"When we do find them, we don't go charging in. We regroup and I'll go out on recon and see what I can find out. Then we do what we need to. You keep that radio on so we know as much as we can what is going on in Moscow and Washington and in outer space. Any suggestions?"
"That was not a conference, it was a listing of instructions." She looked away. "Still, I can offer no better plan. But I want to get as close as we can before you go on your recon."
15
Dr. Peter Dunning sat at his console and smiled. He had done it! He had forced the destruction of twenty-four horrendous warheads! But there were still hundreds of them to go. The Russians would come around and kick their MIRV into outer space soon. He was sure of it. But just to goad them on a little, he would send them one more warning. He set up his console to bounce a radio signal off the satellite and override the three networks' normal transmissions. When he had a firm access, he began.
"This is a special message to the Russian Premier. I hope the translation will be accurate. Mr. Premier, you now have four hours to complete your assigned task of destroying one of your MIRV missile carriers and its twenty-four hydrogen bombs. It can be ejected into outer space or sent farther out and triggered for automatic destruction. The choice is yours. The United States has already complied and you are now nearing a danger period when one single warhead could be launched against that village of ten thousand persons inside Russia. Remember, you have only four hours more!"
Dunning sat back and laughed softly, then switched off the controls. Now he would wait. There was no reasonable way the Russians would not comply. He saw Sam Yamaguchi come in.
"Sam, it's going to be champagne and steak tonight, my friend! We're on the way. The hardest part, that first missile destruction, is over. Now we have clear sailing. I predict that the Russians will have their MIRV destroyed within two hours."
Yamaguchi shrugged. "It really doesn't matter one way or the other."
"Oh, you're wrong there, my friend. It matters a great deal. The whole future of the human race as we know it today just may hinge on what you and I are doing here."
"Then we may be in one hell of a jam," the Oriental said. He pulled a .45 automatic pistol from behind him and aimed it at his boss.
"Sam! I told you not to bring that up here. Now put it away at once. You know I don't like guns."
"Hey, that's just tough, doc, because from now on you're going to be seeing one hell of a lot of them. Come and look outside."
"What do you mean?" Dunning asked, puzzled.
"Come take a look out the trailer door.''
They went to the door and Dr. Dunning stopped at once.
"My God, what have you done?"
"I'm taking over, doc, and if you want to argue, you can start by fighting off this bunch."
Outside the trailer were ten men. All wore combat-green camouflage uniforms. All had M-16 rifles and a few held submachine guns. All had packs and blanket rolls, combat webbing, and to Dr. Dunning they looked like hardened troops ready for battle.
"You're taking over? What in the world for? You're a good worker, but you have almost no concept of the mass destruction that would be produced by any global thermonuclear war. I'm totally taken aback."
Yamaguchi spun the .45, put it in a holster he now strapped on and caught a larger weapon one of his men on the ground tossed him. Dr. Dunning assumed it was one of those terrorist-type submachine guns.
"Damn right I'm not interested in any of that crap. What I am interested in is the raw power that you have just grabbed hold of and you don't even realize it. Let me spell it out for you in simple language. I have taken over this whole damn outfit. I have men at the roads to keep anyone from coming up here. I have a gun in your stomach and I control the access and the transportation. The only way you stay alive is to do exactly what I tell you. If I say send a message to all the TV stations via the satellite, you do it and quick. You will do precisely and exactly what I tell you to if you want to keep on living. Is that clear?"
"Sam, sometimes the quality of life is much more important than just staying alive."
"But you will do what I tell you!"
"Yes. I have to be here to protect all of this, and perhaps along the way somewhere you'll tell me what you're trying to accomplish."
"Hell, doc, didn't I tell you that? What I'm going to accomplish is get rich and make all of my friends rich."
"Blackmail? You're going to hijack the whole planet?" Dr. Dunning laughed. "Sam, you certainly do think big — I have to give you credit for that."
"You don't know just how big yet." Yamaguchi signaled to one of the men who left the group and ran up to Sam.
Dr. Dunning noticed that he, too, had a flattop haircut and was Japanese. They talked for a moment in what Dr. Dunning guessed was Japanese, then Sam turned.
"Dr. Dunning, this is my friend and computer and telecommunications expert, Harry. He will be your shadow. He is familiar with most of this equipment and what we will need. If he tells you to do something, you do it. We will be turning on the equipment now and making a transmission through the radio net via the satellite as usual. But this time I will be doing the talking."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you die and we go ahead with our plans, anyway."
"It seems you have the upper hand right now."
"I always had — you just didn't know it."
Someone ran into the open space near the trailer and spoke with one of the soldiers. This one, too, wore a uniform. He was pointed to Sam, who watched as he came up.
The man bowed, but his expression showed fear.
"Bad news, Sam. Someone is coming. We lost two men at the second roadblock. I didn't see anyone but I heard their automatic fire. I went around another way, and when I got there both our men were dead."
"Not in English, you fool!"
"Dead? These men of yours are killing?" Dunning asked.
Yamaguchi caught the scientist by the shirt and pushed him back in the trailer.
