Blind Justice

by Don Pendleton

  “Ray Logan said his undercover assignment led him to a connection between Kendal and Koretski. He believes the senator is working in tandem with Koretski to bury any and all references to this oil find while they gain title and full control,” Bolan said.

  “Right now I have the team digging into Kendal’s affiliations. He presents himself as a simple guy, working for the people. He supposedly stepped away from the family empire, handing over the reins to appointed board members. Be no surprise if somewhere down the line our honorable senator is still in control. He keeps it in the background but all the time he’s still head honcho.

  “My contact has his suspicions that Kendal has been forcing individuals in government to turn blind eyes to his behind-doors dealings. He smells bribery and blackmail in the mix. Kendal has a rep for using underhand tactics—extreme if necessary. Example—look at what he’s done to Ray Logan and his family.”

  “I think Logan has him running scared,” Bolan said. “If all the gathered evidence comes out, Kendal will be finished and so will his backdoor deal with Koretski. That’s my next step. To retrieve that evidence so we can confront Kendal and company.”

  “They could still have people out there, Striker. People working on the assumption Rachel Logan took the evidence with her when she ran and hid it somewhere in the area.”

  “Thing is they would have guessed right and, yes, they could still be looking. I’ll face that if it comes up.”

  “We’ll keep on looking into Kendal’s and Koretski’s backgrounds,” Kurtzman said. “I have a feeling we’ll uncover all their sneaky dealings and connections. I’ll keep you in the loop, Striker.”

  Chapter 26

  Bolan heard the movement of a number of bodies as Kendal’s crew edged through the shrubbery around the secluded cabin. He was able to assess how many as they filtered across a clearing, then moved into the thicker trees, spreading as they went.

  Okay, he had their head count. They moved quickly and not too quietly, each man scouting a different section. They likely figured they knew what they were doing, but the noise they made marked them as unused to this kind of environment.

  As far as Bolan was concerned the men needed to be taken down quickly. He saw them as a viable threat so any actions he took had to be direct, utilizing time and effort to the best of his ability. He could not afford to be pulled into a drawn-out engagement. Letting himself be cornered would work for them, but would be fatal for Bolan.

  He was back at the cabin where Rachel and her son had been hiding out in order to reclaim the evidence Rachel had concealed. It was his sole objective. On the other side of the coin the same thing applied to this armed crew. Their objective, for a different reason, was to gain the information in order to protect Senator Kendal and Maxim Koretski. If the pair got the evidence they would destroy it. Without it, Ray Logan’s offensive would be weakened to the point where Kendal’s lawyers would shut the cop down.

  With Logan still recovering from his bullet wound and his family under protective custody by Stony Man, it was down to Bolan. He had shouldered the responsibility without regret. Stepping in to help someone like Logan was no hardship for the Executioner. From day one of his ongoing war, Bolan had taken the side of the underdog. He saw good being abused by the predators—blood spilled in vain because many of those being attacked were not equipped to fight back. And it was that which attracted Bolan. He simply would not stand by and allow it to happen. He could not allow it to go unpunished. He hated the bully—the evil side of man that was expressed in senseless acts of violence, of taking away from the weak and the gentle. There needed to be a force to combat the baser side of humanity.

  That force came in the black-clad figure of Bolan.

  Never one to shirk his duty.

  Never one to step away in the face of danger.

  Bolan was one man, but a man of heightened abilities, who seldom thought of his own mortality. If he had, it might have taken away his edge. He understood his day might come, later rather than sooner, but gaining that understanding he was able to push it aside and operate on the premise that for as long as he could fight his war, he would.

  And that was what he was doing on this day.

  Bolan didn’t miss the sudden rush of boots coming in from his right. He had been spotted.

  He did not miss the hasty words as his would-be attacker pronounced that he had found the target, speaking into his comset to warn the rest of his crew. The man had cast aside the golden rule of combat by announcing his presence—he might as well have shouted out loud and beat it on a drum.

