Viral Siege Read online

  MEMORY SWEEP

  A call for help from an FBI agent with nowhere else to turn has Mack Bolan racing to Seattle, but he arrives minutes too late: the agent is ambushed before he can be rescued. Hurt during the attack, Bolan can’t remember who he is or why he’s there. All he knows is that he has something important to do or thousands will die.

  Piecing together the fragments of his memory, Bolan realizes that a deadly virus is about to be handed over to a North Korean client. The airborne germ could cause widespread devastation unless he can stop the transaction and take down the group behind the lethal bioweapon. With his mind working against him, the Executioner is about to put up a fight his enemies will never forget…if they survive.

  Bullets cracked the windshield

  Bolan spun the wheel and the vehicle skidded sideways. He heard slugs strike the driver’s door, and something burned against his hip, generating a flash of pain. The front wheels hit the soft shoulder, and the SUV lifted as it sped forward. Seconds later it slammed into the massive tree trunk.

  The impact hurled Bolan forward, his body twisting, thudding against the door, his head hitting the glass with terrible force.

  He didn’t hear the other SUV’s door slam, or the sound of the engine as the vehicle sped away. At that moment he couldn’t hear anything. See anything.

  Feel anything….

  The Executioner

  #343 Border War

  #344 Primal Law

  #345 Orange Alert

  #346 Vigilante Run

  #347 Dragon’s Den

  #348 Carnage Code

  #349 Firestorm

  #350 Volatile Agent

  #351 Hell Night

  #352 Killing Trade

  #353 Black Death Reprise

  #354 Ambush Force

  #355 Outback Assault

  #356 Defense Breach

  #357 Extreme Justice

  #358 Blood Toll

  #359 Desperate Passage

  #360 Mission to Burma

  #361 Final Resort

  #362 Patriot Acts

  #363 Face of Terror

  #364 Hostile Odds

  #365 Collision Course

  #366 Pele’s Fire

  #367 Loose Cannon

  #368 Crisis Nation

  #369 Dangerous Tides

  #370 Dark Alliance

  #371 Fire Zone

  #372 Lethal Compound

  #373 Code of Honor

  #374 System Corruption

  #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

  Viral Siege

  Whoever knowingly develops, produces, stockpiles, transfers, acquires, retains, or possesses any biological agent, toxin, or delivery system for use as a weapon…shall be fined under this title or imprisoned for life or any term of years, or both.

  —United States Code 18

  Anyone who releases a biological agent on American or foreign soil, with intent to kill, or in any way harm citizens, forfeits any right to leniency. I will hunt down the person, or persons, and I will administer their punishment without mercy.

  —Mack Bolan

  The

  Legend

  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 com-mand 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

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  At some time in the past, the warehouse would have been a hive of activity, with freight being delivered, distributed and driven away. Now the vast building was empty, its only regular visitors rats and other vermin using it for shelter. The wide freight yard’s concrete base was cracked, allowing grass and weeds to push through. Empty crates and barrels lay in untidy heaps and the metal chain-link fence sagged, the gates swinging loose on rusted hinges.

  Mack Bolan, aka the Executioner, crouched in overgrown shrubbery on the far side of the access road, studying the layout. He had been there for more than half an hour, watching and listening. He had seen a parked SUV tucked away behind a stack of wooden packing crates, but there was no sign of driver or passengers. The warehouse was situated well away from any busy road. The commercial park, long abandoned, was neglected and isolated. It was the ideal place for a clandestine meeting.

  Bolan was there to meet a man named Vic Bremner. The soldier’s longtime ally and friend Leo Turrin, a former undercover operative w
ho was now deskbound at the Justice Department, had contacted the Executioner with a request for help.

  Vic Bremner, himself an undercover FBI agent, had known Turrin for a number of years. A mutual bond had developed because of the nature of the assignments they both had experienced. Turrin’s past life as a deep-cover operative embedded within the Mob gave him an understanding of what Bremner was going through, and the younger man respected Turrin’s advice and on-the-job experience. Although Bremner hadn’t given much background on his current assignment, he did pass on his suspicions that his position was being compromised. Bremner was certain that there was a leak within his department, that he was under threat of being exposed. He didn’t know who he could trust within the FBI, so he called Turrin, apprising his friend of his fears. The little Fed knew he had to respond quickly and go to the one man whose integrity was unimpeachable.

