Chapter 1

Hand of the Beast

An Executioner Novel

By

Tom Doolan

(Sample Chapters)

Chapter 1

In the early morning hours the coast of Colombia was deceptively peaceful. Because of the high shelf butting against the land at this point, the water was relatively calm, and the small, inflatable raft glided effortlessly, gently bouncing over the small caps. Propelled by a muffled thirty-five horse-power outboard motor, the craft was a lumpy patch of near-black as it made it’s way to the base of the cliff. Its two occupants lay low in the interior, their eyes ever warily scanning the oncoming earth.

In the front of the raft sat Mack Bolan. The Executioner. Years of a warrior’s life had etched lines of hardness in his rugged features. Clean-shaven, square jaw and piercing blue eyes were muffled by black paint, accentuated by a black knit cap. In his gloved hands he cradled an H&K MP5S. This workhorse of a sub machine gun had served for years as a staple among Special Operations and Law Enforcement forces. It’s nine-millimeter rounds were deadly accurate at close range, and the integrated silencer made the weapon perfect for close in fighting. In a shoulder-rig he wore his faithful Beretta 93-R, and in a hip holster his last resort backup, a .44 Desert Eagle, sat snugly waiting to do what it did best. Deal certain death.

Mack reviewed the mission parameters mentally, though he had already committed them to memory hours ago. This was a rescue operation for a disavowed CIA agent known as “Hummingbird.” Though officially, the CIA had written her off and denied all knowledge of her existence, someone had tipped her presence to Stony Man Farm, knowing that Hal Brognola, the Justice Department chief that headed up the ultra-secret covert operations unit, would find a way to retrieve the package. Through prodigious use of satellite imagery, hacked police files, and what little information the Agency had been able to provide, Stony Man had been able to determine her location in a matter of less than twenty-four hours. Based on the intelligence at hand, the villa she was being held at was lightly guarded, and not generally known to most local law-enforcement. There were literally dozens of these little seaside villas dotting the southern coast of Colombia, many long abandoned. It had only been a matter of planning the op, and gathering a team.

Behind the raft, some five miles off-shore, was anchored an innocuous yacht. Many such vessels plied these waters, often ferrying various paramilitary and cartel leaders to and from Buenaventura to the northeast. On the boat were three members of Buck Greene’s blacksuits, the highly trained security force for Stony Man Farm.

At that, his thoughts soon turned to the man behind him.

Darryl Knox was a former US Army Ranger and sniper, and was no stranger to this kind of work. Having been recruited into the Blacksuit program by Greene himself, Darryl was a consummate professional. Dressed similarly to Mack, his face did not show the hard lines won by years of fighting, yet his hazel eyes held the same steely stare. Beneath his cap a stray lock of blonde hair escaped. In his shoulder rig was a silenced SOCOM .45. Across his back was a carrying case holding his own specialized weapon, a Russian-made VSSK “Exhaust” silenced sniper rifle, and protecting it from the salty waters of the Pacific.

With a raised fist, Mack signaled the man in back to cut the engine. The boat’s forward momentum died, and they each grabbed a paddle and began rowing for the shore, now a scant twenty-five meters away.

As the raft drew closer to the shore, the waves beneath began to carry it forward. The men rode the waves in, digging their oars into the water to counter the receding current. After a brief few moments, the raft struck sand, and both men leapt out, pulling the craft ashore and among the boulders and rocks that littered the base of the thirty-foot cliff. While Mack kept watch, his MP5S trained on the cliff-top, Darryl drew out a sand-colored tarp and covered the raft. From a distance, it would now look like just another boulder. When he was finished, he drew his SOCOM, and moved to Bolan’s rear, tapping him on the shoulder.

“All set, Coop.” He whispered, referencing the identity that most of the Blacksuits knew Mack Bolan as, Matt Cooper.

“Let’s do this.” Replied Bolan with a nod, eyeing the moonlit cliff side.

The cliff was made mainly of sandstone, and though there was danger of it crumbling under pressure, it afforded many handholds, and was the most direct route up. Slinging his weapon behind his back, Mack grabbed a hand-hold, felt for a good foot-hold, and began the laborious task of climbing the sheer cliff face. Like a spider, the ex-green beret kept his weight as spread as possible, careful not to let it all rest on one extremity. It made the going slow, but after ten minutes, he crested the rise without mishap.

