Читать книгу Lethal Compound - Don Pendleton - Страница 8

San Luis Obispo, California

The Executioner connected his laptop computer to his secure satellite link and then leaned back on the hotel bed. He’d left Gary Manning with Eckhart for the last twenty-four hours to see if he could pick up any intel around the lodge while Kurtzman worked the angles from his end. Bolan had found an SUV on the back side of the hill. It had been rented in town under a false name. The prisoner wasn’t talking so local law enforcement had handed him over to the FBI.

Bolan typed in a few codes and Aaron Kurtzman popped up on his screen in real time. “So what can you tell me about our buddy Eckhart?” Bolan asked.

Kurtzman grinned on the screen. “Well, Gary says his spit-roasted wild boar is fantastic. He’s hot-tubbing with supermodels, drinking single malt Scotch and Eckhart calls him ‘good buddy.’”

Bolan shook his head.

“He also says that Eckhart really is a hell of a guy. Real regular Joe, for a billionaire,” Kurtzman added.

“That’s what everyone seems to be saying,” Bolan replied.

“I’ve been researching our man, and it seems to be true. For example, a few years back he invested in African diamond mines. He started dating a French actress who gave him the lecture about African blood diamonds and he completely divested himself of the business on his end and took a loss.”

Bolan had to admit that was unusual for a captain of industry. “What else? There’s got to be some dirt on the man.”

“Well…he likes to date models.”

“Big deal,” Bolan said. “Anything else?”

“Well…he’s always had a love affair with archaeology.”

“Well, now we’ve got him.” Bolan folded his arms across his chest decisively.

Kurtzman sighed. “I know. Hear me out. Amateur archaeology is his passion. The guy hands out grants like party favors to universities with red-hot archaeology departments. And if there’s one real boondoggle in his life, one place where he makes bad business choices, it’s archaeology. The man has thrown away some serious coin on far-flung digs and treasure hunts that went nowhere. Of course he can afford it, but we’re talking about a genuine addiction for digging around in the sandbox.”

Bolan considered the information. “Bring up his guest list at the hunting lodge again.”

Kurtzman clicked keys and the names and photos popped onto Bolan’s screen. He scanned them and pointed at a name. “Dr. Marcus Klein. Doctor of what?”

Kurtzman searched. “Professor of classical archaeology, UC Berkeley.”

“Not your average great white hunter,” Bolan said.

“No.” Kurtzman’s craggy brow furrowed. “He’s a card-carrying member of PETA, actually.”

“Something very intriguing must have made him ignore his scruples and attend a billionaire’s pig hunt in rural California.”

“He wants a grant? A lot of academics do a lot of things they’re ashamed of to receive funding.”

Bolan tapped another picture on his screen. “Who’s the blonde?” She had long straight hair, arched eyebrows, full lips and big white teeth. She looked curvaceous and was wearing a pink argyle sweater and pin-striped pants. Stylish square eyeglasses completed her look. She had the fulsome, librarian seductress look going to the hilt. “She’s not Eckhart’s usual Euro-lanky ice-queen girlfriend.”

Kurtzman grinned. He was a man who appreciated a woman with curves. “That is Nancy Rhynman. Double major in archaeology and linguistics. Specializing in ancient Greek studies on the one hand and primate body language on the other.”

“Primate body language?”

“She wrote a thesis matching ape gestures, expressions and body language to humans. She speaks on the lecture circuit and gives corporate seminars on reading body language to help businesses get ahead.”

“That’s got to pay more than the ancient Greeks.” Bolan’s eyes narrowed. “What is Professor Klein’s specialty?”

Kurtzman smiled as he saw where this was going. “The ancient Greeks.”

“Eckhart probably wouldn’t care about reading body language except as cocktail conversation. This Nancy gal is attractive but he already has a supermodel girlfriend. She’s there for her archaeological expertise. So is Klein. I need you to find out what they’re all up to,” Bolan said.

The computer chimed. The Executioner clicked on Accept and a video inset of Gary Manning appeared. “Hello, boys!”

“What have you got on your end?’ Bolan asked.

“Turns out the guys with the big guns were doing more than firing for effect. The weapons were Hungarian Gepard rifles. The M3 version, chambered for 14.5 mm Russian rounds. We’re talking a thousand-grain bullet traveling at over three thousand feet per second. I surveyed the damage. You could put your fist through some of the holes they punched through that house.”

