Thunder Down Under
OUTBACK SABOTAGE
Investigating a brutal attack on an Australian mineral plant is a mission outside of The Executioner’s usual jurisdiction. But Mack Bolan is sure something’s dead wrong when arrogant corporate mogul Angus Martin accuses a peaceful Aboriginal-rights group of lethal industrial sabotage. And from the moment he lands down under, Bolan is under attack by trained, ruthless mercenaries who are somehow two steps ahead of him. It will take all The Executioner’s skill and determination to unravel the deadly conspiracy—and rain down his own brand of merciless justice!
The biker was right on their tail, hitting the ramp only a few meters behind.
Bolan fought to keep the shaking car in the lane. If they stalled out here, they were as good as dead.
The biker moved a little closer, drawing a bead on the vehicle with his pistol. Bolan let his speed drop slightly, and the motorcycle sped even closer. Then the Executioner made his move.
Bolan’s Mercedes rocked to a stop in a shriek of protesting tires and scorched rubber. Bolan had already turned and was firing out the back window at the rider.
Even with the car’s sudden stop and bullets whizzing through the air around him, the biker managed to snap off two shots before wrenching the handlebars to the left to avoid a collision. He shot past the rear corner of the Mercedes, missing it by inches. The rider put three bullets into the right front fender before speeding ahead to merge with the cars on the highway.
Bolan heard police sirens and narrowed his gaze as he watched the shooter disappear among the traffic ahead of them. “Just in time.”
#375 Salvador Strike
#376 Frontier Fury
#377 Desperate Cargo
#378 Death Run
#379 Deep Recon
#380 Silent Threat
#381 Killing Ground
#382 Threat Factor
#383 Raw Fury
#384 Cartel Clash
#385 Recovery Force
#386 Crucial Intercept
#387 Powder Burn
#388 Final Coup
#389 Deadly Command
#390 Toxic Terrain
#391 Enemy Agents
#392 Shadow Hunt
#393 Stand Down
#394 Trial by Fire
#395 Hazard Zone
#396 Fatal Combat
#397 Damage Radius
#398 Battle Cry
#399 Nuclear Storm
#400 Blind Justice
#401 Jungle Hunt
#402 Rebel Trade
#403 Line of Honor
#404 Final Judgment
#405 Lethal Diversion
#406 Survival Mission
#407 Throw Down
#408 Border Offensive
#409 Blood Vendetta
#410 Hostile Force
#411 Cold Fusion
#412 Night’s Reckoning
#413 Double Cross
#414 Prison Code
#415 Ivory Wave
#416 Extraction
#417 Rogue Assault
#418 Viral Siege
#419 Sleeping Dragons
#420 Rebel Blast
#421 Hard Targets
#422 Nigeria Meltdown
#423 Breakout
#424 Amazon Impunity
#425 Patriot Strike
#426 Pirate Offensive
#427 Pacific Creed
#428 Desert Impact
#429 Arctic Kill
#430 Deadly Salvage
#431 Maximum Chaos
#432 Slayground
#433 Point Blank
#434 Savage Deadlock
#435 Dragon Key
#436 Perilous Cargo
#437 Assassin’s Tripwire
#438 The Cartel Hit
#439 Blood Rites
#440 Killpath
#441 Murder Island
#442 Syrian Rescue
#443 Uncut Terror
#444 Dark Savior
#445 Final Assault
#446 Kill Squad
#447 Missile Intercept
#448 Terrorist Dispatch
#449 Combat Machines
#450 Omega Cult
#451 Fatal Prescription
#452 Death List
#453 Rogue Elements
#454 Enemies Within
#455 Chicago Vendetta
#456 Thunder Down Under
Thunder Down Under
“Now listen, you rich people, weep and wail because of the misery that is coming on you.”
—James 5:1
“I have nothing against someone making their fortune, but when they use that power to oppress others for personal gain, that’s a crossed line I will not tolerate. The rich may be different, but they are not above the law—and they are never above justice.”
—Mack Bolan
Nothing less than a war could have fashioned the destiny of the man called Mack Bolan. Bolan earned the Executioner title in the jungle hell of Vietnam.
But this soldier also wore another name—Sergeant Mercy. He was so tagged because of the compassion he showed to wounded comrades-in-arms and Vietnamese civilians.
Mack Bolan’s second tour of duty ended prematurely when he was given emergency leave to return home and bury his family, victims of the Mob. Then he declared a one-man war against the Mafia.
He confronted the Families head-on from coast to coast, and soon a hope of victory began to appear. But Bolan had broken society’s every rule. That same society started gunning for this elusive warrior—to no avail.
So Bolan was offered amnesty to work within the system against terrorism. This time, as an employee of Uncle Sam, Bolan became Colonel John Phoenix. With a command center at Stony Man Farm in Virginia, he and his new allies—Able Team and Phoenix Force—waged relentless war on a new adversary: the KGB.
