Shadow Search Read online

  At the rear of the building were cultivated gardens where civic functions took place. The garden area was walled off, and trees and shrubbery had been planted to add to the ambience. The rebels were reported to have both building and gardens under their control. The Tempala military loyal to Karima had taken up positions at the front of the Government House and they had it under close scrutiny, with powerful spotlights trained on the building. Attempts to penetrate the rear of the building had been thwarted by a rebel sniper.

  Bolan went over the layout again, his concentration broken by a tap at the door. “Come in,” he said.

  It was the Marine sergeant. He was a career man in his mid thirties. Bolan had learned his name was Glen McKay.

  “I have your ordnance, sir,” he announced.

  “Bring it over,” Bolan said.

  He handed Bolan a folder that held a selection of photographs.

  “President Karima and Vice-President Nkoya,” McKay said. “I imagine you’ve met them?”

  Bolan nodded.

  “Okay, this is Leland Cartwright,” McKay went on, holding up a photo of a tall, gray-haired man sporting a tan that would have had George Hamilton jealous. “And this pair are Zimbala and Harruri, our rebel leaders.”

  Bolan studied the images, etching them into his memory.

  McKay was carrying a Marine-issue bag in his hands. He placed it on a side table, opening the zipper. “I had my guys strip and clean your weapons,” he said.

  He placed Bolan’s Beretta and Desert Eagle on the table, along with their holsters. The Uzi came next.

  “I kind of took a fancy to that 93-R,” McKay said. “She as good as the manuals say?”

  “Never let me down,” Bolan said.

  “And I’ll bet you’ve put that to the test a few times, huh?”

  Bolan inclined his head. McKay sensed the reluctance to take it any further so he passed.

  “Half a dozen stun grenades,” he said, placing them on the table. “You said no frags?”

  Bolan nodded. “There could be friendlies in any given situation on this. I won’t take the risk. Grenades have no conscience. They kill anyone who gets in their way.”

  McKay smiled. “Never quite heard it said that way before, but I guess you’re right.”

  He placed Bolan’s combat harness on the table and then a combat suit of Marine issue. “Yours was worse for wear, so we found you this. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Bolan picked up the clothing. The combat gear bore a dark night/urban pattern that would be ideal for the situation they were going into.

  “I’d be proud to wear it, McKay.”

  “You worked out your strategy?”

  “This one is going to be strictly get up and go. No time for fancy planning and looking for the blind spots.”

  “The way I like ’em, Belasko.”

  Bolan glanced across at the Marine, confused.

  “I’m coming in with you,” McKay said. “Remember this is my bailiwick. If I let you go in on your own my days in the Corps are numbered.”

  “How about your superior and the ambassador?”

  McKay inclined his head. “Let’s just say they’ve developed a strain of what-I-don’t-know-about-won’t-hurt-me virus.”

  “Welcome aboard, McKay. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  IT WAS COMING UP to late evening when Bolan and McKay parked up behind a darkened office building two blocks down from Government House. They had used one of the Embassy vehicles. A plain, unmarked Ford. McKay, who knew the city like the back of his hand, had brought them in by a circuitous route that had avoided the known problem areas of the city. He pulled the Ford into a darkened alley, cut the motor, and they sat in the shadows until they were sure no one had seen them.

  “The main force of pro-Karima military are stationed at the front of the building,” McKay said. “My source told me they only have a three-man squad watching the rear in case the rebels try to sneak out. Sniper on the roof wounded two of their guys during the initial assault. Problem is they don’t have that large a force after spreading the rest across the city to monitor the rebels at the power station and TV studio. They have others on all the main approach roads in case the rebels try to bring in reinforcements. I mean this country has a military force smaller than the National Guard in my home town.”

  “Consider that a bonus,” Bolan said.

  THEY CHECKED THEIR WEAPONS. McKay carried a holstered M-9 Beretta handgun and an M-4 carbine. It was a shorter-barreled, compact version of the M-16A2 developed for the U.S. Military. It was a handy weapon for close-quarter work. Bolan had his Desert Eagle and Beretta, plus an Uzi. Their hands and faces were layered with black camouflage paint, and both men wore black, knitted woolen caps.

  “I’m with you,” Bolan said as McKay led them down the alley, bringing them to a deserted parking lot at the rear of the office block. Because of the power blackout the security lights were off, leaving the parking lot in shadow. The only light was from the pale moon.

  They paused at the far corner, checking out the way ahead. McKay pointed in the direction they had to go and led the way to the next building, hugging the base of the wall. Bolan kept a check on their back trail, his Uzi cocked and ready for use if needed.

  McKay proved his knowledge of the city by leading Bolan around the silent buildings, easing into the bush that encroached on the back lots. If the vegetation wasn’t cut back on a regular basis the forest would have swallowed the buildings and returned to its natural state in a relatively short time. The heavy growth proved to be a godsend to Bolan and McKay, concealing their stealthy approach to the rear of Government House.

  Now they were getting closer they resorted to using hand signals. It prevented any talk being overheard. McKay pointed out the position of the three-man squad of Tempalan soldiers watching the garden area rear wall. Bolan acknowledged with a silent confirmation. The pair circled the Tempalan position and approached the walled garden along one of the side walls, out of sight of the Tempalan squad. They crouched in the heavy grass that grew in abundance along the base of the wall.

