Critical Exposure. Don Pendleton

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      “Best guess?”

      “Another day, maybe two. After that it won’t matter if we don’t have any answers because as you’ve pointed out, the code will have fractured to such a degree it’ll be useless as tits on a bull.”

      “Fair enough,” Bolan said. “But what if I told you I know somebody who might be able to help you speed up the process?”

      “I’m open to suggestions,” Osborne said with splayed hands. “At this point I see we got nothing to lose trying everything.”

      “Glad to hear it,” Bolan replied. “Because I have just the right guy for the job.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      “Talk to me, Bear,” Mack Bolan said.

      “We were able to pick apart the code,” Kurtzman replied. “Akira managed to find the obligatory self-destruct codes and shut them down, so we had enough transitory information left behind. After that it became a cakewalk.”

      “Akira” was Akira Tokaido, one of the best computer hackers in the world, and a valued member of Aaron Kurtzman’s cyber team.

      “So you know where the original intercept program was sourced?”

      “To within a grid about a quarter-mile square.” A pause ensued and then he continued. “The transmissions were sourced from a wireless, high-frequency satellite tower in the central Rockies. I’m uploading the exact coordinates via secure link to Jack’s navigation system. He can then set it from there and put you down on almost a dime.”

      “Unless it’s heavily wooded,” Bolan remarked.

      “I made sure they had rappelling gear aboard, boss,” Grimaldi chimed in. He’d been listening to the conversation through his own headset.

      “Looks like we’re set then,” Bolan told Kurtzman. “Thanks again for the assist, Bear. I’ll be in touch when we know something more.”

      Bolan signed off.

      The beating of chopper blades against the air threatened to vibrate Bolan’s innards down to the bone. Unfortunately the older Bell-Huey was the only thing they could get on such short notice, and the Executioner hadn’t wanted to wait for something more modern. Besides, if Kurtzman’s preliminary information panned out—something for which Bolan had little doubt otherwise—he wouldn’t be spending a very long time aboard.

      Bolan squeezed his frame out of the jump seat in back and began to prepare his equipment. He’d already changed out of his Class A uniform for woodland camouflage fatigues. He donned a web harness that held a portable medical kit, combat knife and four M-67 high explosive grenades. He whipped out his .44 Magnum Desert Eagle, checked the action and ensured a round was chambered before replacing it in his hip holster. Finally he slung an MP5K.

      Under normal circumstances Bolan would have preferred something a bit more powerful in a primary assault weapon, but he figured if the terrain happened to be mountainous, he would need to carry light. His judgment had proved sound given the territory Kurtzman described. The model he carried boasted a side-folding stock, quick-detach sound suppressor and a 3-round burst mode. It chambered 9 mm rounds in a 30-round steel magazine.

      Light but durable, yeah.

      Bolan looked forward and saw Grimaldi twirl his finger. He donned the headset. “Go ahead, Jack.”

      “We’re almost on point. Based on what I’m seeing, there’s no place to put down, Sarge. Looks like you’ll be going in the hard way.”

      “Could be just as well,” Bolan replied. “I don’t know what I’m going up against, and I don’t want to risk putting this old crate in harm’s way.”

      “It would mean a long walk home,” Grimaldi said. “Understood.”

      “I’ll get the winch deployed,” Bolan said. “Once I’m through, I’ll find an extraction point and send a homing signal. Might want to take the time to get back and find something a little more...say, robust.”

      “Roger,” Grimaldi stated. “Stay frosty, Sarge.”

      Bolan grunted an affirmation before abandoning the headset and moving to the swing-out winch. He got the rescue arm into position and locked, and then expertly deployed the take-up and belay lines through the rigging just beneath the winch head. Once that was done he quickly put his legs through the climbing harness, put the sling in place and hooked up the carabiner through the working end of the take-up and belay lines.

      Grimaldi piloted the chopper with the expertise that had earned him a reputation with Bolan as perhaps one of the greatest tactical pilots ever to lay a hand on a stick. Flying talent seemed to be something that was part of Grimaldi’s blood, an enigmatic and invisible element that coursed through the man’s veins. Like Bolan’s talents as a warrior, Grimaldi had a natural gift that not only made him a consummate flier but a solid ally in Bolan’s War Everlasting.

      The soldier called a last farewell and then bailed out of the chopper without hesitation as soon as Grimaldi reached hover point. He descended the rope steadily but not too quickly. Even rappelling into the woods held intrinsic dangers, and Bolan had enough experience to know it wasn’t good to rush things. He could fall or slip or experience an equipment malfunction, and descending at a controlled speed under such circumstances could be the thing that saved him from a backbreaking fall.

      The cards were with Bolan and he easily passed through the treetops to find the cool forest earth rushing to greet him. At the last twenty yards, Bolan yanked his arm behind him and jerked twice to slow his descent. A moment later his boots touched the ground and he crouched to absorb the mild impact. He unclipped his belt, released the lines through the carabiner and then donned the portable communications earplug and attached the throat microphone.

      “Striker to Eagle, you copy?” Bolan whispered.

      “Go, Striker.”

      “I’m down and set. Beat feet back to base and get us some modern chops,” Bolan replied.

      “You got it, Striker. Good luck.”

      “You, too. Out.”

      Bolan clicked off and removed the ear bud and mike before stowing them carefully in the pouch at his side. He was now in communications blackout and would remain that way until he either called for extraction or they found his bloody, battered corpse.

      Bolan activated the electronic compass on his right wrist. He checked his bearings and realized Grimaldi had dropped him nearly on the spot of the coordinates Kurtzman had sent them. The soldier began to look around him, but he couldn’t see the tower—not yet, anyway. The dense foliage overhead did a good job of blocking most of the sunlight, and only by the fact it was midday did Bolan have any light at all. He did one last equipment check and set off.

      It took him about ten minutes of walking in ever-widening circles, using the compass as his guide, before Bolan found the tower. He made sure nobody was around before stepping into the small clearing and approaching the base. It was tall, but when he looked up he could just barely see the top of it through the trees. So that was it. They hadn’t spotted it because whoever had СКАЧАТЬ