Chain Reaction

  FINAL PAYBACK

  When a Stony Man Farm nemesis is suspected in the death of two FBI agents, Mack Bolan gets called into action. The last time Bolan crossed paths with the shadowy criminal organization, he’d annihilated their operations in North Korea. Now the group has brokered a deal that would send weapons-grade uranium to Iran in exchange for a cache of stolen diamonds.

  An FBI task force has been working the case for months, but it appears their team is compromised. They need a free agent, someone on the outside who can find the leak and complete the mission. Joining forces with a field operative, Bolan sets off on a shattering cross-continental firefight. Bolan has no choice: he must destroy the criminal conspiracy behind the threat. Once and for all.

  Bolan left the cockpit and moved quickly along the cargo area.

  Mitchell was pressed against the side of the fuselage. As Bolan reached her, he felt the plane sideslip. The nose began to drop, the aircraft starting to veer off course. They needed to get out fast.

  “Now,” he snapped and saw Mitchell’s eyes shining bright. Fear. Her face was white, drained of blood.

  She reached out and slid her hands through the straps across his chest, gripping tightly. Bolan grabbed the door release handle and activated it.

  As the slipstream caught the edge of the door it was dragged free, swinging back against the exterior fuselage. Bolan felt the powerful drag of air tearing at them. He didn’t fight it, simply let his body fall free.

  The slipstream caught them and they were flung away from the plane, bodies helpless as they fell, turning over and over. Bolan heard Mitchell’s scream of pure terror. He concentrated on clearing the aircraft as it wheeled over, free from any control, and then he sensed its bulk swinging overhead….

  Other titles available in this series:

  Predator Paradise

  Circle of Deception

  Devil’s Bargain

  False Front

  Lethal Tribute

  Season of Slaughter

  Point of Betrayal

  Ballistic Force

  Renegade

  Survival Reflex

  Path to War

  Blood Dynasty

  Ultimate Stakes

  State of Evil

  Force Lines

  Contagion Option

  Hellfire Code

  War Drums

  Ripple Effect

  Devil’s Playground

  The Killing Rule

  Patriot Play

  Appointment in Baghdad

  Havana Five

  The Judas Project

  Plains of Fire

  Colony of Evil

  Hard Passage

  Interception

  Cold War Reprise

  Mission: Apocalypse

  Altered State

  Killing Game

  Diplomacy Directive

  Betrayed

  Sabotage

  Conflict Zone

  Blood Play

  Desert Fallout

  Extraordinary Rendition

  Devil’s Mark

  Savage Rule

  Infiltration

  Resurgence

  Kill Shot

  Stealth Sweep

  Grave Mercy

  Treason Play

  Assassin’s Code

  Shadow Strike

  Decision Point

  Road of Bones

  Radical Edge

  Fireburst

  Oblivion Pact

  Enemy Arsenal

  State of War

  Ballistic

  Escalation Tactic

  Crisis Diplomacy

  Apocalypse Ark

  Lethal Stakes

  Illicit Supply

  Explosive Demand

  Jungle Firestorm

  Terror Ballot

  Death Metal

  Justice Run

  China White

  Payback

  When justice is done, it is a joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers.

  —Proverbs 21:15

  I do what I do not for personal gain, but for true justice. My war is against those who turn their back against civilized society for their own ends.

  —Mack Bolan

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  PROLOGUE

  The big Desert Eagle boomed as the black-clad woman fired twice. Her shots forced Mack Bolan to duck, giving her a few seconds to make a grab for the bag on the table. She caught hold of it in her left hand, pulling it with her as she fired again at Bolan before making a direct run for the window.

  The Executioner pushed upright, bringing his submachine gun into target acquisition.

  The woman had covered her face with her right arm as she hit the glass. It shattered as she burst through it, long legs powering her forward.

  Bolan’s finger stroked the trigger. The P-90 fired its remaining rounds before it locked on empty.

  The dark-clad figure twisted to one side as a single slug clipped her left arm. Her grip on the bag slackened and it fell free, hitting the frame of the window and dropping back inside the room.

  Then she was gone, in a shower of glass fragments and splintered window frame, landing outside. It seemed she was about to fall but with a supreme effort she righted herself and vanished from sight.

