Death List

by Don Pendleton

  “Not me, Jack. Not yet, anyway.”

  “You did a heck a lot of damage to that building,” Grimaldi went on. “The Farm reports the cleanup crew is still pulling bodies of those mercs out. We’ve got the details on that Walker character, and the guys they’ve been able to ID from the brewery are all tracing back, too. It’s a company called Veldt Security. Barb wants to update you.”

  Sitting in his seat in the Osprey, Bolan nodded. He was wearing a headset so he could more easily hear Grimaldi in the chopper. The pilot routed the call from the Farm over their mutual connection.

  “Striker,” Price said, “I’ve got a lot of numbers piling up here. You’re running a heck of a bill in private property.”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” Bolan replied. “So what’s the story on Harmon’s hired help?”

  “We’ve confirmed that the company you’re dealing with is an outfit called Veldt. We already suspected that, but we didn’t have anything external agencies would consider proof until now. There’s enough employment history on the men we’ve recovered that proof is no longer an issue. We’ve done some more digging. We know that Harmon and the men involved in Veldt Security go back a long way. They’re all part of the same nest of hostiles.”

  “I don’t feel bad about blowing them up, then,” Bolan said. “Not that I was going to anyway. I don’t weep for predators no matter what their stripes. They’ve all got to go down.”

  “Yes,” Price said dryly. “I know.”

  Bolan laughed despite himself. “So you’ve heard that speech a few times.”

  “I’d be worried if you didn’t give it. According to the information we have on the Corino death list, you are now on your way to the last stop. It’s been in the planning stages for quite some time now. An immigration rally in Detroit, of all places, where Congressman Marcus Sugarman of Michigan is scheduled to speak alongside the Mexican ambassador.”

  “I’ve read the file. It’s pretty dry. Can you give me the gist?”

  “Well, in a nutshell, Sugarman wants to change current immigration law. You know how tense things have been between the United States and Mexico for the last several years. They know their people are coming over illegally, and we know it, too. For a long time, the Mafia has been profiting from what is essentially trade in human beings. I’m not talking about legal versus illegal immigration. I’m talking about people who never make it into the system once they come over the border, trafficked by people who are essentially selling them to Mob families here.”

  “Slavery. Modern-day slavery.”

  “Exactly,” Price said. “Sugarman has drafted a bill that would change all that. It strengthens border protections while also making it possible to deploy resources to cut down on human trafficking across the border. It all hinges on improved diplomacy between the two countries, and that’s why the Mexican ambassador is on the ground there. The speeches are the lead-off to several days of conferencing where the two plan to consolidate support for the bill. It’s all leading up to a push for a vote in Washington. That’s not for a while yet. This is...foundational stuff. Laying the groundwork.”

  “And so the Mob wants them both dead,” Bolan concluded.

  “Not exactly. They’re heavily invested in the status quo. Their slaves from Mexico are used for everything from the prostitution trade to forced labor in drug labs to menial labor for a variety of Mob-owned, but otherwise legitimate, businesses. Sugarman threatens all that, but he’s a US congressman, and taking him out crosses a line that not even the Mob is willing to walk over. What we now know is that they’ve demanded that Harmon assassinate the Mexican ambassador, Carlos Orozco, while threatening Marcus Sugarman and making him look weak. That will help kill support for Sugarman’s legislation and probably prevent his reelection. The damage done to Mexican-American relations will be significant.”

  “Killing two birds with one stone. Right.”

  “Orozco will most likely be taken out while he’s giving his speech,” Price said. “Sugarman is going to introduce him, and then Orozco is scheduled to deliver a barn-burner of a speech about immigration reform and human trafficking. You’ve got to stop that from happening, protect Orozco and shield Congressman Sugarman in case they decide, in the field, that a dead congressman might just be what’s necessary to salvage their mission.”

  “No pressure, though.”

  “The timetable is tight, Striker,” Price told him. “We have you arriving in Detroit after Sugarman’s scheduled speech to introduce the ambassador.”

  “Then you’re not going to like what I’m going to have to do about that,” Bolan said.

  He looked to the cockpit. “Jack, do we have what we’re going to need?”

  “Let me guess—you want FRIES with that,” Grimaldi guessed, referring to the Fast Rope Insertion and Extraction System.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re not doing what I think you’re doing, are you?” Price asked.

  “I’m going to have to. Jack, can the winch handle three people?”

  “Barely,” the pilot replied. “They’re not going to like it.”

  “Going to have to be good enough,” Bolan said. “Barb, I need you to—”

  “I know, I know. Call Hal and then contact the authorities in Detroit. I’ve got to brace them for you to violate every law and safety regulation they’ve got on the books.”

  “That’s about the size of it, yeah.”

  “Understood,” Price said. “Do you have a revised ETA?”

  “Thirty minutes out,” Grimaldi told her.

  “Copy. Striker, I... Wait—Striker, you’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?”

  “The phone you had delivered by courier to the Farm. The one that David Pierce gave you? He’s texting it. Says he needs to talk to you. We set up the system here to monitor the SIM card.”

  “Can you patch a call through?”

  “One moment. Okay. Should work in just a second.”

