Wednesday’s Wrath Read online

  Brognola pointed out, also, that Jordan’s record prior to the White Sands incident had been impeccable.

  And Bolan could not help thinking of the late William McCullough of Los Angeles and his flirtation with cannibals.

  So it was entirely possible, of course, that April’s sympathy was not entirely misplaced. Maybe the guy had just lost control of the thing … or of himself.

  Whatever, the computer summary of Jordan’s “problem” left no doubt that the model had become a reality—with perhaps only a few insignificant modifications.

  The scenario postulated a sensitively placed government executive who, for “immoral or political motivations,” becomes allied with a terrorist or paramilitary organization. This executive is capable of breaching security apparatuses in such a way that “unfriendly agents” are able to quietly infiltrate a government facility “where sophisticated arms are deployed, stored, or routinely tested,” there to seize control of those arms and transfer them out of the country before their loss is even discovered.

  Such a plot would, of course, require some rather extended cooperation involving diverse elements of the military structure. They would need people with at least the basic technical skills to handle and transport the purloined weaponry. And they would need long-range transport aircraft, which could operate under a military guise and thus escape the country without incident.

  The computer summary provided by Brognola did not go into deep detail, of course, but it did hint at a rather elaborate scenario. Apparently the “unfriendly agents” would be recruited from both ex-military men and those still serving. The force would be composed of “specialists and technicians of diverse types” as well as combat personnel and flight crews. Those not now actively serving in the armed forces would be “surreptitiously reactivated and their service records appropriately altered to accommodate reassignment to the target command.”

  What would then follow would be a systematic shuffling of personnel via the Pentagon’s own apparatus: straight men out, crooked men in.

  As simple as that.

  It would not even be necessary to completely replace all of the straight personnel, but only those in particularly crucial positions. The fewer replaced, the tighter the plot.

  Specialty groups—such as, perhaps, the bunch at Tularosa Peak—could be moved in en masse, under quasiofficial orders, as a temporary or special detachment—perhaps even under the cloak of a top-secret operation.

  And, of course, there was always a horde of civilians moving through facilities such as the one at White Sands—employees of defense contractors, scientists and technicians, civil service people. Bolan thought vaguely of Mary Valdez in that connection, then tried to very quickly drop that lady from his mind.

  He could only hope that she had taken his advice.

  As for the White Sands scenario … it could work, sure. Its greatest strength was its apparent simplicity. Like all good tactical plans, though, the simplicity masked a highly elaborate and daring master concept.

  Better yet, this one did not even require any wholesale corruption of the host system. One or two key men with special skills could successfully manipulate the machinery of government from some obscure post within the Pentagon—from, say, a position as computer programmer or personnel specialist.

  Another one or two, well-placed within the security network, could neutralize any counter-movement by a suspicious official.

  Simple, yes.

  It was not difficult to see why this scenario had been deemed insoluble. No doubt it had also been branded as impractical by those who could not solve it.

  Needless to say, those who had so judged the scenario were also guilty of having “left out” a vital factor from their judgment.

  They had left out Doctor Philip Jordan.

  And that had been a hell of an omission.

  Because Jordan was, of course, the missing “key man”—the Architect.

  And his was—yes, certainly—a self-fulfilling scenario.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TO WINDWARD

  The situation, Bolan knew, was precisely the same as if an entire military command had suddenly gone berserk and decided to go into business for itself. Except that the present situation was a bit worse, because at least you could throw massive force against a berserk command and crush it. You could not do that here, in this situation—not unless you were willing to punish the innocent along with the guilty—and, of course, that was too harsh to even contemplate.

  It was probably something less than five percent of the local troops who could be counted in the enemy column. Which, yeah, leaves much too many of the good guys with both feet in hell.

  So the first and most ticklish task would be to define the enemy. And maybe the only way to do that would be to let them define themselves. Which was not quite as mystical as it sounded.

  “Did you get those studies I requested this morning?” Bolan asked the head fed.

  “It’s still developing,” Brognola replied, then tossed the ball to the lady. “April?”

  She jerked her head in a curt nod and told Bolan, “We should have summary runs within about ten minutes. The query program covers a multitude of variables. I had to write it myself. Believe it or not, there is no master program which will systematically interrogate the various data pools related to this problem. You’ll have to ask someone else in government why the tools of management are not being employed when they are so readily available. Perhaps it has something to do with bureaucratic competition, but I’m damned if—” She caught herself, smiled apologetically, and went on. “Sorry ’bout that. Guess I get preachy when I see this sort of thing.”

  Bolan said, gently, “You had to write the program. And you were about to say …”

  “I just wanted to say that there is probably more stolen from this government than is ever actually used by or for government. The GSA is an absolute cesspool of incompetence and downright knavery. That means both waste and theft in wholesale lots. GSA could clean up their act and probably reduce the cost of government by twenty-five to fifty percent. And, listen, the people in this country can forget about Big Brother watching them. I doubt that anyone is watching anything. I’m not at all surprised that a smart operator can step in and make monkeys out of the bureaucrats. Anyway, what I’m trying to say—there is no overviewing software. I had to create some. You did want a total picture?”