  By the time Bolan reached the window she was almost out of sight, dodging between the parked cars. Bolan had other priorities. If he hadn’t, he would have pursued her to find out who she was and the nature of her involvement with the criminal group he knew only as Hegre.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jack “Boomer” Rafferty, six foot three and powerfully built, released a string of colorful curses as he worked the wheel of the massive diesel truck and swung it off Route N87. Dust boiled out from beneath the huge tires of the Kenworth “road train” truck as Rafferty took the rig along the soft shoulder, red dust clouding in its wake. Air brakes hissed as the assembly came to a halt. Rafferty pulled on the handbrake and sat back, still cursing to himself. He cracked open the door and hauled his bulk off the seat and out of the cab. As he hit the ground, he felt the blast of superheated air wrap around him. The forty-five-year-old Australian native, his exposed skin burned brown by constant
exposure to the sun, still found the extremes of Australian weather challenging. Right now he was also frustrated by the double-blowout in a pair of his rig’s rear tires. He expressed his anger by kicking out at the offending wheels. Both tires on the right-hand set at the rear of his rig were flat, the side walls shredded. Rafferty had never seen the like of this damage before; blowouts were not unheard of, but the extent of the damage to the rubber gave him the impression that someone had deliberately tampered with the tires.

  “What the hell, Boomer?”

  Rafferty saw the face of his co-driver and partner peering at him from the cab window. Lou Douglas, a leaner, balding version of Rafferty, had a sour expression on his bearded face. He had been taking his turn in the sleeper unit behind the cab. Disturbed by the lack of motion, he had woken and was ready to challenge why the vehicle had stopped.

  “Problem, mate,” Rafferty said. “Couple of flats and they don’t look right to me.”

  Mumbling to himself, Douglas worked his way forward, then out of the cab. He followed Rafferty’s pointing finger, leaning over to peer at the shredded tires. He moved from one to the other, fingering the shredded rubber. When he turned from his inspection, his weathered face was creased by a disbelieving scowl.

  “Those aren’t regular bursts,” he said. “Christ, Boomer, those tires have been shot to ribbons. And I don’t think by accident.”

  Rafferty didn’t appear to be listening any longer. He had turned away and was staring skyward. His attention had been taken by the silver-and-blue helicopter swooping in low and landing on the road a couple of hundred yards behind the stalled rig. Red dust spiraled up from the rotor wash, briefly obscuring the helicopter and the men who had climbed out to move quickly in the direction of the rig and its operators.

  Four men.

  All armed.

  They moved to confront Rafferty and Douglas.

  Three of the newcomers were holding MP-5 submachine guns. The fourth carried a large, long barreled rifle with a telescopic sight unit attached. A powerful sniping rifle.

  The explanation as to how the tires had been shot out, Rafferty realized.

  “You’ve got be joking,” Douglas said, his face flushed with anger. “A heist?”

  One of the armed men laughed. “Never thought of it like that. Now just take it easy, boys, and we’ll be done in a minute.” He looked toward two of his crew. “Go fetch it. Then we can be out of here.”

  Rafferty raged on the inside, but he knew there wasn’t a thing he could do. Not with those autoweapons pointed at him and Douglas. He’d served his time in the Australian Army and he knew the sort of damage the weapons could do; he wasn’t about to risk his life for the cargo he was hauling. He wondered what these men were looking for.

  He watched the two walk the length of the train, counting off the container boxes until they reached the one they were looking for. A minute or two later he heard a soft crack of sound and spotted a plume of smoke at the rear of the container. He figured the sealed and secured doors had been breached.

  The leader of the hijackers smiled at Rafferty’s expression.

  “Working it out, smart boy? I like a man who thinks on his feet.”

  “What I can’t figure is what you want. That container is full of dry goods for stores in Alice. Nothing else.”

  Rafferty was referring to the town of Alice Springs. Set in the geographic center of Australia, in the Northern Territory, and known as The Alice, it lay around three hours’ drive from their present position and had been the truckers destination for this section of the journey.

  “Maybe I collect dry goods,” the man said.

  “Don’t bullshit me, mate,” Douglas snapped. “You figure we just fell off the turnip truck?”

  “Lou,” Rafferty said. “Just leave it.”

  “Do what your mate says.”

  Douglas stepped forward, brushing off his partner’s warning hand.

  “I’m not listening to this bastard,” he yelled.

  Douglas was known for his explosive temper and lack of caution under pressure. It had gotten him into trouble on a number of occasions.

  This time it got him more.

  “No,” Rafferty yelled, realizing what was about to happen.

  Douglas had taken only a few steps, raising his fists, when the MP-5 crackled. The burst was short, sending a volley of steel-jacketed 9 mm slugs into Douglas’s torso. The force of the burst stopped him in his tracks as the bullets cored into his lean body, shattering ribs and tearing through his heart and lungs. Douglas took a step back, eyes suddenly wide with shock. He lost coordination and dropped to the ground, clutching at his punctured chest. He squirmed in short movements before his body shut down. Blood trickled from his slack mouth.

  “People never learn,” the shooter said.

  Rafferty was frozen, staring between his dead partner and the man who had just murdered him.