  “Stay on the line with us,” Bolan said. “Record it, too. No telling what it might be.”

  In his headset, Bolan could hear the phone ringing. When Pierce picked up, there was enough wind noise that Bolan could tell the man was driving, possibly with the window down.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should expect you to respond,” Pierce said. “Cooper, is it?”

  “That will do. What is it you want, Mr. Pierce?”

  “Let’s not get formal now, pal,” Pierce told him. “Look... I thought about what you said. Really thought about it. And I’ve decided to leave my employers. But I figure you’ve probably got some unfinished business with them. And I’d kinda like to know if you have unfinished business with me, too.”

  “Not as far as I know. Should I?”

  “Not as far as I know,” Pierce echoed. “But I don’t figure on spending the rest of my life running, Cooper. If the government wants me, I’d like to know now. I’d rather turn myself in than try to start my new life and find out I can’t.”

  Bolan thought about that for a minute. “No,” he finally said. “Not as long as you’ve been truthful. If you’ve ever been connected to a hit that wasn’t another Mob shooter, my people will find out. They’ll alert me, and I’ll come to punch your ticket.”

  “I haven’t been. I was honest about that.”

  “Then I can’t see any compelling reason to come after you.”

  “Well, maybe I can give you some reason to feel good about my riding off into the sunset, then.” Pierce recited a number from memory.

  “What is that number?”

  “It’s the security code to the Corino estate,” he said. “Use that number and you can bypass the gate, the cameras and all the alarms. It’s the key to the Corino kingdom, and I’m giving it to you. Because I figure when you’re done lousing up their d
eath list, you’re going to swing back to get the people who wrote it. Am I right?”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “I’ve got another number for you, too.” Pierce rattled it off; it was the right length to be a phone number. “That’s the burner phone the Corinos gave Harmon when he showed up to explain himself and pick up the job from you. We were in a big hurry to get him back on schedule, so I didn’t give him the speech I gave you. I also didn’t trust him the way I trusted you.

  “As far as I know, he was regularly giving the Corinos updates on his progress with that phone until you started screwing up the hits. He’s probably still got it, even if he’s not using it, because he wants to get paid, and the Corinos told him to call in on that phone when the mission was done if he wanted his money. They were explicit about it. Oversight, they called it.”

  “This is...very helpful,” Bolan said. “I’m a little surprised, Pierce.”

  “Should you be? I didn’t belong there. You knew it. I knew it. I just had to find a reason to go. And I have to say that it felt awfully good.”

  “If this information pans out, you’ve done your country a real service, Pierce.”

  “Don’t tell anyone,” the former Mob enforcer replied. “It will ruin my reputation. Oh, that reminds me. There’s something else you need to know. Something that might save your life. Aldo Corino is a paranoid bastard. He’s got a full-on suicide vest with what he thinks is a fail-safe switch.”

  “What sort of explosives?” Bolan asked.

  “Semtex. Enough to blow up most of a wing of that house. What he doesn’t know is that his dead man’s switch isn’t a dead man’s switch at all. When I rigged it for him at his request, I was...well, I was in a bad mood. His switch is a simple radio transmitter. Standard IED-type stuff. He presses that switch, he goes boom exactly five minutes later when the transmitter kicks on, and it doesn’t matter if he lets go. It’s built on a wireless phone, so the signal is plenty strong enough. I figured five minutes would be enough time for me to clear out before he blew himself to Hell and gone, if it ever came to that. But the signal can also be blocked to never go off.”

  “Some people’s bad moods are worse than others,” Bolan said. “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll make sure to be prepared. So what’s next for you?”

  “I have my eye on a guitar shop for sale in Newport, New Hampshire. Great state, New Hampshire. No state income tax. Found the shop in the online real-estate ads. A little out of my price range, but if it stays on the market long enough, and I can invest what I’ve saved, I’ll have enough for the deposit. Going to spend the rest of my life in an honest craft, Cooper. Something I enjoy. Something that doesn’t hurt anyone or anything. I’m going to retire, is what I’m saying.”

  “Well, good luck to you, Pierce.”

  “Yeah, you, too, Cooper.” Before he hung up, though, he added, “Cooper? I can tell you’ve been doing this for a long time.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You ever think about retiring? Maybe you should.”

  “It isn’t in me,” Bolan told him. “But I appreciate the thought. Enjoy your retirement, Pierce. And thanks for your help.”

  “Thanks for yours,” Pierce said, and cut the connection.

  * * *

  THE OSPREY SWUNG low over the city of Detroit, Michigan. Grimaldi’s radio lit up with incoming transmissions. Barbara Price and the Farm were running interference, but there were plenty of local authorities who either hadn’t gotten the message or didn’t quite believe it. The massive twin-rotor craft wasn’t exactly subtle, nor were military Ospreys a common site in the skies above most major American cities.

  The coordinates of the speech site were plugged into Grimaldi’s equipment. He was tracking to bring them right over the public park where the grandstand and bleachers had been set up for the event. The venue was a large parking area, bordered on three sides by massive buildings, giving snipers plenty of opportunities to pick off the ambassador. The only clear area was to the rear, at the speakers’ backs. There was no place for an enemy to hide or to stage from that direction, which meant the only way to ensure the safety of Congressman Sugarman and Ambassador Orozco was to put some kind of barrier between.