  Bolan smiled and replied, “In a local sense, yes.”

  “Okay, I had to cover all the inflow—including such things as personnel, materiel, money, food, clothing, as well as a few that are not so obvious. I—”

  Bolan asked, “Such as?”

  She tossed her head and said, “Such as medical supplies, combat rations, test equipment, fuel, PX supplies, movies—”

  Brognola arched his eyebrows to say, “Movies?”

  “Motion pictures, sure. It provides a picture of on-facility entertainment requirements. That equates to personnel confined to the facility for extended periods. Same as PX supplies. Toothpaste, shaving cream, and the like.”

  Bolan said, “We’re convinced. Go ahead.”

  “I try to balance all that in terms of outflow and/or accretion.”

  He asked, “Some general parameters?”

  “The same,” she replied. “That’s how we determine certain anomalies which would not otherwise appear.”

  “Did you query comparative periods?”

  She said, “That’s part of the general overview, yes. But the periods compared, in an area such as this one, must be pertinent to specific activities. As opposed to periods of general inactivity. This is a test area, remember. Therefore there should occur a periodicity of inflow/outflow related directly to testing activities.”

  Bolan grinned at Brognola and remarked, “Damn, she’s smart.”

  Brognola grinned back as he replied, “Pretty, too.”

  “I could resent the hell out of that,” the lady said, “except I know that you’re bo
th only trying to be honest.”

  Brognola chuckled and said to Bolan, “I have a feeling I’m going to lose her to GSA.”

  “Cut it out,” April requested good-naturedly. She touched Bolan’s chin with a tiny fist and said, “I’ll go and brood over the printers. Maybe I can hatch those summaries.”

  Bolan kissed the fist. She raised it to her lips and strode out of there.

  Brognola was beaming. He said, “You guys are working out okay, eh?”

  “Great, yeah,” Bolan muttered. “Maybe too great. I can’t afford that lady, Hal.”

  “Sure you can,” said the fed. “You have a whole new life waiting just over the horizon. You can count it in sunsets, now. Three more after today. Just three more, pal.”

  Bolan growled, “Maybe. And maybe that horizon is no more than a cruel illusion. I’m beginning to wonder if I sold myself a bill of goods.”

  “Don’t start thinking like that, Striker,” Brognola said.

  Bolan smiled at his friend and replied, “I appreciate the concern. Believe it. But, Hal …”

  “Hell, don’t say it.”

  “I have to say it. Look around. Look around you, right now, and tell me where you see a defeated mob.”

  “Either side of the street can be an illusion, you know,” Brognola argued. “Don’t start thinking of Harrelson and Jordan as organized crime figures. That’s stretching it too far. Those guys are—”

  “Chow,” Bolan said.

  “Huh?”

  “Those guys are chow for the cannibals. Like McCullough.”

  Brognola sighed. “Maybe so. Okay. I won’t bullshit you, guy. There does seem to be a resurgence. That’s only natural. They are not going to lie down and die just because things have been going to hell for them. They’re fighting back, sure. But I happen to believe that my department can handle that. Better than you, even. Because the game has changed. Thanks entirely to you, it has changed. You weakened them enough to give us our ins. We have ins everywhere now. We’re all over those guys. Believe me, we can handle them. You asked me to look around. Now I’m asking you. Look around. Here’s a problem that, quite honestly, I do not know how to handle. It’s a military problem, dammit, and I don’t believe the military can handle it. Do you agree?”

  “I agree, sure.”

  “Okay. There are very similar problems occurring all over the world, right now, this minute.”

  “Hal, I—”

  “Give me my say. I know how you feel about the mob. I feel the same way. But, Striker, there are far graver problems facing this country, this world. There’s a new wind a’blowing. The thing that you are facing right now is precisely the sort of thing you need to be facing from now on, for as long as that wind continues to blow. Why? Because, dammit, you’re the best there is, and because we cannot afford to field the second best to handle problems like these. Let me give you a sneak preview of what you’re going to find in April’s summaries.”

  Brognola paused to light a cigarette.

  Bolan lit one from the same match. He released the smoke and said, “Sneak preview, eh? From your own pipeline?”

  “That’s where from, yeah. I’ve known it for weeks, although not …” he spread his hands to indicate the surrounding environment, “… not in this context. There has been a steady movement of sophisticated weapons systems into White Sands for the past three weeks. I mean everything from nukes to chemicals, the very latest and the very greatest in tactical warfare capability.”

  Bolan glanced toward the window and asked, “Under what pretext?”

  “No pretext whatever. Strictly legitimate. A scheduled event. There will be a demonstration for NATO field commanders, right here, on the day after tomorrow.”

  “Wrong,” Bolan said quietly.

  “Why wrong?”

  “Because,” Bolan replied, “by the day after tomorrow there will be nothing left with which to demonstrate.” He put out the cigarette and ran a hand through his hair. “How much stuff, Hal?”

  “Too damn much,” Brognola said, “to end up in Algiers or Lebanon or wherever. Enough to ignite the whole damn Middle East. And when that region blows, buddy, we all blow with it.”