But when his one true love, April Rose, died at the hands of the Soviet terror machine, Bolan severed all ties with Establishment authority.
Now, after a lengthy lone-wolf struggle and much soul-searching, the Executioner has agreed to enter an “arm’s-length” alliance with his government once more, reserving the right to pursue personal missions in his Everlasting War.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Chapter One
As the Range Rover jounced down the rutted dirt road, each bump making him lift off his seat and thump back down, Connor King couldn’t keep the ear-to-ear smile off his unwrinkled, clean-shaved face. He’d never felt more like his surname in his life.
Despite his glee, the twenty-two-year-old kept a sharp eye out across the flat, scrubby, tan-and-brown Outback he and his Mobile Patrol partner were zooming across. This was his first real assignment after finishing security officer training and he didn’t wan
t to mess it up.
But no matter what happened today, it couldn’t be worse than where he’d been six months ago: unemployed and broke after dropping out of university when he’d lost his rugby scholarship due to a knee injury during a pickup scrum.
The only problem was that being jobless and laid-up meant he’d been only a few days from living on the streets. That’s when a former teammate had passed him the name of Wallcorloo National, the energy company his father worked for, saying they were looking for security personnel. Even injured, King had been in good enough shape to ace the WN interview process and the company had seen fit to take him on in a probationary capacity. He also found that the skills he’d acquired during his two years of school had helped him learn the bookwork fast. The company even helped him with physical therapy during his course work and that, in turn, had led him to acing the physical tests. Self-defense, marksmanship, defensive driving—he had loved every minute of it and earned glowing reports from the instructors.
These days his knee felt better than ever.
“Strewth, mate, dial it back a bit, will ya?” Logan Weathers grunted, eyeing him from behind a pair of yellow shooter’s glasses. “Your yapper’s grinning so wide I think the top of your head’s gonna fall off.”
King didn’t know a lot about his new partner, only that he had twelve years’ experience with the company and looked like he’d seen more than a thing or two. With his tanned face and arms, crow’s-feet around his eyes and rangy physique, the weathered man could have strode right out of the Outback and into his security uniform yesterday. But even with his rough-and-tumble exterior, Weathers exuded a calm professionalism—when he wasn’t teasing his new partner—and the last thing King wanted to do was to screw up or disappoint him in any way.
“Sorry, Logan.” He ran a hand through his brush-cut blond hair. “Just anxious to get to work, that’s all.”
“Bloody newbies,” the older man said with gruff affection. “Only you probies get excited about driving to the ass end of nowhere to look over an auto-pump station.”
King’s expression fell and his forehead furrowed a bit. “Yeah, but you saw the sec warning that went out yesterday, right? The Bushmen are stirrin’ up trouble again and we have to make sure they’re not fuckin’ around with company property—”
“Oi, the good Lord save me from another wet-behind-the-ears rookie who thinks he’s Mad Fucking Max,” Weathers said. “I dunno who’s pegged them for this, but whoever it is has got rocks for brains. There ain’t no splinter indigenous terrorist group running around committing industrial vandalism. Even if there was, there’s no way in hell they’d traipse all the way out here to do it. There’s plenty of closer targets that would get a lot more play on the news, if that’s what they’re after.”
King mulled that over for a few moments. What his partner said made sense, but still didn’t account for what they were doing out there. The two men had left early in the morning on their day trip, flying out from Melbourne to the isolated town of Alice Springs. From there they were driving the last 140 kilometers to inspect an automatic liquefied natural gas pumping station on the edge of the Amadeus deposit, WN’s latest acquired field and the site of its most advanced gas mining system. But the way King looked at it...
“Maybe, but those sites are also more heavily guarded, especially after the Oz Minerals incident last month. Those vandals set their copper mining schedule back almost a year and caused a few million in damages,” he insisted. “And this one’s Wallcorloo’s new state-of-the-art system, so busting it up would still get those vandals some attention. But even if you’re right, and this site isn’t a target, then why’d they send us out here in the first place?”
Weathers smiled at that and King got the feeling he’d somehow set a trap for himself. “’Cause this isolated site is the perfect training ground for greenies like yourself.
“And it’s nothing to fret over,” Weathers continued. “Actually, it means something that they had me bring you all the way out here on your first field assignment. Means they like what they see. Means they got plans for you. So just keep yer eyes and ears open and do what I say, and maybe your next assignment’ll be near a beach somewhere. Instead of humping a whole day back home like we’re gonna, you’ll only be a hop, skip and a jump away from a cold draft and a warm sheila.”
King smiled. “Amen.”
“Eh, here we are.” The Range Rover crested a small rise and King focused his attention on the forty-plus acres of pipes and machinery representing the pinnacle of liquid natural gas drilling.
