“What is so special about him?” Lau asked.
“Jesus, how long have you got?”
While the discussion went on, the man with the jeweler’s loupe continued his inspection.
Kendrick’s partner turned to face Chen. He considered his next move, glancing at Kendrick, who made a brief nod. Then the first man reached behind him in a fluid motion that looked as if it had been carefully rehearsed. He drew a black handgun and raised it without pause.
“Cooper, he’s going...”
Bolan had already recognized the signs. He tracked with the Glock and triggered three rounds, placing the .40-caliber slugs in the would-be shooter’s chest. The guy went over backward, a shocked expression on his lean face. He dropped to the floor, his finger pulling back on his weapon’s trigger and sending a slug into the shoulder of one of Chen’s captors.
The building echoed with the sound of gunfire, the muzzle-flashes lighting the shadows.
Mitchell had broken her motionless stance, aiming and firing her Glock in a series of steady shots. She put down two of Lau’s men before the group broke apart and scattered.
Andy Chen dropped to the floor, below the gunfire, his hand reaching out to grasp the gun dropped by his attacker. He raised himself to his knees, swinging the pistol around to make a shot. He was a fraction of a second too slow as Lau drew a pistol and shot him through the back of the skull.
Bolan had seen the move and two-handed the Glock, placing three rounds into Lau’s head, knocking him off his feet as blood and brains erupted from the shattered skull.
The group had broken apart, moving clear of their original position to circle Bolan and Mitchell. Only Kendrick remained close to the guy inspecting the diamonds. He said something to the jeweler. The man began to scoop up the gems and return them to the leather satchel.
“How do we get out of this, Cooper?” Mitchell asked.
It was a fair question, and Bolan didn’t have a ready answer. They were facing a superior force. He had underestimated the opposition’s number.
Kendrick spoke up.
“Put the guns down, Cooper. You and the FBI chick can’t shoot your way out of this. I’ll give you a chance to stay alive. At least until I deliver you to Delaware. It’s a onetime offer. Figure the odds. Die now—or later.”
Bolan understood the implication behind the guy’s offer. He was about to take Bolan and Mitchell for a face-to-face with Lise Delaware. She wanted to meet Bolan before she dealt with him, and Bolan had a score to settle for her previous crimes and the current murders of Mitchell’s teammates. And it also might grant him and Mitchell a chance to escape Hegre.
“Not much of a choice,” Mitchell murmured.
“It’ll get us a reprieve, and give us a chance at freedom.”
“Play his game but don’t sit back and give in?”
Bolan nodded.
“I’m in your hands,” Mitchell said.
The Executioner could see Lau’s gunmen converging on their position. He was no quitter. He was also no gung-ho cowboy prepared to take the fight to a superior force and die in a blaze of reckless glory. Dead meant the end of everything. Mack Bolan had too much to live for to allow that to happen right now. And he had Mitchell to consider. He had brought her into this situation and was responsible for her.
“Okay,” he said.
He reversed his Glock, raising his arm to show the weapon. Mitchell followed suit and they were encircled by the armed men. Their weapons were removed, as were their cell phones. Their unsmiling captors pushed them across the floor to where Kendrick waited.
“Smart move, pal,” he said. “Delaware really wants you alive.”
“We wouldn’t want to disappoint the lady,” Bolan stated.
“When I bring you in, there’ll be a bonus for me,” the man said. “What the hell, Cooper, we all have to earn a living.”
“This is a living?” Mitchell asked, contempt in her voice.
“They want you alive,” the guy said, “but I don’t think Delaware will be concerned if you’re bruised in transit.”
“Don’t give him the satisfaction,” Bolan cautioned her.
“Listen to the man, FBI. You’ll stay on your feet longer.” The filled satchel was passed to him. He draped it from one shoulder. “Traveling money,” he said.
“Take it,” Bolan said. “You could live in style with it.”
“You think Delaware would let that happen? That woman would follow me to hell if I took off with her diamonds.”
“Kendrick, we need to clean up here,” one of Lau’s men said. “We need to get these bodies moved. Time for you to leave.”