  The wall was around nine feet high. Bolan slung his Uzi across his back, securing it to prevent it from swinging free and creating any sound. He signaled for McKay to give him a boost, and the Marine cupped his hands and raised the Executioner until Bolan could stand briefly on McKay’s shoulder. Bolan reached up and caught hold of the top edge of the wall, using his own strength to haul himself up so he could peer across the wall.

  The gardens were in near blackness. The moon had vanished behind cloud for a period. Bolan studied the cloud formation and figured they had no more than a couple of minutes before pale light showed again. He scanned the roof profile of Government House. It was a flat affair with a raised parapet around the edges. He took his time checking out the parapet until he spotted the armed man with a long rifle. Bolan checked out the rifleman. He was resting both arms over the top of the parapet, and Bolan caught the glow of a cigarette in the man’s mouth as he drew on it.

  Initial keenness at being given the task of watching for intruders had turned to semiboredom. The long hours were showing. It was close to midnight, and the lone gunman would have started to wind down, his awareness dulled by his extended stint on the roof. Now was the time to make their move.

  Bolan pulled himself onto the top of the wall, keeping his eye on the distant sniper. The man showed no reaction, simply smoked his cigarette and was most probably wishing he hadn’t drawn that assignment. Stretched out along the wall Bolan was rewarded by the sight of the figure pulling back from the parapet to raise his arms in a lazy stretch. The sniper stepped back, turning so that he was at an angle that had him looking away from Bolan’s position.

  Bolan took the rope from around his waist and lowered it for McKay. The Marine grabbed it and climbed the wall quickly. He lay flat as Bolan hauled the rope back up. Together they slid over the wall, hung by their hands, then dropped, barely making a sound as they landed in
the cover of thick vegetation on the inside of the garden wall.

  Using the deep shadow at the base of the wall combined with the bushes and trees, they closed in on the rear of the building. There was a concrete path that ran around the base of the walls. Evenly spaced large clay pots that held masses of bright flowering plants were placed along this path. With Government House looming over them, Bolan and McKay crouched in the shadows of the surrounding bushes and assessed their next move.

  There was a substantial extension jutting out from the main building, situated midway along the rear wall. It had large windows and double doors that would be used to allow guests to step out into the gardens. The roof of this extension would provide handy access to the main roof of the building.

  Soft footsteps warned the Americans they weren’t alone. They pulled back into the deeper shadows and watched an armed rebel moving in their general direction. The man carried an SA-80 rifle and walked with the measured tread of someone on sentry duty. He stopped short of the bushes, turning to make his return pass.

  The Executioner made his move, reacting so quickly that McKay almost missed him easing from cover. Bolan’s hand had already plucked out of a pocket the thin wire garrote he had brought with him. Stepping up behind the guard Bolan looped the wire over the man’s head, snapping tight against his throat and pulling the rebel to his knees. The man struggled in blind panic as the thin wire sliced into his flesh. He was unable to get a grip on the wire as blood began to surge from the deeply sliced flesh. His legs kicked out and his arms flailed, but he made no sound except a soft, wet gurgling as Bolan increased the pressure. A savage twist rolled the man on his side, Bolan placing a knee in his back to hold him down as he applied the final pressure that ended the struggle. As the guard slumped loose and still on the ground Bolan freed the garrote and coiled it up, wiping his bloody hands down the legs of his fatigues. He caught hold of the guard’s collar and dragged the body out of sight under the bushes, making sure he had the man’s rifle.

  Bolan signaled McKay to join him and they scanned the gardens, watching to see if there was another sentry. Time passed and then a dark figure came into view on the far side of the smooth lawn. The newcomer patrolled in the same fashion as his now-dead partner. Bolan allowed another couple of minutes to pass. No one else showed.

  The guard made his slow way to the far end of the garden, moving across to the side where Bolan and McKay waited. Eventually he was going to miss the other guard and sound an alert. Bolan uncoiled the garrote and slid deeper into the bushes, working his way down the base of the wall until he was behind the patrolling sentry.

  McKay, who was watching the scene unfold, just caught a glimpse of the form that came out of the bushes. There was barely a sound until he heard the guard’s choking gurgle as the thin wire in Bolan’s hands flipped over the guard’s head and sank into the soft flesh of his throat. The struggle was brief, ending when Bolan pulled the body into the bushes.

  Bolan rejoined McKay. He secured his Uzi, bringing it forward before indicating the building. The pair made their way to the extension. Bolan pointed at the sturdy downpipe coming from the guttering. He boosted McKay up and watched the Marine shin up the pipe and roll out of sight on the flat roof. Bolan went after him and they hugged the shadows, checking out the distance they would have to climb to reach the main roof.

  As they crouched there, listening, they heard the sound of the sniper moving back and forth on the other side of the parapet. McKay handed Bolan his M-4.

  “I’ll take this one,” he said. “Cover me, Belasko.”

