Читать книгу Betrayed - Don Pendleton - Страница 9

“The guy in the picture is—was—Jamal Mehet. That was how the French police found him in the cellar of a house outside of Paris,” Hal Brognola, director of the Sensitive Operations Group at Stony Man Farm, said. “The house had been rented by some guy who walked into the Paris office of the selling agent. Said he worked for a movie company and they just needed to shoot some interiors for a production. They only needed it for a few days. Guy paid cash. The agent figured it an easy deal because the old place was showing no signs of being bought. It was only when the keys weren’t returned and the agent drove out to check that he found the body. The medical examiner worked out that the body had been in the cellar for at least four days. Before he died Mehet had been subject to some pretty horrendous torture. On top of everything else both his legs had been broken. Fingers on both hands amputated. His teeth torn from his gums. He finally died from a double tap of 9 mm slugs to the back of his skull.”

Mack Bolan looked over the copies of the official police photographs. They were far from pleasant viewing. The fact that he had seen similar images many times over didn’t make any difference. The sight of what had once been a living, breathing human reduced to a shrunken and battered corpse always affected him. The idea that a human could do this to another, for whatever reason, saddened him.

He placed the photographs on the table, pushing them away.

“Not exactly family snapshots,” Brognola remarked. “Whoever did that to Mehet wanted something from him. Badly enough to torture him, then execute him when he was no more use to them.”

“And do you believe they did get something?”

“All we do know is that a couple of days later a hit team breached a villa on the Algerian coast after taking out the four-man security force. Once inside they also killed the two bodyguards, then cut down the guy they had been led to believe was Dr. Sharif Mahoud. Only it wasn’t Mahoud. Guy was a decoy being employed as a diversion while the real Sharif Mahoud was moving to a new location in Afghanistan.”

“Doesn’t look as if it worked the way Mahoud wanted.”

“His opponents found out he was in Afghanistan and broke up his trip. Mahoud and his family were separated, if that’s what you mean. Now the guy needs our help, Mack.”

“If Mahoud can be helped.”

“The President feels we should at least give Dr. Mahoud the benefit of the doubt. We should give the guy his chance. The President believes the man could make a difference.”

Bolan didn’t answer as quickly as Brognola expected, and his silence threw the big Fed slightly off balance.

“Or don’t you agree?” Brognola asked, trying to elicit some kind of response.

“Hal, I understand exactly what you’re pitching on the President’s behalf.”

“I happen to go along with him, Mack. His argument for backing Mahoud makes sense. If the guy can offer something—anything—out there we should be backing him. Hell, the Middle East, the whole region, is in a mess. I’m the first to hold up my hand to that. If someone comes along willing to put himself up as a mediator and without any kind of agenda other than looking for peace…”

Silence again as Bolan considered his friend’s words. He respected Hal Brognola more than any other man he could name. The big Fed was open, without guile, and he would be ahead of the list to cheer if Stony Man had to stand down because universal peace broke out. Brognola carried no death wish on his broad shoulders. He wanted a world where the eradication of violent conflict became the norm, but he also understood the likelihood of such a condition wasn’t in the cards. Greed, ignorance, political and religious desires were simply not going to vanish overnight. So the need for units such as Stony Man remained, and would for a long time.

As much as he might regret that need, Hal Brognola would use Stony Man to continue the fight. He would also reach out for any glimmer of hope, no matter how fragile.

“If you go for it, Hal, I’m in.”

“Son of a bitch,” Brognola muttered good-naturedly. “You enjoy seeing me squirm?”

He understood Bolan’s need to have the nature of a mission clarified, the reason behind it placed before him. The mission had to fit in with Bolan’s own agenda before he would put himself on the firing line.

“Mahoud believes he can bring various factions together, draw them to future meetings with opposing parties long enough to make serious inroads?”

“The man has that ability, Striker. You only have to check back over previous successes, the way he negotiated a cease-fire in one area of Afghanistan. He sat opposing warlords down at the table to talk and finally got them to agree to stop killing each other and cooperate. That was six months ago and the peace has held in that region. Don’t ask me how the guy does it. People have called him a messiah, a holy man. That he has the touch. And that comes from any region across the spectrum. Mention Dr. Sharif Mahoud and you’ve said the magic words.”

“What about the other side of the coin, Hal? He must have enemies. A man with that set of skills has to have upset a lot of people.”

Brognola nodded.

“Damn right. When it comes down to it, Mahoud has the premium. Mullahs. Clerics. Out-and-out hard-liners. They put out calls for his death routinely. He’s been accused of everything from being a false prophet to a blasphemer. His detractors accuse him of trying to weaken the beliefs of those who trust in God. The moderates accuse the hard-liners of being afraid of one man who only wishes to bring about peace across the region.”

“Do we know where Mahoud is right now?”

“Increased threats are forcing him to keep changing locations. He’s trying to stay one step ahead. When his message got through to the President he said he would make his whereabouts known only if the Man promised to bring him to safety.”

“And where would safety be?”

Brognola shrugged. “That’s open to debate. We’re working on it. First we need to get Mahoud and his family free and clear from Afghanistan.”

“Odds are that could be tricky. Bringing one man out from hostile territory isn’t going to be an easy trip.”

“Correction, Stricker. Not one man. Mahoud made a strict stipulation. He’ll fulfill his role as mediator for as long as it takes. But only if his wife and two children are also brought out with him.”

“Four people. An extraction from unfriendly territory. No backup.”

Bolan’s statement wasn’t a question or an exclamation of surprise. It was simply a confirmation of the cold, hard facts.

He leaned back in his seat, gently tapping the file on the table in front of him. Brognola recognized the signs. Bolan working the facts over in his mind, agilely creating and dismissing operational scenarios until he brought the number down to one.

“Five,” Brognola said.

“Say again.”

“Mahoud has a son, Rafiq, who just turned eighteen. He’s a student at Southern Cal, and according to information the kid is a high achiever.”

“In that case I’m going to need an assist. Even I can’t stretch myself between Afghanistan and California.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that so I pulled Carl’s name out of the hat. He’s on standing down at the moment, visiting a friend in Oregon. That puts him the closest to California. I’ll contact him.”

“So when do I get my flight plan?”

“I’m waiting for the President to pass me details,” Brognola replied. “When Mahoud spoke with him, he said one man would be waiting to guide you in to where Mahoud is in hiding. One of the few of his countrymen Mahoud trusts not to betray him.”

“Kind of putting his head into the lion’s jaws, isn’t it? What if this guy isn’t as loyal as Mahoud believes?”

“Mahoud does trust this guy. Enough to put his life in his hands. He’ll take you to Mahoud, then it’s down to you to make sure the man and his family gets safely to the U.S. base for his extract. You bring him out and stay with him until the conference. Stony Man will provide backup and whatever you need. President’s orders. You have full control on this mission.”

Bolan raised the file. “Time for me to read up on Mahoud and his family.”