War Everlasting (Superbolan)

by Don Pendleton

  “Maybe,” Bolan said.

  “Were they professionals?”

  “Depends on your definition of the word,” Bolan said. “They didn’t react like I would expect professional combatants to do. There were also other places they could have chosen to mount an assault like that.”

  “Or certainly easier places.”

  Bolan nodded at her, suddenly finding a bit more respect when he considered Shaffernik’s observations. He wasn’t dealing with an amateur here by any means.

  “So let’s say a professional did send them,” Shaffernik replied. “How would they have known about you or your affiliation with the government? Especially if you’re the freelancer you claim to be.”

  “I don’t know,” Bolan said. “But I’m guessing if someone’s smart enough and has the proper resources to bring down military assets, they’re smart enough to figure out I’m not one of the crowd. Which is where I’m going to need your help.”

  “My help?”

  “Yeah,” Bolan said. He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a small card with a phone number emblazoned on it. He set it on her desk with a nod. “That’s an encrypted number. It invokes a secure line, no matter where you call from. Talk to whoever answers at the other end and ask whatever questions you want. I guarantee they’ll corroborate what I’ve told you.”

  Shaffernik frowned. “I’ll get to it. But for now I’ve decided to take what you say at face value.”

  “Because?”

  “Because, for one, a common thug wouldn’t be armed with assault weapons and military-grade explosives, let alone get them on to the island successfully with the entire region on high alert. That suggests some sort of strings got pulled. We’re in the aftermath of what our military liaisons have only told us could be a full-blown terrorist action.”

  “You see, it’s that kind of information that can help me,” Bolan said. “Exactly the kind of intelligence that might take me hours or even days to get from the US military, even with backing direct from the Pentagon.”

  “It would also expose any cover you might hope to operate under.”

  “And that’s another reason I think you’d be invaluable,” Bolan said. “You’re a quick study.”

  His remark produced an amused expression. “I’m a sucker for short explanations.”

  “Me, too,” Bolan said. “So maybe you can give me one regarding the plane that was headed here.”

  “Shoot.”

  “There were four passengers aboard that military hop, along with two crew.”

  “Right.”

  “According to their flight plan, they were coming here.”

  “Also correct.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Why?” Bolan splayed his hands. “There’s no military installation here on Unalaska to speak of, and all the military bases on the other Aleutians are closed except for a couple of remote airspace monitoring stations. Yet there were six military personnel bound for Unalaska, then they disappear.”

  “You think something here provoked this? What the hell could it be? There’s nothing of any significant value on Unalaska that I know of.”

  “Then how does a rescue ship, also filled with military personnel, fail its check in? A nearly four-hundred-foot cutter vanished without a trace.”

  “What?” Shaffernik shook her head emphatically. “All I knew about was the plane. I didn’t know anything about any ships disappearing!”

  Bolan wanted to bite his lip and curse, but he refrained. It wouldn’t do any good at this point, and she’d know immediately from his reaction that he’d blundered into saying something he shouldn’t have. He’d just assumed she knew about the ship, too. It wasn’t a mistake he’d make again. The best he could do now was cover his tracks and hope she still wanted to work with him.

  “What makes you think they’d announce something like that publicly?” Bolan said. “Especially when they don’t know what they’re dealing with. They’re not just going to come right out and tell you about it.”

  “Of course,” Shaffernik said, her complexion darkened by anger. “So...why did you tell me?”

  “We were going to be straight with each other. Now you know the full story and why it’s more important than ever that I maintain my cover.”

  “So, what could I possibly do to help you? You sure as hell know more than I do about what’s going on.”

  “Yes, but you know this island like the back of your hand,” Bolan said. “I have a lead. Now I need to make a connection with someone inside the Onalash Corporation. Know anybody?”

  “I might,” Shaffernik said. “I just might. But we have one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s going to look strange if I release you.” She waved at the congregation of officers that were bustling about the central area just outside. “Everyone in my command just observed you brought in on a half-dozen beefs, including violating federal weapons laws and attempted murder.”

  “Self-defense,” Bolan reminded her.

  “Maybe so, but word gets around quickly. Even if I release you, as I’m not really inclined to do, your cover won’t last long once you’re back on the streets.”

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  Shaffernik didn’t reply immediately. Then she said, “Look, maybe if I have two officers follow you. I’ll give them a story, that you’re represented by an attorney and I got a phone call from the magistrate advising I had nothing solid to hold you on.”

  “You think they’ll believe it?”

  “What choice do they have?” she asked with a quirk of her lips. “I’m the deputy chief.”

  For the next five minutes she stood up and launched into a tirade, putting on a show and yelling loud enough she could be heard. She even included some nice obscenities just to make the frosting taste all that much better for all of the officers observing her. Then she came around her desk, behind which she’d paced during her angry production, reached down and uncuffed Bolan’s wrist.

  “Nice job,” he whispered.

