Chain Reaction

CHAPTER SIX

The bulk of the house spread before them, partly obscured by the overgrown network of trees and undergrowth. The access road was little more than a rutted track. Two vehicles were parked in front of the building. Bolan and Mitchell crouched against the perimeter wall.

“Not exactly a Realtor’s dream property,” Mitchell whispered.

“Ideal for these guys,” Bolan said. “Out of sight, out of mind. It’s somewhere they can carry out their work in safety.”

“I’m not sure I like what you’re suggesting. What work?”

Bolan checked his Beretta.

“No time for chitchat,” he said. “We can’t be sure we dealt with the whole of the search team back there. We need to go in now.”

Bolan led them across the low wall. They skirted the bulk of the house and pressed against the side wall. A number of boarded windows were set in the wall. With Mitchell at his back, the soldier moved to the rear corner, crouching to peer around. Thirty feet from the back of the house were more trees and a heavy spread of undergrowth that almost reached the rear of the building.

They observed more closed-off windows on ground level and the upper floor; a derelict outhouse; a single wooden door that would allow access to the interior.

“Our way in,” Bolan said quietly.

Mitchell tapped his shoulder in agreement.

“Stay sharp,” Bolan said and moved to the door.

Mitchell checked back the way they had come. There was no movement but she was aware how quickly a situation could change.

“Clear,” she said.

Bolan examined the door. Wood, the panels cracked and warped. Whatever paint had once coated it was long gone. He set himself, knowing that wooden barriers could be deceiving.

“No walking through walls?” Mitchell said. “I’m disappointed, Cooper.”

Bolan set his distance and drew back his right leg, then launched a powerful kick that planted his boot over the lock. Wood splintered. The door flew open, crashing against the inside wall. Bolan went through, breaking to the right. Mitchell copied his move, going left. They both swept the empty room. Nothing save dust and scattered detritus.

Beyond the room they heard voices raised in anger.

“We disturbed someone,” Mitchell said.

They crossed the room and went through the door on the far side, which revealed a wide passage with stairs to one side.

“Shooter,” Mitchell yelled as a moving shape emerged from the shadows ahead.

A slim guy in shirtsleeves opened up with a squat SMG, a line of slugs punching into the wall to one side. He seemed to fire more for effect than to seek a definite target. Bolan turned and cut loose with the Beretta, catching the guy in the side. The shooter slammed against the far wall, clutching his side as blood began to soak his shirt. Bolan put a triburst in the gunner’s skull. The guy sagged to his knees, then toppled over.

Mitchell caught sight of a second shooter, taking a side step to avoid his falling partner. She took advantage of the man’s hesitation, leaning out from behind Bolan. She settled her aim without hesitation and punched a pair of .40-caliber slugs in the guy. Chest high, over the heart, the solid impact of the slugs knocked the target off his feet. He took an awkward fall, slamming to the floor on his face and rolling against the wall, his body in spasm just before he died.

A shadow materialized along the passage, weapon up and firing. The burst of autofire came close. Bolan held his ground, the enemy fire bypassing him as he raised the Beretta and triggered a burst. The distant figure staggered as slugs ripped into his body. He refused to go down until Mitchell fired a .40-caliber round through his throat. This time he dropped without a sound.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Cover me,” Bolan said as he dropped the exhausted magazine and rammed home a fresh one from his pouch. As he activated the 93-R, he felt the heat from Mitchell’s close fired Glock as she took down a second gunner emerging from an open door. The .40-caliber slugs ripped into the target’s chest. He dropped his weapon. They moved in unison, clearing the foot of the stairs and aiming for the door the shooters had come from.

Mitchell turned to check the stairs, scanning the shadowed landing. As Bolan cleared the doorway, he found a large room spread out in front of him. The large windows looked out on the front of the house and the pair of parked vehicles. Bolan took in the room at a glance and what he saw was imprinted on his vision like a vivid snapshot.

A half-naked figure was strapped to a wooden chair, the exposed chest and torso a mass of bloody wounds. Enough blood had been spilled to soak the man’s pants to midthigh. His head was thrown back, his throat slashed wide and bloody. Bolan’s gaze dropped to the bound man’s bare feet. Most of the toes on the left foot were gone, leaving ragged and bloody stumps. The blood was dry, indicating that the man had been dead for some time.

Mitchell had remained at the entrance to the room, keeping a lookout for any interference. She took a quick look inside, saw the bound man and Bolan heard the shocked gasp when she recognized the victim.

