Perilous Cargo. Don Pendleton

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      “It’s a little more politically complicated than that,” Brognola replied. “It’s crucial, yes, to recover the weapon, but there’s more at play than just the danger this rogue weapon represents. If we can get our hands on it before the Russians do, we can prove that they haven’t lived up to the treaties we’ve signed. Which means a lot of concessions from them at the bargaining table, especially in regard to places like North Korea and Pakistan.”

      “And if the Russians recover it first?” Nischal asked.

      “Then they’ll have complete deniability and we’ll lose our advantage. There are other considerations, too. It’s only a matter of time until the Chinese learn something’s going on. Depending on how this plays out, they could decide to launch a military action in Tibet. Worse, if that weapon is launched, then we could be looking at the beginning of World War III.”

      Bolan nodded thoughtfully. “That’s an eight-hundred kiloton weapon with a range of over six thousand miles. Whoever stole it could blow a pretty big hole in a lot of places...India, China, the Middle East.”

      “Great Britain, America,” Nischal added. “Not to mention that a weapon like this violates the very sanctity of what many in the area believe. It could divide the region, sending many into prayer and others off to war. This weapon could cause huge upheaval even if it doesn’t blow anything up.”

      “Hal, how do you want to play this?” Bolan asked.

      “It’s straightforward enough. We’re going to send you in fast and quiet. Retake the weapon and deliver it to Delhi, where we’ll have a transport waiting to get it to the United States. After, you’ll go back and ensure that we’ve got on-the-ground intelligence on the facility to confirm our claims.”

      “How are we going in?” Nischal asked.

      “We?” Bolan said. “Who said anything about ‘we’? I assumed you were here because you had some kind of intelligence on the situation.”

      “Colonel Stone, Alina is an expert on the region and she speaks all the languages, including the dialects. Both of you will be going.” Brognola’s voice was firm.

      Nischal smirked. “Don’t worry, Colonel. I’m field qualified in weapons, hand to hand and tactics.”

      “All right,” Bolan said. “Let’s just hope you can live up to your training. Given the danger, I imagine the alternatives to coming up short will be less than pleasant.”

      “I’ll carry my weight,” she replied coolly. “And yours, too, if it comes to that.”

      “It won’t,” he said, then looked at Brognola. “What kind of insertion are you planning?”

      “We’ve got a B-2 Spirit on ready alert at Andrews. You’ll do a HALO jump just over the border in Tibet.” He brought up a map of the region on his phone and showed it to them. “This is a pretty desolate area, but there are several warlords operating in the region, according to our latest intel, so watch yourselves.”

      “What do we have on them?” Bolan asked. “Anything specific?”

      “No one passes in or out of that region without at least one of them knowing,” Nischal said. “There is one operative who knows everything there is to know about the players in that area, though.”

      “And who might that be?” Bolan asked.

      She raised her hand and fanned her fingers in the air, waving them daintily. “Don’t worry, Colonel Stone. I’ll take care of you.”

      “Let’s see how it goes in the field before we worry about who’s taking care of who,” Bolan said dryly.

      “And on that charming note, I believe I’ll go and get ready. I’ll meet you at Andrews, Colonel.” She turned and added a respectful goodbye to Brognola.

      Bolan watched her saunter off and shook his head. Hopefully, she was more than a pretty face and a sharp mind.

      “Hal, we didn’t cover this, but how do you expect me to get that damn missile—assuming I can find it—from Tibet all the way to India?”

      The big Fed shrugged. “My guess is you’ll have to drive it.”

      “Drive it!” Bolan choked. “You’re talking about more than five hundred miles, in hostile territory, in what’s likely to be lousy weather.”

      “Don’t forget all the mountains and the wind,” Brognola said, chuckling. “Just like when you walked to school back in the day.”

      “Very funny,” he said. “I’m serious. You want me to drive it to Delhi?”

      “Unless you come up with a better idea once you’ve got it, that’s the only move we’ve got in this case.”

      Bolan sighed heavily and started to say something, but Brognola cut him off. “Before you say anything else about Alina, you know that I can’t override the President of the United States. He wants her along and he trusts her for some reason.”

      “Hal, you’re sending us into hostile terrain while we try and track down a nuke. I’ll spend the whole mission trying to make certain she isn’t killed, and that’s assuming she survives a HALO jump out of the cargo bay of a stealth bomber in a country not known for its charming weather conditions.”

      “Don’t count her as baggage just yet, Striker. I’ve read her file, and I think she’ll give you a run for your money. She’s the real deal and has been working in the field for the CIA for over a decade. She can handle herself.”

      Bolan wasn’t entirely convinced, but the deal was done. There was no point in arguing any further. “Have a nice trip, Striker,” Brognola said. “Try to leave something in Nepal standing. The Chinese will know we’ve been up to something if Mount Everest isn’t there next week.”

      “I’ll do my best.”

      “You always do,” he said. “That’s why I’m sending you.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      The city of Yangon, which had been the capital of Myanmar until the early years of the new millennium, was a mix of the old and the new. Temples and shrines in gold and silver and white upheld the glory of years past, while the city center itself contained both colonial and modern buildings—most of which were tied to the government in one way or another. Much of the hidden work of the regional government was still done in this city, rather than the new capital. The media, including television, radio and the internet, were all tightly controlled, and access to technology was expensive. It was an unhappy place in many ways, despite the charming landscape. Tourists came here and saw nothing of how the population was segmented, keeping to their own areas and minding their own affairs, trying not to be noticed by the oppressive government. Citizens sat on the streets, drinking tea praying at the temples or selling tokens to travelers.

      Nizar Vitaly despised the city with a true passion. His mother was Russian, and he never truly felt at home anywhere else.

      Like most government buildings in the area, the Russian Consulate was an older СКАЧАТЬ