"No, not killing — two of ours were killed. Two of mine are dead. So now it's more important than ever that we make that first broadcast. Set up right now to transmit on that radio frequency you use to the satellite. And do it quickly. We don't want them to triangulate and find our position — not yet, anyway."
* * *
High over the southwest, Air Force planes had been combing the mountains along the line from Houston to San Francisco since daylight. They had found nothing. Twice the coded transmissions had gone out to the satellite, but on and off so quickly that the triangulation could not be accomplished. Now the aircraft crew needed some kind of extended transmission in order to lock onto it positively.
The crew reported some indicators — some fragmentary crossing lines — had been established, but ones still too vague to be reliable. The crosses seemed to be either in Arizona or western California. The troops were told to concentrate in that area.
High over the imaginary line a vintage U-2 spy plane refitted with the latest aerial photo equipment cruised along, shooting two hundred frames every ten seconds. The pilot was not sure what he was looking for. He had been rolled out of bed and pitched into the cockpit before he was fully awake. Now he slanted over the border of New Mexico and headed into Arizona.
* * *
In Washington, D.C., they paced and waited. The immediate transmission and crossing reference lines had not materialized and now it looked as if it wouldn't be as easy to find as they had at first hoped.
Secretary of Defense Jensen kept ordering more and more aircraft into the sky. He had worked that line from Houston to San Francisco dozens of times. Sometimes the planes had been at nearly treetop level. So far nothing had turned up in the personal observations or in the quick-developing film. Time, it was going to take more time, and each hour longer it took meant the chance of losing another MIRV. The damn Russians better kick theirs out soon, Jensen thought, or there was going to be international hell to pay.
The Presi
dent sat in the Oval Office. In the background a network radio station played softly. Now the people knew, the whole damn world knew, that there were killer missiles up there just waiting for somebody to push a button and send them down.
So fast! Thousands of years of civilization could be wiped out in half an hour of warfare. Nobody had the right! Yes, he had to be thinking that way. The American public would not stand for the MIRVs' being up there. Not now that they knew — if the Russians brought them down, too. It was a standoff. The Soviets had the missiles up first and we caught up to "balance" the potential danger.
Except then it had been a private standoff. Now everyone in the world knew. And the world would demand that both the U.S. and Russia bring down safely or destroy all such MIRVs and any other kind of weapon in space. It was going to be damn tricky, this one, damn tricky. And the President almost wished that his successor had it to deal with. No, hell, no! He would accept that responsibility himself.
Ten minutes earlier the Premier had agreed to explode their MIRV in outer space. It would be a test of the destruct system if nothing else. The President had not told the world yet, or the networks. He had to soon so the madman on the hill somewhere would know. It had been one hell of a tough day so far, and the President had a feeling that his troubles were only just beginning.
16
Mack Bolan bellied up to the side of the big ponderosa. He pushed higher so he could see past the root mass and found his ears had been right. Ahead in the heavier cover, he could see two men digging foxholes. Both wore camou green, were armed and digging fast. Bolan's combat mind quickly evaluated the situation. An outpost, a listening post. He checked the area behind them. The men were on a gentle slope, one on each side of the road.
It should not be much farther to the top of the mountain. Bolan knew the trailer would not be parked out in the middle of the bald area. It would be under some heavy cover.
The trail here was not steep but wound around the side of the mountain. The Executioner pulled back twenty yards and stayed out of sight as he worked his way silently around the two advance guards.
He had to get closer or he had to come to some kind of main line of resistance. He was not sure which. The two men back there had looked competent enough. Both had been Japanese, but he could not see their haircuts for the soft green caps.
When he was five hundred feet past the guards, Bolan worked back toward the road. It had leveled off and seemed to end a half mile ahead in a thick clump of tall pine and heavier brush. There were no troops that he could see guarding the area. But they could be anywhere. Or they could be dug in along the roadway.
As he watched, a young man came jogging down the road, his M-16 at port arms. And he looked as if he knew what he was doing.
The runner vanished into the heavier timber and did not show anywhere else. Bingo! Bolan jogged away from the road, heading for the wooded part he figured they would not expect trouble. A half hour later he was slightly higher on the hill than his target.
He could see it spread out below — the camouflaged trailer, the huge dish antenna pointing skyward, the shape of the tractor covered with pine branches. Even the dish skyreader had been painted in camouflage colors. He doubted a pilot more than three hundred feet in the air could see the setup.
Around the area he had spotted a dozen different men. Once, a man in a white shirt came to the door of the trailer and looked out, but he soon went back inside. The defense of the position seemed to be in a crude circle, with twice the men on the area where the road came in.
As the Executioner jogged back to the place where he had left Kitty, he worked out his general strategy. He would see just how good Kitty was with her chopper and see how well the KGB field agent stood up against a few mercenary flattops.
Kitty did not like the assignment.
"Again you are not conferring, you are directing."
"Fine, you go up there and see what you think. I'll wait right here for you. Of course, don't get yourself lost. A lot of green trees and brown hills between here and there."
