Critical Exposure Read online

  Bolan yanked the M-67 HE grenade from the satchel, primed the bomb and then lobbed it in the direction of his enemies. Amid the intermittent bursts of fire they directed his way, their eyes followed the object as it bounced off the hood of one of their vehicles and landed amid them. The trio of gunmen struggled to get rid of the bomb and finally opted to kick it under the vehicle and run. Bolan ducked behind the relative safety of the SUV just as the grenade exploded under their vehicle. The heat and shrapnel splintered the gas tank and the flames immediately ignited the fumes liberated by the shock of the blast.

  A wall of flame erupted through the floorboards and instantly consumed the surface material of the interior, charbroiling the seats and one of the gunners who had somehow managed to get trapped between that vehicle and the other one belonging to his teammates. The remaining attackers managed to get far away enough to avoid destruction, but they moved right into the opening and Bolan’s waiting sights. He took them down with a classic figure eight spray of bullets.

  Bolan reached into the SUV, snatched the bag of valuable munitions, then turned and rushed across the street. He pushed through the front doors of the hotel as the wail of police sirens became audible. The cops would be on the scene in a minute or less and Bolan didn’t want to be anywhere near there when they arrived. As far as the SUV, it had been a rental under an assumed name so they wouldn’t be able to trace it back to him or Grimaldi.

  The Executioner looked intently in every direction, searching for possible clues as to Grimaldi’s pursuit path. Finally he looked toward the clerks and shouted an inquiry in halting Turkish. The two women at the desk looked absolutely pale with fright and pointed toward a hall at the far end of the lobby simultaneously. Bolan nodded and rushed off to search for his friend.

  * * *

  THINGS HADN’T GONE at all how Jack Grimaldi originally envisioned. He hadn’t expected the Executioner to run into trouble so soon after making contact with Amocacci. And while he was always ready for action, he didn’t necessarily go out of his way to look for it.

  But such was the life of a field team member in the world of Stony Man and Grimaldi was more than equal to the task. In fact, he’d worked under the tutelage of one of the most proficient and consummate soldiers ever produced by America. It gave him an edge, but like any good student in the art of war, he’d learned not to underestimate his enemy.

  That fact saved his life when the two gunners he’d chased into the hotel turned suddenly once they were inside the lobby and leveled their SMGs in his direction.

  Grimaldi dived and rolled out of the line of fire as bullets smashed into the doors behind him and heated the air around him. Grimaldi continued rolling until he found concealment behind the door frame of the inner doors leading from the vestibule into the lobby. The Stony Man pilot brought his weapon to bear as he scrambled to one knee. He peered around the corner and prepared to squeeze off a couple of shots, but his enemies had already broken off their attack and were retreating toward a hallway at the far end of the lobby.

  Grimaldi gave chase once more, his dogged pursuit winding him. He kept in good physical condition, but the sudden rush of adrenaline that accompanied any combat situation gave him the extra endurance needed to not only sustain through the most difficult of situations but also added an edge to his reflexes. It was the basic flight or fight response, but Grimaldi knew how to channel that to his advantage.

  “First one to flinch loses,” Carl Lyons, the fearless leader of Able Team had once told him. Grimaldi could remember asking him, “So what’s your point?”

  “Don’t flinch.”

  It seemed liked an arrogant and pompous answer at the time, but when Grimaldi reflected on it he’d come to realize how profound and correct it really was. It had certainly given him a new respect for Lyons, whose “Ironman” nickname had been well earned.

  Grimaldi’s legs ached, but he poured on the speed and skidded to a halt at the last second when he saw his quarry duck into a doorway that he assumed led into a conference room.

  He slowed his pace and brought the muzzle of his weapon level to chest height. If his enemies were up to some sort of deception, he’d at least have a better chance of hitting them center mass. Thoughts of Bolan entered his mind right then, and he chastised himself for leaving his friend to deal with the other group. They had him outnumbered six-to-one, although that was hardly a fair fight for the enemy.

  Grimaldi shoved distracting thoughts from his mind and slowed, almost creeping. He stepped so lightly, in fact, that he barely made any noise on his approach. He eased up to the door through which the pair of gunmen had disappeared. Had he been thinking ahead, Grimaldi thought, he would have grabbed the grenades in the back of the SUV. One might have come in handy right at that point to help him with clearing the room.

  If these two men had, in fact, entered a conference room, chances were good they had only one way out, unless there was another door at the rear that led into a hall or kitchen service area. Of some type. That wasn’t uncommon in a lot of hotels, but that didn’t mean this one was of the same modern design.

  Grimaldi was about to open the door when he heard footfalls to his right. He whipped his head in the direction, weapon held at the ready, when he saw the unmistakable approach of the Executioner. The man moved with a grace and practiced ease Grimaldi and many others could only hope to emulate. Bolan had been in combat many times, with more of his waking hours spent engaged in violent confrontations than not, and yet every step was purposeful, every movement calculated to be as efficient and conservative of energy as possible.