  Bolan had his own thoughts about all this, though. A sniper attack made tactical sense from the standpoint of achieving the mission objective, but Harmon needed something bigger than just a victory. It wasn’t enough for the Mexican ambassador to die during his speech. The act had to be more shocking than a simple bullet from on high. At least, Bolan figured it would need to be. That was the only way Harmon could assert to his employers that he really was in control. The assassin needed to save face after losing so many of the targets on the death list.

  Bolan had survived as long as he had in counterterror by being able to put himself in the mind of his enemies. More than once he had worn battle masks, other identities, that allowed him to infiltrate and destroy crime and terror organizations from within. He knew in his gut that his assessment of Harmon, of the man’s personality and his approach to his work, was correct. Every man was consistent with his nature. Harmon was a brutal thug, but an intelligent and cunning one, as well. He was a completely amoral sociopath who killed as naturally and as easily as some people breathed. He would be only too aware of what it would take to secure his position with the Corinos after failing them so badly.

  “Jack, system check on the FRIES,” Bolan said.

  “Winch active,” Grimaldi replied. “The motor and the backup test out. It’s going to be a strain, Sarge, and what you’re planning on doing is pretty nuts. But I’m with you.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” The Fast Rope Insertion and Extraction System was used for rapid deployment and retrieval of personnel from helicopters. Supporting multiple personnel on the winch and rope system was not the problem. Raising multiple people, instead of one team member at a time, just might be. Bolan was taking a calculated risk given the resources at his command.

  The Osprey swung low and Bolan surveyed the crowd. There were a lot of people gathered for this immigration speech. Where was Harmon? Where were his mercenaries? There was no doubt in Bolan’s mind that the assassin would be there. This was the capstone to the Corinos’ plan. There was no way Harmon would entrust its execution to underlings.

  So where would they be?

  People in the crowd were looking up and pointing. It was possible they thought the Osprey had something to do with the event. They were high enough, at the moment, that the aircraft’s rotors wouldn’t drown out the ambassador’s speech...but that was going to have to change.

  “Get us down there, Jack,” Bolan ordered.

  “Here we go.” Grimaldi brought the Osprey down hard and fast. A few people in the crowd actually ducked. The Mexican ambassador, Orozco, was standing at the podium. He looked up at the twin-rotor machine in wonder.

  Bolan stood in the open starboard-side door of the Osprey. He was scanning the crowd with a pair of binoculars. On the floor next to him was the mounted winch for the FRIES, primed and ready.

  Something. Anything. He needed an indicator of where the threat was to come from. If he were Vincent Harmon, what would he do? It wouldn’t be a bomb. It wouldn’t be anything passive. It had to be something active, something Harmon could take direct credit for. A bombing would be something any number of groups could claim, without proof.

  There!

  “Jack,” Bolan said, pointing. “That news van. Look at it. Why is it moving? All the other media crews are already set up. That van is moving away from the crowd and toward the position with the worst vantage for a close-up.”

  “But the best location for a long-range rifle shot,” Grimaldi concluded.

  “Now, Jack, now, before they’re in position!”

  The Osprey swooped lower, sweeping over the crowd like the bird of prey it was named for.r />
  Bolan jumped out the open door.

  17

  Bolan descended on the fast-rope system, pulling with him a pair of alloy fast-connect hooks that were coupled to two more fast-connect hooks.

  He hit the deck behind the podium and snapped the two fast-connect hooks through the belts of Ambassador Orozco and Congressman Sugarman. Then, putting his arms around both of the cowering men, he looked up to the hovering Osprey. The wash from the twin rotors was like a hurricane. People were shouting and screaming. The crowd had no idea what to make of the spectacle.

  The moving news van had stopped. Harmon, or his men, were in position for their very public kill.

  The winch started to lift Bolan and his two charges. It was too slow. Grimaldi realized that and raised the Osprey itself, yanking all three men into the air.

  The ambassador and the congressman were screaming something, but Bolan couldn’t hear them over the noise of the Osprey. He was more interested in the news van. From here, he could see black-clad men start to leave the vehicle. They were pointing weapons up at the aircraft. Bolan was most interested in one figure in particular, which moved differently from the others. They moved like mercenaries, like commandos. This separate figure moved like a panther. He moved like a killer.

  He moved like Mack Bolan.

  Harmon was down there.

  The Osprey rapidly ascended, putting distance between it and the event, getting them beyond the range of even a .50-caliber rifle. The winch was also still slowly pulling the trio up. The two men with Bolan were terrified, but he knew they would get over that. Once he explained that they had just been saved from an assassination attempt, their moods should brighten pretty quickly.

  The winch slowly brought Bolan and the other two men even with the open door of the Osprey. He helped them both inside and scrambled in after them. Grimaldi distributed headsets for everyone.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Sugarman demanded.

  “I demand to be taken to the Mexican consulate,” Ambassador Orozco stated emphatically.