She stared hard at him for a minute. "You really are a bastard, are you not?" Then she grinned. "Unfortunately you are the only bastard I have, so I will have to play along. You know we cannot waste the time for a double recon."
"So shut up and listen," Bolan said in mock anger.
"We should get moving. We have enough daylight left?" she asked.
"It won't be dark for six hours yet. You've got the signals straight?"
Kitty nodded. "I do. I still do not know why you changed your mind and now you want to go in and stop them."
"Yamaguchi. He must be in control. He has his own 'army.' He's given kill orders to his men. That isn't Dr. Dunning's style. He would never order any such actions. Which makes me wonder if Dunning is still in control up there."
The afternoon thunderstorm was late, but when it came there was much thunder and lightning. The rain fell hard for fifteen minutes. It was a warm rain, but they were soaked even though they stood under a scrub cedar.
When it had passed they wiped off their weapons and moved out.
They went together the first mile. Then Kitty turned on the little radio and waved at him to listen.
"So that's all we know about it right now. From our reports from the network we understand it was the same type of 'takeover' that preceded each of the Dunning interferences with network broadcasting. This one had a different voice and a startlingly different message. We now have the tape and can play the message from what we assume to be the command post of this Dunning MIRV-hijacking center." There was a brief pause before the recorded broadcast began.
"Good morning, world. I just want to tell you I'm your new leader. The name isn't that important, so you can call me Mr. Richman, because that's what I'm going to be. You see, friends, I've done you all a great big favor. This is not Dr. Dunning speaking, as you have figured out by now.
"Not by a damn sight. I have taken control from Dr. Dunning. I have saved the world. Hell, I don't care if you guys have a hundred MIRVs up there. Not really. You can keep them all up there if you want to. I heard the Russkis finally fired off one of their MIRVs into space and blew it up. Fine. Who cares?
"Not me — I got other concerns. First, all you folks out there, and especially you governments, Mr. President and Mr. Premier of Russia, you guys owe me. I said owe me as in cash money. Here is what I want... no, what I demand! For saving the world, you must pay to me the sum of two hundred million dollars' worth of gem-quality uncut diamonds. I want them within twenty-four hours.
"Continue to communicate with me the same way you did with Dr. Dunning, through the radio networks. Do not attempt to find me or to locate this transmitter, or one of the MIRV missiles will be unleashed somewhere on the world. It will be targeted and aimed and fired, and I have just the man who can do it right here beside me.
"Remember, two hundred million in uncut diamonds. I'll be waiting for your reply within the next half hour. Goodbye my new friends. This is Mr. Richman signing off."
Kitty snapped off the radio.
"Now your American mad scientist had been captured by one of your crazy American hoodlums. You are an interesting people, I will admit that." She squinted as she looked at Bolan. "This little change in management does not mean a thing to me. He is probably more dangerous than the other one. What do you think?"
"We go in and get him. I had figured something like this. The two styles just didn't match up somehow. Not with all of Yamaguchi's firepower. We'd better hustle. Each of those guys in his army is a mercenary and looking for a big chunk of that two hundred million."
Ten minutes later they parted. Bolan checked the Childers combat shotgun he had tied to his back before they left the car. Now he was glad he had brought it. He circled the same way he had before, coming in from the "back door," where the reception would be less heated. He looked at his watch to be sure of his timing.
Kitty was supposed to take out the first guards she could find,
as near to the trailer as possible. She might actually get a couple of them, but for sure it would send a surge of troops her way and give Bolan a quick shot at getting inside the defensive perimeter, with or without firing.
He was in position five minutes before attack time. He checked the scene and it was as before, but now Bolan saw a rocket launcher, and a small bipod-mounted machine gun. They were bringing out the heavy equipment. He had crawled to within twenty feet of the closest guard. The man had dug a hole of sorts and positioned himself behind a two-foot pine log and faced outward.
Bolan watched the second hand of his watch spin around for the last time, and when it hit 1515 hours he heard the stuttering of an automatic weapon across the compound from him. At least the KGB was on time. He watched the trooper in front of him and saw the man show himself, spin and yell something in a foreign language. Someone responded, the two men leaped up and ran past the trailer and toward the downhill side of the trail.
Bolan waited only a moment longer, then rushed over the twenty feet, through the brush and into the compound. Someone to his left screamed and fired. Bolan dived, brought up the Childers and blasted one round. The green-clad figure was twenty yards away but eight of the .33-caliber slugs caught him and spun him backward.
The Executioner turned to his right and charged toward the trailer. One man came around the far side, lifted a pistol and fired, then ducked away before Bolan could aim. Another soldier ran toward him from the downhill entrance. The Executioner darted behind the trailer and checked the area, then looked around the aluminum body again. Two troopers stormed toward him. One round from the Childers knocked both of them flat, but Bolan saw six more bringing up the rear.
Bolan never saw the man behind him. The first indication was when the M-16 on single shot barked and the slug drove into Bolan's left thigh and sliced on through. He dived forward, triggering one shot at the advancing men, then rolled. His attacker was working with a jammed weapon and before he could clear it, the Executioner blasted a round of double-ought buck into him.
Orbiting Omega Page 11