"Dr. Ludlow!"
"I tried to spot him when I was back there, but no way. I was too high."
"We have to go back."
"I thought you wanted that KGB general son of a bitch?"
"I do. Real bad. But I can't trade him for the top laser scientist in the world. We have to go back and find Dr. Ludlow before he dies in the heat."
"Have to, sir?"
"Turn it around, sailor, now!"
They made a wide sweep and roared back the other way. The Executioner looked at the vanishing blue and white chopper as the Navy pilot got on the radio, requested pursuit of Strakhov's chopper.
Bolan sat there gripping his shotgun. His knuckles showed white as he thought of Strakhov. So close! He had the butcher in his sights and once again the KGB chief eluded him. Damn!
The Executioner thought of the cold face, the eyes staring blankly up at him as they carried her away. Forever. Eternity. He would never see her again, never touch her again, never kiss her tender lips...
He had won the game, made all the right moves — and then the Mojave desert and its slithering denizen had conspired to nullify everything. One Pacific rattlesnake had outpointed both his weapons.
"Sir."
Bolan looked up. He was aware the young pilot had said it before.
"Sir, I got the base. Sent the request. They said they will need better authorization to force down a civilian chopper that we can't positively identify. Do we have any better federal authorization?"
"Tell them to contact Dr. Peterson. He's the biggest name I know they can refer to. I can't give them the authority."
Five minutes later they were hovering above the downed chopper. Johnson settled to the ground beside it and Bolan transferred the two boxes of paper, plans, graphs and test results to the Navy bird. Then they started a systematic quadrant search of the area around the downed chopper, looking for Dr. Roth Ludlow.
Bolan felt the moisture work through his shirt. He swiped at the sweat on his forehead. Twice he drank water from the canteen the pilot had brought along. There was also a five-gallon can of emergency water to the rear.
They searched one strip after another, working gradually away from the crash site.
Twice they thought they saw footprints in the sand, but by the time they got the glasses on them, the prints faded into the shadows and were nothing but ridges of sand.
For another hour they searched till they were well beyond the point where a human could walk across the burning sand. They went back to the base point at the wreckage and began combing the territory again, both men watching, knowing that time was fast running out for the man on the desert floor.
They were half a mile from the initial point when Bolan heard the sound of a slug whining off the body of the chopper.
"Down there!" Bolan shouted. "It has to be him. He's still got the Beretta. Go upwind of him and blow a dust storm his way. Then we can set down and I'll jump out."
They moved east so the rotorwash would pick up the dust and carry it where the shot had originated. Slowly the hovering chopper descended as dust wheeled and eddied and blew toward the small dune.
The Executioner jumped out the door when the bird was two feet off the desert. He ducked and ran into the dust.
At once he was blinded. He could see only a few feet ahead. The chopper lifted off and as the dust thinned, he got his direction and ran forward.
Somewhere above the clatter of the aircraft's engine he heard three more shots. He hit the sand, waited, then moved more slowly in the direction of the sound. The dust and sand came again, cutting into him as the rotor blades kicked it up and slammed it westward. He ran with the sand now, heard the weapon fire again and he veered more to the left.
There was a pocket of clear air, and ahead ten yards he saw Dr. Ludlow. His shirt was off, his head and torso were burned bright red. The scientist held one hand over his eyes and fired the Beretta straight into the sky.
Bolan charged forward, slapped the Beretta out of the scientist's hand and grabbed him.
Ludlow struggled vainly against the iron grip of the Executioner. The desert heat and lack of water finally sapped the physicist's strength and he fell limply into Bolan's arms.
The Executioner wiped sand from Dr. Ludlow's feverish face.
"Dr. Ludlow. It's all right. Everything is fine. It's all over. We're going back to the center."
Heavy-lidded eyes, swollen and burned, tried to blink. Ludlow shivered and then his eyes relaxed, his head rolled forward. He was unconscious.
The Executioner stuffed the Beretta into his waistband, picked up the big scientist and carried him over his shoulder to the chopper.
Bolan and the pilot helped Dr. Ludlow into the chopper and they took off for the base. They gave him a sip of water and a wet cloth he could suck on. Slowly he came around and soon insisted that they tell him what happened.
