Executioner - Blood Circle Part 12

Bolan put a fresh magazine into his carbine. "Roger that. We're safe for the moment and sitting tight."

The Lear jet streaked over the lake. Bolan looked at McCain. He was pale, and the left shoulder of his shirt was stained with blood. "How are you?"

"Thankful," McCain replied, managing a weak smile.

Bolan nodded and looked at Ramzin. The Russian's face was a gruesome mosaic of blood and purple bruising. His left eye was closed, and his nose was mashed flat. The gash in his left cheek was still bleeding. Ramzin's right eye was clear, and it peered back at Bolan. "I am in your debt."

Bolan regarded Ramzin dryly. "I'm not done with you yet."

The major snorted and reloaded his carbine. Off in the distance Bolan heard the snarl of the Gatling gun echo across the lake. Something was happening low over the water. "What's up, Jack?"

Grimaldi's voice was tight. "Hold on, Sarge. I'm busy."

The Gatling snarled again. Grimaldi's voice came across the radio. "All right, Sarge, you're about to have visitors. Look sharp."

Everyone looked up at the thump of rotors. Three helicopters came into view and flew in formation toward their position. A second later the Lear jet streaked over them. The helicopters wobbled in Grimaldi's jet wash as he herded them toward sh.o.r.e. It seemed a few shots across their bows had made the chopper pilots see the light of reason. The helicopters slowed as they reached the sh.o.r.e and hovered over the beach. After a moment they descended and landed in the stony sand. They were twin-engine Bell 212 model Hueys with civilian paint jobs.

Bolan squinted against their rotor wash as he rose from the rocks and leveled his weapon. Svarzkova and Ramzin stood behind him as the pilots of the helicopters jumped down from their aircraft and walked forward, hunched over under their rotors, with their hands raised. The lead man was a short black-haired man in a green flight suit and sungla.s.ses. He straightened and looked warily down the twin muzzles of the weapon in Bolan's hand.

The man glanced up into the sky as the Lear jet flew overhead, and he shook his head helplessly. "We surrender."

15.

Mack Bolan stood on the tarmac at the Burlington airport and watched the Learjet land. He, Ramzin and Svarzkova had each ridden in one of the helicopters to keep the pilots honest. Grimaldi had herded the formation to the airport in the Learjet and flown a holding pattern until all three were landed. The three captured helicopters were being swarmed over by the state police and two local FAA officials. The mafiya pilots were being held for flying across the United States border with Canada without permission and failing to file a flight plan.

Cleaning up at Senator McCain's house would be more difficult. There were still armed Red Falcons running around Lake Champlain.

The jet taxied to a halt and powered down its engines. Jack Grimaldi jumped out and grinned at Bolan. "Where're the Russians?"

Bolan pointed to an ambulance parked by the terminal. Another ambulance had already taken William McCain to the hospital, and State Trooper Tennyson had stayed with his bodyguard detail and gone with him. Ramzin had refused to go to the hospital. The remaining ambulance's door was open as a pair of paramedics worked on the man's face. They had st.i.tched up the gash in his cheek and were now resetting his nose with tape. He sat like a stone throughout the whole operation.

Svarzkova stood next to him and winced as she watched the paramedic pull the thread through Ramzin's flesh. The paramedic clipped the thread and gave the man an anxious look. The big Russian looked like death warmed over, and he still held his AKR automatic carbine and grenade launcher across his knees. The medic swallowed nervously. "All finished."

Ramzin rose and nodded at the paramedic. "Thank you very much." He peered at his reflection in the ambulance's rear window and gave himself a noncommittal grunt.

Grimaldi grinned at him sympathetically. "How do you feel, Major?"

The Russian peered at Grimaldi with his open eye. "My face hurts." He turned to Bolan. "What is our situation?"

"I don't think Baibakov was there. I didn't see him, and I didn't hear his .50 caliber. It would have been more professional if he had been running the attack."

Ramzin nodded. "I agree. I know Igor well. He would have led the a.s.sault if he had been present."

Bolan looked at Ramzin, and they knew they were both thinking the same thing. "He'll go after Senator McCain in Washington."

Ramzin snorted and spit blood on the ground. "I believe so."

