Desert Impact Read online

  Chapter 12

  Bolan swung his legs over the side of Tony and Eleanor’s guest bed and stretched. The home-cooked meal and hot shower the night before had done him good, and with a solid rest behind him, he was ready to get back to work. He picked up his handheld, dialing the direct line for Hal Brognola at his office in the Justice Department.

  Brognola answered in the middle of the second ring. “Striker, it’s good to hear from you.”

  “You won’t feel that way when I’m done speaking,” Bolan replied.

  “I’d tell you I was surprised, but I’d be lying. Did you run into some trouble?”

  Bolan gave Brognola the rundown of the past few days. Brognola listened carefully, not saying anything until Bolan finished his report.

  “This sounds much more serious than we’d initially thought,” Brognola said. “How in the hell did a bunch of thugs get their hands on so much hardware?”

  “I have a few leads, but they’re lukewarm at best. I’d like to get some support down here.”

  “I’m writing it up right now,” Brognola said. “What do you need?”

  “I need a vehicle that can take on desert terrain, plus a good field communications and observation package. Also, a new set of weapons would be helpful.”

  “No problem. I’ll send all of that out of Phoenix. It should get to you by midday. Do you need personnel?”

  “It’s not a horrible idea,” Bolan replied. “I’ve got some local help, but another set of eyes never hurts. Didn’t you mention an agent in Phoenix?”

  “Nadia Merice. I can have her on a flight first thing, and she can deliver your vehicle and gear at the same time.”

  “I don’t know her, Hal,” Bolan said. “Is she any good? I don’t want to take a rookie into this mess.”

  There was a brief pause as he heard Brognola’s fingers typing something into the computer. “I’ve got her profile right here. Portuguese and Spanish heritage, speaks both fluently, and she looks it, so she won’t stick out. She’s done work for CIA and NSA, and she’s field qualified in weapons and hand-to-hand. She can handle herself.”

  “All right,” Bolan said. “Send her along.”

  “Consider it done. I’ll brief the President myself this morning. As soon as I can, I’ll start digging around to see what I can scare up in terms of intelligence.”

  “Thanks for the help, Hal. I appreciate it. Tell Merice to plan on meeting me in Sierra Vista by early afternoon at the latest, and pass along my number, would you?”

  “I’ll make sure she’s got what she needs, Striker. I’ll be in touch.”

  Bolan ended the call, already thinking through the numerous steps it would take to get the wheels in motion. Finding that his clothes had already been washed, dried and set out on the dresser, Bolan dressed then strolled out into the kitchen. Tony and Eleanor were sitting at the table, sipping coffee. The old man was playing a game of solitaire with a deck of cards that was almost as worn as he was. Both of them looked pretty tired, and Bolan knew that he owed the older couple his life.

  “Morning,” Eleanor said. “I’ll get you some hot breakfast.”

  “Please, sit,” Bolan said. “I can manage coffee and toast if you’ll just point me in the right direction.”

  The woman ignored him and shooed him toward the table. “The day I can’t make a man his breakfast in my own home is the day they put me in the ground,” she said. “You take your coffee with anything?”

  “Just attitude,” he said, smiling as she brought him a cup.

  He watched as she moved around the kitchen, comfortable in her domain. Occasionally, she would make eye contact with Tony or share a smile or a brief touch. Olivia would be missing that for many years to come, if not the rest of her life.

  The smell of frying eggs and bacon filled the kitchen, and Eleanor had plates ready for all three of them in record time. They ate in comfortable silence, enjoying the quiet of the day and the stillness before the next battle—whatever it was going to be. When they were finished, Bolan stood and poured himself a second cup of coffee.

  “Thank you, Eleanor,” he said. “That was delicious. I don’t get a lot of home-cooked meals these days.”

  “You’re welcome, Matt. Tony was the same way back in the day.”

  The old man cocked an eyebrow at his wife. “My day isn’t over quite yet,” he said, then turned to Bolan. “What’s next?”

  “First stop is Douglas,” he said. “I need to go and see Olivia. Then I’ll get a lift over to Sierra Vista.”

  “We’ll go with you,” Eleanor said.

  Bolan shook his head. “I don’t want either of you taking any more risks on my behalf. I’m already indebted to you both.”

  Eleanor started to argue, but Tony nodded. “He’s right, hon. I’ll take him. You stay here and mind the home fires.”

  She gave him a hard stare for a long minute, then sighed and shook her head. “You just see to it that you come back in one piece. You understand me, old man? You’re not fifty anymore!”

  “Ha!” he laughed. “Neither are you, but you sure do look it!”

  They laughed together and Bolan joined in. He couldn’t change the fact that Rivers was gone or that his wife and daughter would miss him. But he could make those responsible pay for their crimes. In his line of work, that would have to be enough.

  * * *

  THE SMALL HOUSE that had been so inviting and full of life a few days before was covered in a pall of sadness, yet Olivia was kind enough—strong enough—to smile and pull Bolan into a warm hug.

  “I’m so glad you’re all right,” she said. “I didn’t know who else to call, and I figured that if anyone could find you, Tony could. The Border Patrol said they didn’t know anything about you. One of them even suggested that maybe you were the one who...”