  Bolan swiveled in the guard’s direction, letting his SMG hang by its strap as he reached to unsheathe the black-handled Cold Steel Tanto knife he carried. As he turned his back to the thick knotted tangle of undergrowth, legs braced to support his low crouch, Bolan heard the rustle and crackle of the closing man. The guy may have caught a glimpse of the Executioner before his headlong rush, but in his haste he’d failed to securely pinpoint Bolan’s position, so it was no hardship for the soldier to set himself. As the enemy lurched into sight Bolan reached out with the Tanto, pushed upright, and sank the chill length of steel into the man’s throat, feeling little resistance. There was a low gurgle, the only sound the man made, then a slow trickle of blood that quickly became a steady stream as Bolan worked the knife across the throat, cutting deeper. A sigh of breath whispered from the ravaged throat as the man slipped to his knees, all reason gone, only the final seconds of life remaining as Bolan withdrew the blade, then made the killing cuts left and right, severing main arteries. As pumping blood surged forth, Bolan pulled back and the man fell facedown, his body riding out the spasms that shook it.

  Bolan sank the Tanto into the soft earth to clean off excess blood before he sheathed it. He picked up the SMG the man had dropped, recognizing the configuration of the weapon.

  FN P90, 5.7 mm, holding a 50-round top-loading, translucent, polymer magazine. He checked the weapon—it was loaded and cocked. He could use it. Fifty extra rounds.

  “Where’s Slick?” someone called. “Which way?”

  This to Bolan’s right.

  And close.

  “Over your way.”

  Bolan picked up the rattle of undergrowth. He moved to the edge of the thick tangle and peered through the hanging fronds. A wide-shouldered figure came into view, carrying a weapon similar to the one Bolan had just acquired.

  He raised his own weapon and eased the muzzle through the hanging leaves, locking on to the man with wide shoulders. Bolan’s finger stroked the trigger and the SMG stuttered briefly, the shots loud in the near silence. The target stopped in his tracks as Bolan’s shots hammered into his chest. The man toppled back, lost in the undergrowth as he went down without a sound.

  “Over here,” another yelled, still failing to understand the concept of not revealing his position.

  Bolan ranged in on the guy, caught him full-on and hammered him with a controlled burst that blew bloody spray from the exit wounds. The guard went to his knees, uttering low moans that fell to silence when Bolan put a final burst into his skull.

  Someone opened fire, aiming at shadows, firing by reflex, fear, panic.

  Bolan smiled tightly as he heard the slugs snapping through the undergrowth yards away. He caught the muzzleflashes and used them as his firing point. His SMG jacked out a long burst and he heard a following cry of pain as the target caught the slugs in his midsection, doubling over in agony.

  “Son of a bitch,” someone shouted. “For Christ’s sake, peg the bastard.”

  Bolan heard them coming, spotted shadowed figures as they converged on his location. He made three of them. He raised his weapon and let go with tight groups of shots, tracking the muzzle back and forth. Bolan held his position, using his shots well and saw figures stumble and fall, their bodies s
lamming hard to the ground. As the third guy dropped, Bolan stood upright, moving in and placing killing shots into them all. He discarded the empty SMG and unlimbered his MP-5.

  He heard the comset of one of the dead crew still issuing muted commands. Bolan secured the unit and listened to the ranting words coming through the headset.

  “No one left to answer,” Bolan said into the microphone. “Next time try hiring a better quality dirt bag, not street trash.”

  “They come cheaper by the dozen,” Eddie Bishop said. “And money is no object.”

  “I know who you work for. Here’s your chance to walk away and tell the senator I’ll be paying him a visit soon. Count it in days. And keep checking over your shoulder. One time I’m going to be there.”

  Bolan dropped the headset and crushed it under his boot, then turned and melted deeper into the undergrowth and the close-growing timber. He picked up his pace, only checking the GPS unit a couple of times to fix his position. According to the coordinates he was close. He would be on his target within a couple more miles.

