Chain Reaction Page 6

  “Why?”

  “If we turn up at the airport dressed this way, someone is going to think it’s a SWAT raid. We need clothes to fit the role of tourists.”

  They rolled into the parking area of a mall twenty minutes later. Mitchell led the way and they hit a couple of stores, using Bolan’s Stony Man issued credit card to buy what they needed. A quick visit to restrooms and they emerged dressed in casual outfits more suited to the roles they were about to play. They would leave the soiled clothing in the SUV. The only item Bolan retained was his leather jacket.

  Bolan had purchased a couple of lightweight carryalls for the change of clothing they had bought. He added a third bag for the weapons they would leave behind. Before they drove away from the mall they placed their weapons in the third bag, wrapped in the clothes they were abandoning. Bolan stowed the bag in the SUV’s trunk, out of sight.

  Minutes before they arrived at the airport Bolan’s cell rang. It was Barbara Price, Stony Man’s mission controller.

  “A king guest room was booked for you at the Seattle Airport Marriott. The reservation was made for Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton. That’s who you are on your new passports. You look like a nice couple.”

  “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Your friends interest me,” Mitchell said.

  “Interesting is one way to describe them. Head for the Seattle Airport Marriott hotel. It appears we’re booked in as a married couple. The Hamiltons. Passports should arrive before we fly out tomorrow at 11:00 a.m.”

  “Whoever you friends are they have good taste,” Mitchell said as they reached the hotel.

  She drove the SUV into the parking lot and they made their way inside the hotel.

  Mitchell wandered around the large room, checking the facilities.

  “Is this your usual standard?”

  “No. Sometimes only get a single bed.”

  “Cooper, do you mind if I crash? The day’s catching up on me. You know what I mean?”

  “You go ahead.”

  Mitchell took a fast shower, wrapped herself in a bathrobe and climbed into the bed.

  “Just wake me in time for breakfast,” she murmured.

  * * *

  WHILE BOLAN AND Mitchell slept, a Stony Man courier arrived in Seattle at 6:35 a.m. He handed over the sealed package at the desk of the Marriott, picked up the keys for Bolan’s SUV and drove out of the parking lot. He drove to a small private airport where he transferred to an aircraft for his return flight to Washington, taking with him the carryall containing the ordnance Bolan had left behind.

  * * *

  AT 8:00 A.M. Bolan picked up the package waiting at the hotel reception desk. It held the Stony Man–prepared passports for himself and Mitchell. They looked well used and were stamped with entry and exit visas from a number of countries.

  When he showed the passports to Mitchell, over breakfast, she was impressed.

  “I may keep this,” she said. “It would be very handy if I want to take a quiet trip somewhere.”

  “What would SAC Duncan have to say about that?”

  “That would be telling.” Mitchell regarded him across the table. “And speaking about telling, what about you and the mysterious Lise Delaware? What do you have to tell me about her...?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  As they settled in their seats for the flight to Hong Kong, Mitchell leaned over and said, “I still don’t have the lowdown on Delawar”

  “First time we met she tried to kill me. I screwed up a big deal for Hegre and grazed her arm with a bullet. From what I’ve learned she doesn’t let it go when she’s been bested.”

  “You must have gotten to her, Cooper.”

  “What can I say. And all I know is her name...”

  * * *

  WHEN LISE WAS fourteen years old, she came home from school and found her mother dead in the bathtub. The cold water was tinged pink from the blood that had streamed from her slashed wrists. It was later confirmed that Rose Delaware had also swallowed every pill in the house. It was a final act of desperation, brought on by the severe depression she suffered from. She had struggled with her condition for a number of years, fighting a slow, losing battle. Rose’s ongoing condition had only been relieved by the presence of her daughter, and she fought against it every day. She kept her apartment clean and provided a loving environment for her daughter, Lise.

  Things she kept from her daughter only came to light after her death. The thing that pushed her over the edge was the final chapter in the long-running battle with her husband. He had wanted a divorce. Rose had denied him that, but he continued to fight her and had finally gotten what he wanted by citing her unreasonable attitude and deliberate obstruction when he told her he wanted to remarry. It had cost him a lot of money, but he was wealthy and the financial cost meant nothing to him. The divorce papers were found on the bathroom floor where Rose had dropped them.

  The trauma of finding her dead mother affected Lise badly. She fell into an almost vegetative state and had to be hospitalized. She was given the best care available, a private room and around-the-clock care. Her father chose not to visit her. They had never been close. Work had always been his top priority. It took nearly six months before she began to come out of her shell and respond to attention.

  Three weeks later a man came to the hospital. She vaguely recalled his face. He had visited her mother some years back. Lise remembered how he had been with her mother. He had offered to help, but for some reason her mother had turned him away. She couldn’t understand why. Her mother refused to talk about it. Now on the day he visited her, she sat and stared at him, still cloaked in despair at the loss of her mother. When he came back days later, he brought a woman with him. They spoke with the people in charge and later that same day she was removed from the hospital. There was a large car outside and Lise was placed inside, with the man on one side and the woman the other. They drove for what seemed a long time.

  Lise watched through the car window until fatigue took over and she slept.

