Fire in the Sky

by Don Pendleton

  He zipped the red Florida Power and Light coveralls up to his neck, then strapped on the worn leather utility belt that officially made him a meter reader for the city of Orlando. He then moved off the street, angling up the closest driveway and into the backyard of an aqua-colored wood frame house. The meters were set at the back of the lots, and when he found one, he took a pad out of his utility belt and pretended to write on it.

  His surveillance team had been nearly caught on their first night of stakeout, so he knew he'd have to take care of this himself. He had taken sick leave from the Company to make this trip for General Leland. Agency brass weren't especially happy with his abrupt departure, but in the course of a few days, their feelings wouldn't matter anyway.

  He proceeded to the next house, coming ever closer to Julie Arnold's place. The woman had been waffling a bit on the phone, and he was just worried enough that he thought he'd speak with her in person. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that, once he contacted her, she would do what he wanted. He'd always had a way with women, but more important, he had faith in his ability to sell himself and his program. The keys were enthusiasm and positive thinking. Anything could be accomplished if one put his mind to it, which was precisely why he was so excited about what was going to happen in the days to come.

  The deal with Julie Arnold was touchy, especially given her connection to Brognola at Justice. Even though time was short, it wouldn't be wise to take out too many people. And from studying the information in Bolan's file, Reilly knew the man wouldn't go down easily. If at all possible, they wanted Bolan out of the action, spinning his wheels at the institute. He was kept under constant surveillance there, and it was doubtful the man was going to discover anything. His boss, Brognola, was another matter again. He was pushing too hard and was going to have to be taken out, the consequences be damned.

  Even so, Reilly had to keep Arnold in check and on his team. She was his ace in the hole, the stopper if Bolan should get out of control.

  * * *

  Julie Arnold sat at the computer keyboard, eyes closed, pulling information directly from her mentally visualized page of Jerry Butler's notebook and translating the equations into language a layman could understand. She saw it all, just like the page of a book, and simply scanned the detailed mental image, picking out the info she wanted to use.

  It would only take her three or four days of concentrated effort to get the notes in a readable form. What would happen then, she couldn't imagine. Nothing made sense, nothing seemed... concrete anymore. Ever since Harry's death, she'd lived in a strange nightmare of conflicting beliefs and emotions, not knowing who to trust, or even what was real. At times Bolan seemed like her protector, at other times her adversary. But if he was her adversary, what could he possibly want from her?

  The fact that she was attracted to him made things far worse. Other than her brief fling with Jerry Butler, she'd withered away for ten years in a loveless marriage that had been more like a business relationship, and she desperately needed emotional release. She feared that her emotional needs were clouding her reasoning processes — a mistake that could be deadly under the circumstances.

  If only she knew what Bolan wanted...

  There was a knock on the kitchen door, and she felt the cold hand of fear on her. She jumped up, her heart stuttering in her chest, and hurried to the front window. There were no cars in the drive, none on the street that didn't belong there. Maybe it was just a neighbor wanting to borrow something.

  She walked cautiously toward the kitchen, the knock coming again. The kitchen door had a small, lace curtain covering its window. She tried not to make any noise as she moved aside the curtain to peer around its edge.

  The meter reader was standing there in the carport, looking impatiently at his watch. If he was there to ask her where the meter was, she would look really foolish not having an answer for him.

  She took a breath. The quicker she dealt with this man, the quicker he would be gone. He was lifting his hand to knock again when she pulled the door open.

  "Can I help you?" she asked.

  He smiled at her through even white teeth. "I'm looking for Lady Madonna," he said, and, ignoring her startled expression brushed past her and into the house.

  She followed him through the kitchen and into the living room, where he stood gazing around, a look of distaste on his face. "What a dump," he muttered, unzipping his coveralls to expose the three-piece suit beneath.

  "Do I know you?" she asked tentatively.

  He gave her an easy smile. "We've spoken on the phone many times. My name is Reilly. I'm your Company contact."

  "I don't mean to be rude, but do you have some kind of identification?"

  "Sure," he said, and stepped out of the coveralls, folding them neatly and laying them on the coffee table. Straightening, he pulled a wallet out of his inside breast pocket and opened it up to the Agency ID. "Any idea of where our boy is right now?"

  She nodded as she checked the photo identification. "He's at the institute. I just talked to him a few minutes ago."

  "Good." Reilly turned as if to sit on the couch, then changed his mind. He picked up the coveralls and set them on the couch seat, then sat on the coveralls. "Sit down. We'll talk. I'll answer all your questions."

  She threw herself gratefully in the chair. "You have no idea how badly I need some answers. I feel like I'm going crazy with this thing."

  "I'm sorry that we've had to keep you in the dark as much as we have," Reilly apologized, looking her in the eyes and holding the look. "We don't like to send out our field agents without proper information, but truth is, we've been in the dark ourselves and are just putting a few things together."

  "I'm all ears. Let's hear it."

  "Let me start by telling you that we're proud of the way you've served your country over the past ten years, and doubly proud of the work you're doing now. You're a hell of a woman, Julie... do you mind if I call you Julie?"