  “Thanks.” She pressed her lips together and added quickly, “Let’s just hope I didn’t oversell it.”

  * * *

  BOLAN USED THE pay phone to call a cab, then placed a second call to Jack Grimaldi.

  “So, what’s the gig?” the Stony Man pilot asked.

  “I’ll call again once I reach my destination. I’m going to need a resupply.”

  “You want it supersized?”

  “Better keep it to the minimum, this time.”

  “What happened to the other stuff?”

  “Don’t ask. Just be ready when I call.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  “Thanks.”

  Bolan hung up and took a quick glance at the central booking and processing area, but everyone appeared to be busy. Two men stood in a corner conversing with Shaffernik. Bolan knew she could sell the plan if she wanted to. That didn’t concern him as much as the fact he’d decided to trust her implicitly. It wasn’t something he could put his finger on—it just...was. The Executioner had learned to trust his gut over the years. Shaffernik was different. He’d meant his remark about her being a quick study.

  Only time would tell if his instinct to trust her proved correct.

  Bolan’s cab awaited him when he stepped into the street. The light was fading fast, and the temperature had dropped dramatically. The lack of light would last only a couple of hours, so Bolan figured now would be the best time to make the acquaintance of the locals. He found them just where Shaffernik had told him they would be—an old tavern down by the docks short on modern facilities and long on personality—many just off work and still dressed in clothing styles that ranged from uniforms to run-of-the-mill dock we
ar.

  The music in the place had reached a volume that nearly deafened the soldier. It seemed intolerable when combined with the boisterous laughter and shouting of its more inebriated patrons, which Bolan noted most of them were. This was the crowd he’d have to infiltrate, and for a moment he began to wonder if Shaffernik’s words had been a little on the prophetic side. Nothing but a tight-knit crew here, a fact that became obvious when no less than a dozen pair of eyes settled on him as soon as he entered the place.

  Bolan kept an impassive, almost tired expression as he sidled up to the bar and ordered a beer on tap. The bartender passed it along to him and shouted to be heard over the noise. “Cash or you want a marker?”

  The soldier thought about it for a moment, shook his head, dipped into his pocket and withdrew a wad of bills. Careful to keep the stash covered with his hand, he peeled off a five dollar bill and slapped it on the bar while mouthing “keep it,” before turning to search for an open seat. A dollar tip on a four-buck beer; not miserly but not overt. He figured that ought to solidify his cover some.

  There were a decent number of tables crammed into the place, an assortment filling every nook and cranny, and the patrons had every seat filled. Mostly women occupied the chairs and men either sat next to them or hovered close by on their feet. Bolan watched a minute or two, but he didn’t recognize a single face in the crowd, save for the two cops who came through the door a moment later, now dressed in civilian clothes. Bolan watched, noticing that they got the same attention as everybody had given him. The sense of a presence on his right commanded his attention.

  Bolan turned and found himself looking into a pair of the darkest brown eyes he could recall seeing. They belonged to a woman who couldn’t have been a day over forty. She had a strong build but how shapely seemed more difficult to determine behind the bulky clothing and reefer jacket. She smiled at him as the song that had been blasting over the speakers came to a close.

  “Hi,” she said in a husky voice.

  “Hello,” Bolan replied with a nod.

  They didn’t say much more to each other, which suited Bolan fine since the music started blaring, and he didn’t really feel like shouting. After a little bit of time, the woman tugged on his shirtsleeve.

  “Are you new here?”

  Bolan thought about a moment. She was attractive, and as he looked in her eyes he thought he saw just a glimmer of mischief there. He wasn’t sure now would be the best time to let a local latch on to him, but the more he thought about it, the more the idea seemed like a good one. If he could bring her around, a woman the rest of the bar patrons knew, it might be easier to get the crowd to accept him. He could blend in with them—become one of them, really, and that was the whole idea.

  “Just got in.”

  She nodded in the direction of the two undercover cops who weren’t looking nearly as inconspicuous as they thought they were. “I see you got friends.”

  Bolan’s eyes flicked toward the two, then quickly away. He didn’t want to spook them; he needed them distracted for when he made his exit. He decided to play out some line and see who took the bait. “What makes you think they’re here to watch me?”

  “Because they haven’t stopped watching you since they came in,” the woman replied.

  “You’re pretty sharp,” Bolan said, genuinely impressed.

  She laughed. “You look a little out of place.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I think you’re trying to look like you fit in, but it ain’t working.”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “You’d have to agree to leave with me,” she said. She waved at his attire, looking him up and down, then said, “Step out of your little comfort zone or whatever it is you’ve got going on here.”

  “I’m not really looking for that kind of company.”

  “And neither am I. But if you want to fit in, or even if you don’t but you’d like to draw less attention to yourself, there’s another way to do it.”

  “Okay,” Bolan said, turning to set his half-finished beer on the bar. “Lead the way.”

  As they were walking out, Bolan leaned over and shouted, “You didn’t tell me your name.”

