Conflict Zone Read online

  That would be suicide for Chan, of course, whether Eltsin's men took him out on the spot or CNP's next man in charge had the chore to complete. Seen in that light, a one-way ride didn't seem likely.

  But he couldn't rule it out.

  Chan broke the ice by asking, "What are we to do about this plague that haunts us both?"

  Eltsin allowed himself a shrug. "My next suggestion," he replied, "would normally have been to leave it with the law. Give them additional incentives on the side, perhaps, to be more diligent. But after last night, I believe that avenue is closed to us."

  "Agreed," Chan said. "And they have robbed us, as it is. We'll never get our money back."

  "Not without claiming and accounting for it," Eltsin granted.

  "So, what else is there for us to do?"

  "I have requested a new chief of security," Eltsin said, "with ample reinforcements to protect CNP's property statewide. Headquarters has agreed, but I don't expect them for two or three days. By that time there's a chance that I may be replaced."

  "You must survive those days, in order to retire," Chan said. "I'm speaking of the present, not tomorrow or the next day."

  "First," Eltsin said, "we must defend our respective interests. That is paramount."

  "Agreed."

  "And second... I may have a useful name."

  "One of the enemy?"

  "Perhaps. When all of this began, Sidorov told me MEND was looking for a local man who had been passing information to the state police, perhaps to the Americans. They saw him with a white man, possibly a Brit or Yank, who could not be identified."

  "What is this name?" Chan asked.

  "Umaru," Eltsin said. "Obinna Umaru. They went to his home and found nothing. He's vanished, as far as I know."

  "No one just disappears," Chan replied. "If he's dead, there's a corpse we can find. If he lives, there's a trail."

  "Well, Afolabi's people couldn't find him. Nor could mine."

  "Try harder," Chan suggested. "I will do the same. And if he's still alive, if this Umaru is a state police informer, he will be in contact soon. You have ears on the force?"

  "There is a man," Eltsin admitted. "He cooperates."

  "And I have one, as well Between us, we should certainly be able to discover if this person gets in touch with his superiors. And when he does.."

  "We'll have him," Eltsin said, completing Chan's thought.

  "I'm convinced we can persuade him to identify his comrade," Chan observed. "By one means or another."

  "Yes."

  "And when we have identified him, we eliminate the threat."

  Eltsin nodded agreement but didn't reply out loud, suddenly fearful that Chan might be recording their conversation for later use against him.

  "You agree, comrade?" Chan persisted.

  Another nod. And then, changing the subject, Eltsin said, "The vodka that you stock is excellent."

  Chan frowned at him, as if he doubted Eltsin's sanity. He was about to speak again when the Guard Pullman's driver spoke up, interrupting.

  "Sir," he said, "there seems to be some difficulty just ahead. The traffic.....

  Eltsin didn't understand the curse in Cantonese, but leaning forward, peering through the limousine's windshield, he saw the cause and mouthed his own profanity.

  * * *

  Umahu stopped the Kia at the base of Sheba's looming statue, ignoring the bleats of protest from hands punching horns in his wake. Bolan had to watch the traffic as he stepped out of the car, opened its left-rear door and grabbed the RPGs, then circled around the Kia's tail to take up his position by the statue.

  He set one RPG on the trunk lid, trusting its twin pistol grips to keep it from rolling away. The two extra rounds, PG-7V single-stage HEAT projectiles with 93 mm war-heads, rested at his feet in a canvas bag. He shouldered the second launcher and waited.

  Each high-explosive antitank round was designed to penetrate 19.5 inches of armor plating — far more than was standard on any civilian executive limo, and six times the thickness of normal bulletproof windows. The launcher used a Russian PGO-7 2.7x telescopic site, and its manufacturers claimed a one-hundred-percent probability of striking an auto-size target from fifty yards or less, crossing the shooter's field of vision at speeds up to nine miles per hour.

  No problem with a stretch limo approaching on a dead collision course.

  Bolan was barely in place when he saw the Mercedes approaching, closing on him like a hungry great white shark. He couldn't see beyond the black windshield, but didn't need to. Chan and Eltsin were inside the car, and that was all he had to know.

  The limo driver saw him now, reacting with the brake, then opting for evasive maneuvers. Bolan was ready as the white car swerved, presenting him with an even larger target in profile.

  He squeezed off, feeling the rocket's back blast behind him, wondering for a split second if it seared the Queen of Sheba's statue. Thirty yards downrange, the warhead found its mark behind the limo driver's door and punched through the armor, leaving a saucer-size hole in its wake.

  The detonation was internal, but the limo's armored hide couldn't contain it. All the tinted windows blew together, Bolan ducking to avoid the jagged shrapnel, while the doors blew open and a portion of the roof peeled back, as if vented by a huge can opener. Flames billowed from the limo, but it kept on rolling with its lifeless cargo, gradually losing speed.

  Bolan swapped launchers as the black Lincoln Town Car charged forward, then braked as the driver or someone else inside reconsidered the wisdom of a helpless rescue mission.

  Too late.

  Bolan had his target sighted by the time the Lincoln started to reverse, bashing the grillework of a small tail-gating sedan. More horns were blaring now, and drivers shouting from their open windows, but the noise had no effect on Bolan's aim.

  His second HEAT round roared away toward impact, and he crouched to find a reload while he watched it on its way. This one smashed through the Lincoln's dark windshield and disappeared inside, erupting into smoky thunder half a heartbeat later. Since the Lincoln had been creeping in reverse, instead of racing forward like the Mercedes, its engine stalled and died.

  With no need for a third shot at the blazing hulks, Bolan retrieved his empty launchers and the two spare rockets, tossed them all into the backseat of the Kia and resumed his place beside Umaru.

  "Done," he said. "We're out of here."

  They'd covered half a mile before he heard the first faint sirens wailing and began to look for somewhere they could ditch the car.

  "What now?" Umaru asked him, his eyes fixed firmly on the road.

  "Now, I pack up and catch my ride," Bolan replied. He thought of Jack Grimaldi waiting for his call, and realized that he had nothing much to pack.

  As usual.

  "And you?" he asked Umaru.

  "I've decided that I'll stay," the Nigerian said. "Whatever happens after this..... he shrugged, risking a cautious smile .....I think it may be fate."

  "Look, if you need a lift somewhere.....

  "No, thank you. I've been fighting for Nigeria, not for a chance to leave."

  Bolan could only nod at that and find his peace in silence. He had no idea where fate or luck would take him next, but he could count on trouble.

  And the predators could count on scorched earth from the Executioner.

  Table of Contents

  Don Pendleton's Conflict Zone

  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