  “Do you have any inside information that would lead you to the conclusion that the stuff is destined for the Middle East?”

  The fed shook his head. “Just a gut feeling. That’s where the hottest emotions are. It’s also where the dollars are. But wherever they end up, wherever they are used, it would be a shocker for the whole world. We’d have to write new manuals for diplomacy and international politics.”

  “You’re saying nukes and chemicals.”

  “Right.”

  “Nerve gas, all that.”

  “All that, yeah.”

  Bolan made a harsh sound deep in the throat and lit another cigarette. “I thought there was a test moratorium on that stuff.”

  “There is. They’ll be demonstrating the delivery systems, using dummy warheads. But the real warheads, plenty of them, will be on display.”

  “The new miniature stuff?”

  “That’s the kind, yeah.”

  “How would you price that stuff?” Bolan muttered.

  “You can’t price it,” Brognola replied. “And if you’re thinking in petrodollars, well hell, the sky’s the limit. Those people can’t acquire such weapons legitimately from any power at any price. The eastern powers are as scared of proliferation as we are—maybe more so.”

  “The mob is bankrolling this hit, you know,” Bolan said quietly. “Frank Minotti’s kid brother is right here on the scene.”

  “That would be Marco,” Brognola said.

  “Right. I guess he’s the local mouth for New York.”

  “Wrong,” said Brognola. “We’re reading Marco as the new boss of New York. Well, almost. I guess he needs this one. It would cinch the spot for him.”

  Bolan said, “He can’t have it, Hal.”

  “It isn’t exactly a new situation for the boys, you know,” Brognola reminded him. “They were running arms before they started running booze. Except now I guess it’s a hell of a lot more profitable.”

  Bolan growled, “Better than drugs or casinos, sure. I guess they’re probably dreaming of becoming the arms brokers of the third world.”

  “It’s the new wind,” Brognola said, sighing.

  “Well, I guess we’d just better turn on a fan,” Bolan muttered.

  “You got one handy, pal?”

  “If I don’t have, I’ll build one.”

  “You’d better build it damn quick,” the fed said.

  “We could lose this one both ways, you know,” Bolan told him.

  “What do you mean?”

  Bolan held up his cigarette and gazed at the glowing tip. “If we lose,” he said quietly, “both problems get entirely out of hand.”

  “Which both problems are we talking about now?”

  “That resurgence you mentioned. They win this one, Hal, and it could be much more than a resurgence. It could be a rebirth.”

  “Okay. Maybe.”

  “You know damned well I’m right.”

  “Okay, you’re right. What’s that other problem?”

  “Military,” Bolan quietly replied. “If all the nations begin hurling nukes around, pal, you don’t have a military problem. What you have, then, is a military resolution. And that’s what we’ve all been trying to avoid. Isn’t it?”

  The head fed shivered and went to the door. He turned back to pinch at his cheek and say, “Okay, it’s yours. I’ll give you until nightfall before I push the panic button. What kind of support will you need?”

  Bolan asked, “Do you have a hot loop with Washington?”

  “Direct to the man, yeah.”

  “He’s been alerted?”

  “Only in a very general sense. He knows that something is going down. He does not know what it is.”

  Bolan sighed. “You’d better tell him, Hal.”

  “I fully intend to. Right now.�
��

  “Tell him also, then, the importance of tight secrecy. Jordan will have placed wires everywhere. These people are not playing around with satellite communications systems just for the fun of it. Tell him about our suspicions concerning the California connection.”

  Brognola was wearing a perplexed frown. He said, “He’ll have to set up a fail-safe contingency, Striker.”

  Bolan replied, “Sure, but just make sure he understands that it must be done very quietly. As extra-military as possible.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “I’ll need some orders cut for two men, White House mission status with full overrides. Make me a colonel and Jack a major. We’ll need full ID and credentials.”

  “That’s easy. What else?”

  “We’ll need the proper clothing. Uh, combat outfits. Jack weighs about one-fifty. He’s five-ten and properly proportioned. Shoe size … probably an eight. Head … well, say seven and a fourth. That’s all.”

  “That’s all the support?”

  “For now, yes. Keep your force on their toes and ready to move. Monitor all the standard military radio channels and keep scanners on everything else.”

  April pushed through the door at that moment, bearing a heavy stack of computer reads. “It’s started,” she announced gaily.

  “All I want right now is personnel,” Bolan growled. “Put a crew to analyzing the other stuff. I’ll want the results on a piece of paper I can carry in my pocket.”

  She blinked at him and said, “Do we get all of ten minutes to carry out those orders, sir?”

  He told her, “I’ll settle for that, yes.”

  “Nuts!” she cried. “You’re getting ready to fling yourself again, aren’t you!”

  Bolan met Brognola’s worried gaze above the girl’s head. “With all possible haste,” he quietly told the fed.

  Brognola sighed and went on out.

  April deposited the computer runs on the table and turned brooding eyes to the man. “Aren’t you?” she said harshly.

  He took her hand, and squeezed it, and told her, “But not at windmills this time, April.”