  “Need some help?” Bolan asked as he came near.

  “Yeah. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m very glad to see you.”

  “Did they go in there?” Bolan gestured to the door.

  Grimaldi nodded. “Yeah. Both of them. They nearly got me back there at the lobby, but I didn’t see them.”

  “We should leave them be,” the Executioner stated.

  “What? Why? We can’t afford to let them get away, Sarge.”

  “I understand,” Bolan replied easily. “But we also can’t afford any encounters with the police. And they’re crawling all over my handiwork back there. Won’t be long before I’m sure witnesses will point them in this direction. It’s time to move out.”

  Grimaldi didn’t like it, but he knew Bolan was right. Moreover, this was the warrior’s mission. He called the shots. Grimaldi knew the plan, and he didn’t really mind subjecting himself to Bolan’s authority. The guy knew what he was doing; that was an indisputable fact, and Grimaldi trusted his judgment implicitly.

  “Okay, Sarge, your show. Let’s get out of here.”

  Bolan nodded and pointed toward some rear doors. “I’m guessing that would be an inconspicuous exit.”

  “Lead the way, my friend,” Grimaldi said.

  * * *

  GASTONE AMOCACCI SAT for a long time in solitude and pondered his visitor’s words. He found it difficult to believe that Savitch’s people could have screwed up the assassination so completely as to allow someone like this Matt Cooper to not only learn of it but also to escape alive with the information. This could prove to create a serious compromise, not only of security in the Council of Luminárii but also of his own personal safety.

  It was no secret that any organization bent on doing the things the Council did had to deal with types represented by men like Cooper. But that didn’t mean they had to trust everyone who came along with a story. Thus far, the Council had left Amocacci to deal with most of the details such as this, and things had gone pretty well. Until now.

  Amocacci dialed the number he’d long since memorized and his contact answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  “It hasn’t begun that way,” Amocacci snapped. “I just received a very interesting
visit from someone calling himself Matt Cooper. Does the name mean anything to you?”

  He responded a little too quickly for Amocacci’s tastes and the former Interpol officer knew immediately it was a lie. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

  “Well, that’s interesting, because he seems to know all about you.”

  “Is that right?”

  “He claims you tried to recruit him in Guatemala. I thought we’d agreed there would be no outsiders.”

  “If you’re referring to the guy that we took prisoner, the name he gave me was Colonel Brandon Stone.”

  “That’s his cover name. Apparently he’s operating as a DIA officer and when he got on to Shoup he also got on to your operation. He seemed to also know that we set him up to start with. He even knew about the Council. He told me you had quite an extensive conversation, and he revealed that he worked for the NSA. He also claims to have told you this. So one of you must be lying.”

  “It sounds as if you’re accusing me of something.”

  “I made no accusations.”

  “No? Because I’ve been accused of things before and that sounded very much like an accusation. If there are certain things I don’t choose to tell you up front, my friend, it’s because either it’s none of your business or the knowledge might compromise you in some way.”

  “That sounds very ambiguous, as if you were trying to use it as an excuse to hide the truth from me,” Amocacci stated.

  “Does it? Interesting that you say so because one of the things that you’ve made very clear to me time and again is that you expect neither your identity nor affiliation with the Council to ever come into my conversations with other associates. I have honored that request.”

  “Get to the point and quit all of the double-speak.”

  “The point is that you’re treading dangerously close to things you don’t understand. Think about it a moment. If I’d never spoken to anyone of my affiliation with you, and I think I’ve proved my loyalty as a business associate, how do you suppose Stone or Cooper or what’s-his-name knew about you?”

  Amocacci thought hard. It hadn’t occurred to him that maybe Cooper had played him, when he considered the guy claimed his knowledge came from talking with Amocacci’s contact. None of this was going the way Amocacci had originally envisioned it.

  “You make a good point.”

  “I thought you might think so.”

  “But that still doesn’t explain how Cooper knew about the business with our Chinese friend,” Amocacci said.

  “He did? Why the hell didn’t you say that from the start?”

  “Because I cannot read your mind. And because, as you just alluded, he is getting his information somewhere else. In fact, the bastard had the audacity to walk straight into my office first thing this morning.”

  “What was his reason?”

  “Well, his stated purpose was to offer services.”

  “What kind of services?”

  “Much of it sounded like the same services you already provide.”

  “That’s very interesting, indeed. I can tell you I’m both humbled and complimented.”

  “I thought that would make you furious.”

  That caused the man to laugh with considerable amusement; the first time Amocacci could recall ever hearing him do so in that fashion. “There’s nothing wrong with a little healthy competition. In my line of work, it helps me keep a bit of an edge. And it provides a great reference point when my services far and away exceed those of most others.”

  “Never mind the sales pitch!” Amocacci said, utterly furious now. “I want to know what you plan to do about it.”