Bolan and Mitchell had their pockets checked, their passports removed.
Kendrick nodded. “The plane should be ready by now.” He looked across at Bolan and Mitchell. He dropped the passports and their weapons into a carry bag. “Hey, you won’t need your passports for this trip. And it’s all expenses paid.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Two of Lau’s men prodded Bolan and Mitchell to move, following the two Hegre men through to the rear of the cannery. They left through a roller door. A dark colored SUV was parked next to a loading ramp, a driver already behind the wheel. Before they were forced to climb in, Bolan and Mitchell had their hands bound behind their backs with duct tape. They slid onto the wide rear seat, Kendrick watching, his right hand gripping a SIG-Sauer pistol. Kendrick’s partner, Hatch, joined them, his own pistol in his hand
Kendrick had a few final words with one of Lau’s men, then climbed into the passenger front seat, swiveling to cover Bolan and Mitchell.
“Delaware might want you alive and kicking,” he said. “But give me any grief and I will shoot you dead.” He patted the heavy satchel. “This is priority.”
The SUV rolled smoothly across the cannery’s freight yard, through a gate and onto a dark strip of road. The industrial area fell behind them as they were driven through a sparsely populated region, moving along the coastal road. The SUV’s suspension had a hard time maintaining a smooth run as it bumped and rocked across the uneven road.
“Not exactly the Pacific Coast Highway,” Kendrick commented. He grinned. “It’ll be smoother when we get airborne.”
“To where?” Bolan asked.
“Not home turf,” Kendrick said. “Isn’t that right, Hatch?”
The guy nodded. “Not home turf.”
Mitchell made a soft sound that only Bolan picked up. It was obvious she was far from impressed by the company she and Bolan were being forced to endure.
They drove for almost two hours before the SUV turned off at a basic airstrip. Moonlight showed them a wooden cabin and a wind sock drooping on a pole. A battered panel truck was parked beside the hut, and a two men were lounging on chairs beside the hut’s door. They watched the SUV arrive and park next to the hut.
A rough landing strip ran the length of the field, and a Douglas DC3 Dakota sat at one end of the strip, its engines idling. A rusting fuel bowser was just pulling away from the DC3 as the SUV arrived.
The DC3 was old and bore no markings except for the numbers painted on the rear. The scraped and gouged fuselage had long ago lost any other identification markings. Even the tires of the landing gear were worn almost smooth.
“Is this the best Hegre can afford?” Mitchell asked.
Kendrick gave a short laugh. “This plane is so well known in the area nobody pays attention to it. You’d be surprised at the cargo it’s carried.”
“What’s the inflight movie today?” Bolan asked as he climbed out of the SUV.
“If there is one,” Mitchell said, “it’ll have to be a silent classic. I can’t believe we’re going to fly in that thing.”
The aircraft’s Pratt & Whitney engines sounded smooth and even, despite the ove
rall age of the venerable aircraft. It was a tribute to the design and build of the plane that it was still airworthy.
Kendrick pushed the muzzle of his pistol against Bolan’s spine. “Let’s move, hotshot, time to say goodbye to China. You made a long trip for nothing.”
They made their way across the grass, Hatch falling in beside Mitchell. The side door was open, with a short aluminum ladder propped in place. Hatch climbed in first, covering Bolan and Mitchell as they joined him. Kendrick followed, hauling up the ladder and closing the door.
The interior was empty, illuminated by faint lights. It was clear the plane was not used for passengers. At the front of the fuselage Bolan saw the cockpit section, visible through the open hatch.
“You two get yourselves settled,” Kendrick said. “Hatch, keep your eyes on them.”
As Bolan and Mitchell sat with their backs to the fuselage, Hatch sat down across the deck from them. Kendrick ducked through the hatch and entered the cockpit. Bolan could hear him speaking to the pilot. Kendrick sat in the empty copilot seat.
The engines began to build up, the roar penetrating the aircraft. They felt the slight jerk as the DC3 began to move over the rough strip. Vibrations rippled along the aircraft as it picked up speed.