  When she awakened, she was dressed in warm pajamas and tucked in a soft bed.

  In the days and weeks that followed, Lise came to know the woman, who was with her most of the days. She brought new clothes. And food. The room she was in was large and bright, filled with good things. The woman—she found out her name was Claire—looked after her. Lise was taken from the room, down the wide staircase and through a door that led outside into a wide, attractive garden.

  The house was where Lise would spend the next few years. In comfort and surrounded by people who cared for her and ensured she lacked for nothing. Not once did she inquire about her father. He was responsible for her mother’s death. He was dead to her.

  The house and grounds were spacious. There was a swimming pool and a wide patio. Claire and Lise spent many hours in the warm sunshine. There were a number of staff in the house who fetched and carried, doing anything Claire requested. Lise did not see the man for a few weeks. When she finally asked where he was, Claire simply told her he was away on business, but he would come to see her when he came back. Claire was her constant companion, and through her kindness and patience Lise was gradually drawn out of her solitary mood. Sometimes at night she would lie in her bed and think about her mother, trying to bring back the good times. Then her mother had been strong and beautiful. But the dark memories kept overshadowing the good times. Lise would lie and stare into the shadows, brooding. Thinking about the bad times, struggling to banish them. Gradually the memories faded, but never completely. They always hugged the deep corners of her mind. Lise learned to keep them buried because she didn’t want to disappoint Claire, who devoted her time and patience to the girl.

  When the man came back to the house, Lise learned his name was Julius Hegre. He spoke to her gently. Explained to her that her mother h
ad been his sister, and he wanted to take care of Lise now.

  When Lise asked why her mother had refused his help, he told her she had not approved of his business.

  Hegre had smiled his distant smile and told her when she was older he would explain.

  The explanation did not come for eight years.

  Lise was twenty-two years old when he had explained the mystery behind his business affairs. Watching her face as she absorbed his words, Hegre saw not shock, but a spark of interest that only grew as he revealed his true occupation.

  She began, from that day, to immerse herself in his business, always asking questions, wanting to know everything he could tell her. There was a confident spirit emerging and the revelation that his business was nowhere near lawful only intrigued her more. She was like a young child again, full of curiosity, eager to run before she could walk. Hegre could never tire at the bombardment as she badgered him with more and more questions.

  Lise threw herself into the physical interests her lifestyle allowed her to pursue: horseback riding, swimming, a growing interest in shooting—using every kind of firearm she could get her hands on. She excelled at martial arts—her instructors were always having to rein her in as she pushed herself harder. She revealed a ruthless streak, and many of Hegre’s hardened crew found themselves challenged when faced with her in the dojo. She was as hard on herself as she was any opponent.

  Her companion had left by this time. There was nothing more she could do for the young woman who faced life with a confidence bordering on arrogance. The child had long since disappeared, and the full-grown woman had become a stranger to her tutor.

  Lise’s change revealed itself in a traumatic event that occurred one day when she returned from riding across the wide estate. She left her horse at the stable, then made her way through the stand of trees to the house. She entered through the kitchen, riding boots clicking on the tiled floor. From the kitchen she made her way down the wide hall, wondering why the house was so unusually quiet.

  No one was about, which she found strange. There should have been at least a couple of Hegre’s bodyguards in sight.

  Lise sensed something wrong.

  As she passed Julius Hegre’s study, she heard voices. One belonged to Hegre. The other she didn’t recognize.

  She neared the closed doors and heard the unknown voice suddenly rise.

  She hesitated for no longer than a couple of seconds before instinct took over. The situation was not right. She knew that for a fact, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. All she sensed was Julius being in danger, and she had to do something about it.

  The voices rose higher.

  Accusations.

  Anger.

  Then there came the muffled sound of a shot from behind the doors.

  She hit the closed double doors with her left shoulder. They flew open.

  Julius was down on one knee, right hand clasped to his right side. The bright color of blood seeped through his fingers.

  One of Julius’s bodyguards was sprawled unconscious on the floor, a deep gash in the side of his head streaming blood.

  Ten feet away was a man she recognized as Peter Karpov, a business rival of her uncle’s. He held a large pistol in his left hand, a Desert Eagle, already bringing it back on target.

  Karpov half turned as Lise crashed into the room, made to twist the pistol in her direction. She didn’t break stride, just kept moving, and Karpov had no chance to avoid her. She slammed into him bodily, the force of her forward motion knocking him off balance. As she struck him, she clamped both hands around his left wrist, twisting against the bone until it snapped. Karpov squealed at the burst of pain, And he felt himself going down. He slammed to the floor, the impact knocking the breath from his body, leaving him momentarily stunned. The pistol was jarred from his grip. It struck the floor, bouncing end over end, and Lise took a long stride toward it. She snatched it up.

  The weapon settled on Karpov as he rose to his knees, gripping his broken wrist. He saw the black ring of the muzzle pointing at him. It was the last thing he ever saw.

  Lise’s finger squeezed back on the trigger.

  The pistol bucked in her grasp as it fired. Before the shell case hit the floor she fired a second time.

