It was less than ten minutes to his next destination, which was another apartment building. This one was four stories, with a flat roof. Soffitt lived on the ground floor, and as Bolan approached he saw Soffitt outside the building, talking animatedly to a man he did not recognize. He took out his smartphone and got some footage of the two men from across the street. It wasn’t clear as there was some traffic and crowds of people passing between where he stood and the two men opposite. However, there was enough footage for Stony Man to get some screen grabs and run ID on the man Soffitt was talking to. He looked Somali, and Bolan allowed himself the possibility that this man may just be a lead.
He sure hoped so, as the longer he stood talking to Soffitt, the more it screwed with the soldier’s timetable, which was already tight enough.
Patience was a virtue that Bolan had learned to live with over a long career, and it stood him in good stead, for he ignored the way his gut was telling him to get across, hustle them both inside somehow and ask a few questions of the Somali and Soffitt, regardless of the dilemma it gave him in Soffitt’s execution. Even though he was itching to get on with his task, he held on and was rewarded when the two men seemed to part on less than harmonious terms. Spitting contemptuously into the gutter, Soffitt went back into the house while the Somali walked away, muttering to himself.
Bolan crossed the road and entered the apartment building, the main door of which had been left ajar by Soffitt. He entered with caution, wondering if this had been done as an enticement: a notion that he was soon disabused of when he went farther into the ground-floor lobby and saw that the door of Soffitt’s apartment was also ajar, with a backpack standing against the jamb, keeping it open. He could hear the man banging about inside, making little secret of the fact that he was ready to leave. He sounded panicked.
Did he know that Mohan was dead? If not, then why was he about to run? For this looked more like flight than being ready to move out on a mission. It was too obvious.
Bolan picked up the backpack as he went, dropped it inside the door and slipped the latch carefully and quietly so that he was now inside the apartment with Soffitt, who seemed unaware that he was no longer alone. Bolan slipped his knife from its sheath and held it loosely in the palm of his hand. He waited by the door until Soffitt came out of the interior of the apartment. He was moving with a spasmodic intensity that made him almost oblivious to the soldier until he realized that the door was closed. It was only then that he looked up and saw Bolan standing there; Soffitt’s blank stare spoke of his shock.
“Who are you?” he asked quietly.
“Someone who wants to ask you a few questions,” Bolan returned.
“Questions about what?”
“I think you know. Heider is dead. So is Mohan.”
“And I’m next.” It wasn’t a question. Bolan stayed silent. “There’s nothing I can tell you.”
“I don’t have time. You tell me all you know and maybe you can live.”
“What for? To spend years rotting in an internment camp? I know nothing. Heider knew. We were to learn today. If you didn’t learn anything from him, then you screwed up.”
“You’re remarkably calm for a man facing death,” Bolan said mildly.
“I’m already dead, and you know it,” Soffitt replied. “I have nothing for you. We die for the greater glory of God.”
“Then let me rephrase that—you’re remarkably calm for a man who won’t be dead for the right reasons and won’t be residing in paradise with virgins.”
Soffitt’s face hardened. He could be philosophical about a death he had already prepared for, but to be mocked was something that upset his worldview, and he lost his cool. He lunged toward Bolan with a silent determination.
The soldier was not about to underestimate his opponent. He had his back to the door and so could be pushed into a hard surface, driving the air from his lungs. His opponent had no weapon, but it was fair to assume that he had been taught unarmed combat and had the determination and drive of a man with nothing to lose.
Bolan braced himself, held the knife away from his body and shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet to alter his balance. The hallway inside the apartment was narrow, with less than the width of two people between the walls. Not much room to maneuver, but perhaps just enough....
Soffitt closed on the soldier, his eyes glinting and unblinking, his teeth gritted. He knew he would have just the one chance. He flung his full body weight against Bolan, trying to slam him back into the angle of the wall and door. He found himself up against something that felt like a wall of unresisting granite. He groped for the wrist that held the Tekna knife and closed his fingers around it, trying to force the soldier’s hand down and in toward his own body. He found himself grasping something like steel cord as he felt the tendons tighten in Bolan’s wrist, forcing his arm back up.
Soffitt was stronger than he looked, Bolan had to give him that. More, he had determination and desperation. The soldier felt himself tense as he exerted his strength against the onrushing fury.
His enemy had made the mistake of putting all his effort into one action and leaving his body open to attack. Everything was in the upper body; the lower was forgotten. But not by the soldier. He brought up his knee sharply and it hammered into Soffitt’s groin.
The excruciating pain made Soffit loosen his grip before he had time to react in any other way. Bolan followed up on this advantage by slamming the cupped palm of his free hand under his opponent’s chin as Soffitt bent forward, snapping his neck back. Bolan then hit Soffitt across the head with the hand that grasped the Tekna, using the handle as a club.
Soffitt grunted and slumped to the floor. He was unconscious, and the soldier bent and grabbed him, dragging him back into the main room of the apartment. Killing him in the narrow hall would make his exit more cumbersome than was necessary. Once in the room, he dropped Soffitt in the center of the floor and administered a swift killing blow.