He scanned the local area with all of his senses. Nothing seemed to react to his presence. Not far from the edge the tree line began. Short, slender jungle ashes leaned out over the cliff, and it was to one of these that Mack secured the rope he had carried in his backpack. Once it was secure, he tossed the loose end over the edge. A moment later there were two quick jerks on the rope, indicating that Darryl was on his way up.

The ex-Ranger’s assent was much quicker thanks to the aid of the rope. And within a span of barely three minutes, he crouched next to Mack. With a mutual nod, the pair moved silently forward.

Their trek through the jungle was blessedly short, as it started to rain heavily. This region of Colombia was known for some of the heaviest average rainfalls. And through the ponderous drops that managed to make it through the canopy, the pair of commandos could see the lights of the villa. As they approached, they lowered to the wet ground and belly-crawled as close as they dared. Coming up behind a long-ago felled tree, the pair peered over at the small builing.

The trees had been cleared to about a hundred feet from the villa, and there were two large floodlights, one on each end of the rectangular house, lighting up the clearing. On the far side, away from where the pair watched was a large clearing with small lights in the ground forming a large circle.

“Helicopter pad.” Bolan pointed out.

As both men were trained snipers, they each scanned the compound with expert eyes, and came to the same conclusion. Darryl voiced it first.

“This view is too narrow for my work.” He whispered. He indicated the muddy drive that disappeared into the jungle to the left. “My best bet would be to find a hide along the road, where I can get a clear avenue of fire on the house.”

Bolan nodded, indicating he had thought the same thing.

“I see one guard on the roof, and another walking around the house.” Mack whispered. He glanced at his watch. 4:54 am. It’ll start getting light in about an hour. We need to be gone by then.”

He looked at the ex-Ranger.

“This will be our Rally Point. Get yourself a good position. When you’re in place, I’ll move in.”

“Roger that.” Replied Darryl, and he backed away, making slow and quiet progress as he disappeared into the rainy canopy.

While he waited, he continued to watch the villa. The guard on the roof was only visible to him as he neared the close edge of the building. When he walked away, the light from the lamp concealed him. The man on the ground took about five minutes to walk the perimeter. He was on his second lap since Darryl had left when Mack’s earpiece crackled to life.

“I’m set. Bad guy on the roof has a radio. Guy on the ground doesn’t.”

“Roger. What’s your range?” Mack asked.

“320 meters. Close enough for a head shot on either guy.”

“Watch for ten minutes. If the guy on the roof uses his radio for a check-in, take him as soon as he’s done.”

“Got it.”

Bolan checked his watch again. 5:16 am. He looked up. He was about to suggest a new plan when the roof guard suddenly collapsed. The sound was muffled by the rain, but the ground guard still heard something. He stopped and looked around, peering through the gloom into the forest. Suddenly he dropped too.

“Just thought I’d take care of that for ya.” Came Darryl’s voice over the radio.

“Thanks.” Replied Bolan, a small smile playing briefly on his lips.

“Your entry is clear from my viewpoint.”

“Going in.” Bolan rose to his feet, and brought his MP5S to his shoulder. Leading with his weapon, the big man hastily moved to the house, his movements smooth and quiet.

As he rounded the corner to the front of the house, a light came on over the front door. A split-second later the door opened, and Bolan froze and crouched. The door was a mere five feet away. From it came a large flashlight, in the left hand of an overweight Hispanic wearing a dirty tank-top and fatigue pants. He carried a large revolver in his right hand, and he looked like he was sleepy. He peered out into the gloom, and then turned to his right. He stopped in shock and his eyes grew big as saucers as they took in the last sight he would ever witness. Bolan squeezed the trigger on his MP5S, and it coughed a three-round burst into the man’s head. The body slumped loudly, as Mack scuttled into the house.

Seeing the entryway was clear, the big man shouldered his weapon, and reached out to grab the corpse on the front porch and dragged him inside, swinging the door shut behind him, but leaving it a few inches open.

The foyer was a square room with a door on the far said, and an arched entryway with a heavy curtain to the left. The foyer was lit by a glowing candle near a cot in the far left corner. Bolan dragged the body and dumped it on the cot. He keyed his throat mike.