“It’s Jake Bermann.”

“Mitchell, don’t lose it. Not now,” Bolan snapped.

Her face registered surprise as she looked beyond Bolan to the farthest reaches of the shadowed room. Her Glock arced to one side, finger closing on the trigger.

“Down,” she yelled, stepping in through the doorway.

Bolan dropped to a crouch, turning.

A pistol fired, the shot going over Bolan’s head.

Mitchell’s Glock cracked twice, flame spouting in the shadowed room.

As Bolan came around, he saw an armed man jerk as Mitchell’s .40-caliber slugs hit. The target cried out in pain as he fell back, the weapon clutched in his sagging right hand firing a shot into the floor. Light from the closest window set him in clear sight.

“It’s Brewster,” Mitchell said.

Bolan crossed the room in long strides, the 93-R trained solidly on the hunched-over figure. Brewster was on his knees, clutching his midsection. His Glock hung from his fingers, loose and presenting no threat. Bolan took it from the man, holstering his Beretta and holding the Glock.

Brewster, moaning, moved so he could sit awkwardly, still clutching himself. Blood soaked through his shirt in a continuous flood, turning his shirt and pants a glistening red.

“I’m calling this in,” Mitchell said.

Bolan handed her his cell phone and she keyed in a number. Standing at the doorway, she stared at Brewster as she raised her phone.

“SAC Duncan, this is Agent Mitchell. We have located Agent Bermann, sir. He’s dead. And we have Brewster. He tried to shoot us. It was Brewster who gave us up to Hegre. He’s down. We have the situation under control. Yes, sir, Cooper is with me. We need backup at the location you gave me. You can send in the troops now. Yes, sir, we’ll stand fast.”

Bolan saw the spread of blood as it pooled under Brewster’s slumped body. He grabbed cushions off armchairs pushed to one side of the room and laid Brewster down with one of the cushions under his head. The man stared up at Bolan. His face was sickly white and glistening with sweat.

“He’s in a bad way,” Bolan said over his shoulder.

“Good,” Mitchell snapped back. “Don’t expect any kind of help from me, Cooper. You see what they did to Jake?”

Her voice rose in anger. “You see what they did, Brewster. To one of your own. And Ray.”

“What did they want from him?” Bolan asked.

“Information,” Brewster said. “Hegre was concerned the FBI was getting too close and starting to unravel how it worked.”

Blood trickled from Brewster’s mouth, frothy and constant.

“You were helping them?”

Brewster nodded. Life was slipping away. His hands covering the bullet wounds in his body were wet with blood.

“They offered so much money,” he said, his voice weakening. “A million. It seemed so easy at the time. I took it because I was greedy. No other word for it. I was living above my means, seeing all kinds of perps with money coming out of their pockets. I was risking my life for nothing while they had it all.” Brewster began to cough up more blood. His face twisted in a spasm, then formed a crooked smile. “When Hegre made the offer, I just couldn’t refuse. You know the funny part? I never got the chance to spend any of it.”

“Where’s the woman?” Bolan asked. “Delaware?”

Brewster’s head moved from side to side. “Lise? She moves around. She’s hard to pin down.” He fixed his gaze on Bolan. “She wants you, Cooper. You killed Rackham, burned her with a bullet and wrecked their Korean deal. She will come after you.”

“I’ll try not to lose too much sleep over that.”

Behind Bolan, Mitchell’s Glock cracked once—twice.

“Incoming,” she called, and Bolan moved to her side. He saw shooters moving along the hallway, weapons up.

Bolan snapped up the Glock and started to lay down offensive fire. As the Executioner drove the shooters back, Mitchell ejected her empty magazine, reloaded and brought her weapon back online. Together they covered the hallway with a powerful curtain of .40-caliber fire. Two men went down, one screaming wildly.

Retreat became the order of the day as the Hegre crew backed off. Bolan refused to let it end there and he tracked the hallway, sending more deadly fire at the enemy as they pulled away. When the Glock locked back empty, Bolan snatched the 93-R from its holster and continued to fire. The interior of the house echoed with the constant stream of gunshots. The last man in the group reached a door and kicked it open. Before he could clear the opening, Mitchell’s Glock fired twice and the guy’s head was hammered by a pair of .40-caliber slugs. They cored in through his skull and blew a portion of brains out through the bloody exit wound.