The short fight had been conducted in almost complete silence, so he had no reason to fear interruption as he started to methodically ransack the apartment, using the same techniques that he had used for Heider’s and Mohan’s apartments. He was quick but unhurried, not wanting to miss anything. But if there was anything, it was so well concealed that it would take dismantling the apartment brick by brick to find it.
Bolan finished his task with a sense of frustration. He had now taken down three of the five-man cell, and so far had found no communications equipment, only the banker. There were still two men to eliminate, and so he would get what he wanted eventually. The sooner he gathered intel, though, the sooner Stony Man would be able to piece together an overall plan.
The apartment tossed, Bolan stood in the center of the living room, looking down at Soffitt’s corpse and then around him. If only he had been able to take these men in and let them get interrogated at length. But there was no time; the threat needed to be eliminated immediately.
He looked at his watch. Time was tight, and he needed to get to Columbia Heights. Time waited for no man. He was willing to bet that neither did Richard Sahir or Mohammed Kadir.
* * *
WASHINGTON WAS AN unusual city in many ways. Its early immaculate planning had been marred by the almost random building of a railway station in the National Mall. By this time, the first slums had already started to develop as speculators tried to make the most of any cheap housing and building opportunities while neglecting the original grand plan of a city full of open space and parkland. Corruption in city hall led to corruption on the streets. This was why there had been legislation at the start of the twentieth century that had led to the relandscaping of the Mall and the Heights of Buildings Act of 1910, which had led to the city having no buildings that were taller than the width of the adjacent street and an extra twenty feet. Popular legend had it that no buildings were allowed constr
uction that were taller than the Capitol building, and it was this oddly worded piece of legislation that made Washington one of lowest-level cities on the continent.
The effect of this was the original layout of the city had not been corrupted by subsequent development. It was still divided into four quadrants that—though unequal—worked on the grid pattern of the original design. The roads included lettered or numbered abbreviations that indicated their geographical direction, while all houses were still numbered according to their approximate number of blocks distant from the Capitol building. This made it one of the easiest cities in the country to navigate, especially given the standard of the Metro system.
Sahir and Kadir lived within two blocks of each other in Columbia Heights, enough distance from Heider to ensure that they would not be seen in too close proximity unless they engineered it. Close enough for Bolan to be careful in the neighborhood. It was less than twenty-four hours since he had been in the locality. Although there was no official record of his existence should DNA or even security camera footage flag him, there were enough black-ops organizations that would know of him. Right now the last thing he needed was interference of any kind. The area was quiet when he left the Metro, and walked briskly to the block where Sahir resided. He was first on the list by virtue of geography, nothing more. Looking up at the blank windows of Sahir’s building, Bolan wondered if there were some other means of access. Using the front was risky, and every time he adopted that approach the chances of his cover being blown increased.
The rear of the building had a fire escape. It was also quieter there. Sounds of daytime TV blared out of some windows; distant beats came from others. But no people were hanging around here or using the open windows.
Bolan pulled down the ladder of the fire escape and ascended until he made his way up and along to where Sahir’s apartment was located. Access through the window was simpler than he’d expected. It had a simple catch that he was able to trip from the outside. Surprising. He would have assumed that any of the cell would have had the same level of security on the windows as they had on the front doors.
Unless Sahir had left it that way because he had already vacated the apartment.
As soon as Bolan climbed through the window, he knew that this was not the case. He could hear a man moving around in the bedroom, talking on a cell phone. The soldier paused as he listened to the one-sided conversation.
“I know, honey, I know...No, no, don’t do— No, don’t do that...Listen, I know what you’re saying, babe, but that’s just whack. You can’t mess like that...Why? ’Cause you’ll end up iced, sugar!...Because I’m not even supposed to have this damn cell, let alone be talking to you about it...Well, because you understand. Or I thought you did...You knew it would be like this, and you believed as much as me, and now you want to just screw it all off...No, you stupid bitch, you do that and I’ll come and slit your throat before you have a chance to talk...Fuck!”
The call ended abruptly. Sahir’s rising anger had either reached a pitch or the woman on the other end of the call had hung up on him. Whatever the case, Bolan heard the cell phone shatter against the wall where Sahir had thrown it in fury.
Bolan slipped the Tekna knife back into its sheath and drew the Desert Eagle from the holster at his back. If Sahir had broken protocol enough to have a cell phone, there was every chance that he kept firearms on the premises, too. It made the odds that he was the man with the communications equipment abysmal, which was a pain. The search would be perfunctory, but first he needed to neutralize the threat.
Bolan moved from the kitchen through the hall that bisected the apartment. On one side, the bathroom was empty. Beyond that lay the entrance to the bedroom and to the main room, almost opposite each other. Sahir could be clearly heard in the bedroom. The room opposite appeared to be empty, but Bolan would have preferred being able to check it out before having to turn his back on it.
There was only one option open to him, though he would have to be quick. He slipped a mask from his pocket and then took a smoke grenade, which he primed and tossed into the doorway of the living room.