  She smiled, flattered. "No, not at all."

  "Good. Call me Mark."

  "Well, Mark," she said, "I don't know that I've done that awfully much. Keeping track of my husband's research ..."

  "You've served deep cover successfully for ten years, Julie," he replied. "Very few agents could claim a record like that. The backbone of the United States intelligence services are composed of people just like you. You've sacrificed a great deal for your country, and your country won't forget that."

  She brightened. "God, I'm glad to be finally talking to someone who makes some sense. Now, tell me what's going on here."

  "Okay." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Now, I have to stress that we're still putting this together, but here's how it looks right now. As you know, the Department of the Air Force has been subsidizing liquid electricity research for a long time. A couple of years ago, one of our researchers, Jerry Butler, had a breakthrough in the field…. "

  "I know," she said, pointing to the computer that was set up on a folding chair. "I've got his notes right there. I've been transcribing them."

  He nodded. "I've heard. Anyway, we think that there was a KGB spy at the Grolier Institute who managed to get wind of the research and Jerry Butler found out about the spy. He ran before they could get the information from him, but they caught up to him at Titusville. I can only imagine what they did to him before he died."

  "What about the phone calls to the newspapers and the space shuttle problems?" she asked.

  "Smoke screen, I think. We have no way of knowing that it was Jerry Butler who made those calls. They wanted to make him look like a crackpot who left himself open for murder and robbery. The Challenger disaster was simply coincidental and tended to lend undue credence to the story."

  "What's this to do with Mack and Hal Brognola?"

  "I'm coming to that."

  The man stood, stretching, and walked to the window, checking the street. Julie watched him moving around. He was sleek, like a cat. And with everything he said, a b
it of weight lifted from her.

  He turned to face her. "We don't think Jerry Butler gave them everything they wanted, we think he managed to hold some of it back, or perhaps even gave them erroneous information. It is our opinion, not easily reached, that Hal Brognola and Mack Bolan are agents working with the KGB and that they killed the others working on liquid electricity before realizing they didn't have all the information. They lifted you with the intention of forcing you to finish the research."

  Julie felt as if she'd been slapped in the face. "No," she said. "Mack's no foreign agent, he..."

  "Before you say anything else, take a look at this," he said, walking across the room. He reached into a pocket and removed a folded computer printout and handed it to her. "This is just a small taste of Mack Bolan's record. It just covers the past few years. He's a terrorist and a mass murderer. His nickname is The Executioner." He sat on the arm of her chair.

  Julie, incredulous, studied the record. It showed, full blown, the part of Bolan's character she tried not to think about. He was wanted for various crimes in nearly every country on Earth. Every major police and intelligence operation worldwide kept files on his actions. She was horrified, then sickened.

  "I… I don't understand why we'd have somebody like this working for us, he…"

  "He works for Hal Brognola directly," Reilly said, "and the KGB indirectly. He's not on government payroll."

  She handed the printout back. "This is so hard to believe. Mack has a rough side, but underneath there seems to be an honesty that..."

  "He's a good actor," Reilly admitted, shrugging. "He's using you, that's all." He leaned to the side and put his arm around the woman, hugging her briefly. "I'm sorry that you're being thrust into this end of the business, but things just worked out that way."

  "But on the road that night..."

  "A tragic mistake," the man said, straightening. "Once Bolan had kidnapped you and your husband, the Air Force tried to stop him. The shots at that point were accidental. The plan has proceeded basically as it was supposed to. He's simply got you doing what he wanted your husband to do."

  She looked up at him, finding comfort in his eyes. "That means that when I'm through..."

  "He'll probably try to kill you, just like he killed all the others."

  She felt light-headed, and put a hand to her face. "This is all happening so fast. Why have you left me in this situation?"

  Reilly reached out and took her hands. "Because he doesn't know that you're in contact with us. For the first time we've got the upper hand on an entire clandestine network. We want as many of their contacts as we can get before this is over."

  "So, you're using me like he is."

  He leaned down, so that they were eye to eye. "Using you? You work for us, remember? Over the past ten years we've put more than four million dollars into Swiss bank accounts with your number on them. That's using? We're simply expanding your role. We're asking you to come to the defense of your country in its hour of need. Is that too much to ask, Julie? I don't think so."

  "What do you want me to do?" she asked, her mouth dry, her mind whirling.

  "Just what you're doing now," he replied, dropping her hands and walking back to sit on the couch. "If they meet with others, take note of the names and faces. When it gets tight, we'll have other orders for you."

  "Oh, Mark," she said. "I don't know if I can handle something like this. What if I finish the transcribing?"

  He smiled wide. "You'll do fine! I've got confidence in you. The government has confidence in you. We'll give you all the support you'll need."

  "You mean like those idiots that Bolan almost caught the other night?"

  "Those weren't our people," Reilly said. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "What are you doing with Jerry's research?" she asked.