Mitchell slumped back against the wall, Glock sagging in her two-handed grip. The weapon had locked on empty, smoke still curling from the barrel. Bolan saw her shoulders moving as she trembled in the aftermath. He could see the rage seeping away, and he knew in her mind she would be seeing the image of her tortured, dead FBI teammates.

Ray Talbot.

Jake Bermann.

Mitchell would be taking on the blame because she felt a responsibility toward her team.

It wasn’t enough they had found Bermann.

They had arrived too late.

Bolan watched her, seeing her expression and feeling for the FBI agent. There was not a thing he could do for her.

His thoughts turned to another female.

Lise Delaware.

The woman would seek revenge, would attempt to even a perceived score with Bolan. Somewhere along the line that need would be addressed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“One way or another, Cooper, I’m getting to the bottom of this.”

The determination in Mitchell’s voice told Bolan all he needed to know. The FBI agent was not going to stop until she had the answers she wanted. She had good reasons.

Mitchell reloaded automatically as she voiced her thoughts.

“They don’t do this and not pay.”

Her partners had been killed because they had been betrayed.

And Mitchell’s own tenacious nature would not allow her to ignore facts.

“The Bureau is in a good position to run some checks on Brewster’s recent history,” Bolan said, then added, “second thoughts. Go careful. Hegre appears to have deep contacts. It could be they might get wind of anyone looking too close at their business.”

“Are you saying they might have someone else in the Bureau? That’s crazy, Cooper. This is the FBI were talking about. Hegre doesn’t own it.”

“Agent Mitchell, I’ve been up against this group before. They had a pretty good reach last time around. I can’t do anything to stop you from checking them out. Just be careful is all I’m saying.”

Mitchell understood his concern. And as much as she even hated the thought there might be some other kind of leak within the FBI, her good sense cautioned against being careless.

She only had to remind herself what had happened to Joe Brewster. He had been a careful man, never one to even think about taking unnecessary risks. He was a stickler for obeying the rules. She had believed him to be an upstanding FBI agent who played by the book.

She had been wrong there. Brewster had stepped outside the circle and accepted Hegre’s money. He had been turned. In Mitchell’s eyes, if Brewster had been corrupted, it could happen to anyone.

Mitchell was at the room’s front window, keeping watch, waiting for backup to arrive. Her initial anger when she had realized Brewster had betrayed them had ebbed, leaving behind a dull ache. It wasn’t every day she had two friends die and witnessed another partner selling her out.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Cooper crouching over Brewster’s prone figure, talking quietly to the wounded man. Cooper fought with the dedication of a professional, yet now he was speaking to the man who had tried to kill them with the compassion of a priest taking confession. In the brief time she had known the man, Cooper had shown her many facets of his character. She found herself drawn to him, fascinated by his powerful presence and the deadly skills he used so well.

“Game’s over,” Bolan said to Brewster. “You rolled the dice and ended up with snake-eyes. A low roll. Whichever way you look at it, you don’t come out with any kind of winning hand.”

“So this is where I open up and admit the error of my ways?”

“Hegre isn’t going to come to the rescue.”

“But you are? You’ll offer me absolution if I confess before I die?”

“I’m no priest,” Bolan said. “But I’m open to offers.”

Brewster was bleeding from the mouth now, his breath ragged.

“If Mitchell was in your place right now, she would be pulling a trigger on me.”

“She lost friends over this. You were one of them. Do the right thing and at least offer her something in payback.” Bolan held the man’s gaze. “Or don’t. It makes no difference to me, Brewster. I’m tracking Hegre however long it takes.”

Brewster’s eyes rolled, and for a moment his stillness made Bolan imagine he was gone. Then he took a breath, his gaze focusing again.

“Hegre has a deal with some high-ranking Iranian group, brokering them uranium for their enrichment program. All illegal. It’s coming out of Kazakhstan. And diamonds to finance it from Australia... Cooper, remember what I said about Delaware. She’s crazy mad for what you did to their last big deal...losing the North Korean game cost Hegre a lot. Too much for them to ignore. Cooper, you’re top of her Most Wanted list.”

Brewster clutched at Bolan’s sleeve as a spasm of pain coursed through him.

“Hegre has this deal all worked out. They plan to transport the diamonds to Hong Kong...pass on to an end buyer in Philippines...make a killing...that’s all I overheard.”

The effort pushed Brewster over the edge. When he fell silent this time, Bolan found his vital signs had flatlined. Pulse and respiration gone. He rose to his feet and turned away, catching Mitchell’s gaze. He shook his head.