  Mack Bolan, the Executioner.

  Turrin had made contact with Bolan and had laid out the situation. There had been no need for Turrin to plead his case. It was enough for Bolan that his old friend had asked for help.

  Bremner had given a location where he could meet with Turrin’s contact, and Bolan had acted on it. When his flight touched down at Seattle-Tacoma Airport, the soldier had picked up the vehicle Turrin had booked for him and made the two-hour drive north to rendezvous with Bremner.

  Bolan glanced at his watch. Only minutes remained before the meet. He scanned the area, pinpointing the long wooden loading dock where Bremner was supposed to show himself. The difficulty was the black SUV positioned in the freight yard. It told Bolan that others knew the FBI agent was here.

  Bolan eased the Beretta 93R from its shoulder rig under his leather jacket. He checked the load and set the selector to 3-round burst.

  Vic Bremner had been told help was on the way. Bolan was committed to keeping that promise.

  His initial check of the area had shown a gap in the chain-link fence that would allow access to an untidy line of stacked wooden crates. If he could reach the crates unseen, he would have cover that would enable him to get within fifteen feet of the loading dock. After that he would have to reassess the situation.

  The soldier glanced at the partially hidden SUV. It was parked in a forward position, so that anyone in the cab would only be able to spot movement through the side mirrors. Less chance of him being seen. The cab’s occupants would be watching the warehouse and the loading dock. It was still a risk, but Bolan wasn’t about to be offered a better choice.

  With his decision made, Bolan broke cover, crouch-walking across the road and through the tall border of grass that had grown up around the base of the fence. He slipped through the gap and settled behind the stacked cover. A space between the crates let him see the parked SUV. No movement. No suggestion his move had been spotted. He made his way along the long tower of wooden boxes until he reached the far end. From there he was closer to the loading dock and the open freight doors.

  The silence was disturbed by someone moving along the loading dock. Bolan peered around the edge of his cover. He picked up a man edging along the dock, a weapon grasped in his hands.

  The guy on the loading dock paused, turning back and forth. Searching. He carried an FN P90 submachine gun in his hands. Bolan saw him transfer the weapon to his left hand, pulling something from his pocket and raising it to his lips. A comm unit. He was talking to the rest of his team. Whatever else, these people were well organized.

  Understanding that only raised Bolan’s curiosity. Who were they?

  He was supposed to learn that when he met Bremner.

  The guy on the loading dock stepped inside the freight doors. He had returned his comm unit to his pocket and was gripping his SMG in both hands as he stepped inside. Bolan saw him glance left and right, in no particular hurry as he moved off the dock.

  The man’s voice carried to Bolan as he called out.

  “Hey, Bremner, show your skinny ass. No more running. We got you pegged, you FBI lowlife.”

  Bolan decided this was his chance to move in.

  The soldier eased around the line of crates, stepping into the clear and raising the Beretta, then ran for the wooden steps that gave access to the loading dock. His feet thumped against the worn planking as he headed for the freight door access, the high, wide gap dark against the exterior brightness.

  The guy who had gone inside ahead of Bolan was still on the interior section of the dock. He spotted the tall intruder and swung his SMG into play. Even as he closed his finger over the trigger, the Executioner’s 93R cracked, sending a trio of 9 mm slugs into the gunner’s head. The guy’s skull burst apart in an explosion of flesh and bone. He went down without a sound, his body heaving in a final spasm as he hit the timber dock.

  Raised voices from behind Bolan warned him the man’s partners were closing in. The soldier dropped prone, anticipating some kind of response. He picked up a shouted instruction, then the twin blasts of SMGs.

  Bolan felt the disturbed air as slugs whipped by. He rolled off the loading platform and dropped to the warehouse floor.

  The shooters continued to fire, raking the interior in a flurry of autofire. Bolan was safe from the gunfire being on a lower level now. He heard the slugs slamming into objects deeper inside the warehouse. The interior of the building echoed to the crescendo.

  “Cover me. I’m out,” the guy on Bolan’s left yelled.

