Oblivion Pact. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ take the payroll in the commander’s safe, or even the loose cash in the register at the officer’s club. They did take a hundred kilos of pure heroin that was waiting to be incinerated, but ignored an even larger amount of crystal meth.”

      Bolan gave a low whistle. That made no sense since the meth would be worth twice, maybe three times, more than the heroin. Everything seemed to point to the thieves being be narcoterrorists, but again, why leave behind the crystal meth? Why in the world would anybody need that much heroin?

      “How do you know they’re not really the police, the drugs are purely misdirection, and in fact this was some kind of a political junta?” Bolan asked pointedly.

      “No way they’re blue,” Brognola stated. “The fat guy is way too big. The woman is too short. The Mexicans have a minimum height requirement for female officers, and there is no record for anybody over seven feet tall ever working for the Mexican police.”

      “Fair enough. Okay, what did they take?”

      “Mostly heavy weapons, rocket launchers, Stinger missiles, radar defusers, VX nerve gas, and every working gunship on the base. Nineteen to be exact.”

      “What types?”

      “Mostly Apache and Cobra, but also a couple of armed Black Hawks. Not state-of-the-art, but all in perfect working condition, and armed to the teeth.”

      “Maybe they plan on selling the helicopters. The Apaches alone would fetch a small fortune in certain parts of the world.”

      “I wish it was true.” Brognola frowned. “However, they also took a Black Hawk medical unit.”

      “Any blood missing from the base hospital?”

      “According to the records, about a hundred units of blood plasma, and ten more of AB positive.”

      “But nothing else?”

      “Just the usual medical supplies, sutures, bandages, forceps and such.”

      “AB positive is a pretty rare blood type,” Bolan said slowly.

      “Yes, it is,” Brognola said. “So I ran that through the Interpol database, along with the general descriptions of the three people armed with unusual weapons.”

      Bolan understood. Most of the thieves were carrying an F-8S. Anyone carrying a different weapon would be either a specialist, who might have a crime record, or else he or she was the person in charge.

      “Now, the fat guy has an XM-25 grenade rifle,” Brognola said flipping through the shots to find the ones he wanted, then freezing them. “The woman has a Neostead shotgun, while the giant is carrying an F88 assault rifle...but has a Falcon automatic pistol in his shoulder holster. Everybody else is carrying a police-issue Glock.”

      “What did you find?” Bolan asked, suddenly interested.

      “Again nothing,” Brognola admitted honestly, taking a sandwich. “The President thinks I’m overreacting. But he’s a politician, and I’m a street cop.”

      “Correction. The top cop for the nation.”

      “Just a cop all the same. Half of this job is going with a gut instinct, and I’ve got a bad one on this thing, Striker,” Brognola said with a grimace. “There was just something hinky about these three, so I ran their descriptions through the entire government database. That brought up something.”

      He took a bite of the sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “The giant appears to be Dalton Greene, the Australian billionaire, which makes the other two his bodyguards, Victor Layne and Samantha LoMonaco.”

      “How hard is that intel?”

      “Weak, only around fifty percent accurate.”

      “Weak is a nice way to put it.”

      “Accepted. Then I read that Greene and his bodyguards all died in a fiery car crash last week, the bodies burned beyond recognition.”

      As the pictures on the screen stopped, Bolan sat back in his chair. “Chalk up another win for the gut instinct,” he said slowly. “This reeks to high heaven.”

      Dalton Greene had been on Bolan’s radar for quite a while. There was nothing specific, just a lot of little indicators that the Aussie billionaire was dirty.

      “How did they take the base?” Bolan asked.

      Brognola shrugged. “Forensics isn’t sure yet, but I think they staged a riot in Cancun yesterday, then ambushed the police and stole their cars.”

      “You think?”

      “None of the police officers who responded to the call have been found yet. The attack zone was swept clean. Literally swept clean, like it was a zen rock garden.”

      “Which means the cops are most likely shark food at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico.”

      “Probably.”

      This was an interesting puzzle, Bolan realized. Greene was rich enough to buy the number of stolen helicopters, plus the weapons, on the black market. So why would he go to all the trouble to steal them? Merely to hide his identity, or was there something darker at play, some twist that he couldn’t quite see yet?

      Reaching out, he tapped a button to start the flow of chaotic images once more. By now, Bolan was starting to get a bad feeling in his own gut. Ruthless, patient, cool and bloodthirsty. These were hard boys with a game plan. That always spelled big trouble.

      “It looks like I’m going to Mexico....”

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Mexico City, Mexico

      The air was cool and crisp inside the Alhambra Night Club, scrubbed and sterilized by a host of machines designed to remove any trace of pollution from the bustling metropolis just outside the front door.

      A sparkling disco ball on the ceiling filled the room with artificial starlight, and a live band on the stage softly played classical love songs. Young couples danced on the floor and old married couples looked on from their tables, holding hands and smiling in fond memory. Everybody was well-dressed, suits and ties for the gentlemen, flowing dresses with wrist corsages for the ladies.

      Standing outside the club was a pair of former bank guards whose only job was to keep out anybody deemed unsuitable, no matter how much money they were offered as a bribe, or what amazing sexual favors were promised in exchange for a quick peek inside. Unfortunately, no security system was perfect.

      With a lopsided smile, the drunk woman leaned closer. “I lo-love big men,” she slurred, a plump breast nearly falling out of her black satin dress.

      Saying nothing in reply, Special Agent Willard Cinco moved one chair away at the hotel bar.

      She followed along.

      “I sa-said that I love big, muscular, men,” she whispered, attempting a sexy smile and failing utterly. “Don’t you like me?”

      “I like you СКАЧАТЬ