He heard Sahir curse as the grenade detonated softly and smoke started to fill the enclosed space, swiftly spreading into the hallway and bedroom.
Sahir appeared in the doorway, coughing, his eyes streaming. He was clutching a Beretta 93R, which he brought up as he sighted the man standing at the end of the hallway. He could hardly see him through the rapidly spreading smoke, and his arm waved wildly as he was racked by coughs. The chances of him hitting the soldier were minimal, but that was still a chance too much.
Bolan lifted the Desert Eagle and loosed a single shot that sounded immense in the confined space. It drilled into Sahir’s throat and blew it out. He was dead before his body hit the angle between the floor and the front door.
The smoke and noise would draw the police and fire services within minutes. There was little time to lose.
Bolan stepped over Sahir’s legs and combed the bedroom. There was a carryall that was half-packed. Nothing in the man’s belongings was of any use to him. The floor was pulled up where the gun and the cell phone had been hidden. Nothing else had been stored there. The cell phone itself was useless, and was not a smartphone. Nonetheless, Bolan took the SIM card and stowed it in his pocket.
Even with the smoke slowing him down, he was able to search swiftly as Sahir had done most of the job for him. Money had been hidden in the living room, and there was still open space where bricks had been moved.
Bolan made a quick search of the kitchen on the way out, but there was nothing obvious, and it was safe to assume that Sahir had revealed all his hiding places as he’d stripped the apartment before either setting out on the mission or taking flight.
As the soldier stepped out of the window and onto the fire escape, with the mask still in place to avoid identification, he wondered if Kadir was acting similarly, and if he could reach him in time.
CHAPTER NINE
Mohammed Kadir sat on the edge of the bed, got up again, paced the room then sat once more before repeating the whole process for the fourth time since he had finished packing. The visit he had received fifteen minutes earlier had agitated him in a manner he hadn’t thought possible.
Tunje was a good man. That freak Mummar and the fake Sheik Heider would have shit bricks if they had known that he was in communication with both Sahir and Kadir, but what those jerks didn’t know wasn’t going to lose them sleep.
What Kadir now knew from Tunje could lose him a lot more than sleep. If the brother was right, then it could cost him his life. Why he was getting so stressed over that was a weird one, considering he was quite happy to make himself a human bomb and blow shit up. Maybe it was because this would be his life wasted if some guy took him out before the mission had been accomplished. What would be the point dying before you made the big gesture you had prepared yourself for?
Kadir had been a waster all his life, drifting into petty crime and gang life, getting wasted and only just evading the Feds by the skin of the teeth that hadn’t been punched out. It meant nothing. Al Qaeda gave him a purpose. The jihad meant something, meant that he would be using his life to further a great nation and a great people. To be part of something for once. He didn’t want to blow it now, not when it was so close.
Mummar had told Tunje they were moving out and that Heider was dead. Plans had changed and they needed to move. Tunje had a rendezvous for his group, but Heider’s were to be cut loose. That was okay for Mummar to say. He didn’t know these guys like Tunje. Sahir, Kadir and Tunje had been blood. Mohan and Soffitt were outsiders in that sense, but they were still tight. If Heider had been killed and they were in danger, Tunje wasn’t going to leave them hanging out to dry. So he had decided to make the rounds and spread the word before heading off.
Only to find that it looked like shit had already gone down:
Soffitt was missing, not at home, and Mohan’s apartment building was surrounded by Feds. It looked like someone was taking the cell out one by one. Tunje had been relieved to find Sahir and warn him.
Sahir would be okay. Heider had been really insistent on them keeping clean and not having weapons or phones or anything that was incriminating around the house, no matter how well hidden. Soffitt would have stuck to that, the pussy. Kadir was like Sahir, knowing that a little extra security never went amiss round here.
As soon as Tunje had left, Kadir had packed a few things and pulled out the vent duct where he kept his cell phone, piece and stash. He had two grand, a phone and a SIG Sauer P229 with some spare magazines. The piece was rammed down the back of his waistband, the magazines in the pockets of his combats.
He didn’t know what to do. His mind was racing, and he couldn’t marshal his thoughts into any kind of order. Should he take off on his own or go with Sahir? What did this all mean, anyway? Had they been fingered as part of a cell or was this more random? No—that didn’t make sense. Kadir wanted to at least talk to Sahir, who he had always looked up to as the one with more experience and the ability to think clearly.
And now he wasn’t there. His phone kept going through to voice mail. If it was still switched off, that would make sense. But he was about to run, and Kadir knew that Sahir would have his phone out, just as he now did.
A gnawing in his gut told him that there was a simple reason it was switched off. Whoever had gotten Heider, and maybe Soffitt and Mohan, had now gotten Sahir. That meant he knew who they all were. It was only a matter of time before whoever the hell it was came for him.
So why was he sitting here like some fool?
Kadir stood up again, muttering to himself lists of things to do, options he could take in running and where to run. He nodded several times, took up his backpack and checked for the tenth time that everything was inside. He patted down his pockets and reached behind him to check that the gun was still there, even though he could feel the metal in the small of his back.
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