“Any movement outside?”

“Negative. Quiet as a graveyard.”

“Roger. Moving into the interior.” Mack had spent a few hours going over any designs and floor plans for villas he could find. This was a rather small house, most likely intended to be a small cottage and nothing more. By his guess, the prisoner would be housed in the room in the back. He crept to that door and listened intently. He didn’t hear anything, so he tested the door. It was locked. He looked back at the body on the cot, where he saw a ring of keys hanging from the belt. Retrieving these, he tested a couple before finding the one for this door. Bolan winced at the creaking the door made as it swung open on rusty hinges. The inside was pitch black. There was evidence of a window in the back of the room, which had been painted black to block all light. Mack could just make out faint lines where the paint wasn’t so thick. He opened the door wider, allowing the dim light from outside to filter in. After a moment, his eyes adjusted, and he saw a form laying against the wall under the window. There was a rustle of chains, as the person sat up. Bolan could hear quick breathing now, as if the person were anxious.

“Hummingbird.” He whispered. He was rewarded with a hissed explicative. He moved towards the person, who he could now see was a smallish woman. Her whisper was harsh irritated.

“What the hell are you doing here?’ She spat. “Are you from the Company?”

“No ma’am.” Said Bolan, as he reached out to begin unfastening her chains. “I’m one of the good guys.”

“You can’t take me out of here. Negrito is on his way here today. I’m not sure when, but hopefully soon.”

“Exactly. Which is why we need to get you out of here.”

“You don’t understand,” she said as her chains fell away, and the big man helped her to her feet, “I’ve been disavowed. The only good I can do now is to get killed taking that son of a bitch out.”

“I have a better plan.” Said Bolan, as he led her to the door. “What do you say we keep you alive while taking him out?”

“Well, that does sound more promising.” She conceded.

As they entered the main hall and began creeping back to the open front door, a radio crackled somewhere in the vicinity of the cot. There was a voice speaking Spanish, and asking for someone by name. After the second try the voice became more urgent.

“They’re calling in to the guards know that their boss is on his way.” Hummingbird whispered.

“Then we better get moving.” Mack replied.

Just then, the door to the right opened and a man in fatigues carrying an AK-47 came in. At the sight of the pair he yelled something in Spanish, but was cut off as Bolan drilled him in the head with another three-round burst from his weapon.

Bolan could hear movement and shouts from the other room. He unhooked a flash bang grenade from his belt, and pulled the pin. The tongue flew off as he tossed the ordinance into the room. Immediately he grabbed Hummingbird’s arm and rushed her out the door. Just as they got outside, the grenade went off, and was followed by screams and shouts of agony.

“Boss?” Came Darryl’s voice over the radio. “We have inbound choppers. And they’re coming in fast.”

Chapter 2

A few moments after the big man had entered the villa, Darryl saw a light come on in the room to the left of the front door. He could see silhouettes of a few people moving, but they didn’t seem to be in any rush.

“You boys are up early.” He said to himself, watching for any sudden movements. The rain was beginning to let up now, and Darryl stiffened when he heard the tell-tail thumping of incoming choppers. He was about to key his mike when there was a shout from the house. A few seconds later, Mack charged out of the building, a girl in tow. Their exit was immediately followed by the sound of a flash grenade going off in the room, and the screams of dazed and injured men.

“Boss?” The ex-Ranger keyed his mike as he rose from his position. “We have inbound choppers. And they’re coming in fast.”

“I hear them.” Came the reply. “Rendezvous at the RP.”

“On my way” Darryl backtracked into the jungle, keeping an eye on the villa, then turned and sprinted towards the rally point. He could hear the choppers coming in hot, and he briefly wondered who they were, and why they were coming in so fast. Cradling his VSSK, he kept his head low, and moved swiftly.

Bolan and Hummingbird sprinted for the treeline. They were caught in the open, and lit up by the flood light on the north side of the house. Bolan could hear horse shouts in Spanish behind him, as someone of authority gave military orders. Risking a glance back, he saw at least twenty men disgorging from the choppers, and headed their way.

“¡Allí ellos son!”

They had been spotted. The staccato of gunfire quickly followed, and Bolan could hear the whiz of near-misses. Dodging to the left, he and Hummingbird dove behind a small rock formation, as bullets ricocheted off of their meager cover.