Hatch turned to stare out one of the side windows, watching the dark landscape slide by.
Mitchell glanced across at Bolan. He shook his head, a subtle motion that told her not to make any sudden moves. Having to remain still was frustrating. She complied with her partner’s signal. She knew he wouldn’t be prepared to simply quit and take whatever their captors had planned. As short as their acquaintance had been, she knew enough about the man to accept that he was going to react.
How or when she didn’t know.
She just knew he would do something when the opportunity presented itself.
The DC3 lifted off the ground, climbing steadily, the sound of the engines smoothing out as it reached cruising height and settled on course. Clouds could be seen below them.
Kendrick reappeared. He moved along the body of the plane, pausing to slide the heavy satchel from his shoulder and place it on the deck. He dropped the bag holding Bolan and Mitchell’s belongings next to the diamonds.
“Likely the most expensive cargo this crate has ever carried.”
“Not my idea of fun,” Hatch said. “Playing nursemaid to a bag of stones.”
“Tell me, Hatch—have you ever been happy?”
Hatch scowled. “Go to hell.”
His reaction only made Kendrick smile. Turning to Bolan he said, “Just about four hours and we’ll be in the Philippines. Make yourself comfortable, Cooper. This could be your last ride.”
He turned and stepped back through to the cockpit area, dropping into the empty copilot seat.
Hatch made a play of exhibiting his SMG. “I should shoot you now. Save everybody the trouble. You killed my buddy Rafer.”
Bolan stayed silent. There was no point antagonizing the man. The time to act would be when they were over land. Not the South China Sea.
The moment Hatch turned to stare out the window again Bolan caught Mitchell’s attention.
“Later,” he mouthed. “When we hit land.”
Bolan’s mind had been working the permutations. Waiting until the plane touched down might have seemed the best opportunity, but on the negative side was the chance that Kendrick could have a strong force waiting for his arrival. Enough armed men to ensure that Bolan would have no opening to make a move. The alternative was for Bolan to attempt a takeover while the DC3 was still in the air. It had the promise of success. There were only three men to deal with and one of those was the pilot, which took him more or less out of the frame.
In the end Bolan had to take a calculated risk. He understood that. Since the beginning of his first campaign, risk had been factored into most every move he made. It came with the territory. And he was once again in the arena.
Flight time dragged. Compared to modern aircraft the DC3 moved slowly. At twelve thousand feet it was making approximately 230 miles per hour. An almost leisurely pace. The drone of the twin engines could be heard as the props pulled the machine on toward the Philippine Islands.
Hatch lost his concentration. The hard-eyed stare glazed over and he had to keep shaking himself out of his lethargic state.
Bolan kept a close watch on the man. He understood the position he was in. Before he could take any action he needed his hands free.
With his back against the inner curve of the aircraft fuselage, he had located one of the strengthening struts. They were flying in a cargo version of the plane, not an upholstered passenger aircraft. The strut had an exposed edge. Not razor sharp, but rough enough to provide a surface capable of tugging at the duct tape as Bolan sawed his binding against it. It was slow work. The soldier had to keep his movements measured, so that Hatch wasn’t alerted. The guy was less than fully alert, but any undue movement coming from Bolan might grab his attention.
After an hour of careful, minuscule movements, Bolan felt the tape give a little. He put on pressure to weaken it, then returned to his patient sawing motion. He had also managed to scrape his left wrist against the metal edge and he could feel blood running down across his fingers.
The faint movement of his shoulders had alerted Mitchell to his attempt to free himself. She remained still, but her eyes were alternating between Bolan and Hatch.
“Hey, Hatch, you still with us?” Kendrick called from the cockpit.
Hatch’s eyes snapped open and he stared across at Bolan and Mitchell.
“Yeah, we’re having a ball back here.” He gazed at Mitchell with undisguised lust in his eyes. “If it was just me and the woman, I’d really be having a high old time.”
“You just concentrate on keeping them nice and peaceful. Only thing in your hand should be your gun.”
