke again.

  “It is good. Swiftness is most necessary. For all sakes.”

  With a bow, he exited the room, leaving Xiao to feel uneasy, his stomach turning as he rubbed his forehead. His body was rebelling as much as his mind, it seemed.

  * * *

  BOLAN MADE THE embassy on foot, moving slow and easy so that he could take in all that was around him. He had the Glock in its holster, the knife sheathed and, apart from this, he carried only some gas-and-flash grenades to lay down cover if necessary. He figured that he wouldn’t be able to outshoot the entire security staff of the embassy if they were roused, but he might be able to outrun them if he had cover. Apart from these weapons and a gas mask, he carried only a fiber-optic camera and some infrared night-vision goggles. He was in the blacksuit and would have cut an odd figure to anyone passing by. But it had been a judgment call, given the relative quiet and the need for speed.

  The walls surrounding the embassy were not that high, but like many he had seen in the affluent areas of town, they were ringed by trees that presented a blanket of foliage extending upward for several yards.

  A quick sweep showed that the wall itself carried no surveillance—it would be in the trees and beyond. This was no surprise as the system would be too prone to false alarm if laid along the outer walls themselves. He scaled the few yards and was up on the top of the wall, keeping low to avoid disturbing the foliage any more than a passing neighborhood cat.

  By his reckoning, he had made the wall around the area where the garages backed onto a concrete yard. Crawling along the wall, he could see through the branches the outline of these buildings.

  He adjusted the goggles and extended the fiber-optic camera. He could see no giveaway lines for motion sensors, and the camera monitor showed that the tiled roof of the nearest outbuilding was clear of any obvious surveillance tech.

  It was a distance of about a yard and a half. From a crouching stance, he wasn’t sure he could make it, but there was a limb from one tree that he could use to make the most of the gap and then swing the rest. He moved along, scanned the tree as best he could for any tech and then edged along the limb before springing across the greatly reduced gap.

  The tiles were slippery, and he slithered down to the guttering as he tried to keep a hold. The gradient was shallow, and this saved him. Looking around, he could see CCTV cameras on the main building, and mounted in the outbuilding area.

  He had to get to the main building and then around one wall before accessing the window he required.

  Not an easy task.

  Keeping low, he went over the roof and, noting that the cameras moved in an arc, waited for the nearest one to be at an optimum extension before leaping across to another outbuilding. He had to scuttle across this flat roof quickly, as the lower roof was light in color and so would not provide the dark cover of the first building.

  Next, he had a gap over a walkway between the outbuildings and the main house to cover. There was a drainpipe that bent at a sixty-degree angle to his immediate left. It met another downpipe before running into the main drainage. If he could use this as a handhold, he would be able to use the network of drainage pipes and thick ivy that covered the building’s exterior to scramble around to his target.

  He braced himself and leaped. The momentum of his jump caused him to suppress a grunt as he hit the wall, hands clamping onto the pipe, feet swinging until they found footing in the thick tangle of ivy.

  On the one hand, it amazed him that the Chinese would leave this on the building, as it gave him a chance that he would not otherwise have possessed. Yet maybe it was that hubris that enabled them to plant modern tech across the grounds, and yet neglect such an old-fashioned—and risky—assault. Maybe the need to eliminate as much risk as possible in both defense and attack had played in his favor. Certainly, as he began to progress, he could see that by hugging the wall tightly—and there was no other option if he wished to stay on it—he moved beneath the CCTV’s field of vision. He had only to hope that he could avoid the human element—guard patrols. His intel had given him what seemed like a timetable, but as he well knew, these were subject to change, and so he was ever alert for the sound of footsteps from beyond the sound of his own labored breathing.

  Progress was slow, and all the while he was aware of the possibility of discovery, and that the outside of the building may still be alarmed or booby-trapped in some way. This only added to the weight placed on every handhold and foothold. The pipes ran around the outside of the building in a geometric pattern that spoke of the building’s use being adapted, and further plumbing being installed. As his muscles pulled and ached, and sweat ran down his face and into his eyes, he still found a moment to consider that whether it was plumbing, ducts for heating and vent, or those made for cables, it all provided a method of ingress that was often a blind spot.

  At least he hoped it was a blind spot here.

  It was imperative that he move as quickly as possible. Anyone passing beneath who looked up would see him, as would anyone who actually opened and looked out of one of the windows he passed under and over on his course. The angle of the building, from the side on which he started to that on which his target lay, was the hardest part of the course to negotiate. For a moment, he was plainly exposed to view as he swung his body around the corner. He hoped that he would just stay under the range of the CCTV, and that there would be no one looking out or up at that moment. Flattening himself to the wall, he waited a moment, listening intently.

  Unless they were to lay in wait for him, it seemed likely that he had not been seen. He redoubled his efforts, looking up from the first-floor level at which he was balanced to the window of the room where the man Xiao Li was supposedly billeted.

  He made the distance quickly, aware that seconds were ticking by and that, despite his best efforts, he had little time left to complete his mission and escape before dawn started to break.

  * * *

  XIAO WAS STILL awake. He had tried to sleep, but after his lie to his compatriot, any hope of rest had been dashed by his racing mind. Lies would do him no good. He must try to track down the missing Serbs, and if he could not find them, perhaps he could offer himself for asylum? But would he, too, not end up being tried as a war criminal? Maybe he would be offered immunity?

  He was out of bed and seated at the desk, which stood in the far corner of the room. His headache had inclined him to let the room remain in darkness, and he wondered at how this had spared him when he realized that a shadowy figure on the outside was opening the window and sliding into the room.

  He had a SIG-Sauer pistol in his desk, and without a sound he opened a drawer and extracted it.

  At least he thought he had made no sound.

  * * *

  BOLAN OPENED THE window, scoping the inside of the room as he did so. The night-vision goggles were invaluable here, as the interior of the room was pitch-black compared to the barely illuminated exterior of the building. He could see that the bed was empty, and at first it seemed as though the room itself was also devoid of life. But he could feel the tingle at the back of his neck, the sense of danger that had kept him alive for so long, and as he looked again he could see a figure in the darkest corner of the room, could hear the gentle scraping of wood on wood.

  He was over the lintel of the frame and into the room, the Glock in his hand, in one fluid motion.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” he said softly but clearly. “These are infrare
d. I can see you perhaps more clearly than you can see me.”

  “If you shoot, guards will come running, and you will not escape,” Xiao replied with a calm he did not feel inside.

  “I have a mission. I know the risks. At least my objective will have been achieved.”

  “You are the man the Serbs speak of?” Xiao asked without dropping the SIG-Sauer. He continued. “The one who has thwarted their every move?”

  “Your every move,” Bolan corrected. “Grozny must stand trial. Justice must be seen to be done. If it was simply a matter of the deed, I’d shoot him myself.”

  “I wish I had done that when I had opportunity, twenty years ago,” Xiao said with regret. “Then I would not find myself in this untenable position. Perhaps it would be better if you completed your mission and then left.”

  “Why?”

  “If I cannot complete my mission then I will be recalled. I shall not live. Perhaps even those who have been my shadow masters for so long will also be purged, for they cannot cover up what has happened here for long if the Serb lives.”

  Bolan’s face quirked. “Then maybe I should just wave you good-night and wait for fate to take its course. It might do me—my paymasters, if you like—a better service for you to die at other hands than mine.”

  Bolan did not expect the voice that came from a hidden speaker in the room as the lights snapped on.

  “On the contrary. You must complete your mission—for the greater good of China as much as for your own imperialist government.”

  “Great,” Bolan said to himself. He could see resignation in the eyes of the man opposite him that was somehow not surprising.