“We’re pinned down, Knox!”

“Roger that. Wait one.”

Mack peered around the stone and saw four men leap-frogging their way towards him, each laying cover fire for the other. Suddenly the lead man toppled to his left. The other three stopped and began firing to their right.

“Move out!” Came Knox’s voice. Mack and his charge scrambled to their feet and began hastily making their way back to the RP.

As soon as he had downed the first man, Darryl, quickly moved to his right about thirty feet, and took up a standing position behind a thick tree. Resting his rifle on the crook of a branch, he brought another bad guy into his reticule. With a gentle squeeze, the rifle bucked slightly, as it sent 12.7 mm death down range. Another man fell, and Knox continued his movement towards the RP.

Bolan and Hummingbird reached the fallen log and took cover. Peering over with his MP5S, the big guy sighted on two men who were charging in their direction, obviously trying to take them by surprise, and provide the sniper with moving targets. Mack sighted the lead guy and sent a burst at him, striking center-mass. The man slowed and staggered, but kept coming.

Body armor. The Executioner surmised. He raised his sights and fired a burst into the man’s face. This time he toppled backwards as if clothslined, and his compatriot slowed, intending to shift his direction. But his momentum was cut off as another sniper round found it’s target. The 12.7 mm Russian round was proof against body armor at 100 meters. This guy’s chest exploding was proof of that.

Bolan scanned for more troops while they waited for Knox to make it to their location. No one seemed to be pursuing them further. And while that was a relief, it worried Bolan. The big man’s hard-earned instincts told him the heat was about to be turned up.

He turned to the woman next to him, and got a good look at her for the first time. She was small and athletic, with dark and curly hair. In better circumstances she would have been very attractive in an exotic kind of way.

“Do you have a name?” He asked. “Or should I continue to call you “Hummingbird”?”

He saw her look at him oddly for a moment, and then she smiled.

“Isabella.” She replied. She seemed about to collapse from exhaustion. Mack reached back and took a canteen from his belt and offered it to her. She took it eagerly, but drank in sips, as he resumed his scanning of the villa.

After a moment, Darryl scurried up and plopped down next to them. He immediately reloaded his sniper rifle.

“Hi.” He said, smiling at Isabella as he worked.

“Hi.” She replied, returning his smile.

“So, boss. What do you think is going on?”

“Not sure yet. But we need to move out ASAP.”

Just then the floodlights were killed and the jungle was plunged black.

“Yeah, probably a good idea.” Darryl rose and backed away, Mack and Isabella following. In the gloom, they could see blurry figures moving from the vicinity of the house, but nothing distinct enough to take a bead on.

“NODs?” Darryl asked.

“That’s my guess.” Mack replied as he pulled another flash grenade.

Night Observation Devices were pretty hi-tech for a bunch third-world revolutionaries and drug-runners. These guys were probably something else. He pulled the pin and hurled the grenade in a high arc.

“Go!” he hissed, and the trio turned and began running. The grenade air-burst behind them with a flash and a crack. For an instant the jungle before them lit like someone had just taken a picture. They all slowed and paused as their eyes readjusted. Then they continued their flight.

Finding their way back to the cliff where they had first come up was fairly simple. Except for the choppers. As they neared their exfil point, they could hear the machines approaching, and they could see the glare of the searchlights, as they hunted for their elusive prey.

Darryl looked down the rope and thought of the raft there.

“We’ll be dead in the water if we try to get away in the raft.” He paused. “Literally.”

Mack looked back at the approaching helicopters, and then down the rope. A plan formed in his mind.

“Down the rope.” He told them. “I have an idea.”

Darryl led the way, followed by Isabella then Mack. When they had landed, Mack moved to the raft, tore back the tarp and handed it to Knox.

“Take this a hundred feet or so down the cliff base. Stay out of the sand.” He turned his attention to the raft. He arranged what sparse equipment they had brought into formless lumps. Then, pulling the nose around, he shoved it a few feet out into the water. Jamming his MP5S under the steering handle of the engine to keep it in place, he fired it up and let it begin it’s trek straight out to sea. With any luck, they would shoot first, without noticing that the craft was empty.

