Blind Justice

by Don Pendleton

  More auto fire sounded. Slugs thudded into the parked car Sheriff Tetrow was using for cover. A rear tire blew out as it took hits. Light covers exploded.

  “Son of a bitch,” Tetrow exclaimed, then scooted toward the front of the vehicle, leaning across the hood to exchange fire with the advancing shooter.

  The Russian, Tajik, was burning through his magazine, raking the café frontage, hitting the large windows and reducing them to glittering shards.

  Tetrow triggered a second round of shots and saw the shooter stumble. By this time Bolan had his own weapon on the guy and hit Tajik with a double 3-round burst that ravaged the man’s upper chest and throat. Tajik stumbled on for a few steps, blood coursing from his lacerated throat, then slammed facedown on the street, the Kalashnikov slipping from his fingers.

  The rattle of gunfire faded, only to be replaced by the distinctive thwack of spinning rotor blades.

  Bolan, stepping down from the café sidewalk, picked up the sound, glanced up and saw the dark bulk of a chopper dropping rapidly to street level, armed figures already leaning out from the open side doors.

  Chapter 24

  Bolan acted even as the thought entered his head. He was moving forward, reaching for one of the dropped AK-47s, snatching it up and turning in toward the descending helicopter.

  One of the armed men hanging from the open hatch triggered his own auto rifle. Badly aimed due to the moving aircraft, the 7.62 mm slugs blew pockmarks in the street.

  Bolan dropped to one knee and shouldered the AK-47. He triggered a number of bursts at both the shooter and the chopper’s front canopy where the pilot sat. The shooter jerked back inside the helicopter, clutching at his shoulder where a single slug found its mark, and the pilot saw his plastic canopy star as slugs struck home. Bolan kept up his strikes, muzzle turning back and forth. A final, long burst and the Plexiglas canopy imploded. The pilot jerked back, letting go of the controls as his face was torn by plastic fragments, eyes blinded as they were pierced. The chopper, no more than a few feet above the street, dropped heavily, skids buckling under the dead weight. There was a moment of confusion before armed figures burst from both sides of the passenger compartment. They hit the street and began to scatter, using parked cars and trucks for cover.

  Bolan counted six of them.

  Sheriff Tetrow broke cover and sprinted across the street to snatch up the other dropped AK-47. He continued on to take cover behind a dusty truck, returning fire from the disgorged helicopter crew.

  The heavy sound of auto fire drowned out any other sound.

  Bolan spotted a figure edging along the side of a parked Ford, his Kalashnikov clutched across his chest. The Executioner set his weapon on the man and hit him with a single shot that cored in between his eyes and tore out the back of his skull. The gunman pitched sideways, jerking awkwardly as he lived out his final moments.

  Bolan heard shouted commands in Russian. Someone was giving orders to the crew, urging them to locate the woman and finish her. He hoped Rachel couldn’t hear what was being said, couldn’t understand the language.

  A pained scream came as Tetrow tracked one of the less cautious Russians and put him down. Bolan saw the man stumble into view, hunched over from a gut shot. The moment he was fully exposed Tetrow hit him again, a burst ripping into the man’s upper chest, spinning him off his feet, bloody spray erupting from a severed artery.

  Skirting the line of vehicles angled in at the sidewalk, Bolan made a fast run, outflanking the Russians, emerging on a level with two of the crew. His quick move had left them without a target. They became aware of Bolan in the final seconds, twisting around as he rose from cover and triggered his AK-47, punching 7.62 mm slugs into them. The pair caught the full burn of Bolan’s fire, bodies jerking under the impact of close-up hits. Punctured clothing and flesh blossomed with red as they tumbled back into the street, the high-velocity Soviet projectiles doing maximum damage in the minimum of time.