The Executioner explained everything that had happened up to that point.
"We figured it was some kind of posthypnotic suggestion they planted in you at the Hanoi Hilton," Bolan said. "But the only way we could find the higher contacts was to let you take the material and meet them."
Dr. Ludlow scowled. "So our big 'escape' in Nam was planned. They released us close enough to our own lines so we couldn't get lost. I'll be damned. They brainwashed us, planted these posthypnotics and let us go."
He told them about the mind flashes, the Delayed Stress Syndrome. Simply a new name for battle fatigue.
Bolan asked him about Skysweeper.
"It never will be totally complete. But this phase of it is certainly over. We've done everything we started out to do. When we first shot a laser beam at the moon we were thrilled that it was only two miles wide where it hit. Now we're trying to get that dispersion cut down to a foot wide at ten thousand miles. Research will go on. The better we get, the better the laser will be and the more powerful and potent our weapons. But for now, it's at a leveling-off spot."
Then Dr. Ludlow looked at Bolan again.
"I'm not sure we've met. I don't understand your exact duties on our program."
"Dr. Peterson can fill you in on the details."
Bolan cleared the shotgun and the M-16 and put them in the duffel bag.
"Lieutenant Johnson, any developments on those chase planes?"
Johnson called the tower at Armitage Field. He listened on the earphones, then signed off.
"They scrambled two Air Force jets to intercept the craft on that heading, but they had no reason and no authority to interfere with its flight. They followed the chopper over the coastline at Point Conception, and about fifteen miles off the coast the chopper landed on board a freighter flying a Soviet flag. The NC number of the civilian helicopter was noted and its owner will be contacted. The Air Force pilots reported that the chopper was being lashed down as they broke contact and returned to base. It looked like the bird was set for a long trip."
The Executioner scowled. "Figures," he said.
* * *
Dr. Peterson was at the field to meet the chopper when it landed. He had brought Dr. Ludlow's car and supervised the transfer of the top-secret documents to the vehicle. Then he rode with them back to the big safe.
An ambulance met them at the field too. Despite his protests it took Dr. Ludlow to the branch clinic for observation.
Bolan's rented Ford sat near the landing site. He took the green barracks bag and stowed it in the trunk. In his billfold he found the list of phone numbers he had taken from the Smith safe. He drove out the airfield security gate and back to the women officers' quarters.
At a phone booth he called Malia's number. She answered on the first ring.
"Yes?"
"Malia, this is Mack."
"Oh! I'm glad you called! What's been happening?"
"I'll explain everything over lunch. Meet you in ten minutes." Bolan hung up, then called Dr. Peterson's office.
"Everything back in the right place and safe?"
"Yes
. And Kara is in custody."
"You should have the rest of the phone numbers and corral a few more." He gave Dr. Peterson the numbers. "You might also want to raid that safehouse where they held Dr. Ludlow. And call his wife that he is safe and well."
"We've notified Mrs. Ludlow." There was a pause at the other end. "Mack, there is no way on earth I can thank you. Both personally and for saving the Skysweeper project."
"No thanks necessary," Bolan said. "I won't be seeing you again, Dr. Peterson. Good luck."
Bolan drove to the women's quarters where Malia was waiting outside for him. He told her she could move the rest of her things out of the Smith house.
An hour later Bolan and the DIA agent entered the room at the Desert Inn Spa at the edge of town. She put down the small suitcase that she had retrieved from the Smith house and eyed the king-size water bed.
"Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to take a long shower," Bolan said.
Fifteen minutes later he came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his middle, sarong-style.
Malia turned away from the window when she heard him padding into the room. She spread her arms wide, the movement taking in the fake fireplace, large bath with twin sinks and dressing area, small wet bar to one side. The whole thing was done in soft pastels with a two-inch-thick luxurious carpet on the floor.
"You know, I could get used to this."
"Why don't you give it a try for a week or so?"
She turned quickly. "You are going to need some twenty-four-hour nursing, I mean to get that bullet crease healed and that sunburn looked at."
They moved to the bed, then she turned toward him and slowly reached up and kissed his lips.
"Been wanting to do that for a long time, days."