  "I think they're designing a new jet engine powered by electricity," he replied. "Look. This whole thing will be over in a week, ten days tops. We'll keep a close eye on you. When it's all over, we'll give you a bonus and send you away on a long vacation."

  "And then I'm through with this covert crap?" she said.

  He raised his right hand. "Word of honor," he said, then snapped his finger, "Oh, I almost forgot." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a miniature plastic bag containing a small, white pill. He stood and carried it over to her, setting it on the arm of her chair.

  "What is it?" she asked, staring.

  "Now, don't get upset. This is standard operating procedure. Nothing to worry about."

  "What is it?" she repeated.

  "It's your salvation in case you get in trouble," he said, using a finger on her chin to turn her face away from the pill and toward him. "If things should look bad, or get tight, slip this into something... his food, a drink. It will dissolve almost immediately. He'll feel very little pain. Death will be close to instantaneous."

  "No," she said, amazed, trying to shake her head out of his grasp. "I could never kill, I…"

  "Julie," he said firmly, "this is no game. We're playing for the survival of the country, the survival of millions. You are, in essence, a soldier working for the United States. If you have to, you'll kill... to save your life, or if I tell you. But you'll do it, all right. At this point you have no choice. He's a vicious murderer. If you have to do it, the world will applaud you. Are you with me?"

  "It's not that I don't understand..."

  "Are you with me?" he repeated. "Are you standing firm with your country and justifying all it's done for you all these years?"

  "Y-yes," she said, looking down, ashamed. "I'm with you."

  "Good."

  He moved back to the couch and climbed back into his coveralls. "Watch yourself," he said as he zipped up the front. "You're playing against a real pro. But remember that you have the upper hand. He doesn't know you work for us. Just play along, do as he says and keep an eye out for his contacts. It'll all be over soon. You're safe as long as you're still transcribing."

  With that, the man strapped on his utility belt. "Call whenever you need to," he said. "Try to call every day."

  "I will," she said in a small voice.

  He nodded, smiling. "It's a wonderful thing you're doing. Your country won't forget."

  With that, he disappeared into the kitchen.

  Julie sat, staring at the pill. She never even heard the kitchen door open and close. Somehow, she had thought that if she only had some answers all her problems would be solved. She'd never realized what a blessed thing ignorance could be.

  She sat silently for a time, listening to the sounds that floated in through the window. She got up and walked into the bedroom, hiding the pill in the side pocket of her purse. Then she threw herself on the bed and cried for nearly an hour. For the first time, she envied Harry's position. There were far worse things than being dead — such as being in love with your murderer.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The stairs leading down to the subbasement were one-piece aluminum and shook slightly with every step. Hal Brognola took them slowly—the stairwell was darkened — keeping one hand on the rail and the other clutched tightly around the stack of computer printouts that he had spent all day acquiring. Ted Healy and Oscar Largent kept pace behind him, speaking occasionally to each other in short, clipped sentences, their dialogue confined exclusively to security matters. They were Greggson's present to Brognola, twenty-four-hour-a-day bodyguards.

  They cleared the bottom of the stairs and stood, staring into the maw of a world that existed within a world. If a large building could be compared to a body, then it’s vital systems — heat, cooling, water and waste disposal — were the veins, arteries and muscles of that body. And as Hal Brognola stared into the dark, shadowy maze of creaking pipes and valves that filled and confused the stadium-sized room he realized just exactly how much his discovery had changed the tenor of his life. He had entered the dark and alien world of twisted subterfuge and found that even his surroundings reflected that al
ienness.

  "It's down here," Oscar said, taking the lead as they walked into the beating heart of the Justice Department.

  Brognola walked quietly between the two men, his nose twitching with the musty odor, his brown cordovans wet from the small puddles that stagnated on the smooth concrete floor. A dirty business. From somewhere in the conduit jungle a motor kicked in, the sound of whooshing air competing with it.

  "I think the boiler room is off that lighted corridor to the right," Ted Healy called from the rear. Largent waved in acknowledgment, then dutifully turned down a narrow, Sheetrock corridor that was lit by a single, naked bulb in the ceiling.

  A doorway was situated at the end of the corridor. Largent signaled Brognola to keep a distance as he opened the door and peered within. Smiling, he motioned for the two men to follow him in.

  Brognola entered; Greggson and his bodyguards were already there, sitting on wooden folding chairs beside the huge round boiler that provided hot water and steam heating to some of the older parts of the building. Other chairs had been brought in so that everyone could sit.

  "The maintenance people?" Brognola asked as he walked in.

  Greggson smiled. "All up in my office working on an 'emergency' with the air-conditioning. If I broke it as well us I think I did, they'll be up there for quite some time."

  "Good." The head Fed sat, printouts piled on his lap. "Oscar, why don't you position yourself at the end of that hallway and let us know if anyone comes. We'll brief you later."

  Largent gave a casual salute and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  "Well," Brognola said, looking at Greggson, "how are you holding up?"

  "I'm scared shitless," Greggson admitted, everyone laughing to ease the tension.

  "How are things going with the Marie Price investigation?"