  More fire from across the street alerted Bolan and he headed in that direction, making a swift magazine exchange as he moved, utilizing the double-taped configuration. With a full load Bolan raised the Kalashnikov and planted a burst between the shoulders of the Russian who had stepped up to fire at Tetrow, even as the sheriff engaged the remaining shooter. Bolan’s target lurched forward as 7.62 mm slugs blew out through his ribs, taking chunks of heart and lungs with them. He dropped without a sound, seconds before Tetrow’s shooter fell.

  “We done here, Cooper?” Tetrow asked. He gripped the AK-47 like he was expecting more action. He absently reached up to wipe at the streak of blood on his left cheek where something had clipped the flesh. “I ask you something, son? Just what is it the lady’s husband uncovered that is so damned important to these people?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same thing, Sheriff, ever since this whole thing blew up in my face.”

  “Well, it’s got me real curious.”

  “Let’s go and see if anyone got hurt in the café,” Bolan said.

  Rachel stood in the café door. “No one hurt,” she said. “But the place is a mess.” She touched Bolan’s arm. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Matt, I’m beginning to feel as if I bring problems wherever I go.”

  “None of this is your fault, Rachel. It’s all down to Senator Kendal and his Russian partner. And I’m going to bring it to a close.” He saw Tetrow on his radio comset, calling in his deputies and caught the man’s eye. “I’m taking Rachel over to the doc, then I need to make some calls.”

  As he led Rachel across the street, steering her away from the carnage, she pulled up short.

  “It’s time I told you where Ray’s data is hidden,” she said. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else right now. You should go and get it. Bring it in so we can put a stop to all this. Maybe then I can get back to my husband and my son. It’s been a hell of a ride, Matt Cooper, but I just want to be a wife and mom again.”

  Bolan pushed open the door to the doctor’s office.

  “Sounds like a reasonable request,” he said.

  TETROW HAD ORDERED his deputies to drop whatever they were doing and to return to town. He called in further help from other law agencies, shaking his head as he leaned against his desk in the sheriff’s department.

  “I’ll be filling out paperwork for the next month,” he said. “If I was a vindictive man, Cooper, I’d be asking why the hell couldn’t you have driven right through here and stopped off at the next town.”

  “Let me make my call,” Bolan said, “and I’ll see if we can smooth some of this over for you.”

  “Nine bodies and a helicopter bang in the middle of the main street? How in hell do you smooth that over?”

  The office door opened and Nan came in. She was carrying a coffeepot and a couple of mugs. “Figured you boys could use some of this,” she said. “How you doing? That’s a damn fool question seeing as how you just came through a firefight.” She poured coffee, then said, “So, how’re you doing?”

  “We’ll survive,” Bolan said.

  “And Rachel?”

  “The doc treated her. He gave her something to help her relax and right now she’s asleep.”

  “Best thing for her,” Tetrow said. “Maybe I’ll go ask the doc to treat me and I can lie down and sleep.”

  Nan laughed. “Don’t let him fool you, Cooper. Our sheriff is tough as boot leather.”

  “Grateful for the coffee, Nan,” Tetrow said as a way of getting her to leave. She took the hint, placed the pot on the desk, and left, quietly closing the door. “Cooper, you going to be making official, confidential calls? I can step out if you want.”

  “No need.”

  Bolan used the sat phone to make his call to Stony Man Farm. While he waited for his connection to go through
the safety protocols he took a drink of Nan’s coffee. He saw Tetrow settle in his chair behind his desk. The sheriff stared out the office window and Bolan could almost read the man’s mind as he reviewed the sudden and violent events that had disrupted the peace and quiet of his town. The memory would linger.

  “Striker?” Hal Brognola’s tone was tinged with worry. “You okay? More to the point, what the hell is going on and where are you?”

  The conversation for the next few minutes was one-sided, with Bolan relating his version of recent events. He completed his report with details of the incident in Braxton’s Halt.

  “You and Rachel Logan are okay?”