His arms came around her and he tried to relax. It was going to take some time. Dr. Peterson would tie up the last loose ends, and Skysweeper was safe. Peterson was off the Russian hook, at least for now.
Malia twisted around in his arms and leaned her back against him. Then she sighed.
"Yes, I could get used to all of this," she repeated.
Bolan knew he could, too. But in three or four days he would move on, find a new spot where he could strike back at the hydra, where he could cut off another one of its insidious arms of evil. Every small victory counted, and perhaps some day down the road, he would have another chance at Strakhov, the KGB monster whom Mack Bolan had vowed to wipe off the face of the earth.
"Fortune smiled on you today, Strakhov. Next time you won't be so lucky." Bolan formed the words in his mind but he did not speak them. They were private.
A Brief History of Mack Bolan's Military Career
Where did Mack Bolan learn his personal style of relentless warfare that allowed him to infiltrate a Mafia stronghold, destroy it, then simply retreat, leaving the feared and seemingly invincible Mob families reeling in confusion?
Vietnam. That Asian hellground spawned the menacing specter known throughout the world as The Executioner.
Bolan enlisted in the service at the age of eighteen. During his first tour of duty, he was stationed in three different countries — Korea, Germany and France — and rose rapidly through the ranks. He went to Vietnam as a sergeant under the command of Colonel James Crawford. Bolan became the consummate soldier, who could give as well as take orders.
When Crawford was rotated back to the U.S. he was replaced by Colonel Harlan Winters. Bolan and Winters became close friends despite their difference in rank. In fact, "Howlin" Harlan Winters was the creator of the penetration teams, the father of Able Team.
The first Able Team mission involved Bolan, Colonel Winters, with five Montagnard tribesmen for support. After its initial success, the members of the team changed. "Whispering Death" Zitka joined Bolan as a flanker. Later, "Chopper" Fontenelli, "Boom-Boom" Hoffower, "Bloodbrother" Loudelk, "Flower Child" Andromede, "Gadgets" Schwarz, "Gunsmoke" Harrington and "Politician" Blancanales all worked with Bolan to become one of the deadliest forces in the Vietnam War.
In the Asian theater, Bolan met many large warriors: Wilson Brown, Bob McFee, Charles Rosky and Frank Harrelson. There were men like Jim Brantzen and Bruno Tassily, soldiers who warred on death as doctors to keep the troops alive.
There were others, sure. But not always warriors. In Nam Bolan also encountered "The Desert Rats," three men of a Green Beret A-team. Floyd Worthy, Jim Hinshaw and Angel Morales joined the U.S. Army only to escape the hot breath of the law. They took their erring ways to the jungles of Vietnam and used the war as a means of profiteering.
The trio instituted a campaign of terror and intimidation against the inhabitants of the region. Civilians were forced to pay "insurance" premiums or face arrest on charges of collusion with the Communists. Those who did not comply also paid — with their lives.
Bolan and his flanker, T. L. Minnegas, caught "The Desert Rats" in the act of executing three unarmed villagers. Bolan's intervention resulted in the indictment of Worthy, Morales and Hinshaw. The three killers were given dishonorable discharges from the service. Bolan had no way of knowing that his own military career was about to end and that he'd cross paths with the ruthless trio in years to come.
During the Southeast Asian conflict, Bolan had been recommended many times for promotions, but he turned them all down. An entry in his journal explains the reasons for his refusal:
I don't want a promotion. It isn't that I can't handle the responsibility — I can. My place is out on the firing line, helping these war torn people. I cannot turn my back on the innocents struggling for survival when the VC savages are eating them whole. I would be less of a man if I did. War is hell. But I have a duty.
Then tragedy struck. Bolan was informed of the death of his parents and sister and the critical condition of his younger brother, all victims of Mafia violence. Sergeant Bolan was granted emergency leave to bury his family. He had four months remaining in his third tour of duty. The tour would never be completed.
The Executioner took the next step toward his destiny and entered the second phase of his colorful if blood-filled career. Bolan declared war on the Mafia. "I am not their judge; or jury. I am their judgment! I am The Executioner."
This new enemy would prove to be every bit as savage as the animals he had fought in Nam.
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