Pale dawn light was showing as the frayed tape loosened a fraction more. Bolan increased his sawing action. He spread his wrists at the same time. The binding gave suddenly, and he pulled his wrists free. He nodded at Mitchell.
Hatch suddenly pushed upright, turning his head to check the captives. Bolan froze, simply maintaining eye contact with the man.
“I don’t think this guy likes me,” Hatch said, directing his comment to Kendrick. He grinned. “Jesus, he’d burn me if he had X-ray eyes.”
“Quit moaning. We’ll be landing soon.”
Hatch turned and swayed as he made his way toward Bolan, stepping over Mitchell’s prone figure.
“If I hadn’t been told to deliver you alive...” he said. Then he added, “By the time the bitch queen gets done, you’ll wish I’d put a bullet between your eyes.”
He laughed.
Bolan flexed his hands, feeling the blood circulate now that the tape was gone. He watched Hatch, awaiting his chance, never once forgetting the MP-5 the man carried. He was also aware of the man’s restless nature. Hatch was pacing back and forth, continuously leaning forward to stare out through the plane’s windows—Bolan made a guess that Hatch was not a good flyer. His thought was confirmed when the aircraft made a slight lurch to one side, riding an air pocket. Hatch threw out a hand to press it against the fuselage, muttering to himself.
As the plane tilted, Bolan caught a glimpse of greenery far below, a fragment of lush forest. It showed for a couple seconds before the aircraft righted itself and settled into steady flight again.
Bolan saw his chance coming up. When Hatch stared out of the window again, Bolan glanced at Mitchell. She gave him an acknowledgment.
“Hatch,” Bolan said. “You want to check my wrists? I can’t feel a damn thing.”
The man swung around, looking down at the seated figure. He stepped across the deck and stood over Bolan.
“What am I, your fucking nurse?”
&nb
sp; Behind him Mitchell drew her legs back. She swung them forward, slamming against the back of Hatch’s knees. The guard’s legs caved, buckling and knocking him partially off balance.
Bolan stood upright, freed arms swinging wide. He threw a full-on right punch that smashed into Hatch’s face, crushing his nose, following with a left that hammered against the man’s exposed jaw. Blood streamed from Hatch’s nose. He gave a startled squeal, tears streaming from his eyes. Bolan launched himself at Hatch, slamming him back against the bulkhead, pinning the MP-5 against the man’s chest.
Hatch had a powerful physique and the strength to go with it. He pushed back against Bolan’s attack, breath gusting from his mouth as he tried to force Bolan away. The Executioner resisted, aware that he needed to take Hatch down fast. The noise they were making would attract Kendrick, and once that happened Bolan’s advantage would evaporate. He swept his left arm around in a powerful elbow smash that connected with Hatch’s cheek. The blow stunned the man, and for a moment his resistance weakened.
He recovered quickly, slamming a heavy knee against Bolan’s hip, the force of the blow pushing the soldier to one side, giving Hatch the chance to bring his SMG into play, finger curling against the trigger. Realizing Hatch’s intention, Bolan stepped back, then swung his booted foot up in a roundhouse kick. The boot connected with Hatch’s weapon, knocking it off target. Hatch’s trigger pull continued, and as the MP-5 completed its swing the weapon discharged a long burst. The stream of 9 mm slugs ripped through the fuselage and stitched a ragged line across the port wing before tearing through the engine nacelle.
Within seconds the punctured holes were emitting streams of black oil from punctured lines. The oil feathered back along the curved engine cover, the volume increasing as the ruptured pipes split under the impact of misshapen bullets.
The crackle of autofire brought Kendrick out of his copilot’s seat, snatching his pistol free on the move. He burst through the cockpit opening, his eyes fixed on the struggling Bolan and Hatch. He failed to notice Mitchell on her feet. As he appeared, she launched a powerful roundhouse kick that caught him low in the stomach. Kendrick doubled over and Mitchell brought her knee up, catching him in the side of the head. Kendrick fell against the bulkhead and Mitchell closed in, despite the disadvantage of having her hands secured behind her.
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