  “Killed Colton?” he finished for her.

  She nodded, finding her voice again and fighting off the tears. “I knew that couldn’t be true, but they all thought I was hysterical.” She started pacing the room. “What happened, Matt?” she asked. “Tell me.”

  “I’ll tell you everything I can,” Bolan said. “Let’s just sit down and talk through it.”

  Tony guided her to a chair. “When was the last time you ate something?”

  “I...I don’t know,” she said. “All I can think about is Colton. My mom came and took Katrina out for the day. I haven’t been sleeping.”

  “We’re going to fix you right up,” Bolan said. “Tony, do you think it would be okay for Eleanor to come down and visit for a spell? Lend Olivia here a hand?”

  “I think that would be fine,” he said.

  “Why don’t you go in the kitchen and give her a call?”

  “I’ll get to it,” Tony said, heading in that direction.

  Bolan turned back to the young woman. “Olivia, I’m going to find the men responsible for this, I promise you.”

  “Just tell me what happened,” she said.

  He described how they were ambushed, making certain to be as general as possible. He saw no point in upsetting her with any graphic details. When he finished, he took her hands in his. “They’ll pay in full,” he said. “With interest.”

  “Please take care of yourself. You were already taken by them once.” Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. “What happened to Colton is bad enough, and you were trying to help him. I don’t want you to get killed, too.”

  “I won’t,” he said. “And I feel responsible, Olivia. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that Colton died. I should’ve been more wary of the situation, but it won’t happen again. I’ll find them and they will be brought to justice.”

  “Just be careful,” she said. “Your death won’t change what’s happened.”

  “I always am,” he said, looking
up as Tony came back into the room carrying a small bowl of soup. “Now eat and then rest. When you wake up, Eleanor will be here and she’ll stay with you until things are...”

  “Better?” she said, her voice flat. She barked a short, cynical laugh. “I don’t think there is any better.”

  Bolan nodded. “Justice is better,” he said. “Eat your soup.”

  * * *

  AFTER LEAVING OLIVIA, Bolan and Tony drove in silence to Sierra Vista. En route, Bolan received a text from Brognola confirming that Nadia Merice would meet him as scheduled in the parking lot of the grocery store on Fry Boulevard. He passed the information along to Tony, who indicated that he knew the exact spot.

  A short time later, he pulled into the designated parking lot and shut off the engine. When he started to get out of the truck, Bolan put his hand on the old man’s arm.

  “You need all the help you can get, Matt,” Tony said.

  Bolan chuckled. “You’re right about that, but you’ve done enough for now.”

  “You’re benching me?” Tony asked.

  “No, Tony, I’m not. I’ve got another job in mind for you and before we talk to Nadia, I want you to know what it is.”

  “Well, shoot then,” he said.

  “I want you back in the desert, keeping an eye on Sureno and his crew. I’m going to give you a sat phone, and if you see something worth reporting, you share it with me.”

  “That sounds an awful lot like the bench,” Tony complained. “A lot of sitting and waiting.”

  Bolan shook his head. “I can’t be everywhere at once,” he said. “I need someone keeping an eye on things who won’t get caught or killed while he’s at it. That’s you.”

  “I won’t slow you down,” Tony said, “if that’s what you’re thinking. I can still carry my own ruck.”

  “Tony, you don’t have to prove your worth to me. You’ve already saved my neck once. But I need someone to keep an eye on the ground over there. Have Eleanor stay with Olivia and make sure she’s protected—I don’t want any of this blowing back on her. She’s sacrificed enough. In the meantime, you head back, gear up and get out there. Let me do what I do best.”

  “What is it you do best?”

  “I finish the job,” Bolan said.

  Tony nodded reluctantly, agreeing to his plan. Bolan watched the parking lot, and a few moments later, a Conquest Knight XV pulled in and came to a stop. It was the kind of luxury SUV used by the incredibly wealthy who needed—or thought they needed—high-end protection. With the right options, it was a vehicle made to drive up to the gates of hell and roll right through them, all while looking and feeling like a Cadillac. A woman climbed out of the driver’s side.

  Her black hair was cut in a severe, short style that accented her high cheekbones. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, and that was giving her a bonus for the heel of her knee-high boots. Her loose-fitting shirt billowed in the breeze. She nodded as Bolan climbed out of Tony’s truck.

  “Nadia Merice?” he asked, moving toward her.

  “That’s me,” she said. “You must be Cooper.”

  “Got it in one,” he said. They studied each other in silence for a long moment.

  Tony got out of the truck and headed in their direction. “Who’s the geezer?” she asked, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  “Tony Altera,” the older man said. “Show some respect, young lady.”

  Bolan was ready to step in when she burst out laughing. “I thought that might be your name. They still talk about you up in the Phoenix area.”

  “They?” Bolan asked.

  “Federal law enforcement,” she said. “Tony here is almost a legend.”

  “Almost,” Tony said. He offered a hand, which she took.

  “Good,” Bolan said. “Now that we’re all introduced, let’s get to work, yes?”

  “Sounds fine,” she said. “What’s the plan?”