“Did he say anything?” she asked when he joined her.

“A lead. Maybe.”

Bolan called Stony Man on his secure cell phone. Price answered and Bolan picked up on her concern.

“I’m fine,” he said in answer to her question.

“You would say that if both your arms had been blown off.”

“I can tell you they’re both intact and in good working order. Now patch me through to Bear.”

“Kurtzman here. Fire away,” he said. Then added, “Sorry. In your circumstances that may have been an inappropriate remark.”

“Make up for it by doing some hard checking. Anything and everything concerning Iran and uranium from Kazakhstan. And look into any intel on a diamond heist in Australia.”

“Slightly bizarre combination but interesting. I guess you want the express response?”

“Don’t I always?”

“I’ll put the Boy Wonder on it. Nothing he likes better than a puzzle request.”

Bolan knew the cyberteam would work its magic. If anyone could pull digital rabbits out of imaginary hats, Kurtzman’s people would do it.

* * *

THE FBI DESCENDED within a couple of hours, a pair of Bureau helicopters swooping in and disgorging armed agents. They surrounded the house and swept the area. Mitchell went out to brief them. SAC Duncan had given the order she was still in charge. Bolan stood back and watched her direct the clean up operation. She handled it with confidence, and he could see why Duncan had so much faith in her abilities. The only moment she faltered was when Jake Bermann was removed from the house, even though the man was in a closed body bag. She showed no remorse at all when Brewster was taken out; she had made her stance known and refused to think any differently; Bolan could sympathize with her—Brewster had turned against everything the FBI stood for, had betrayed his fellow agents by accepting money from the very criminal organization the Bureau was fighting.

Duncan called, informing Bolan he was already inbound from Washington and would attend the scene ASAP. An FBI regional mobile-command center had shown up, establishing a base for the FBI teams working the scene, and once that was in motion Bolan and Mitchell stood down. She designated one of the agents to handle things while she took a break. Despite her professional attitude, Bolan could see she was under some stress though she was attempting to conceal the fact. He had one of the agents drive him to his vehicle and recover Mitchell’s. They returned them to the crime scene. The area was a hive of activity as the Bureau teams processed the house and surrounding grounds. The FBI worked with practiced efficiency, the next couple of hours full of activity.

Bolan kept an eye on Mitchell. She was back directing operations, but a couple of times he noticed her standing alone and looking a little lost. The violent action of their encounter was most likely the worst incident of her Bureau career. High-intensity shooting matches were not an everyday occurrence in the FBI.

Bolan had a quiet word with one of the agents. The man saw Bolan’s point and told him he would step in until Duncan showed up. The Executioner spoke to Mitchell. At first she refused to leave the site, but eventually she gave in to his persuasion. He drove them back along the highway to Treebone. Mitchell sat quietly beside him, gazing out the window and not saying much. Bolan parked up at a local diner, overrode her protests and made her go inside for a coffee and some downtime. She made a half-hearted objection but that didn’t last long once she smelled the aroma of coffee.

Bolan had removed his tactical gear, stowing it in the rear of the SUV, pulling his leather jacket on over his black clothing and Mitchell had produced a plain wind breaker from her SUV so they at least looked like an ordinary couple in need of a break.

Bolan ordered coffee for them as they settled in an empty booth. He sat across from Mitchell and watched as she buried her head in the mug, savoring the hot brew. As she set the mug on the table and leaned back, Bolan could see the tension slip away. She glanced up at him, a tired smile on her lips.

“Yeah, okay, that coffee was just what I needed.”

Bolan nodded. “Always take the doc’s advice.”

“So now you’re a doctor. Anything else I need to know about you, Cooper?”

“All in good time,” Bolan said.

Mitchell ran a finger across the rim of her coffee cup, knowing what she wanted to say, finding it hard to say. She had always followed Bureau lines, stayed within the parameters the FBI hammered into its agents. But right now she had to step beyond them because there was something going on that transcended normal policy. The recent events had made her lose some degree of faith in her profession. She admitted she was probably overreacting, but she was unable to push aside what Brewster had done. Bad enough he had worked against the FBI. The deaths of two of her team, men she had worked with and had trusted, had compounded that betrayal. It had made her see the world from a different angle.

Apart from SAC Duncan, the only man she could trust right now was Cooper.

Matt Cooper had already saved her life, kept her alive and had talked a lot of sense.

“This can’t end here, Cooper. Hegre is still operating. Still out of our reach. And I’m not so sure, right now, that the Bureau is capable of doing anything about that.”