  “Few scrapes and bruises. Rachel is resting at the doctor’s office. I need some help out here to get this town back to normal. Have a word with Leo over at Justice. His Federal Task Force clout should be able to cut through the red tape.”

  Brognola grumbled something about having to clean up another fine mess. But Bolan knew the big Fed would do it.

  “Striker, how is it you can be driving through a quiet town and next thing get yourself involved in a mess like this?”

  “What can I say, Hal, it’s a gift.”

  “Okay. You’ve told me where Ray Logan is. His son is with him. And you have Rachel Logan under your protection. Now how about letting me in on this damned evidence that everyone seems to be busting a gut to get hold of.”

  “To be honest, Hal, I don’t have much to tell you. Something to do with Senator Kendal’s association with this Koretski guy.”

  “A Russian gangster and a U.S. senator in the same mix. That’s a recipe for one hell of a shit storm, Striker.”

  “Let’s not forget what’s been happening to the Logan family. And a murdered Seattle cop. And the two people killed at that store. All they did was get in the way of Kendal’s and Koretski’s hired guns. Too high a cost, Hal.”

  “We don’t forget anything, Striker. What’s your next move?”

  “See that Rachel gets back to her family. Then I go and retrieve Ray Logan’s evidence. And whatever you can dig up on the senator would be helpful.”

  “See what I can get. You might find Kendal still trying to get his hands on this evidence, too.”

  “I’m counting on that, Hal.”

  Bolan’s simple remark was enough. The words hit home and Brognola understood the implication—the mission was far from over.

  The Executioner was still out there.

  Chapter 25

  “You up to talking?” Bolan asked Ray Logan.

  “After seeing my wife and son safe and protected, Cooper, nothing can stop me now.”

  Bolan sat down beside Logan’s bed. He needed answers but he didn’t want to tire the man. Logan looked weak, his face pale and drawn. His recovery was going to be slow.

  “Ray, we haven’t had a chance to go into too much detail over why Kendal and Koretski are so desperate to stop you from talking and airing the evidence you gathered.”

  “Things did get hairy once you picked me up,” Logan admitted. “I was kind of out of it for a while and by the time I came back you were gone.”

  “Then wasn’t the time. But now it is time,” Bolan said.

  “Well, it took some figuring out, but I finally realized what they were up to.” He fell silent then, staring out the window, gathering his thoughts. Bolan realized just how much effort even this small conversation was taking.

  “Ray, if this is too much…”

  Logan shook his head. “No, it’s okay,” he said, voice reduced to a dry whisper. “It’s oil, Matt. A massive field Koretski found out about from one of his own field engineers. Under the water along the Alaskan coast. Once developed it’s going to be worth billions of dollars, and Koretski and Kendal want to control it all. They clamped down on reports and surveys, and they had a number of people killed to prevent disclosure. It’s all in my data. Names. Dates. Kendal has been using his influence to make sure everything swings his way. Bribery. Blackmail. That man is unstoppable. Partnership with a Russian criminal makes him one hell of an opponent.”

  “That’s enough to go on,” Bolan said. “I’ll recover the data and we’ll shut them down for good.”

  “Rachel tell you where she planted it?”

  Bolan nodded. “Yes. She hid it well.”

  “She’s some lady,” Logan whispered. “Did I thank you for looking out for her and Tommy?”

  “More than once.”

  Logan was drifting, eyes closing as his energy level dropped. He didn’t notice when Bolan quietly left the room.

  There were two Stony Man Blacksuits stationed in the Madsen house. Bolan had a quiet word with them before he left. No one would get into Logan’s room, apart from his family and Doc Madsen and his wife. The Blacksuits answered only to SOG authority—Brognola and Bolan. The Logan family were in safe hands. Rachel and Tommy were sleeping, resting up after the events of the past few days.