  “Me? What would you like me to do about it? In fact, I’m not sure what I can do about it. Until I know his identity or can determine who might have sent him, it would be difficult for me to eliminate your problem. If I had to guess, though, I would say he’s probably working for a special branch of the U.S. government. Maybe a special operations group of some type.”

  “That might be where I could help you.”

  “In what way?”

  “I first spotted him at the hotel I frequent. Not long after I spotted him, someone snatched Serif right out from under my nose. I accused him, but he denied it.”

  “Did he give any other explanation?”

  “He said that I’d been under observation by someone at the consulate for some time,” Amocacci replied. “He claims he’d come to the hotel to warn me.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “No. I didn’t know who he was, but I spotted him as a tail right off. I didn’t know what he wanted, so I set it up for him to follow me.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “No.” Amocacci paused and then said, “I think maybe he saw that I’d spotted him and decided not to stick around. Maybe he was smart enough to know I was setting a trap for him.”

  “Or maybe he wanted you to see him.”

  “That’s another possibility I hadn’t considered.”

  “It seems entirely too coincidental that he would be there at the same time as this mysterious group he claims was tailing you. And that you lost your prize just shortly after encountering him. I think it’s also interesting that he knew where your office was located.”

  “He obviously looked up my public profile. It’s not like I work in secret.”

  “I’m aware of your cover. But he obviously knows a lot more than he’s let on to you.”

  “That wouldn’t be entirely unusual for a man in his position. If he is who he claims to be, then it would be natural for him to be less than forthcoming about all he knows.”

  “Did you get any sense for his motivations?”

  “He’s basically looking for work. Money. He mentioned cash a couple of times. I think, if he is a member of the NSA, that he’s on the outs with them. Maybe whatever happened there in Guatemala caused him to change his priorities. There’s very little question that Shoup betrayed him, set him up to take the trap we’d set for them.”

  “I told you that wasn’t a good idea.”

  “It’s done now,” Amocacci said. “You should move on.”

  “I will check into this man and let you know what I find out. You should let me know immediately if he contacts you again.”

  “I will.”

  “And we did receive the funds. I thank you very much.”

  “Just figure out what’s going on here, and there will be more where that came from.”

  “Consider it done,” the man replied.

  Amocacci hung up without saying goodbye. He didn’t like the situation at present—it didn’t feel as if he was in control. Up to this point he’d been holding all the cards. Now there were other players in the game manipulating the situation. Well, Amocacci wouldn’t play that game. It was those games that had caused him such turmoil to begin with. The moves and countermoves on the intelligence playing board had cost him dearly with the loss of his family. Each man on the Council had his own motives for participating, but for Amocacci it was personal. He would make the U.S. intelligence pay. He’d already proved they could do it with the operations in Europe and the Middle East.

  And soon, very soon, he would show them his resolve by making a play in the U.S.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Attacked?” Alara Serif said in utter disbelief. “Completely crazy!”

  Grimaldi grinned. “That was pretty much our assessment, as well.”

  “Who do you think’s behind it?”

  It was the Executioner who fielded that one. “Hard to tell. But whoever it is doesn’t change the fact it happened, which means somewhere along the way we’ve been compromised.”

  “And worse, this is the second time it’s happened,” Grimaldi added.

  “That’s what
bothers me most,” Bolan replied with a frown. “Up to this point, I’ve had to react to situations regardless of how well I plan. Someone has managed to stay a step ahead of us this time. Someone with a lot of clout and who is privy to a lot of classified information.”

  “You mean someone inside the intelligence community,” Serif said.

  Bolan nodded. “There’s no other explanation, Alara. There are a lot of fingers in the pie here. It’s like I said before. If Amocacci and Ma are card-carrying members of the Council, then there are probably others. Most likely former intelligence agents who have an ax to grind with the U.S., or possibly even intelligence agents with some sort of current status, like Ma.”

  “But if that’s true,” Serif said, “then who assassinated Quon Ma?”

  “I don’t think Ma’s dead,” Bolan replied.

  Grimaldi pinned his friend with a querulous expression. “Huh?”

  “I checked with the Farm just a little bit ago,” Bolan explained. “They told me there have been no rumblings about the assassination. Kirklareli should have been flooded with MSS investigators right now. Instead the place is totally quiet. Too quiet. In fact, not even any of Ma’s internal security has been seen making inquiries.”

  “You think they got the wrong guy,” Serif said. It wasn’t a question.

  “I’d bet money on it,” Bolan said. “And since it would appear Amocacci’s not taking the bait I set for him, I’d lay odds he’s the one who ordered the hit.”

  “But to what end?” Serif asked. “There’s every reason to think that this group operates in a very symbiotic fashion, just as I concluded in my analysis. To kill one of their own would be harming the organization, not helping it.”

  “Maybe so,” Bolan said. “But I’m betting the guy I encountered in Guatemala knows a lot more about all of this than he let on. In fact, I’m guessing Amocacci is working with this man. And I’d also bet he doesn’t know his identity any more than we do.”

  “What makes you think so?” Serif asked.