System Corruption. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ helped him out of the car and led the colonel around to the driver’s door. They got it open and eased the wounded driver onto the ground. The man was still losing blood and had lapsed into unconsciousness.

      “Do it,” Nelson said and saw Bolan turn and walk away.

      As Bolan approached the SUV he saw the rear passenger door swing open, and a bloodied figure half tumbled from the vehicle. The shooter still had his hands clutched around the submachine gun. When he saw the Executioner he started to lift the weapon. Bolan hit him with a pair of 9 mm slugs in the chest. The force slammed the man against the side of the SUV, pinning him there until gravity took over and he toppled facedown in the dirt. Closing on the SUV, Bolan saw movement from the driver’s seat. The man raised his head and looked at Bolan through the shattered window. He grabbed for the pistol holstered under his jacket, blood-sticky fingers slipping on the grips. He shouldered the door open, twisting around to face his enemy. A 9 mm slug took away his final thoughts, along with a portion of his skull, and spattered the steering wheel with bloody debris.

      Bolan checked the SUV’s interior. As expected, the vehicle was clean. He went through the pockets of the dead men. There was nothing to identify the men or the SUV. Their fingerprints might give some clue to their identities, but that was out of Bolan’s hands.

      He made his way back to Nelson’s car. The colonel had located the first-aid box and was doing what he could to staunch the blood flow from his driver’s wounds.

      “How is he?” Bolan asked, crouching beside them.

      “Couple in the back. Listen, Cooper. I called it in. Police and ambulance are on their way. You should get out of here. No point you getting involved.”

      “Colonel, I am involved. How’s your shoulder?”

      Nelson smiled. “I’m fine. Now haul ass, mister. I’ll handle the flak on this one. You’re better out there on your own. Last thing you need are the cops on your tail. Hal told me you were the right man for this.”

      “You have Hal’s number. If you get anything from the cops that might help, pass it along.”

      Bolan refused to leave until he had fashioned a temporary pressure pad that he bound to Nelson’s shoulder. He made the colonel sit with his back to the car.

      “No moving around, Colonel.”

      “I won’t. Now go. And stay loose, soldier.”

      Bolan stood. “You sure you can hold on until they get here?”

      Nelson was pale, obviously in pain. “I have to. I buried my son today, Cooper. I owe him justice for what happened.”

      “We both do, sir, and he’ll get it.”

      “Stay on this road about a mile. Take a right and it’ll take you back to the main highway.”

      Bolan returned to his car and drove off. He saw Nelson’s car shrink as he gained distance.

      However he looked at the situation he was definitely involved. Fate had decreed Mack Bolan’s participation and he would not shy away from his responsibilities.

       3

      Frank Carella recalled something a friend had said to him some weeks back. It was a passing remark during a social evening out with friends. One of those friends, Cal Ryan, was a feature writer for one of the Washington news groups. He’d mentioned to Carella that he was working on an article that was going to expose shady deals within the armaments industry. Ryan had joked about OTG being one of his targets. He hadn’t said anything more, moving on to another of the group, leaving Carella with the casual remark.

      By the time the evening was over and Carella was on his way home with his girlfriend, Ryan’s words were lost in the slight alcoholic haze that had settled over Carella’s thinking process. He had forgotten completely by the following morning, and back at work the next morning it was business as usual.

      Until now.

      In his apartment he fed the flash drives into his home computer and sat reviewing the data. A couple of hours passed. Realization hit home. Carella slumped back in his seat. He took his eyes from the monitor, the on-screen information a blur. He went to the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee. He stood in the doorway looking across the room at the monitor, trying to decide what to do.

      And it was then he remembered what Ryan had said about looking into the armaments business. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Ryan since that evening. It was not unheard of for the journalist to vanish into the woodwork when he was working an assignment. The man threw himself into his work, moving around as he dug for facts.

      Carella picked up the phone and speed-dialed Ryan’s home number. The phone rang no more than a couple of times before it was picked up.

      “Cal? Frank Carella.”

      “Frank.”

      Carella immediately picked up on Ryan’s monotone response. “Cal, you okay?”

      “To be honest, no. I went to a funeral yesterday. Guess I’m still not over it.”

      “Hey, I’m sorry. Family?”

      “You remember my friend Francis Nelson?

      “Sure. In the military. Was in Iraq a while ago. He’s dead?”

      “Yeah.”

      “What happened, Cal? Was he overseas again?”

      Ryan’s short laugh had a bitter edge to it.

      “He was home. Isn’t that a bummer. The kid was helping me out on an assignment. Looking into irregularities at an army base in Texas. Camp Macklin. Sorry to tell you, Frank, but it was to do with your company.”

      “OTG?” Carella shook his head at the coincidence.

      “Francis was found dead here in Washington shortly after his visit to Texas. A bullet in his back severed his spine. He was alone in his car. Police said the bullet clipped his main artery and he just bled out because the bullet had paralyzed him.”

      “Jesus, Cal, I’m sorry. He was a good kid. I remember him from the times we met. Lesley will be upset. She liked him.”

      There was a brief silence before Ryan spoke again.

      “Why did you call me, Frank?”

      “Would you believe it has to do with OTG? Something that will fit what you’re looking into.”

      “Serious stuff?”

      “High as it can go. Files on altered production specs for combat vehicles OTG builds under contract. I copied it all onto flash drives and walked out of OTG with it.”

      “I’ve been uncovering similar deals. Poor quality body armor for combat troops. Flak jackets. Below specification items. And I have a few names, too. Some government, some military.”

      “You think Francis was killed because he got too close?”

      “Yes.”

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