OPTIMUM HIT
The kidnapping of a high-ranking U.S. intelligence official by Somali pirates requires a quick and dirty extraction, and Bolan is tapped for the mission. But when its successful completion red-flags covert data indicating an imminent attack on U.S. soil, the situation turns hard and deadly.
Bolan’s prime directive from the Oval Office is clear: connect the dots of the terrorist cells in New York to find the target and bury the trail. America doesn’t want—or need—a new war, especially as a crucial United Nations vote on nuclear arms is days away. When the dirty business leads back to Iran, Bolan’s only shot is to go undercover in Tehran. Here, seconds count as he races to eliminate the power behind the threat and stop an enemy taking aim at America’s heart with intent to kill.
Bolan ducked down as the grenade detonated
He flattened himself to the ground, knowing that the vehicle he was using for cover would take one hell of a beating.
He opened his mouth to equalize the pressure, almost able to taste the explosive that went up with the grenade, the launcher and the missile it carried. Heat swept across him. He couldn’t hear the shrapnel hit the side of the vehicle, and couldn’t feel it in the shock wave generated by the blast.
He was the first man on his feet: he had to be. Years of training and combat experience honed him to this. The sight that greeted him was one that both elated and worried him. The entire crew of pirates had been eradicated in one swoop, but the blast had also taken out some of the tents and shacks.
Had he inadvertently made casualties of the hostages he had been sent to retrieve?
Other titles available in this series:
Breached
Retaliation
Pressure Point
Silent Running
Stolen Arrows
Zero Option
Predator Paradise
Circle of Deception
Devil’s Bargain
False Front
Lethal Tribute
Season of Slaughter
Point of Betrayal
Ballistic Force
Renegade
Survival Reflex
Path to War
Blood Dynasty
Ultimate Stakes
State of Evil
Force Lines
Contagion Option
Hellfire Code
War Drums
Ripple Effect
Devil’s Playground
The Killing Rule
Patriot Play
Appointment in Baghdad
Havana Five
The Judas Project
Plains of Fire
Colony of Evil
Hard Passage
Interception
Cold War Reprise
Mission: Apocalypse
Altered State
Killing Game
Diplomacy Directive
Betrayed
Sabotage
Conflict Zone
Blood Play
Desert Fallout
Extraordinary Rendition
Devil’s Mark
Savage Rule
Infiltration
Resurgence
Kill Shot
Stealth Sweep
Grave Mercy
Treason Play
Assassin’s Code
Shadow Strike
Decision Point
Road of Bones
Radical Edge
Fireburst
Oblivion Pact
Enemy Arsenal
State of War
Ballistic
Escalation Tactic
Crisis Diplomacy
Apocalypse Ark
Lethal Stakes
Illicit Supply
Explosive Demand
Ground Zero
Fighting terrorism is like being a goalkeeper. You can make a hundred brilliant saves but the only shot people remember is the one that gets past you.
—Paul Wilkinson, London Daily Telegraph,
September 1, 1992
If one gets past me, lives will be lost. It’s my duty to track the threat and take it out. We cannot let them win. Do not be afraid. Live your lives, go about your business and terrorism will fail.
—Mack Bolan
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER ONE
The sun began to sink over the cloudless, hot, still and silent waters. The ocean looked like glass, which was the most clichéd observation Marina Foster had ever come up with. She sipped her drink and listened to the laughter of her husband, Frank, and George and Carla Usborne, the couple accompanying them on this trip.
It was beautiful out here, but she was bored out of her mind. George was an old fraternity buddy of Frank’s, while Carla was one face-lift short of a lobotomy. This was a beautiful spot, but she would rather have had better company. Or, preferably, her husband to herself. But Frank had been going through a lot of stress at work, and he needed not just a vacation, but also one in which he could completely cut loose. George represented the world before it got complicated for Frank, and if that was what he needed...
Marina was a dutiful wife. She just thanked God and her pharmacist for Valium.
“Baby, you just hear what George said about the fishermen around here?” Frank hailed her. She turned, faking that she had been listening.
“Yes, he’s one funny guy,” she agreed. She hadn’t the faintest idea what George had said, but there was something nagging at the back of her brain that his idiocy had distracted her from.... Something that she’d read just before they left. Something that made her a little uneasy.
* * *
WHEN NIGHT ARRIVED across African waters, it came swiftly and with no warning. One moment it was still golden and red as the sun hit the water, the next it was almost pitch-black, the stars pinpoints in the dark sky. It was cold, too; the temperature dropped rapidly. Surely that was the only reason Marina shivered as Frank and George busied themselves at the barbecue they had set up under the canopy aft. They had some fish that they had caught—they were feeling pleased with themselves—and these were gutted and laid on the coals. The smell was appalling to her.