  He reached a spot where he was able to pause and hear the distant sound of rushing water. That meant he was near the place. Rachel had told him he would hear the water before he saw it. Bolan followed the sound, and it increased as he moved toward it.

  Behind him birds broke out of the trees, swirling, circling, disturbed by a presence. Bolan knew he was still being followed by the survivor of Kendal’s crew. He kept going, letting the guy track him. The man was persistent. Carrying out his orders.

  Orders to follow Bolan.

  To allow him to locate the evidence, then to take it from him.

  And to kill him.

  Bolan was about to change those orders—in his own favor.

  The man following Bolan was going to pay for his error. Bolan had given him the opportunity to back off. To walk to comparative safety. The man had declined that offer.

  It would not be given a second time.

  Chapter 27

  Eddie Bishop crouched in the cover of thick undergrowth, watching the man he knew as Cooper. He was staying well behind the black-clad figure, the recent deaths of his crew still vivid in his mind. Cooper was one hell of an opponent. A man would have to be a complete idiot not to take into account Cooper’s skill and his survival instinct. Bishop figured this guy had to have some impressive combat experience behind him to have come through the various confrontations and still be alive. Even Koretski’s so-called top men had fallen under Cooper’s guns, and then the man had even visited Koretski’s home base and taken out not only the Russians, but Senator Kendal’s killer dog Stone.

  Bishop had given an inner, silent cheer when he’d learned Stone was dead. A personal, albeit immature, feeling, but what the hell, he had never liked the man. He had, of course, kept his thoughts to himself when Kendal had called him in to reestablish him as head man in charge of the crew. It had been a hard task to maintain a dignified expression at the news, and Bishop had the feeling the senator knew exactly what he was thinking. He detected a gleam in Kendal’s eyes that betrayed the man’s inner imagining.

  “It must be quite a blow, Eddie, to learn Mr. Stone is dead.”

  “I guess I’m still in shock, Senator,” Bishop said. “This Cooper is a hard son of a bitch to take down. If Stone lost out to him…”

  The senator quickly lost interest. “Yes, well, it happened, so we have to move on. The problem is still out there. Logan and his wife are where we don’t seem to be able to get at them. But this evidence Logan gathered is still missing and anything that cop has to say still needs backing up with his evidence. Rachel Logan didn’t have it with her when she was taken to Koretski’s base. Stone was about to get her to talk when Cooper dropped in and fucked the whole deal. That tells me the evidence is still up for grabs and my instinct tells me she hid it while she was secreted at that cabin.”

  “You thinking she told Cooper? Gave him the location?”

  “Out of a number of suggestions, it’s the most likely unless we come up with anything else. But check out the facts. She was up in the wilderness for a while. Enough time for her to hide that evidence in a secure location. It’s a wild place—a good place to hide something. Get a team together, Eddie, and get back out there. This Cooper character has been bucking the odds all the way down the line. First he brings the woman back to a safe place, then most likely reunites her with her husband and son. The next logical step is to recover the evidence. My guess is Cooper takes on the job. Let’s do this, Eddie, and prove I’m not making another error in judgment.”

  BISHOP WAS NO FAN of the forest environment. His adult working life had been spent in urban jungles. Certainly not this green, leafy place, where the ground was soft underfoot with dead plants and the air had a slightly moldy odor. He was well out of his comfort zone, and that had applied to his team. The way Cooper had taken them all down could have been classed as embarrassing if it hadn’t been tragic. Three of his longtime buddies dead in minutes once Cooper had them spotted. He had closed in with less effort than it took Bishop to open a bottle of Bud—one, two, three, and they were gone.