  The slugs slammed into Karpov’s head, entering just above his left eye. They cored in, shattering bone and cleaving through his brain, before erupting in a bloody shower from the back of his skull. The impact threw Karpov off his knees and dropped him to the floor. He landed hard, the looseness of sudden death having removed any physical control. He sprawled on his back, half of his head missing.

  Lise stood upright, the heavy pistol sagging toward the floor. Breathing deeply, she turned, her first impulse to check on Julius. She felt only concern for him. The fact she had just killed someone had no impact on her. There was no revulsion.

  No regret.

  Nor was there any kind of vicarious thrill. It had simply been something that had to be done.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. Then gave an embarrassed smile. “Of course you are not all right. You have just been shot.”

  She moved to be closer to him. It was then she became aware of the pistol in her hand. The Israeli Desert Eagle was a .357 Magnum. It would become her personal weapon of choice from that day on. She stared at the pistol for a moment. Then she moved to place the weapon on Hegre’s desk before she turned her full attention to him.

  “Let’s get you into a chair,” she said.

  Lise helped him into one of the leather armchairs. She stripped off her riding jacket, took off her white shirt, folded it and wadded it over Hegre’s wound, pressing it tight. She slipped the jacket back on and buttoned it as she heard footsteps approaching along the corridor. Moments later Dominic Melchior, her uncle’s lawyer and friend, stepped into the room. He was closely followed by a couple more of Julius’s men. Melchior was unarmed, while the others carried handguns.

  Melchior took in the scene quickly. He raised a hand to the men.

  “Get on the phone. I want the doctor here ASAP to attend to Julius, a cleanup team to get rid of that mess on the floor and attention for Hendly. Do it now.”

  One of the bodyguards turned and quickly left the room, closing the doors behind him. The other man took up a position close to the door.

  “He shot you, but you still got the drop on him?” Melchior said to Hegre.

  Hegre shook his head slowly.

  “No. Not me. It was Lise.”

  Melchior looked across at her. She returned his stare with unflinching steadiness.

  “She tackled him. He dropped the gun and she picked it up and shot him,” Hegre said.

  Melchior looked from Lise to the bloody corpse on the floor. A spreading pool of blood had fanned out from beneath Karpov’s shattered skull.

  “It looks as if all those martial arts and shooting lessons are paying off,” he stated.

  “They will from now on,” Lise replied. “I intend to be his personal bodyguard. Where he goes, I go. Argue with me, Dom, and I’ll pick that gun back up and shoot you, too.”

  Hegre raised his head and looked at Melchior.

  “I wouldn’t argue with her, Dom.”

  Melchior nodded. “I believe you. And I believe her.”

  “Where were you all? Lise demanded, her voice taking on a hard tone.

  “Karpov’s people came in from the garden, taking us by surprise,” Melchior said. “They had us under their guns before we could react. No excuses, Julius, they caught us off guard. Two of our people are dead. They shot them in front of us.”

  Lise glanced at Hegre. He had a pale sheen on his face.

  “My fault,” he said. “I should have read the signs earlier. Karpov has been threatening to move on us for months. I didn’t believe he would do it
in such a crude way.”

  “They shouldn’t have been able to get so close,” Lise snapped. “Things have become slack around here. Everyone has become complacent and let security slide. That won’t happen again.”

  “I have to admit she is right, Julius,” Melchior said.

  Dominic Melchior had been with Hegre from day one. He was, apart from being the organization’s lawyer, Hegre’s consigliere, and the man who often acted as Hegre’s conscience. Slim, gray-haired and always dressed impeccably, Melchior offered counsel to his friend, uttered the words that could calm Hegre and make him see the right path to choose. He had an uncanny insight into what went on in the minds of others. Hegre had an unshakable trust in Melchior’s words of wisdom.

  “Where are Karpov’s men now?” Lise asked.

  “Our backup team caught their man watching the approach to the estate,” Melchior said. “They caught him, and he admitted our people were being held in the garage. They got the drop on Karpov’s men. We dealt with them and headed back to the house. We heard the shots as we came inside.”

  “How many Karpov men are there?” Lise asked.

  “Four,” Melchior said.

  Watching Lise, he saw the cold gleam in her eyes. Her expression was without a trace of emotion. She reached for the Desert Eagle and picked it up. She stared at Hegre for a time, then turned to where the bodyguard stood.

  “All four of them,” she said. “I want them buried with Karpov. See to it our people are taken care of properly.”

  The bodyguard glanced at Hegre.

  “Do what she says,” Hegre said. “Make it quick. Have the place cleaned up and get everything back to normal. Tell everyone from now on Miss Delaware speaks for me.”

  From that day on Lise Delaware became Hegre’s near-constant companion. She proved more adept at the task than anyone previously. She took control of Hegre’s security and within three months he had promoted her to his second in command.

  At first there was resentment from within the ranks, but Lise commanded respect by proving that she was far better than any of them. In time she was accepted by them and Hegre himself, though he would never admit it openly. She was physically challenged by a member of the group who viewed her as merely a favored upstart. When he disrespected her in a room full of people, Lise put him down with two moves. The moaning guy was dragged away by two of Lise’s personal team. He was never seen again.