Combat Machines Read online

Panshin scowled. “I had heard on the way over.” Indeed, he’d weighed the possibility of trying to find the president and finish the job, but had realized it would be impossible to improvise that with the heavy security around the man. “Nothing can be done about that now. We must move on.”

  “The plan is still the same, correct?” Nejem asked.

  “Yes, the final target will make landfall in Madrid in less than twenty-four hours. We will be on the road within the next sixty minutes, and will be there in plenty of time to set up, including placing the explosives. How is my skin tone looking?”

  “You’re already at least two shades lighter,” Nejem said, examining Panshin under the light. “I still cannot believe the skin changer actually works so well on you—it’s incredible. Are you dyeing your hair here?”

  “I’d better,” he replied. “The sooner all of us are altered, the better. I think I’m going to try the freckles, as well. Once you’re both done, make sure everything is cleared out of here.”

  “What about...?” Darsi pointed at the floor.

  “Let me finish up here first, just in case, then you can go prepare everything for our exit.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Panshin had wavy ginger hair instead of the black, and his skin tone was nearly pale, with a light smattering of freckles dusting his cheeks and nose. Combined with light blue contacts, he looked nothing like the man who had been at the Hôtel de Marigny earlier that evening.

  At last, they were ready to go. Panshin sent Darsi to the ground floor to eliminate their landlord, a kindly old lady. Once that was done, they got into their car, a nondescript Kia sedan, and drove off.

  * * *

  “I AM OFFICER Mikhail Rosnovich, and this is my partner, Officer Natalya Kepar,” the Russian agent said, offering his hand, which Bolan took. His grip was firm, callused and dry. His face was affable, but none of that expression came close to his eyes. He spoke excellent English. “We understand there was a bit of excitement here earlier this evening.”

  “Depends on what you call ‘excitement,’ I suppose,” Bolan replied after introducing himself and Palomer.

  “Well, I would say slain police officers, public shootouts in the street and an attempt on the life of the visiting Austrian president is plenty of excitement, wouldn’t you?”

  “Why don’t we get to the reason you’re both here?” Palomer asked.

  “Ah, direct—I like that,” Rosnovich said, looking around. “Do you mind if we sit down? This story may take a while.”

  “Sure.” Palomer rose from her chair. “Officer Kepar can have my seat.”

  Rosnovich had pulled the other one, near the door, closer to the bed. “Let’s see, where to begin—”

  “How about confirming that we’re all after the same targets—three Russian assassins who are trying to take out high-level targets that hold anti-Russian views in Europe,” Bolan suggested.

  Rosnovich nodded. “Da, that is correct. However, I wish to be very clear about this. We, and by that I mean my government, did not sanction their actions, and we disavow any prior knowledge of their mission.”

  “Then who did?” Palomer asked.

  “That is simple—Dr. Rostislav Utkin.” Rosnovich offered to Bolan a picture of a slender, stoop-shouldered man with short gray hair and dark, probing eyes. The Executioner stared at it a moment, ensuring that the button camera he’d installed on his hospital bed got a good look at the face, then passed it to Palomer.

  “All right, I’ll bite. So how does a doctor unleash a wave of sophisticated killers on the continent?” Bolan asked.

  “Dr. Utkin was no ordinary physician.” Rosnovich leaned back in his chair. “This all goes back a couple of decades, and of course, much of it is classified state secrets. However, I will tell you what I can.

  “Russia has many programs involving emerging technologies. We try to stay on the forefront of advances in medicine, health, the human body, et cetera.

  “Around 1990, Dr. Utkin proposed a long-term study to create the perfect government operative. Utilizing infants that had no ties to country, family, or anything else in the world, he developed them into the perfect soldiers—enhanced, skilled, smart, chameleonlike, unquestioning of their superiors and very dangerous.

  “Recently, our military was forced to cut its budget,” Rosnovich continued. “Dr. Utkin’s program was one of the ones on the chopping block. Although he appeared to take the news in stride, soon after he dropped out of sight, and then these...incidents began happening.”

  “So, he decided to show his superiors just how effective his soldiers could be in a real-world scenario,” Palomer said. “In my country.”

  “Unfortunately, we would say yes, although yours has not been the only nation affected, if that lessens the blow a bit.”

  “It doesn’t,” she replied stiffly.

  “Plus, I must say that from what we have been able to understand, your internal security forces acquitted themselves quite well.”

  Bolan glanced at Palomer in time to see her stiffen. “The families of those dead officers might disagree with you about that,” she shot back. “And your so-called admiration does nothing to lessen this tragedy that was directly caused by your nation.”

  “Again, these operatives are carrying out their missions without my government’s sanction. They are rogue, and therefore have been targeted by the FSB to be stopped by any means necessary.”

  “Officer Rosnovich—”

  “Mikhail, please.”

  “Mikhail, all of the targets the assassins have struck at have shown a decided anti-Russian bias. I assume that is part of Utkin’s mission that he assigned to these operatives.”

  The Russian agent shifted on his chair—a bit uneasily, Bolan thought. “Utkin is a party hard-liner, completely committed to Russia and the fallen Empire. He wishes to restore the motherland to its former glory...by whatever means necessary.”