  The two men who had opened the container appeared, hauling a battered metal box between them. It looked like a well-used tool box. They placed it on the ground.

  “That was all we wanted,” the shooter said. “Nothing else.”

  “What?”

  The shooter grinned. “Bloody hell. You had no idea.” He kicked at the box. “Diamonds. Contraband from the mines up north. You’ve been hauling millions in uncut stones. Put on board your train to be picked up by us. We snatch the box and fly away. By the time the cops show up there’s nothing to find.”

  Rafferty felt a chill invade his body. There would be nothing for the police to go on because the only witnesses wouldn’t be able to point a finger. He looked beyond the strip of road. At the wide and empty blue sky and realized it would be the last time he saw it.

  “Bloody shame, mate, but that’s the way it goes.”

  The MP-5 crackled a second time. Rafferty felt the first impact as the burst of 9-mm slugs entered his body, then he was falling. He hit the ground on his back, eyes seeing the bright day fade into darkness. Then nothing.

  “Let’s go, boys,” the shooter said.

  The metal box was picked up and the hit team retreated to the idling helicopter. It rose quickly, circling the scene once before it cut off to the west. It flew steadily to its destination where it eventually touched down and the metal box was transferred to a waiting SUV. The team quickly changed into civilian clothing. The pilot took the helicopter back into the air, quickly vanishing from sight.

  With practiced coordination the team quickly stripped down their weapons and placed them in a large canvas bag. A deep hole was dug and the weapons buried, along with the clothing they had worn during the hijack. All signs of the buried equipment were obliterated once the hole was refilled. The rear of the SUV was loaded with luggage and cameras all part of the team’s cover as a group of traveling tourists. The metal box was placed underneath the bags.

  When everything had been organized, one of the team took the wheel and the SUV was turned around and made its way to the main route back along the highway.

  Their destination lay just over two-thousand miles away at the coastal town of Port Hedland. For the next twenty-four hours the team would take turns at the wheel, stopping only for refueling and refreshments. The highway meandered through an empty landscape, with few outposts. Planning had established the places where gas could be obtained. Similarly, every food stop had been marked on the map they carried.

  They reached Port Hedland twenty minutes after the anticipated arrival time, midmorning, and parked near the harbor.

  Phil Durrant, the team leader, looked out over the water. He spotted the ship he was looking for and pointed it out to his people.

  “All ready and waiting for us,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Our boy should be waiting in the café just along the way. Let’s do this.”

  The driver backed th
e SUV into the parking spot next to the café, alongside an older, open-backed and paint-faded Australian-made Holden 4x4. The café’s blue-and-white structure had wide windows overlooking the harbor, and as he climbed out of the SUV Durrant spotted their contact sitting at one of the booths. He leaned back inside the SUV. “Let’s go.”

  Durrant turned and made his way into the café, leaving his team to handle the quiet transfer of the metal box into the 4x4, next to the clutter of tools and marine equipment. Durrant made silent contact with the waiting man who would take over the next stage of the delivery.

  With the transfer complete the crew entered the café, where they joined Durrant at his table. None of them spoke to the contact man. Durrant and his team ordered food and drink. The contact man finished his own meal before paying at the counter and leaving the café. He climbed into his truck and drove away from the café.

  The guy’s name was Karl. None of the men had ever met him, and identification was made from the photo image that Durrant had received over his cell phone. Committing the face to his memory Durrant had erased the photo.

  All Durrant knew was that they were associates of the Hegre organization.

  * * *

  KARL DROVE DOWN the road, turning into the marine yard after showing his ID to the security guard at the gate. He was known as a regular in his position as a maintenance man working for one of the companies that serviced seagoing vessels using the Port Hedland facility. After a couple of minutes talking to the security guard, Karl drove on, along the dockside. He parked and hauled a couple of toolboxes from the back of his vehicle. One of the boxes contained the stolen diamonds that had been transported two thousand miles across the country by Durrant and his team.

  As he made his way to one of the berthed ships, Karl acknowledged passing associates. He walked up a short gangway that allowed entry to the ship through an open cargo hatch, nodding to the crewman standing just inside.

  “Just coming to fit that faulty pressure valve before you push off.”

  The man nodded. “You know where to go.”

  Karl nodded and continued on his way into the ship. He took a companionway that led belowdecks. Just before he reached the engine room he diverted and walked into the ship’s maintenance store. The guy in charge, known to Karl, took the stolen toolbox and vanished from sight behind the metal racks of parts where he opened the box, removed the heavy leather satchel holding the diamonds and placed it in a large metal locker. He returned to where Karl was waiting and handed back the toolbox, now considerably lighter. He had the replacement pressure valve ready, and Karl took it with him and left.