Mack turned and moved to where Darryl and Isabella were waiting, being careful to step on rocks and stones only, and leaving no footprints.

Having already guessed Mack’s intent, Darryl had moved the pair among some larger boulders and they were hunkered down beneath the tarp. Mack pulled his Berretta and got under too. Facing towards the point where the raft had left, he kept his eyes and ears open for pursuit.

The sound of the chopper was getting louder, and soon the searchlight landed on the rope. It followed the trail in the sand until it hit the water. As the three watched from beneath their makeshift hide spot, two figures dropped down the rope and moved to the waterline. One stopped and paused, while the other began searching the beach for signs of passage. After a moment the chopper headed out to sea for a short span. The pre-dawn air was split by the sound of a machine gun firing. The chopper came back and began sweeping the beach nearby.

The trio pulled the tarp down tight and held still. The searchlight passed over them, but didn’t pause. It passed again, and began to recede to the south.

“They are searching to the south, along the inlet.” Whispered Mack. “By the time they turn back this way, we should be close enough to the alternate exfiltration point.” He thumbed his radio, switching from the team channel to the secure channel the boat was monitoring. “Platform this is Striker.”

“Go ahead Striker.”

“We have the package, but primary exfil is compromised. Heading to alternate exfil site. ETA, six-zero mikes.”

“Confirmed. Six-zero mikes. Platform out.”

“Let’s go.”

The sun was cresting the eastern horizon when the choppers came back to the villa. As the lead chopper landed, a large man stepped out and walked steadily to the building. The few commandos guarding the landing pad stood at attention as he walked by. He was tall and muscular, but moved with a warrior’s grace. His burgundy t-shirt covered a broad chest, and the grip of a large pistol stuck out from the shoulder holster under his left arm. He wore dark brown khaki pants and large, black boots. His skin of his stern face was a deep brown, and his jet black hair was cropped close to his head. As he stalked towards the villa, his eyes scanned back and forth like a shark.

As he approached the villa, the man could hear a harsh voice inside. He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.

“The chihuahua barks like a bulldog.” He said to himself, as he walked past the front door where the shouting was coming from. Though daylight was fast approaching, the floodlights were still on, and Evelio Salazar, known more commonly as “El Toro” could see his men tending to the bodies of those who had fallen to the sniper. As he watched the men being put into body bags, two other commandos approached. The stopped a few feet away and stood at attention, waiting for El Toro to speak.

After a moment of thought, the big man turned to them.

“Report.”

“Senor, we have found shell casings.” Stated the first, holding out his hand to show spent casings. “There appears to have only been two shooters, and one was a sniper. He used a Russian rifle, while the infiltrator used a standard 9 mm sub machine gun. Based on reports from the men here, both weapons were silenced.”

“Interesting.” El Toro took one of the Russian casings and inspected it. It was a 12.7 mm shortened rifle casing. He knew what weapon this was used in. To date there was only one. The VSSK. Not exactly a common weapon. However, the other casings were standard rounds that were commonly used in many western small arms. He handed the casings back to the commando. “Thank you, sergeant. Bag these for further inspection, and make sure the bodies are taken care of.”

“Si, Senor.”

El Toro turned and walked the side of the villa. He pulled out a satellite phone from a clip on his belt and punched a few numbers.

“Yes?” The voice was deep and tinged with a Middle-Eastern accent.

“The suspect has been rescued.”

“And you did not get to interrogate her?”

“No.”

“Pity. I would very much liked to have known who she was working for, and what she knew.”

“So would I have.”

“Indeed. Recommendations?”

“Move the time-table up. Based on what she could have known, it is probably safe to assume that Negrito will soon be more of a liability than an asset.”

“Agreed. Any indication who rescued her?”

“Some, but not very clear. I will be investigating it further.”

“Very good.”

The line went dead, and El Toro put the phone back in its clip. It was time to squeeze what little more use he could from Carlos Negrito, before he had to be disposed of.

Chapter 3

Isabella came out of the stateroom freshly showered and wearing the jeans, dress shirt and loafers they had provided her. Her black hair was long and straight, and held in a tight ponytail.

A small hallway lead to a stairwell heading up. She came out into a small kitchen area with a breakfast nook table in the corner. At the stove was Darryl Knox, the blonde man who had helped rescue her. He was still dressed in fatigue pants and a t-shirt, and smiled when she came in.