He stared at it while going over the facts he’d been required to memorize during his training. The Amadeus field site was completely automated and cost more than $9 million AU to construct. It could extract and compress fourteen thousand metric tonnes of LNG every twenty-four hours, and have it ready for pickup via an automated truck-relay system through the underground offloading hangar once it entered the full production stage.
At least half of the entire facility was underground, but it wouldn’t take anyone all that much effort to sabotage the aboveground systems and cause major damage to the well.
Wallcorloo had already entered a contract with Tesla for a fleet of its first-generation electric trucks, and was working with them to add solar panels to extend their range in the unforgiving desert. King had scratched his head when he’d first heard about that plan, and wondered how they were going to deal with the ever-present dust, but had shoved the thought aside, realizing it wasn’t his problem. Just as long as they don’t get rid of my job.
“So, I take it we’re not gonna spend the rest of the day driving around the place, right?” he asked.
“Hey, they did teach you a thing or two in that classroom,” Weathers replied. “We’ll do some on-site spot-checking a bit later, but we gotta do some aerial reconnaissance first. Come on.”
He drove down the small hill to the main gate, which slid open as the Range Rover approached. King knew that was because the sensors mounted on the fence had already scanned the vehicle—including the faces of its occupants—and matched them with the scheduled patrol in the computer. If any other vehicle had driven up, the heavy steel gate would have remained locked and an alert would have been sent to WN headquarters outside Adelaide.
King checked his phone to see if HQ had sent out another alert regarding possible vandals, or even if the security system had detected any trespassers out here and notified base. He shook his head as he realized that, of course, home base would have let them know if they were about to run into trouble.
“Relax. I’m telling you, we’re the only ones out here for a couple hundred kilometers.” Weathers drove inside and parked the vehicle near a quartet of plain, wind-scoured wooden bunkhouses, where either engineers or security would stay on a longer trip.
“Remember your water.” Weathers shook a liter bottle at King as he cracked his door, the comfortable air-conditioning evaporating like it had never existed as a searing, bone-dry breeze blew into the SUV’s cab.
King grabbed his bottle and also made sure his security belt, with its radio, handcuffs, pepper spray, collapsible metal baton and sidearm, was secure and properly situated on his hips. They’d removed the belts for the long drive out, but now that they’d arrived, he wanted to make sure he was properly attired for the assignment...just in case.
Opening his door, he stepped out into the midday heat, feeling his skin already drying in the baking climate. He put on a khaki bush hat to protect his head from the sun’s merciless rays, then walked to his partner, who was already at the back of the Rover.
Weathers had opened the rear door and was pulling a large, black-plastic case to the edge of the cargo area. He unsnapped the catches and lifted the lip to reveal a large black-and-red device nestled in a foam cutout. Removing it, he snapped two folding legs into place to allow the sleek industrial drone to stand. Picking up a hard-cased iPad
from a narrow slot in the foam, he powered it up and opened the pilot app for the RMUS heavy-duty police drone, testing the five rotors and underslung 360-degree camera.
“This baby will cover the entire perimeter in about thirty minutes. We can record our flight, zoom in, the whole nine yards,” Weathers told his partner as he put the drone through its test paces. “Grab it and come on over here.”
King picked it up by the legs, surprised by its weight. He followed the older man a few meters away from the Range Rover and set it on the ground, then retreated to the rear of the vehicle.
Weathers hit a button on the tablet screen and the five rotors spun, accelerating until they were a ring of black blurs around the drone’s central housing. With a loud buzz and a puff of dust, it rose into the air, climbing until it was just a speck in the sky and could barely be heard.
He piloted it out over the first section of the facility. “Might as well take a load off,” he said. “Doubt we’re gonna see anything ’cept a few wallabies bouncing around.”
King nodded, his eyes glued to the tablet screen, which was giving them a drone’s-eye view of the LNG plant. The dozens of neat rows of white pipes gleamed in the sun, even under the light coating of ever-present dust that covered everything out here. He watched Weathers guide the drone out to the ten-foot, chain-link perimeter fence, the HD camera so clear he could see sunlight glinting off the points of the razor wire topping the security barrier.
“So far, so good.” Weathers fell silent as he started flying the drone along the fence. Section after section ticked by under the little vehicle’s camera—until both men saw something that made them pause.
King inhaled sharply. “Is that—”
“Fresh boot prints?” Weathers finished. “Looks like it.” He zoomed in on the tracks. “At least a couple people came through there, maybe as many as four.”
“But...no one’s been out here for weeks,” King said. “Those should have blown away by now.” He was all too familiar with the constantly shifting Outback, which could erase all signs of a person’s or vehicle’s passage in hours.
“Agreed,” Logan said as he opened another app on the iPad. “Let’s see where these go while I call this in.”