The Executioner turned to Grimaldi. "What's the status on the senator?"

"I contacted Hal in flight. They've tripled her Service protection."

"How many did she have originally?"

Grimaldi rolled his eyes. "Two."

Svarzkova's breath hissed between her teeth. "Six men with handguns against Baibakov." She shook her head disgustedly. "They will be slaughtered."

Bolan had to agree. The agents of the Secret Service were well trained, brave and dedicated, but six agents would be outnumbered and outgunned, and nothing in their training had ever prepared them for Captain Igor Baibakov. "Jack, what kind of stats do we have on Senator McCain in the capital?"

Grimaldi pulled a sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket. "The Bear taxed me in flight. Senator McCain is scheduled to be in the Capitol Building until the Senate concludes business for the day, then she intended to spend several hours in the Senate Office. While she's there, she has her Secret Service protection, and the Capitol police are on full alert." Bolan scanned the sheet. "And after that?"

"She has a house in Arlington, and six agents following her home."

Bolan handed the sheet back to Grimaldi. "Contact Hal. Tell him Senator McCain is not to leave the Capitol Building until we arrive." The Executioner looked up at the sky. The sun told him it was past one o'clock. There was still time to get to Washington and set up some kind of real defense for Senator McCain. "Then get the plane refueled. I want to be airborne in ten minutes."

Rage swam redly across Igor Baibakov's vision. The body of his cellular phone began to buckle in his hand as he unconsciously squeezed. With a ma.s.sive effort of will he reined in his temper. His voice was as cold as the grave.

"How has this happened?"

Baibakov heard a gunshot in the background as Tomas Broz spoke. "Ramzin and the commando had automatic weapons and grenade launchers."

The giant felt his rage mounting. "This was to be expected, Broz. You had them trapped, you had superior numbers and heavy weapons." His voice grated as he repeated himself. "How has this happened?"

Broz's voice shook. "They used explosives to breach a wall of the house, and then used poison gas to cover their escape. As we pursued, we were attacked by a jet armed with rockets and automatic cannons. Then the plane went after the helicopters."

Baibakov closed his eyes. The American commando was truly the devil himself. The man had eluded him in Arizona and in Sarajevo; he could expect little better from an unimaginative man like Tomas Broz. Baibakov's teeth ground. He still wished to kill the Serb for his incompetence. "What is your situation now?"

"I and four men are on foot on the west sh.o.r.e of Lake Champlain. I am not sure of our exact location. There are other survivors, but they have become separated. I have heard them engaging police in the hills."

Baibakov reviewed his mental map of Vermont. Broz was approximately eighty kilometers from the Canadian border. Away from the lake the land was hilly and wooded and spa.r.s.ely populated. Despite his failure, Broz was an experienced guerrilla fighter, and the terrain was remarkably similar to his homeland. He could make it, if he was clever. "Listen to me carefully, Broz. Avoid engaging the authorities at all costs. Get away from the lake and head north. Stay off the roads, and follow the line of the hills. When you get into Canada, head for the town of Frelighsburg. I will have our contact in Montreal send men to meet you. I will have them look for you outside of town five days from now. They will be in a black van. They will take you to Montreal. After I have concluded my business here, I will come for You. You have five days. Do you understand?"

Broz's voice was more confident. "I understand. I have one other thing to report. The woman accompanying the commando, one of my men heard her yelling in Russian."

Baibakov blinked. That was very interesting, but he had more important things to consider at the moment. The giant's voice was steely. "Run, Broz." He cut the line and put down the phone.

Krstic's dark eyes veiled coolly as she looked up into the giant's face. "Broz has failed."

Baibakov nodded absently as he considered the situation. The commando had skill, luck and unexpected resources. He smiled unpleasantly. It wouldn't be enough. He held in his hand the greatest advantage in the hunt or in war, and that was surprise. "Begin making the phone calls."

Krstic rose and went into the other room, and Baibakov considered his next move. It was time to take care of business himself. He would test the commando's mettle again, and once he was dead, then the real operation would begin.

The giant looked at his watch. The three-man team he had sent west would be reporting soon.