  MCKAY LISTENED FOR THE footfalls of the sniper. The man was muttering something into a transceiver. He seemed to be having words with whoever was on the other end of the conversation. Maybe the rebels were becoming restless. Nothing seemed to be happening and they were getting into the late evening, a time when people started to get tired, even fractious. It meant they could be letting their guard down a little. On the negative side it also made them dangerous because a nervous hostage-taker was a risk. Tired, fretful people did unexpected things if they thought nothing was happening.

  The sniper snapped something harsh into his transceiver, then moved to the parapet and banged the transceiver down. Still muttering to himself he fumbled in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and drew one out. He tried to light it but the slight evening breeze blowing across the roof of the building snuffed the flame. The sniper turned his back to the breeze and hunched his shoulders, head down as he tried again.

  It was McKay’s turn to move. The Marine rose to his full height and caught hold of the top edge of the parapet. He shoved off the extension, heaving himself up until he gained a foothold along the bottom. Without pause he vaulted over the parapet, his soft-soled boots barely making a sound as he touched down on the other side. As he landed he slid his sheathed knife free and moved in on the sniper, who started to turn, sensing a presence behind him. McKay’s right hand slid round the sniper’s head, knocking the cigarette from his lips as he clamped his hand over the sniper’s mouth. McKay pulled the rebel in close and brought the knife around in a short, hard arc, sliding it in under the sniper’s ribs and into his heart. The rebel stiffened against the pain. He moaned, the sound muffled by McKay’s hand. The sniper turned and wriggled, trying to stay alive, but he was already on the downward slope and McKay was able to lower the stilled body moments later.

  The Marine withdrew his knife and slipped it back into its sheath, then leaned over the parapet and clicked his fingers. Bolan joined him, handing back the man’s M-4.

  “The plans showed an access door,” Bolan said. He indicated the location and the pair loped across the flat roof. The door was slightly ajar, with stairs leading down into the building.

  “I’m banking on them having the hostages in Karima’s office,” Bolan whispered. “That’s where his direct phone line will be.”

  “They’ll most probably have someone manning the communication setup,” McKay said. “I’ve been in here before. I know where it is. You want me to handle that?”

  “Volunteering, Sergeant?”

  “Hell, yes,” McKay said, grinning.

  They descended the stairs and found another door at the bottom. Bolan eased the handle and the door opened without resistance. Bolan cracked it and peered through. He saw the passage he had walked along on his previous visit to Government House, with the doors to Karima’s office at the far end. There was an armed rebel sitting on a chair beside the doors, his back partly toward Bolan.

  “Com station is back the other way, near where the landing opens out for the main staircase,” McKay said.

  Bolan peered around the edge of the door. As McKay had said, the wide landing lay twenty feet away. From where they were positioned, Bolan couldn’t see anyone guarding it. He eased the Beretta from its shoulder rig and set it for single shot.

  “Subsonic cartridges and a suppressor,” he explained to McKay. “I’ll deal with this guy. You head for the com room. Once I go inside Karima’s office it’s going to get noisy. When hell breaks loose you make your play. And, Glen, stay lucky.”

  McKay grinned. “Surely you know the old Marine saying, ‘You’re not allowed to die unless it’s ordered.’”

  Bolan shook his head. “I never heard that one before.”

  “I know. I just made it up, but it should be on the books.”

  Bolan pushed the door wide enough to allow them through. He turned in the direction of the rebel.

  McKay, his M-4 ready in his hands, went in the opposite direction. He flattened against the wall as he heard voices coming from somewhere on the landing.

  Bolan had picked up the sound himself. He kept moving, closing the distance between himself and the rebel.

  The voices on the landing became louder. Someone laughed.

  The sound drew the rebel’s attention and he casually leaned back on his chair, his head turning to see who was laughing.

  He locked eyes with Bolan.

  He fr
oze for a moment, then reached for his rifle leaning against the wall beside him.

  Bolan snapped the Beretta into position, gripping it two-handed, and shot the rebel between the eyes. The rebel’s head snapped back, a glistening patch of blood and bone on the wall behind him.

  McKay heard the subdued chug of the Beretta and didn’t bother to look back. He had the door to the com room in sight. But he could also see shadows on the floor where the landing became the passage and knew that any luck he and Bolan might have was about to run out.

  He plucked a stun grenade from his harness and clicked his fingers to alert Bolan. He showed the grenade to Bolan when the man glanced around. Bolan nodded, turning away, his hands already clamping over his ears.

  McKay popped the pin and rolled the grenade in the direction of the landing. He turned his back on it, head down and covered his own ears. Seconds later the grenade went off, the sharp crack and blinding flash of light filling the area.

  The incandescence hung around for what seemed an eternity.

  Bolan and McKay, protected from the effects by covering up, were only slightly dazed. It took them a few seconds to recover.

  After that Government House erupted into bloody chaos.

  23

  Bolan had a flash-stun grenade in his hand as he booted open the door to Karima’s office. He lobbed the grenade into the office, then pulled back against the outer wall, waiting for the blast. He saw the brilliant flash of light, heard the detonation through covered ears. As the sound faded and the glow receded, Bolan turned and ducked inside the room, scanning the interior to identify the occupants.