Line Of Honor. Don Pendleton

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      This was met with some grumbling, but phones, tablets, laptops and other devices were handed over.

      The largest space upstairs had been converted into a conference room. Two folding tables had been pushed together, and ten chairs surrounded it. Bolan took the seat at the head of the table. Nelsonne took the foot and her two recruits flanked her. Everyone else filled in the sides. Without being prompted, servers entered, bringing roasted lamb, couscous, kebabs of vegetables and buckets of beer.

      “That’s the ticket!” Ceallach announced, and immediately began tucking in. The rest of the team attacked the spread like a wolf pack. Bolan waited until the first plate and the first beers had been consumed. He glanced behind him and a server brought in a covered dish. It was uncovered with a flourish to reveal banded stacks of euros.

      Eating and drinking around the table ceased.

      Five thousand euros had been wired to each individual when they accepted their plane ticket. The other half had been promised on arrival. Bolan took a bundle and tossed it at Lkhümbengarav. The Mongol grinned and snatched it out of the air. Bolan tossed bundles of cash around the table like a cash machine with a throwing arm. Mercs grinned and riffled the stacks.

      “May I have your attention?”

      Ceallach cracked open a Heineken beer and grinned. “All ears, guv.”

      “We’re going into the Sudan, and the Sudanese government won’t be pleased if we are discovered. We aren’t officially sanctioned by any government. No one will come to save our asses if we get in trouble.”

      “Where in the Sudan?” Ching asked.

      “Can’t tell you.”

      That was met by a genuinely inscrutable look.

      Tshabalala cocked his head. “What’s the objective?”

      “Can’t tell you just yet.”

      The majority of the faces around the table went flat. Pienaar scratched his thin platinum hair and spoke for everyone. “So, we’re just supposed to follow who knows who to who knows where to do who knows what? Sounds like shit to me, china.”

      “Sounds like kak,” Tshabalala agreed.

      Bolan shrugged. “Finish your beer, finish your food, take your money and walk.”

      Lkhümbengarav turned his gaze on Bolan. “Okay, GI, you saying I can drink my fill, eat my fill, take this money and go home? Five thousand euros?”

      “At this point it’s ten, but yeah.”

      “Round eye?” The Mongolian snorted. “You fascinate me. Uncle Sam just tossing his money away these days?”

      “It’s not Uncle Sam’s money. It’s mine, and I want you all in or on your way. It’s going to get rough and mean really fast.”

      Nelsonne laced her fingers together and made a hammock for her chin. She smiled demurely. “Why all the secrecy?”

      “We already made one attempt on the target. We got compromised and got jumped by Sudanese fighters.”

      “Sudanese fighters?” The Serbian spoke for the first time.

      “A pair of Su-25s.”

      The Russian’s eyes locked on Bolan. “And?”

      “We shot them down.”

      Nelsonne kept smiling. “I have heard nothing about this.”

      Bolan nodded. “Yeah, funny about that.”

      Ochoa leaned back in his chair. “Jefe, I don’t care if we’re marching to Mars. I need the job. Ten thousands euros is a nice fat chunk of change, but you can’t retire on it or start over. I’ve got no prospects and I got mi madre and nine brothers and sisters who really need a cash infusion. What’s the pay?”

      “Fifty thousand euros or its equivalent in any currency you want wired to the accounts I set up for you as soon as we deploy.” Every face around the table save Grimaldi’s and Nelsonne’s went flat again. “Fifty thousand more to anyone who makes it out alive, success or failure.”

      Jaws dropped.

      “Any medical care needed afterward will be fully paid at my expense. If for some reason there are delays or we need to extract and redeploy, I’m willing to entertain bonus pay.”

      You could have heard a pin drop.

      Bolan shot a killer grin. “Who’s in?”

      Pienaar whistled and stared down the neck of his beer. “Tentatively, china, but what’s the plan?”

      “We’re going to deploy on the ground posing as an NGO humanitarian convoy and then take a very unexpected turn.”

      Tshabalala visibly relaxed as he saw it. “And when we get close to the package we go low in the bush and acquire the package.”

      “That’s about the size of it.”

      The Russian lit a contemplative cigarette. “And we drive back?”

      “Maybe.” Bolan nodded at Grimaldi. “Or he extracts us.”

      “And if there are more Sukhois?”

      Grimaldi sipped his beer nonchalantly. “We already shot down two.”

      Bolan cracked himself another beer. “So, who’s in?”

      Ochoa shot his hand up. “Me!”

      “Sounds like a bloody movie.” Ceallach shook his head and raised his hand. “I’m in.”

      “Sounds like shit,” Pienaar said.

      “Sounds like kak,” Tshabalala agreed.

      The two men grinned and spoke in unison. “We’re in.”

      Ching finished his beer. “Well, I have never been to the Sudan, and I have no pressing engagements.”

      Lkhümbengarav inclined his beer at Ching. “What he said, hot rod.”

      Bolan looked at Nelsonne, who reached for another beer. “I was already decided in Bruges.”

      Bolan didn’t bother to ask the Russian or the Serb. He was pretty sure Nelsonne had decided them in Bruges, as well. “All right, real quick. We can all get to know one another later, but our mission language is going to be English, and I need to keep things simple.” Bolan looked at Tlou Tshabalala. “You got a lot of la-la-las for tactical communications.”

      “Call me T-Lo, everyone does.”

      “Done.”

      Gus Pienaar piped up without being asked. “Goose, been my name since I was kid.”

      Bolan looked at his Royal Marine. СКАЧАТЬ