  “Tony here is going to head back out to the desert and do what he does best—which is being invisible. Do you have a sat phone in the Knight?”

  She nodded.

  “Give him one, and program it with our numbers. As soon as she’s done, Tony, you head out.”

  “What about you?” she asked as Bolan started in the direction of the store.

  “I’m going to buy a cup of coffee and a can of bug spray.”

  “Bug spray?” she asked.

  “Yeah, for when we start poking the hornet’s nest.”

  Chapter 13

  After watching Tony drive off, Bolan and Merice headed for the car rental company a few blocks away. “What’s wrong with my truck?” she asked.

  “It stands out like a sore thumb,” Bolan said. “But mostly, we’re going to need to split up at some point, so it’s best to have two vehicles.”

  They picked up a nondescript Mercury sedan, then Bolan gave Merice instructions to enter the base and watch the warehouse. If Kingston left by himself, she was to follow him and get in touch by radio if she needed help. If he left with someone else, she’d find Bolan outside the gate, and they’d adjust the plan.

  There was no need for Bolan himself to reenter Fort Huachuca. Instead, he simply parked his vehicle in the hotel lot across the street and waited. The gate logs showed that Hansen, Kingston’s assistant, came and went though the main gate, and it was nearing the end of the day.

  Bolan didn’t want to confront Hansen on post; he wanted to do it somewhere much more private. Brognola felt that Hansen was the most likely culprit, and Bolan agreed—the man had access to the altered bills of lading and inventory files. Their plan was basic enough: Brognola let word trickle down that someone in Kingston’s warehouse was moving weapons illegally and making backdoor deals. Hansen would hear about it, and he’d be nervous. Nervous enough, Bolan hoped, that he’d make a mistake—or at least be more willing to cooperate when they had their chat.

  Bolan watched the main gate and sure enough, at 4:30—a full half-hour before he usually left— Hansen drove out and turned north on Highway 90. He was driving a dark blue Ford Taurus that had seen better days. If he was involved in the weapons smuggling, he certainly wasn’t spending his money on his car. Bolan pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, giving his target plenty of room. This was no time to get into a car chase; Bolan wanted to see where he went to ground.

  Hansen stayed the course for a solid fifteen minutes. He slowed down at a wide spot in the road called Huachuca City, and on its northern outskirts, he turned right. Realizing he was entering a small trailer park, Bolan slowed even more. Roads tended to be narrow and short in trailer parks, and it wouldn’t do to be seen. No other roads were in sight, so Hansen would be parked somewhere inside.

  Bolan waited ten minutes, then pulled into the trailer park. It was only four streets wide, with a handful of old, single-wide trailers. Most of them had been bleached white or gray by the desert sun. The Taurus was parked at the end of the street farthest from the entrance. Pleased by the convenience of the location, Bolan stopped two trailers away and shut off the engine.

  Stepping into the evening, Bolan strolled down the street. There were no signs of children in the area, and by the looks of it, this was a place where base personnel crashed for a short time until they could find something better—like a room in the lobby of hell. Cracked window glass, vehicles with missing tires, and paltry, dying lawns made up of weeds more than anything else were the hallmarks of the landscape. Most of the trailers had window air-conditioning units running full-blast in an attempt to keep the poorly insulated trailers even vaguely cool. No one was outside and no one peered through their windows to see who the stranger walking down the street might be.

  Bolan reached the trailer where Hansen had parked and slipped quietly up the concrete steps to the door, pausing to
listen. He heard movement and suspected that Hansen was alone. Now was as good a time as any. He turned the knob and opened the door quickly, stepping inside with his weapon drawn. The tiny living room, filled with dirty dishes and ratty newspapers, was empty. The sounds were coming from the back of the trailer, and now that Bolan was inside, it was easy to identify them.

  Hansen was digging through drawers and packing. In a hurry. Bolan took a silent seat on the arm of the couch and waited. Several minutes later, the man came down the hallway holding a large duffel bag in one arm and a laptop case in the other. He didn’t see Bolan until he was halfway into the kitchen.

  “Going somewhere, Hansen?” Bolan asked, casually pointing the Desert Eagle in his direction. “Vacation down in old Mexico, perhaps?”

  Hansen paled, then dropped the bags, clawing desperately for his back. The Executioner was on him far too fast for the move to be effective. Bolan slammed the butt of the Eagle into Hansen’s forehead. As Hansen staggered, bleeding from the easily split skin, Bolan spun him around and removed the small .32 caliber pistol from his waistband. “Take a seat, Hansen,” he said, shoving him toward the couch. “We need to talk.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “That’s interesting. I haven’t asked you anything...yet. Why don’t you tell me what it is you think you don’t know?”

  “But...I mean...I don’t know anything about anything, and I don’t know why you’re here. This is a violation of my civil rights. I want to talk to my lawyer.”

  “Well, there’s a problem with that, Mr. Hansen. I’m not here. Officially, I was never here.”

  “There are records. If something happens to me, they’ll see you were on base the other day and they’ll want to ask you questions.”

  “You’re acting like I’ve already killed you,” Bolan said.

  “Are you going to kill me?”