  “Also, you said he ‘developed’ these operatives. How so?” Bolan asked.

  “I’m afraid I cannot reveal too much of that. Again, state security prohibits me from doing so,” Rosnovich replied. “What I can say is that they have been raised since birth to be the perfect tools of the state—no fear, no hesitation, no deviation. They are like homing missiles. Once they have locked on to a target, they will simply keep going at it until it or they no longer exist.”

  “And based on what we’ve experienced with them, they’ve also been physically modified as well, haven’t they?” Bolan asked. “Perhaps some implanted body armor, maybe a ceramic skullcap? I think this Utkin also may have been experimenting with adrenal gland stimulation as well. Stop me if I’m too far off the mark.”

  Rosnovich smiled blandly. “Again, regrettably, I am not allowed to discuss the details of the program. What I am here for is to offer our assistance with stopping these combat machines before more people are killed.”

  “You’d like to join forces?” Palomer asked, her eyebrows lifting in disbelief. “May I ask where your people were in the previous twenty-four to thirty-six hours, when receiving this information during that time might have saved lives?”

  Rosnovich spread his hands. “Unfortunately, the information we had on these operatives, including their appearance, was out of date. It seems that Utkin might have had some sort of forewarning about his program ending, and modified his most recent reports accordingly. Therefore sending you incomplete information would have been as bad or worse than sending none at all. We had to wait for them to make their move before we could reveal our own presence.”

  “Of course—hoping that you could take them out before we could,” Palomer spit.

  Rosnovich didn’t offer a response to her challenge.

  “Regardless, we appreciate your presence now,” Bolan said. “Sergeant Palomer and I need a few minutes to discuss wha
t you just told us, and it needs to be run through the proper channels. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course, of course. Just please let your people know that we stand ready to assist in any way possible,” Rosnovich said as he and Natalya rose from their chairs and walked to the door. “We will be outside, awaiting your decision.”

  With that, they left, closing the door behind them. “Well, the more things change, the more they stay the same,” Bolan said, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head.

  Palomer didn’t respond until the door clicked shut. The moment it did, she whirled to face him. “Surely you can’t be serious about working with them?”

  “As serious as getting my bell rung by that guy,” he replied, waving her closer to the bed. “I know that doesn’t sound like the most appealing option at the moment—”

  “The most appealing option? It sounds like the worst one!”

  “I understand that you’re furious that they brought this to your country, inadvertent though it may have been. Wait a minute,” he said as she opened her mouth. “It’s true—these two aren’t responsible for their government’s choices, they just got assigned to clean up the mess. Besides, we also don’t have much choice at the moment. If we say no, do you really think they’re going to just pack up and go home? No chance. At least this way we can keep an eye on them, and who knows, perhaps get some more intelligence on these altered humans, or their scientist creator.”

  Palomer eyed him coldly. “And let me guess—the CIA wouldn’t mind getting its hands on Utkin if the opportunity arose, right?”

  “We can argue about that some other time,” Bolan said. “I won’t lie. If the orders come down for me to bring the guy in, that’s what I’d try to do—emphasis on try. However, it sounds like he went deep into Russia somewhere, making it hard to find him, and even harder to get him out of wherever he is right now. First things first. We have to stop these three killing machines before they strike again, and my priority is to take them down, period. Not capture, not disable, but exterminate. If the Russians are our best bet to do that, then that’s what we should go with. Agreed?”

  The sergeant stared at him for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “Agreed. Although you’ve sure got a funny way of seeing things from their point of view...almost like you trust them.”

  “Funny,” Bolan said with a wry grin, “I never said anything about trusting them. Look, you need to inform your superiors about this new wrinkle, and so do I. Why don’t we do that and get our respective marching orders, and then we can regroup and figure out how to proceed from there, all right?”

  “Yes, I should report in. No doubt Lambert’s just waiting to ream me out for this.”

  “Hey.” Bolan pointed a finger at her. “You did absolutely everything you could this evening, including saving my life. Nobody can fault you for your actions tonight, and if they try, you just let me talk to them, Lambert, your President, or whomever.”

  “Thank you, Agent Cooper,” Palomer said.

  “One more thing—call me Matt,” Bolan replied.

  Palomer nodded. “All right.” She walked to the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

  “Bear, did you get all that?” Bolan asked as he adjusted his earbud, grateful for the hi-tech communication gear developed by Gadgets Schwarz.

  “What’s the plan, Striker?” Kurtzman asked.

  “I’ll tell you in a few seconds,” Bolan replied quietly as he got up and walked to the two chairs the Russians had occupied. A quick search revealed the two tiny bugs each agent had placed on each chair. Bolan moved the chairs near the bathroom door, then turned on the tap full blast and walked back to his bed. “Sneaky FSB tried to bug my room.”

  “Just like old times, eh?” Kurtzman said. Bolan could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Yeah. We should probably bring Hal in on this.”

  “I’ve got him holding on the other line. Hang on, and I’ll patch him in.”

  “Striker,” Hal Brognola said, “what in the hell’s going on over there? I’m watching the French news blow up over this attempted assassination of the Austrian president, and the yahoos on the Hill are all running around like the sky is falling. And you are aware that the President is landing in Madrid for an international summit in less than six hours, right?”