“The FBI makes its decisions based on the rules. I don’t. I work my side of the street by acting on intel, sometimes hunches. Duncan believes I break every rule that exists. He’s probably correct, but my approach gets the results I need.”

“Cooper, you’re just a Lone Ranger at heart.”

“I forgot my mask today. Hey, I need to make a call,” Bolan said. “If there’s something to uncover, we’ll find it.”

“Should I close my eyes and look the other way? Hands my over ears while I sing la-la-la?”

“Only if you want some funny looks. Order some more coffee. Maybe something to eat. I’ll be back.”

Bolan slid out of the booth and walked to the door, retrieving his cell phone from his pocket. Mitchell watched him go, a thin smile on her lips. She caught the server’s eye and beckoned to her.

“Two more coffees. What’s the best thing on the menu?”

“Honey, the boss would tell you everything on the menu is the best. Take my advice and stick to steak, eggs and hash browns. Those he can cook.”

“For two,” Mitchell said. “And thanks for the advice.”

* * *

BOLAN HAD KURTZMAN on his cell phone.

“Any results, Bear? You guys worked your magic yet?”

“Akira’s trawling picked up on that Australian angle. There was a recent theft of diamonds from one of the mines in the Northern Territories. One hell of a haul. At a conservative estimate the cops figure the haul to be worth in excess of $80 million in uncut stones. Akira hacked into the police database and found out there was a hijacking on the highway between the mining area and Alice Springs. One of those Aussie road-trains was stopped on the road, the crew gunned down. The doors on one of the containers were blown open. Nothing on the manifest was taken.

“Then the local police at the mining company homed in on one of the employees taking off unannounced. He must have panicked when the cops started questioning employees. They picked him up on the highway, chased him and the guy lost control. He ended up in the local hospital with two broken legs, smashed ribs and a fractured shoulder. They found a stash of uncut diamonds in his luggage. His pay for the job. It seems he’d been contracted by Hegre to filter off diamonds from a number of batches between being lifted from the mine and weighed up. He was a production foreman and had a gambling and drinking problem. In debt up to his ears. Hegre paid him to arrange the thefts. He hid the cache in a metal toolbox and had it added to the road train cargo. All this came out in the hospital. The guy couldn’t wait to confess once the cops confronted him with the evidence.”

“How were the diamonds taken out of the country?”

“The guy came clean on that. Pretty slick operation. The heist team simply drove across country. Two thousand miles plus, to the coast and the diamonds were to be placed on a freighter out of Port Hedland on the Australian West coast.”

“Any trace on where the cache was heading?”

“The guy didn’t know that. Or the name of the ship.”

“Damn.”

“Don’t give up so easily, Striker. I have more.”

“You found the ship?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, my friend. Our young master of the cyber universe ran checks on all the vessels that left Port Hedland in the timeline we had and has come up with the answer you will love.”

Kurtzman explained how the tracking had been achieved and Bolan chalked one up to Akira Tokaido, the youngest member of Kurtzman’s cyberteam.

“Only three ships left the port in the timeframe we were looking at. Akira ran in-depth checks on them. Ownership. Destinations. Arrival dates. Two were quickly discounted. The third turned out to be the one we wanted. The Echo Rose, registered in Manila. She’s had more owners than you can shake a stick at. The tramp of all tramp ships. She carries mixed cargoes of every shape and size all round the region. When Akira ran his check on who has her papers currently, he hit a spiderweb of fake titles and shaky companies. All covers for the real owner of the Echo Rose.”

“Hegre?”

“Very loose connection, but the buck does stop at the Hegre corporation. Akira logged into the ship’s manifest. The Echo Rose was on a cargo run that would take her up through the Timor Sea, delivering cargo all the way up to Hong Kong and Kowloon.”

“Ties in with what Brewster said before he died. Hong Kong and Kowloon.”

“Brewster?”

“A bought agent. Joseph Brewster. We might be looking at other leaks.”

“Other insiders?”

“Anything and everything, Aaron. We have names from last time around. Start to pull strands together.”

“On it.”

When Bolan went back inside, his food had just been delivered. He glanced at the enormous platter then across at Mitchell. She was enjoying her meal.

“Are we eating for the whole diner?”

Mitchell smiled. “A big guy like you needs his food.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to do any running for the next couple of days.”

“So?” Mitchell asked.

Bolan knew what she was angling for. It was time to update her on his talk with Stony Man.