Senator Eudora McCain looked askance at Bolan as he entered her office. She sat at a mahogany desk surrounded by her Secret Service escort. There had been no time to shower or change on the trip from the airport. The Executioner was a big man in a combat black suit and body armor and he stank of powder smoke and burned high explosive. Jaws dropped to the floor as the Russians came in.

Valentina Svarzkova's sweater was torn, her jeans were covered with mud and her long blond hair hung down in disarray. Her lower lip was swollen, and a wide swath of dried blood stained her collar from her roll on the floor with the Red Falcon a.s.sa.s.sin. Ramzin had wiped the dried blood from his face, and the entire left side of his head was purplish black with bruising and his features were swollen and misshapen.

Eudora McCain didn't rise from her seat. She wore a red power suit, and her dark hair was bobbed in a page-boy haircut. One lock had been artfully allowed to remain gray over her right eye. Other than the fact that she was short, she was a striking woman. Her gray eyes looked Bolan up and down distastefully. "I gather you've returned from Vermont."

Bolan nodded. The senator raised a frosty eyebrow. "I understand you burned down my house."

He looked back at the senator, his gaze unwavering. "The Red Falcons burned down your house. I only blew up the chimney."

McCain stared at Bolan incredulously. Things weren't starting off well. Bolan decided to change tactics. "Senator McCain, I understand you've been to Sarajevo."

The senator blinked at the sudden change of subject. "Yes, I have."

"I also understand you have been witness to some of the atrocities committed there. You've seen the ma.s.s graves and the butchery firsthand, and you've talked to the widows and survivors."

The woman swallowed. It had rocked her view of the world. "Yes, I have."

Bolan nodded. "The man who tried to kill your husband and intends to kill you is a man named Igor Baibakov. He is a former captain in the Russian special forces and extremely dangerous. He's advising a Serbian terrorist group called the Red Falcons that's responsible for some of the most heinous acts that have been committed in the former Yugoslavia. By speaking out against such acts and spearheading U.S. involvement to stop them, you've become a target. The Red Falcons are here in the United States, Senator, and they intend to kill you. I intend to keep you alive, but I'm afraid I'll have to ask for your cooperation."

The senator regained her composure. "Well, I thank you for your efforts, but the Secret Service has told me it's very unlikely an attempt would be made on my life here in Washington, particularly after his group was just wiped out up in Vermont."

Bolan folded his arms across his chest. "It's to Captain Baibakov's advantage if you believe that."

One of the Secret Service agents took a step forward. He was a short, powerfully built man in a blue suit, with his brown hair cut like a NASA astronaut's. Three of his men stood behind him in formation like clones. "Listen, we don't have any positive proof that this Baibakov is even in the country. As I understand it, you folks took out the Red Falcons up north. He'd have to be insane to go for her here."

Ramzin cleared his throat. "Madam Senator, I am Major Pietor Ramzin, of Russian special forces. I know Igor Baibakov. I trained him. The Secret Service agent is correct. Baibakov is insane. I believe you are in terrible danger."

Svarzkova put her hands on her hips. "I concur. You are in terrible danger."

The Secret Service agent scowled at Svarzkova. "Who are you?"

The woman snapped ramrod straight and saluted sharply. "I am Senior Lieutenant Valentina Svarzkova, Russian Military Intelligence. I am honored to work in cooperation with agents of the United States Secret Service."

The Secret Service agent gaped at Svarzkova while she held the parade-ground salute. Svarzkova's routine was a potent weapon. Most United States federal and civil authorities just didn't know what to do when faced with beautiful Russian spies. Ramzin snapped to attention and saluted, as well. The agent looked back and forth at the Russians and returned the salute awkwardly. "Uh, Gordon Koontz, special agent in charge, United States Secret Service. Pleased to meet you."

Special Agent in Charge Koontz shook his head wonderingly as the Russians snapped down their arms in robot-like synchronization. His jaw worked up and down once as he looked back at Bolan desperately. "Listen, I don't know what kind of operation you're running here, but-"

Bolan smiled in a friendly fashion, "It's above your pay scale, Agent Koontz, but I a.s.sure you our goals are the same. Let's work together and keep the senator breathing."