Bolan had seen the weapons up close and didn’t doubt it.

“And here’s the real interesting thing,” Manning continued. “They put a round through Eckhart’s bedroom that hit his bed, his pillow actually, right on the side of the bed where he sleeps. In his private study his computer was smashed apart and the trajectory would have cut him in half if he’d been online. They put a round where he sits in his favorite chair in the TV room, one through the dining room that would have killed anyone sitting at the head of the table and another one would have taken him on the can in the master bedroom. These guys had intimate knowledge of Eckhart’s place and had his usual stationary spots plotted in their firing computers. I’ve never seen an assassination attempt like this, but I’m telling you, it was slick.”

The fact they knew the inside of Eckhart’s house and the usual places he lurked implied he’d been betrayed from within and his enemies were willing to go to extraordinary lengths to kill him. “How’s life at the lodge otherwise?” Bolan asked.

“Going swimmingly, actually. Phil and I are—”

“Phil?” Bolan inquired.

“Yeah, Phil. That’s his name.” Manning sounded vaguely offended. “Anyway, we all know Phil didn’t want CIA spooks or FBI suits lurking in every corner of his life. But after last night he’s pretty grateful and he seems to like me a whole lot.” Manning was positively smug. “I just happen to have the news flash you’ve been waiting for.”

“And what would that be?” Bolan asked.

“Eckhart’s planning, how does he like to put it? An…endeavor.”

Bolan and Kurtzman both smiled at the same time. “Would that be an archaeological endeavor?” Bolan asked.

Manning deflated as his thunder was stolen. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Skill and science. So where’s our boy headed?” Kurtzman asked.

“Don’t know. But he’s hinting like it’s a real roughing-it situation, and he implied it’s outside North America. He mentioned mountains and unfriendly natives and asked if I knew how to ride a horse. The real interesting news is that Eckhart said he’s hiring security for the endeavor, and we’re talking mercs.”

“So what did you say?” Bolan asked.

“I didn’t have to say anything. He offered me the job of head of security.”

“You took the job?” Bolan said.

“Naw, I wanted to, but I told him I couldn’t do it. Told him I had other commitments. I did tell him I knew a guy who was reliable, not on the government payroll and needed a job.” Manning gave Bolan a shit-eating grin over the link.

Bolan nodded. It was true, he didn’t work for the United States government. It was truer to say he had a working relationship with it, though the lines got blurry sometimes even for him. “Nice work. You find out anything else?”

“Not too much. When he and I weren’t flapping our gums about the great outdoors Phil spent a lot of time in his private study with some professor guy and a bubbly blonde.”

Bolan and Bear shot each other knowing looks.

Manning perked up. “Oh, and the Gurkha? I got his name. Lalbahadur Rai, and you were right, Striker. Phil hired him through Gurkha Security Limited, U.K. With that and his name we should be able to check his credentials, but I can tell you right now just by watching him. He’s a badass.”

Every Gurkha Bolan had ever met was. Pound for pound they were some of the toughest soldiers on earth. “How am I supposed to do the meet-and-greet with Eckhart?” he asked.

“Don’t know your ultimate destination, but if you want the job, you’ll meet him and the rest of his team in London. I chatted you up and he’s excited to meet you. I also told him you were broke so he has a round-trip plane ticket, first class and spending money with your name on it if you’ll come and give his endeavor a listen. Oh, and the job? It pays a thousand dollars a day, and he mentioned something about bonuses.” Manning’s face grew serious. “Oh, and one other thing.”

Bolan instantly knew he wasn’t going to like it. “What’s that?”

“He’s taking the attempts on his life seriously, but at the same time, he’s not.”

Bolan had seen this before in very powerful men. “This is a game to him.”

“Guarding him isn’t going to be easy.” Manning leaned back in his chair. “What do you want me to tell him?”

Bolan glanced into his camera. “Bear?”

“Well I don’t exactly like it.” Kurtzman scratched his beard. “But this is exactly the kind of mysterious activity the president wanted investigated, that and keeping our billionaire’s brain inside his skull are both going to be easier to do from the inside. It’s your call, Striker, but I would say accept.”