“Feel better?” He asked, stirring some eggs in a pan.

“Yes, thank you.” She replied.

“There’s coffee and toast.” He pointed to the table where Mack Bolan sat, sipping from a mug and looking at some kind of official-looking file. On the table was a pile of toast on a plate, and a carafe and two mugs. She took a seat across from Mack and poured herself some coffee. She glanced at the file and could see the CIA logo at the top of one of the sheets. She looked up and saw him eying her over his coffee.

“Hello.” She smiled and took a sip of her own coffee.

“Hello Isabella.” He smiled back and went back to reading the file.

There was a few minutes of awkward silence, interrupted only by the sounds of Darryl cooking eggs and the occasional radio squawk from another room in the boat. A moment later the ex-Ranger came to the table with three plates and a pan of scrambled eggs. The smell of the food made Isabella’s stomach grumble, and she turned red as Darryl snickered. He set a plate in front of her and dished her up a heap, then sat down and served himself some eggs and grabbed some toast. Mack did the same, and the three ate in silence for a little bit.

When they were all done, they stacked dishes to the side, and Mack began speaking.

“Ok, here’s the deal. Officially you are still on the disavowed list. This can work to our advantage as any probe into CIA records will reveal no link between them and you for the time being. We took a few steps to throw the scent off of this being an American operation. We don’t know how long that will last, so we need to know everything you know.” He picked up the file and opened it, turning it so all three could read it. “According to your most recent report, you had latched onto a certain Carlos Negrito, and you suspected he had ties to someone much more dangerous. Who do you think that is?”

“I’m not sure.” Isabella replied, looking at the report. “I only know that about three months ago Carlos began making extravagant purchases, including a penthouse at the top of the Havana Hotel. This raised my suspicions because prior to that, Carlos had been nothing more than a minor functionary in the ELN.”

The ELN, or National Liberation Army, was a Marxist insurgent group formed by urban intellectuals inspired by Fidel Castro and Che Guevara. Their goal was the overthrow of the current Colombian government, and replacing it with a Marxist regime. But like another such group, the FARCs, their funding activities were mainly drug-trafficking, kidnapping and extortion, and these activities had taken precedence over their political ideals.

“When I began investigating Negrito,” she continued” I found that just prior to his advancement in income, he had taken on a security consultant. A large, dark man known as El Toro. He was ruthless, and it was his presence that made me hesitate in exploring Carlos any further. I’m fairly certain he was the one who discovered me and had me sent to that villa yesterday. Had you guys not shown up, I may not be alive right now.”

Darryl had a note pad and was jotting down details.

“What do you know about El Toro?” He asked.

“Not much, really. I’ve only met him once.” She reflected on what she remembered about him. “He is large and menacing, but he isn’t just some big thug. He speaks Spanish, but his accent isn’t Colombian. It’s more refined. I suspect he may be from Spain. There is also a certain cunning intelligence in his eyes. I don’t think he ever trusted me, even after I had answered all of his questions.” She thought for a moment more. “Another thing about him is that he is always escorted by armed guards. They’re ostensibly there to guard Carlos, but by their actions and looks, they seem more concerned with El Toro. As if they answered to him directly, and his welfare was more of a concern. They are all very professional. Not like the normal ELN foot soldiers that usually serve as guards.”

Darryl scribbled a few more notes, and then got up.

“I’ll have Kurtzman run a screen through the intelligence community. See if we can find a possible match up with any known operators.”

“Good idea.” Mack said. “And have him run the financial records of Carlos Negrito. I want to see if we can trace the source of his new funding.”

“I’m on it.” The ex-Ranger left the room.

“Ok,” said Isabella as Darryl left, “you have my file, and you rescued me. So it’s obvious you are on my side.” Isabella took another sip of her coffee and leaned back. “You want to fill me in on who you are, exactly?”

“Exactly?” Bolan smiled. “No, not exactly. What I can tell you is that we do work for U.S. government, and we were sent down here specifically to rescue you. Beyond that, we’re interested in finishing what you had started. Even more so, in light of what you have told us.”