  “Do it fast. I nearly cleared mine,” his partner replied.

  They were giving out too much information. Bolan acted on it, pushing to his feet. The two shooters were dark silhouettes against the exterior light. As he cleared the edge of the loading dock, the soldier spotted the closer shooter, exposed, his weapon low in his hands as he waited for his partner to reload.

  “Son of a bitch,” the guy said as Bolan appeared.

  He jerked his weapon up.

  Bolan’s Beretta was already tracked on target. He placed a triburst into the shooter. The guy uttered a strangled cry that was shut off when he took the 9 mm slugs through the throat. He toppled back, in spasm as he went down.

  The surviving guy slammed a fresh magazine into his weapon.

  Bolan leveled his pistol and triggered a burst that burned bloody holes in his target’s jacket. The soldier fired the remaining rounds in his magazine. They slammed into the side of the man’s skull, turning him around on one foot before he plunged facedown, legs kicking as his life drained away.

  Ejecting the spent magazine, Bolan slid in a fresh one, working the slide to push the first cartridge into the breech. He stood, looking and listening. The warehouse was silent. Tendrils of smoke hung in the air.

  “Cooper?”

  Bolan turned and saw a figure pressed against the warehouse wall at the far end of the loading dock.

  “Bremner?” The man nodded. “Leo sends his regards.”

  Bremner’s relief was obvious.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Bolan said.

  Bremner nodded. “Fine by me.”

  “You armed?”

  “Lost my piece when they were coming after me.”

  “Go pick one up. Those shooters won’t be needing them now.”

  Bremner nodded, turned to move, then stepped back through the open doorway.

  The SUV rolled into view, coming directly for the loading bay. Bolan saw a gunman ready to leave the vehicle.

  “Bremner. No time. Move.”

  The guy in the SUV’s passenger seat opened fire with his SMG, the random spray of slugs chopping at the timber of the loading dock. Bolan had no choice. He took a dive from the ramp, landing loosely and rolling as the spray of slugs kicked up dirt in his wake. As he went over the edge, he saw Bremner move in the other direction.

  Bolan heard the SUV bounce against the edge of the dock. The soldier rolled under the base of the do
ck as the vehicle slid along the wooden structure. Support beams splintered as the heavy bulk of the SUV kept pushing against them. The vehicle came to a sudden stop. Bolan heard the slap of boots on the main ramp as passengers jumped on.

  “Grab the bastard and let’s get out of here.”

  “Get the hell away from me....”

  Bolan recognized Bremner’s voice followed by the hard sound of him being struck.

  “Get him inside. Let’s go. Let’s move it.”

  As he crawled along the underside of the dock, Bolan heard the screech of tires as the SUV powered away. He dragged himself out from under the structure and saw the SUV rapidly picking up speed. A rear door swung open, and the upper body of a shooter leaned out, the SMG in his hand angled at Bolan as he left cover.

  On one knee Bolan two-fisted the 93R and tracked the shooter. He stroked the trigger twice and saw the shooter jerk, drop his weapon and follow it to the ground. The SUV kept going. It sped through the open gap and careened onto the road.

  Bolan raced back to his own vehicle, tossed the Beretta on the passenger seat as he jumped into the driver’s seat and fired up the still-warm engine. Dust billowed in Bolan’s wake as he powered the vehicle in pursuit of Bremner.

  He could see the SUV ahead of him, fishtailing as the driver stomped on the accelerator to increase his lead. Bolan increased his own speed, aware that the narrow back roads that cut through the vast timbered landscape were far from ideal for high-speed pursuits. He didn’t let that slow him.

  The soldier had come to the freight yard to meet Bremner and offer assistance, and he had allowed the FBI agent to be snatched by the enemy. He should have anticipated such a move.

  The tires on his rental car squealed as Bolan threw it around one of the numerous curves in the road. The second he hit the next straight, he jammed his foot down even harder. He was aware that the power of his vehicle’s engine was below that powering the bigger SUV. All he could do was keep it in sight for the present.

  The area was unknown to Bolan. He had picked up the rental at the airport as soon as he landed and had keyed in the details Bremner had sent to the vehicle’s navigation system. That had gotten him to the warehouse. Now he was driving blind.