  Well, I think we know what their next target is going to be, Bolan thought.

  “It’s not quite that bad, Hal, but there’s definitely some things that need attending to.” He gave the big Fed a rundown of everything he’d done and learned in the past six hours, ending with his chat with the two FSB agents. “So, unless you say otherwise, I think I should team up with them and see where it all goes.”

  “With our luck, it’ll be into a black box and then rendition to some bag site in Algeria,” Brognola grumbled. “Still, the old adage of keeping friends close and enemies closer makes sense, I suppose.”

  “Of course it does,” Kurtzman said. “Besides, if Striker turned the Russians loose, they’d still go after the targets anyway. They can’t afford to have them fall into anyone else’s hands. The fallout of possible illegal human modification would be catastrophic for the Kremlin.”

  “Bear brings up a good point,” Bolan said. “Is it viable enough to try to bring in one of these subjects?”

  “Only if you can do it without endangering yourself or others,” Brognola replied. “And judging from what you’ve told us, that doesn’t sound very feasible.”

  “Well, they’re not going to defect willingly, that’s for sure,” Kurtzman said. “It might be better to just take them out cold, and then see if we can figure out a way to get at the scientist. He already burned his bridges with his government. It’s highly unlikely they’d welcome back a loose cannon like him. An offer of asylum might just be the ticket out he’s looking for.”

  “Possibly, but first things first, Bear,” Brognola said. “Striker, you take care of business there, and then we’ll figure out what to do about this toy soldier maker.”

  “All right, but these guys definitely aren’t toys, and I’ve got the bruises to prove it. One more thing, Hal.” Bolan paused. “Given the precarious state of affairs over here, wouldn’t it be wiser if the President were to cancel his trip? That’s a huge target, and one I’m almost certain these people are going to go for.”

  “Yeah, you try telling POTUS there’s something he shouldn’t do,” Brognola groused. “No, it’s still on, part of the whole ‘we will not bow to foreign extremism’ shtick they trot out every other year or so. There’s a lot of people in Wonderland who have a huge interest in seeing the EU stick around, and they’ve been pushing hard for several weeks to make sure this trip happens, come hell or high water. Sometimes I think he’s going just so they’ll shut up about it.

  “Bottom line—get these guys, protect the President and save the day, Striker.”

  “I hear ya. Striker out.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I cannot hear anything.” Natalya Zimin pressed on the earpiece harder, as if by shoving it into her ear she could magically hear the conversation going on in the next room. “Nothing but what sounds like static or running water.”

  Mikhail Sevaron’s mouth creased into a knowing smile. “This Matthew Cooper does not trust us, eh? Well, I suppose it is to be expected. I wouldn’t either, if I were in his shoes. Ah well, it is of no consequence. In fact, it is probably better that both sides understand they are using each other. It is so much better to work with professionals who understand the game play instead of amateurs.”

  “Speaking of amateurs.” Zimin nodded at the young Frenchwoman striding down the hall toward them from wherever she had disappeared to—probably to consult with her superiors, as well. “Working with her over the next few days should
be...interesting, to say the least.”

  “We will both be civil and professional until the job is completed. Then we will see how to handle both of them.” Sevaron nodded pleasantly at the woman as she knocked on the room door, then let herself in.

  Zimin waited until the door was closed before snorting quietly. “Any intelligence agency that gets into a scandal over improper editing of its entry in Wikipedia is amateur in my book.”

  Sevaron grinned. “Indeed.” He stretched his arms above his head. “I would kill everyone within sight of us just for a halfway decent cup of tea right now.”

  The two operatives cooled their heels in the hallway for another minute before Palomer poked her head outside.

  “We’re ready for you now.” She opened the door wider. “Please come in.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Palomer.” As Sevaron entered the room, he didn’t hear any water running. He also noticed that their chairs had been moved next to the bathroom door. The man who had introduced himself as Matthew Cooper was now fully dressed and sat on the edge of the bed, watching them both.

  Sevaron held his stare, but the black-haired man didn’t give an inch. Quite the cool character, the Russian thought. We’ll see just how cool he is at the end of all of this.

  “Sergeant Palomer and I have been in touch with our respective superiors, and we would like to accept your offer of assistance in this matter.”

  At Sevaron’s nod, Cooper continued. “Based on all available information, we are reasonably certain the assassins are headed for Madrid, and the international summit meeting of the European Union, where our President is the keynote speaker.”

  “Such a gathering of dignitaries, government officials and diplomats from around the world will be an irresistible target for them,” Palomer added.

  Sevaron nodded again. “That makes sense. With the summit beginning in less than twenty-four hours, we do not have much time. How would you advise that we proceed?”

  “We have arranged for a jet at Charles de Gaulle, and ideally we should spend the time in the air figuring out a way to locate them before the summit begins,” Palomer replied. “We have already alerted all law enforcement in the city, as well as the security of the visiting attendees, but with such a large contingent of people arriving over the next day and a half, it will be a very difficult task, particularly if the assassins altered their appearances since leaving the city.”