Bolan made his decision. “Gary, tell Phil I’m excited about this plan and I’m thankful to be a part of it.”

THE EXECUTIONER WAS ON A PLANE to London when his laptop peeped at him. Bolan watched the codes scroll across the screen. Kurtzman was trying to contact him. Bolan keyed in his own codes and Kurtzman appeared on his screen. Bolan put his earbuds in place and opened an instant messaging window.

Kurtzman looked concerned. “We think we know your destination, at least generally,” he said.

That was quick, Bolan typed. Where?

“Tajikistan. MI6 intercepted chatter.”

Chatter from where? Bolan typed.

“From their agents in the People’s Republic of China.”

Bolan clicked some keys and brought up a map of Tajikistan. What’s the gist of the chatter?

“Nothing conclusive. The only thing that is certain is that the Chinese know about Phillip Eckhart’s endeavor. They knew where he was going before we did, and they seem to be keenly interested.”

How would the Chinese find out?

“We don’t know,” Kurtzman said.

I can only think of one reason why China would care, Bolan typed.

Kurtzman nodded. “Heroin.”

Bolan knew from hard experience that there were three major heroin production centers. One was in Latin America, based out of Mexico and Colombia. The second was Southeast Asia, with Myanmar being party central. The third was Southwest Asia, and Afghanistan was ground zero. Afghani heroin took two major overland routes. One was the Balkan route. Turkey was the anchor and from there it branched out through the Balkans to eastern and western Europe. The other path followed the ancient Silk Road to Russia, the Baltic states and other former Soviet republics. Tajikistan was a major gateway state of the Heroin Silk Route.

Bolan knew China had a new generation of billionaire venture capitalists who sailed the seas of international commerce like buccaneers, and Chinese Triads were still the biggest heroin merchants in the world. They got most of their product from Southeast Asia, but the new breed of Chinese businessmen and gangsters were nothing if not expansionist in outlook.

The U.S. invasion of Afghanistan and the toppling of the Taliban had done little to stop the Southwest Asian heroin trade, but many routes had been closed, many drug warlords had been toppled. The situation was in flux and there were vacuums to be filled. The Chinese underworld and the mostly off-the-leash venture capitalists were always looking for opportunity, and with the U.S. and coalition forces in a state of occupation in Afghanistan, having one of the richest and most influential men in America on your side could smooth smuggling matters considerably.

Kurtzman read Bolan’s mind. “The Pentagon is thinking the same thing, but I don’t buy it. A man who willingly lost millions in the gem trade over his moral issues just isn’t the guy who’s going to set himself up in the international trade in junk. He doesn’t need the money. I just don’t buy it.”

Bolan had to admit that he didn’t, either. He’d only spoken to Eckhart for a few seconds but the vibe was wrong, and if Gary Manning said Eckhart seemed to be a stand-up guy, Bolan was willing to trust the big Canadian’s instincts.

Okay, lets get back to archaeology. Dr. Klein and Nancy Rhynman both specialize in the ancient Greeks. Why would Eckhart be consulting them about Tajikistan? Bolan glanced at the map on his computer screen. That’s three thousand miles off course.

“It is a conundrum,” Kurtzman admitted. “You’re just going to have to take the meeting and then you can tell me.”

You have gear in place for me? Bolan typed.

“A man is going to meet you when you get off the plane and give you a key. Take a cab from the airport. There’s a storage facility a few miles down the road. You’ll have a map, the key and the account number. The storage unit has a Land Rover parked in it and everything you asked for and everything else we could think of on our end.”

Thanks, Bear, Bolan typed. Anything else pertinent?

“Yeah, I took Manning’s info and found our Gurkha. Lalbahadur Rai reached the rank of havildar, which is the equivalent of sergeant in the British Army. He served with the British Brigade of Gurkhas C Company, Second Battalion, Parachute Regiment. He served with distinction and when it came time to re-enlist he opted to go to work in the private sector for the firm Global Risks. He served from 2005 through 2007. What he did there is company classified. We can find out but it will take a dedicated hack and some time.”

That’s enough to start with. With any luck he and I are going to end up being allies, Bolan typed.

“So you have a plan?”

Yeah. Bolan checked his watch. Touchdown in London was another two hours away. I’m going to take a nap, eat the in-flight breakfast and then take a meeting with a billionaire.