Isabella was experienced enough in the intelligence field to know that she had just gotten about as much background information as she would from this man. She also knew that there was much more to him than met the eye. He had a hard edge to him, obviously gained from long years of waging war. She wondered where he had come from, and what his story was.

Bolan closed the file and stood up, stretching.

“Take a few to rest and relax.” He said as he walked past Isabella and headed for the stairs down. “It’s going to be a bit before our man comes back with any information.” And with that he disappeared down the stairs.

A half hour later, Mack emerged from the downstairs section of the yacht, and found everyone gathered in the communications room. Barns and Rector, two of the blacksuits assigned to this task were monitoring radios and a short-ranged radar screen. Darryl was sitting in front of a laptop, and looking at a personnel file. Kurtzman’s voice could heard over the computer.

“Yeah, that’s probably your guy.” He said. Isabella was seated next to Darryl, and leaned in to get a good look at the person’s file photo. The man was thick-necked and square-jawed. His skin was dark, his hair short and black.

“That’s him.” She confirmed, and leaned back. “That’s El Toro.” She turned to acknowledge Mack as he entered. The big guy leaned in and looked at the file.

“’Evelio Salazar.”” He read. “GEO operative, from Madrid. Reported AWOL in June of 2005.” The GEO, or Grupo Especiale Para Los Operaciones, was Spain’s official government anti-terrorist unit. Noted for being highly efficient, GEO had only been involved in three known instances of lethal force. Yet they had been responsible for numerous counter terrorist operations since their inception, and regularly trained with British SAS and America’s Delta Force.

“Yep,” replied Darryl, “this guy’s a bad-ass. A real Operator.” He thought for a second while reading more of his profile. “So, what’s he doing with a low-level functionary of a known terrorist organization?”

“Well,” Bolan crossed his arms over his chest as he stood up. “Either he’s on an undercover op, or he’s gone rogue. I’m hoping for the former, but suspecting the latter.” He thought for moment more. “Hey Bear?”
“Yeah, Striker?”

“Is this all we have on this guy?”

“That’s all the Spanish government is allowing us to see. Mission reports and the more sensitive stuff is locked down tight. I could have Akira hack into it, but it would be risky.”

“No, don’t go that far yet, but leave it as a last-resort option.” He reached over to the printer where Darryl had sent the files and pulled printouts. “We’ll be in touch, Bear. Thanks.”

“Good luck, boys.”

Darryl closed the software, and disconnected from the satellite link.

“So, what are you thinking, boss?”

Bolan flipped through the report on Evelio until he got to the personal history, and began reading.

“I’m thinking that if this guy did go rogue, there has to be a pretty good reason.”

“And what about Negrito?” Isabella asked. Mack thought about that for a moment before answering. Something didn’t add up. This guy’s spending habits, combined with his position in the ELN, just didn’t spell “mastermind.”

“I have a feeling Carlos isn’t pulling the strings here.” He held up the picture of El Toro. “But someone else is sure pulling his.”

Evelio Salazar stood on the balcony of Negrito’s penthouse. Music could be heard from inside, where a small party was going on. Women were gyrating to the heavy beat of the hip-hop music, and he could see Carlos in the middle of it, obviously enjoying the whole thing.

The site of the smaller man made El Toro’s head hurt. He wished for nothing more than to be able to put a hole in Negrito’s head, and be done with it. But he knew that to do so prematurely would displease his employer, and that was the last thing he wanted, for many reasons.

As if on cue, Salazar’s satellite phone rang. He transferred the cigar he was smoking to his right hand and took the device from his belt. He reached over and shut the sliding glass door, effectively cutting off the sounds of the party, as he pressed the receiver button.

“Yes?”

“The team will be arriving in two days. Are the preparations made?”

“All is set. Your men will be well-protected.”

“And the pipeline?”

“Carlos has a meeting with Manuel tomorrow morning. I have it on good authority that the money you have invested has produced the desired result.

“Excellent. Soon, my friend, we can cut out the middle-man, and we will have our newest, most secure line into the infidels’ domain.”

“As you say, my friend. Allah be praised.”

The call was soon disconnected, and El Toro took another puff on his cigar as he gazed into the penthouse. Carlos saw him and waved, smiling like a fool. Salazar waved back, returning the smile.

“Idiot.” He said through his teeth.