“Are you sure that’s okay to eat?” Marina questioned.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Carla asked.
Marina shook her head. “Something about the water around here,” she muttered. “I was reading up on this region before we came out here—”
George laughed. It was a stupid, coarse sound. Fitting really, Marina thought.
“That’s what you get for living with an intelligence guy for so long, babe,” he said. “You get the bug and can’t stop finding out shit. You need to marry a banker, then all you do is add up credit card bills, like my Carla.” He pealed off another wave of laughter, ignoring the caustic stare shot at him by his wife.
Frank shrugged at Marina, catching the look in her eye. The shrug said all kinds of things: sorry this idiot was his friend, sorry
that he needed this kind of mindlessness to relax, sorry that she wasn’t enough on her own.
The last was maybe her own suspicion more than her husband’s intent, but it still preoccupied her. Not enough, though, that she couldn’t hear the sounds of engines across the water. The distant buzz grew louder as she exclaimed, with sudden recall, “Poisoned fish—that was it. Frank, throw that shit overboard, it stinks so much because it’s laden with chemicals. There’s a lot of dumping in this region that has made it real hard to fish without poisoning half the fisher’s village.”
Frank huffed as he lifted the charred fish off the grill with skewers. He held it at arm’s length to dump it over the side. “Shit, baby, I wish you’d remembered that earlier.”
George guffawed. “So much for intelligence gathering, Frankie boy. Good thing there’s a stocked freezer and a microwave on this boat.”
“That’s what you get for borrowing the boss’s yacht,” Frank replied mechanically as he dropped the stinking carcasses into the depths. His attention was distracted by the sight of two small boats—the source of the noise that had caught his wife’s ear—cutting across the water’s still surface. Even in the darkness, he could see that both vessels, which now panned out to form a pincer that took port and starboard side, were manned by skinny men who hung casually from the sides.
“Baby, you remember reading anything else about these waters?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level.
“Yes... But it’s too late to worry about that now, right?”
Her voice was quiet. He looked around, startled to find her at his elbow. Behind them, George and Carla were arguing, drunk and oblivious.
“I’ve remembered something, too. Something I really should have been more aware of,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”
She clutched his arm with fingers that bit into him. “Those aren’t fishing rods they’re carrying, right?”
* * *
LANDON MCCABE LOOKED UP at the ceiling, breathed deeply three times and clapped his hands on the desk. He chewed ruminatively on his lip before rising and moving with determination into the corridor and toward the Oval Office. Some idiot would have to pay for this. How the hell had Foster been allowed out there at all, let alone without any security on hand? The big man wasn’t going to like this. He probably wasn’t going to like the guy who had to tell him, either. Why did it have to be on his watch?
As he approached, the Secret Service agents straightened. He dismissed them with a gesture. The door to the room opened and he strode in. The President was seated at his desk, feet up, reading a file and frowning. The frown creased his brow when he looked up, and seeing the way McCabe fixed him with a stare did nothing to change that.
“Bad news?” he asked, putting down the file and sitting up so that he was leaning over the desk. McCabe nodded.
The Man pursed his lips. “Is there any other kind?” he asked rhetorically. “Let me have it.”
McCabe told him. The President hit the desk hard with the flat of his hand and cursed loudly. “How did that happen?” he yelled. “How, for God’s sake?”
McCabe shook his head. “Good question. I’ll get you an answer, and the ass of the moron who screwed up. But right now—”
The President nodded. “There are more important things. What are our options?”
McCabe tensed. This was the bit he hadn’t been looking forward to.
“Limited, sir. Very limited.”
* * *
CARLA HAD STOPPED crying. She was leaning over George, who was still unconscious. His instinctive jock sensibilities had made him try to protect his wife when the men had come aboard. Marina had stayed Frank from any such action with a hand on his arm. One look had told her that he was intending to be sensible. Marina had been glad of this when the drunken George had been bludgeoned by a Somali wielding an AK-47. Two blows had put him on his knees and then onto the deck. It was only the clicking tongue of the skipper that had prevented further damage.
Frank and Marina knew why. They had known from the moment that the boats had pulled alongside that the thing to do was be calm, be subservient and go along with what the pirates wanted. For that was what they were, without a doubt; the reports that both had read had come back to them too late. They knew that a couple called the Chandlers had been taken from their yacht a couple of years prior and had been held on the mainland for over eighteen months until a settlement had been reached. The pirates were fishermen who had started to supplement their dwindling catch by taking cargo and goods from merchant vessels. There had been naval moves to put an end to that, so they had widened their range to include people and to include not just the seas. Pirating had taken place in resorts, and rich vacationers had been taken for ransom and killed if they hadn’t cooperated.