Koontz looked back at Senator McCain helplessly. He had utterly lost control of the situation.

Eudora McCain steepled her fingers, and her jaw set decisively. "All right. Let's keep me breathing." She gave Mack Bolan an experimental smile. "What would you like me to do?"

16.

Mack Bolan examined the long black Secret Service Cadillac limousine critically. Its tires were bulletproof and self-sealing. The windows were ballistic gla.s.s and would stop sh.e.l.l fragments and small-arms fire. The armored body could withstand direct hits from armor-piercing .30-caliber rifle bullets. Unfortunately Igor Baibakov was known to use .50caliber rifles and RPG7 ant.i.tank rockets. Still, it was a much safer bet than Senator McCain's Volvo station wagon.

After hearing Bolan's story about the attack in Vermont, Special Agent in Charge Koontz had gotten serious about the senator's safety. He had also broken out heavier weapons for his team to supplement their 9 mm service pistols. Each agent now carried the Secret Service model of the Uzi submachine gun. It was a standard Uzi, except that the tip of the barrel had been cut and crowned to allow the weapon to be short enough to be carried with the stock folded in a standard briefcase.

Valentina Svarzkova kicked one of the Cadillac limousine's tires. "An RPG7 will stop it."

Bolan nodded. If Baibakov attacked, he expected the limo would be stopped. The Russian wouldn't try a drive-by shooting or want a firefight between moving vehicles. Those kinds of situations were too uncertain. Igor Baibakov was undoubtedly having Senator McCain watched. He would set a trap and keep the odds overwhelmingly in his favor. The key would be to survive the initial attack. Baibakov had been thwarted too many times. He would want the limo stopped, then come in close and confirm the kill.

The Secret Service limo was their best chance. With its bulletproof gla.s.s, armored body and sealed pa.s.senger compartment it would increase the chance of pa.s.senger survival. With luck, they could survive long enough to hit back.

Koontz came out of the Senate Office with his agents in a phalanx around the senator. McCain appeared to have gained ten pounds, and Bolan could tell she was wearing soft body armor. Koontz looked at Bolan squarely. "There have been more threats."

Bolan shrugged. He had been expecting that, and it cemented the likelihood of an immediate attack on the senator. "Oh?"

Koontz sighed. "There's been a bomb threat against the White House, a.s.sa.s.sination threats against the House majority and minority leaders, and there has been a threat of a nerve-gas release at the airport."

Bolan folded his arms. Senator McCain looked up at the Executioner and cleared her throat. "You think it's a smoke screen. You think I'm still the primary target."

He nodded and turned to Special Agent Koontz. "Are these threats being taken seriously?"

Koontz stared up at the darkening sky. "After what happened in Vermont, they're taking every threat seriously."

He looked unhappily at McCain. "I hate to say this, Senator, but you are no longer the Secret Service's highest-risk target. I've been ordered to release two of my men for other security details. I'm sorry."

The woman blanched, but forced a smile on her face as she waved a hand at Ramzin and Svarzkova. "Well, I still have the Russian army on my side. That's more than the Speaker of the House can say."

Bolan smiled wearily. The senator was making a good showing. He only hoped he could keep her alive.

Koontz looked up at Bolan steadily. "So how do you want to play it?"

"What kind of security do we have at the senator's house in Arlington?"

"There are two uniformed patrolmen in the house, and two more in an unmarked car outside. They're reporting in to me every half hour."

The Executioner considered Baibakov's most likely move. Setting the trap at McCain's house was almost out of the question. It was too obvious, and he would have to kill four police officers before they could raise the alarm. A single gunshot would ruin the ambush and bring the authorities running. Hitting her in the capital was also dangerous. It was a busy city, and a set ambush would be hard to construct and have too many holes to escape through. Bolan frowned.

"Baibakov will hit us once we're out of D.C. It'll be someplace quiet, close to her home in Arlington, someplace that can easily be cut off and has no side door to get out of. Probably some kind of choke point in the road."

Koontz nodded. "I'll buy that. How do you want to play it?"

Bolan calculated. "We have two escort vehicles?"

The agent pointed toward the back of the building. "I've got two sedans parked around back."