Contagion Option. Don Pendleton

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      The laptop beeped. The monitor switched to a communication panel and Aaron Kurtzman’s voice came over the line. “Striker…”

      “I’m on,” Bolan replied, activating the laptop’s built-in microphone. “What’s up?”

      “You hear about the possible Korean street gang involvement in a Salt Lake City bank robbery?” Kurtzman asked.

      “Yeah. That got your attention, too?” Bolan commented.

      “It hit some of my buttons. I noticed something strange, too, in the livestock on its way to Korea,” Kurtzman answered.

      “Rancher brands from near Salt Lake City?” Bolan asked.

      Kurtzman didn’t sound surprised by Bolan’s wild guess. “You looked at them and recognized the brands?”

      “Nope. Just a stab in the dark,” Bolan replied. “Any thoughts on if they could have been faked?” Bolan asked, getting back on topic.

      “Brands aren’t national secrets, Striker,” Kurtzman responded. “Anyone with a good search engine would be able to pick up samples of all these brands. You’re thinking what?”

      Bolan’s jaw tensed. “Dugway, livestock and anthrax all had one point in time where they were linked.”

      “Yeah, that caught my attention, too,” Kurtzman answered. “We’re sitting on the information about the cattle brands and conducting covert inquiries about any cattle rustling.”

      “Anything?” Bolan asked.

      “Just that a rancher found another mutilated cow as of last week,” the Stony Man computer genius replied.

      Bolan’s brow furrowed. “Any photographs?”

      “I’ll transmit them to your laptop.”

      “How good is the resolution?” Bolan asked.

      Grimaldi winced and gave a yelp as he looked at a cow head, its lips seared away to expose bare teeth. “Good grief!”

      “Good enough,” Kurtzman answered.

      “Sorry,” Grimaldi replied.

      Bolan looked at the carcass a little more closely. “Interesting.”

      “What?” Kurtzman replied.

      “The soft tissue was all excised—lips, organs, eyes…”

      “Yeah. Same as always.”

      “And bloodless. No mess on the ground,” Bolan added.

      “Standard operating procedure with all these mutilations,” Kurtzman responded. “No clues left behind as to how these things were slaughtered on scene, and yet no blood was found.”

      “And if you were a homicide detective, what would you conclude?” Bolan prodded.

      “That the animal was slaughtered somewhere else and brought to the ‘crime scene,’” Kurtzman stated. “But these are animals that should have been missing in the morning.”

      “Allegedly,” Bolan responded. “After all, cows are cows.”

      “There are some distinguishing marks, and the brands…”

      “Aaron, what was the age range among the livestock found on the freighter?” Bolan asked.

      “Various ages, and various stages of marking. Striker, what are you getting at?”

      “This makes a good smoke screen,” Bolan stated. “If people are wondering why one animal was brutally mutilated in a manner that leaves no forensic evidence, they might not be looking at something else.”

      “Like contraband inserted in the carcass’s body cavity?” Kurtzman replied.

      “More than one carcass, likely,” Bolan stated. “It’s an open field, right?”

      “So, the one missing animal…”

      “Would be matched up to a body that, after all the mutilation, would be as identical as possible,” Bolan stated.

      “Some corpses have been described as outsize for the missing animals, as if they’d been mutated…”

      “Or it was just an animal with similar fur patterns as the smaller missing cow. Hollowed out with its soft tissue missing, it would look like something could have deformed the animal,” Bolan explained.

      “You take all the fun out of conspiracy theories,” Kurtzman mumbled.

      “I’ve yet to run into a conspiracy that was fun,” Bolan retorted.

      “Usually because they’re out to kill you,” Kurtzman added.

      “There’s that,” Bolan replied. “Smuggling from Korea to Utah…but not the other way around?”

      “Perhaps the exports from the area are of a more subtle means,” Kurtzman mused. “Though, that explains why the bank robbers were armed with 5.45 mm ComBloc ammunition.”

      “Five point forty-five?” Bolan asked. “Usually street gangs use either stolen National Guard M-16s, in 5.56 mm, or AK-47s smuggled up from Central and South America, in 7.62 mm. That’s still cutting-edge equipment. How’d you find that out?”

      “FBI agents at the scene figured it out after they tore apart a police car,” Kurtzman explained. “I’m sending what reports we have. Unfortunately, any other forensic analysis is going to be put on hold since half the bank collapsed.”

      “The hostages?”

      “Alive and well,” Kurtzman informed him. “The FBI and police rushed the bank as soon as the robbers disappeared into the basement. They evacuated everyone before the building came down.”

      “Anyone hurt?” Bolan asked.

      “A SWAT commander suffered a broken collarbone and three broken ribs, and an FBI contract agent took a whack on the head, but they’re okay.”

      Bolan nodded. “Who was the contract agent, one of our blacksuits?”

      “No, but he’s a friend of one of our irregulars, Kirby Graham,” Kurtzman stated. “I don’t know if you met…”

      “Close Quarters Combat training in hazardous material environments, three years ago,” Bolan stated. “It was a refresher course for me as much as it was for them.”

      “Good memory,” Kurtzman complimented.

      “It helps in this business,” the Executioner replied. “And the contract agent?”

      “Old college buddy of his, Professor Stan Reader.”

      “I’ve heard of him, too,” Bolan stated. “Buck Greene and I have СКАЧАТЬ