Frank and Marina had no intention of ending up that way. They weren’t that wealthy; certainly they didn’t have the resources or family to pay a big ransom. George could, if the idiot could stay alive long enough. Frank knew the bravado would have been knocked out of him by that rifle stock.
“You come with us now,” the skipper said softly. There was the slightest click in his pronunciation of English; otherwise it was perfect.
“We’ll come,” Frank responded. “You’re the boss.”
The skipper nodded. “Sooner we get back to land, the better.” He indicated that they move and gestured to his men to pick up George and drag Carla after him.
“Shouldn’t I get some covering for my friend and myself?” Marina asked. “I know you would like us to cover up.”
The skipper eyed her up and down, but it was not in the lascivious manner that might have been expected. Finally he said, “You are a clever woman. We will have clothing for you. Do not use our faith to take a chance to leave a message or take a weapon.”
“We’re on vacation—we don’t have weapons,” Frank said mildly. “And our only radio is up there,” he added, indicating the wheel deck.
“I know. I have sent men below while your friend is recovering from his stupidity. They may find something of value.”
“We are on vacation,” Frank said again. “We’re carrying nothing of any value to you.”
The skipper grinned. “That depends on what you call value,” he said slyly.
* * *
“COMBINED TASK FORCE 150 and 151 are there for that purpose,” the President said, running his hands over his face. “We even sent them some Coast Guard to help bolster it up. We could comb the area easily.”
“We could,” McCabe agreed. “But why would we press for that just for four civilians?”
“Why not? They’re U.S. citizens, after all.”
“Ordinary citizens, sir. As far as anyone knows, of course...and we need to keep it that way. The pirates may not realize what they’ve got. I hope not, anyway.”
The President nodded. “You’re right. What a mess. We can’t negotiate. No government would. And if we start using the task force... Could we send a covert Coast Guard force after them?”
McCabe exhaled sharply, deep in thought. “It might look like a big area of water on the map, sir—come to that, it is one hell of a stretch—but the truth is that it’s a pretty tight area if you start using military force. The Indian navy has gone after pirates who’ve been hitting their nation’s traders and everyone got to hear about that and censured it. The Chinese have done the same. And then there are the Russians.”
“Ah, yeah... I get your point.” The President nodded, recalling the Russian naval vessel that had retaken one of their merchant ships that had been overrun with pirates. There had been no official casualties, but every single one of the pirates had met with an accidental demise while trying to make their escape.
“You’ve got to love those Russians,” the President mused.
“For the benefit of history, I’m going to ass
ume you are being ironic, Mr. President,” McCabe said uneasily. “The fact is that we can’t send in any kind of force without either alerting the pirates to the importance of who they have or arousing a similar suspicion in any of our allies.”
“So what the hell do you suggest we do, Landon?” the President said slowly. “You are my duty security adviser, after all.”
McCabe smiled. “As stupid as it may seem, sir, we do nothing immediately. We don’t panic. We wait for the pirates to establish contact. Then we’ll know if they know what they have. That may determine how quickly we have to act. But either way, as soon as we have a channel of communication, we have a trail. And as soon as we have a trail, I think you need to make a phone call. We need covert, and if rumors are correct, you can reach out.”
The President cracked a smile. “You’re cheering me up, Mr. McCabe.”
* * *
BY THE TIME morning broke, the four Americans had been transported to shore and across land. They were kept as couples, but the couples were kept apart. George and Carla had been bundled onto one boat, the man still dazed and confused, his wife hysterical; Frank and Marina had been loaded onto the other. Their skipper was the man who had spoken to them onboard the yacht. They remained silent and subservient but visibly tense. Shooting quick, nervous glances between themselves, neither was sure if they came across as nervous—like the abductees they should be—or nervous with a secret, which is what they actually were. The attitude of the skipper did little to alleviate any fears on that score. He piloted his craft but kept coming back to look at where they were berthed, saying nothing but casting an appraising eye over them and then speaking softly to the men who stood guard.
They anchored just off a sandy, rocky cove that was littered with enough vegetation and flora to give just enough cover to any activity that needed to remain covert. The boats stood in the water about two hundred yards apart, and the captives were ushered into the water without ceremony. Frank and Marina looked at the sea beneath them, trying to guess the depth before they were pushed in. The waters were clear, but the light was predawn and made it impossible to judge. Both feared immersion and the risk of drowning as their hands were bound. Both figured that their captors wouldn’t want to risk losing their meal ticket.
Ground Zero Page 1