  In his SUV Bolan linked up with Stony Man Farm again. This mission, originating as a solo endeavor as far as Bolan was concerned, had expanded into something bigger and before the Executioner made his moves against Kendal and Koretski, he needed to understand exactly what they were doing. The whole affair had taken on a wider aspect: the involvement of three cops from Logan’s Seattle department who had been found executed after Bolan had left them; the murder of Marty Keegan, Logan’s longtime friend; the execution of Sarah and Arthur Kenner—two completely innocent citizens. Bolan’s rescue of Rachel Logan had culminated in the open, pitched battle in Braxton’s Halt. All these occurrences were a result of Ray Logan’s undercover assignment exposing the Kendal-Koretski alliance.

  With Logan’s revelation about a massive oil find, Bolan finally had a motive for the desired cover-up. The Executioner was under no illusions. Greed and the need for power were old bedmates. It wouldn’t be the first time the primal lust for control of some unexpected discovery brought out men’s worst sides.

  “Tell me what you’ve found out about Senator Tyrone Kendal,” Bolan said.

  “With what Hal was able to get, plus what we’ve dug up, we now have a clearer picture of the man. You want the full biography, or the Reader’s Digest version?” Kurtzman said.

  “Short and to the point, Bear.”

  “A bully and full of his own self-importance. Apparently you should never turn your back on him, even if you’re in a crowded room in broad daylight. He truly believes personal aggrandizement was created for him alone. He gets away with a lot because he’s extremely wealthy and has powerful connections. Interestingly, though he’s protected, the man is still not making real friends. And it seems a lot of his acquaintances have been turning their backs on him lately. He’s been up to too many tricky dealings it appears. Nothing anyone can take him to task over, but the word from the Hill is he’s getting walked around whenever he shows up. And I did get it on good authority that he’s used up most of the favors people owed him.”

  “He’s keeping bad company, Bear.”

  “The gossip is that he runs in very dubious circles. No proof, of course, but I did pick up a whisper about him having a relationship with one Maxim Koretski. Moving on to Koretski—he seems to be one of those new Russian entrepreneurs. Has his hand in all kinds of schemes—made a fortune in property, oil and shipping. But the unofficial word is Koretski has links to the Russian underworld.”

  “Bear, where do you get all this from?”

  “I spent most of my adult life in politics, and I lived inside the Washington Beltway. You don’t exist in that bubble without gaining all kinds of information. I may be out of the daily grind, but I keep my ear to the ground and I still have my sources. At my age, Matt, I need something to keep life interesting.”

  “I have information, which needs confirming, that Ke
ndal and Koretski are partnering in some oil-prospecting deal. You come across anything about this?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “It appears this deal is being kept under wraps because Kendal and Koretski are vying to gain full control. Looks like a covert, backdoor operation,” Bolan explained. “Listen, if you get something else that might be useful, you know how to get me?”

  “You got it, Striker.” And with that, the call ended.

  BOLAN’S CALL FROM Kurtzman came faster than he had been expecting. The Stony Man Farm cyber expert had interesting news for Bolan.

  “I had a long conversation with a police contact inside Moscow’s Organized Crime Department. He did some poking around for me and came up with more on this oil business. He remembered a report about a private aircraft crashing, killing all four passengers on board and the pilot. It was flying back from Alaska. Nothing could be proved other than that the plane apparently developed engine failure over a desolate area. The flight manifest gave the names of the passengers. They were all involved in the oil industry. When I ran some in-depth checks on these people I found they worked for an oil commission based in Seattle. There was also mention of a company called Nuevo Oil, Incorporated. Small business. Been around for a few years. When I ran a search program, tracing back through company files and various layers, it emerged that the guy behind Nuevo Oil is none other than your Russian buddy, Maxim Koretski. He wanted to stay below the radar, but you can’t hide from Uncle A. After the crash, all reports, surveys, etc., were lost, vanished, erased. It was like these guys and their assignment never existed. Seems there was a rumor about a big find, but the downer was it turned out to be just that—a rumor—and it all fizzled out after the deaths of those people in the plane crash.”