  “It’s Maddie Corsack. And yours?”

  “Mike Blansky.”

  She reached up to her shoulder and Bolan took her hand reflexively, resting it on her shoulder as if they were just a couple leaving. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Mike Blansky.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  They were a half mile from the bar when it all went to hell.

  The vehicle came out of nowhere and nearly smashed into the front of Corsack’s SUV, but Bolan was quicker on the draw and managed to grab the wheel in time to steer them off course. The enemy’s vehicle blasted by in a flash of headlights on metal in a bare miss. Corsack stepped on the brakes, and Bolan released the wheel. He’d have to leave the driving to her because the men who bailed from the enemy vehicle looked too anxious to do their jobs.

  Bolan went EVA from the passenger seat before the vehicle had fully stopped, Beretta 93-R in hand. It was the only weapon Shaffernik had been able to return to him without drawing attention. The soldier aligned his sights on the first target and took him with a double-tap to the head. The 9 mm Parabellum rounds punched through the guy’s face and blew out the better part of his skull.

  The Executioner had already acquired a second target when the roar of a big engine filled his ears—a two-ton pickup truck ground to a halt between him and his attackers. Bolan looked through the side window as it lowered and found himself staring at the grinning face of Jack Grimaldi.

  “It’s about time,” Bolan said with a smile.

  “Need a lift?”

  “Some bigger firepower would help.”

  “Got you covered,” Grimaldi replied before sticking his arm out the window, an Uzi in his left hand.

  The Stony Man pilot fired a swarm of 9 mm slugs on full-auto burn as he swept the battle zone. The attackers suddenly realized they were no longer up against a lone gunman. They scattered for cover, but Grimaldi didn’t let up, taking two more of them out of the action without ever having to leave the pickup.

  Bolan used the distraction to open the passenger door and reached into the long bag he found on the floor. He came clear with an M16A2E2, the stock retracted, and grinned when he spotted the blued finish of an M203 grenade launcher. Bolan dipped his hand into the bag once more and wrapped it around the smooth, oblong shape of a 40 mm grenade. He loaded it, braced the weapon across the hood of the truck, flipped the leaf sight into acquisition on the enemy vehicle and took aim. They never knew what hit them. The high-explosive grenade blew on contact with enough force to shatter the engine into dozens of pieces and lift the front end off the ground. Bolan and Grimaldi ducked as deadly, superheated missiles of shrapnel whistled through the air. The acrid sting of spent explosives assailed their nostrils.

  As the remnants of the blast died down, Bolan risked a look around the front of the truck. No more enemy gunners remained to shoot at him. “Thanks, Jack,” Bolan said simply.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Maddie Corsack finally climbed from the relative safety of her SUV and stared at the Executioner with interest.

  Her reaction surprised Bolan. He would have expected to see shock on her face, perhaps even horror at watching him eliminate their attackers in such a violent manner. Yet she only appeared to watch him with an expression of mixed surprise and mild interest.

  “I knew there was more to you than met the eye,” Corsack finally said.

  “Looks like you were right,” Bolan replied. He gestured toward Grimaldi, who’d joined them near the hood of the pickup. “That’s Jack.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said with a nod in his direction.

  She turned
her full attention to Bolan. “Are you with the government?”

  “Sort of.”

  “You’re here about the plane that went down,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Guess there’d be little point in denying that now.”

  “You’re right. And before you try to deny it, I know about the—”

  “I hate to interrupt,” Grimaldi told them, “but shouldn’t we maybe beat feet out of here before the cops show up? I mean, you just got out of one scrape with them, Sarge. I don’t think we can afford another one right now.”

  Bolan nodded and looked at Corsack. “Is there some place we can go that won’t draw attention?”

  “That would depend,” she said. “You got any wings?”

  Grimaldi smiled. “Funny you should ask.”

  * * *

  WITHIN AN HOUR, Grimaldi had Bolan and Corsack off Unalaska and headed to the port city of Adak.

  “So, maybe you should explain this to me,” Bolan suggested.

  “What’s to explain?” Corsack asked, batting her eyelashes.

  “I don’t do coy, lady.” Bolan frowned. “You picked me out of a crowd. You had me pegged as out of place right off, and that’s not something that would be easy for anyone to do who didn’t have a real practiced eye. And you seem to know a lot more about what’s going on around here than even military officials. So spill.”

  “I’m not with them, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  Bolan shrugged. “I never suggested anything. But you have to admit that I’m right.”

  “You’re right,” Corsack said. “Okay, I’ll level with you. Something really strange has been going on in Adak for the past year. And let’s just say your assessment of my insider knowledge of the military and what’s been happening is correct. Although I promise you I didn’t come by my information dishonestly. Or at least I didn’t come by it with the intent to use it for harm. Just the opposite, in fact.”

  “That much I can believe,” Bolan observed. “But I inferred from your earlier remarks about the plane that disappeared that you were taking this a bit personally.”