  So here he was, Eddie Bishop, on his own and tracking a man who dispatched his opponents with ease. He crouched, staying low, letting Cooper get farther away. He had no way of telling whether Cooper had him spotted. The SMG Bishop was gripping was slick with sweat beneath his hands, and under his clothes his flesh was oozing perspiration, too. Bishop accepted he was not cut out for this kind of operation. But, he worked for the senator, and Kendal gave his orders with the expectation they would be carried out. Bishop was from the old school—you take a man’s money, you see the job through, no matter what. Putting your life at risk came with the territory, and nobody lived forever. Money-wise the job paid well, very well. Senator Kendal understood the dangers and he made sure his operatives were looked after.

  The hell of it was, all that money did little to make Bishop feel better in his current situation. If he caught a gut full of 9 mm slugs his bulging bank account was not going to do him any favors.

  Bishop saw the blacksuited figure step over a rise and drop out of sight. He waited then pushed forward himself, the spot where Cooper had vanished fixed in his mind. As he plowed his way through the undergrowth, Bishop picked up the sound of rushing water. It came from somewhere ahead of where Cooper was trekking. Bishop increased his pace, cursing as he stumbled over exposed roots, stepped into water that had gathered in hollows. Something caught his cheek, stinging and leaving a bloody spot. He sleeved the irritation away. He felt the ground rising as he neared where Cooper had dropped out of sight. The sound of water rose to a higher pitch.

  When he dropped to his knees, peering over the rise, hands pushing aside the tangled undergrowth, he realized the source of the noise.

  A waterfall, dropping some twenty-five feet from a wide, rushing stream. It fell in a silver curtain to a large pool, bouncing off rocks worn smooth by the ceaseless volume of water. The far side of the pool emptied itself into a wider, slower-moving creek that meandered across a grassy meadow before curving out of sight through the verdant forest. Misty spray rose from the base of the waterfall. A spread of pale rocks littered the ground on the approach to the pool.

  Cooper was standing motionless, looking out across the pool, his gaze centered on the fall of water. He held something in his left hand, checking a readout. And Bishop realized what it was—a tracking unit. An electronic gizmo that had led Cooper right to the spot where the Logan woman had stashed her husband’s evidence. He wondered what it was.

  A bug emitting a signal?

  Or the coordinates for a GPS unit?

  Whatever it was Cooper had followed the trace right here.

  Right to the evidence.

  Bishop held back. He needed to wait until Cooper had the material in his hands. Then he c
ould take it from the man. If he jumped too soon Bishop might still have difficulty laying his hands on the evidence. He would let Cooper bring it to him.

  Just take your time, Eddie. Don’t screw up now. Just think, when you walk in and present the senator with his package, he’ll most likely hand you a million bucks in a brown paper bag.

  Bishop pulled himself back to reality. Quit the daydreaming, he told himself. This was no fucking game. The guy down there was no fairy godmother. He’d chew him up and spit out the bones if Bishop lost his concentration. So get a grip, he ordered himself. Bishop glanced down at his P90, checking the weapon and convincing himself he had a full magazine.

  When he looked up again Cooper had gone.

  Vanished.

  Disappeared as if he had never been there.

  That was the moment Eddie Bishop felt the panic set in.

  Chapter 28

  The feeling stayed with him. Bishop did not consider himself a coward. He had faced personal danger on many occasions. His chosen lifestyle meant he was often placed in such situations. So he took the risks and handled them as they came. This time was different. This man, Cooper, was like an unstoppable force. There was no other way to describe the guy. He was not reckless, despite facing and taking on huge odds. The man showed no fear, or if he was scared he didn’t show it. His moves were calculated, his judgment sound. And he showed little mercy to anyone who stood against him, which, after being said, was another scary realization. Bishop fought the urge to turn around and walk away, to hell with Kendal and his orders. It would have been easy on a physical level. But Bishop had more respect for himself. Here he was, ready to face Cooper, knowing he was going to pit himself against the best he had ever faced, the man who had cut his way through Kendal’s crew. Who had also taken on Koretski’s Russians, and he understood the likelihood of defeat. Yet he pushed himself out of cover, searching for Cooper, and felt the rising buzz of personal danger far stronger than he had ever felt it before.