A tall, bald man who could only be Malick Yasim got out of the SUV, then paused to take a call on his cell phone as Batin got closer to his friend, his arms open in greeting. Two more men also got out and the three of them started toward the center of the warehouse. Bolan saw something that caught his attention—a tiny hitch in Yasim’s stride, a miniscule head tilt—but whatever it was, he knew the game was up as the Mummy turned his gaze toward the catwalk, while putting his cell phone away.

  “Batin, he knows,” Bolan hissed into his comm unit. “You need to try and get out of there slowly. Greet him and then tell him that you forgot something on the desk and turn around. If he so much as flinches I want you to drop to the ground and then find some cover.” He watched as Batin’s smile faded and he stumble-stepped. The whole situation was going to go bad in a hurry.

  Bolan switched his comm-link channel to law-enforcement-only. “Seles, we’ve been made. Keep this guy in your sights.” Batin and Yasim were now less than ten feet apart.

  “From this angle, I don’t have anything but a kill shot,” he whispered.

  Bolan let out a held breath. “Then hold unless there’s no other choice. We need this guy alive.”

  “Understood.”

  Bolan watched as Batin greeted Yasim with a kiss on either cheek. “I’m so grateful you came to me, my friend,” he said.

  “Allah will always protect those that are loyal to him.”

  “Allahu Akbar!” Batin said. “Of course.”

  “It is unfortunate that you were not loyal,” he said. “You are damned.”

  Batin didn’t have a chance. Bolan never saw where the knife came from, probably Yasim’s sleeve, but he struck with the speed and precision of a trained killer. He clasped Batin by the back of the head, and drove it up and inward, directly between the third and fourth rib. If his lung wasn’t punctured or his heart pierced, Batin would have screamed in agony. As it was, he slumped into the Mummy’s arms, blood leaking from his mouth.

  Bolan was already in motion as he called, “Damn it! Denny, take a shot!”

  The .308 rifle fired once, the report echoing through the warehouse, and taking out one of Yasim’s henchman in a spray of blood and bone that looked like a red cloud. The second henchman pulled a gun and ran toward the catwalk, firing wildly and screaming about Allah.

  Yasim spun, throwing Batin’s limp body at Bolan as a shield, and drawing his own gun from a lower back holster. Bolan dove to his right, dodging past Batin, and came up close enough to knock the gun out of Yasim’s grasp with a fast chop to his wrist. It fired once, high and wide, then spun away.

  “Die!” he snarled, grappling with the Executioner.

  Bolan drove a hard left into his midsection, a blow that would have taken the breath out of most men, but Yasim was a trained killer and his abs absorbed the blow as easily as a professional boxer. Hands closed around Bolan’s throat and he slipped his arms up between them, pushing his enemy’s arms wide, then followed up with a knife hand to the base of his neck.

  Yasim stumbled backward two steps, and Bolan pressed his advantage, wanting to end it quickly, but his opponent recovered, coming up with a thin fighting blade in each hand. Bolan drew his own combat knife and circled, while Yasim’s blades flickered and flashed in a style that looked like an odd combination of Spetsnaz and Jendo, but was uniquely his own. It mattered little to Bolan, who operated under the philosophy that a knife fight was far more dangerous than even a gun—and a well-trained knife fighter was deadly.

  “I will send you to hell,” Yasim said between his clenched teeth.

  Bolan said nothing, waiting and ready for the man’s next move.

  Screaming, the Mummy closed and the Executioner backed a bit and slid sideways, using his own larger knife to deflect two strikes. His follow-up missed, however, and Yasim scored a cut on the back of Bolan’s arm before dancing away.

  In his earpiece, Seles said, “The other guy’s down. Do you want me to take the shot?”

  “No,” he said, his eyes never leaving the man who was intent on killing him. Needing Yasim alive complicated the fight immensely and the longer it went on, the more dangerous it would become for Bolan. He watched for an opening as they clashed several more times and he realized that Yasim’s reputation was well-deserved. He was an expert with his blades, and several times it was only through speed and skill of his own that Bolan managed to avoid a serious injury.

  By this point, Yasim had to know that he was trapped and he seemed determined to go down fighting.

  “Give it up, Malick,” Bolan said. “I can do this all day, or have one of the feds shoot you.”

  “Then tell them to shoot,” Yasim said, smiling. “I will die and you will learn nothing.”

  Bolan started to say something more, trying to distract the killer, when he accidentally stumbled over Batin’s body. The one mistake was more than enough of an opening for Yasim.

  Tripping, Bolan fell over and tried to continue the movement, but the man known as the Mummy was on top of him in a flash. Without his own knife, which he’d had to drop, Bolan had no choice but to grasp Yasim’s wrists. Both men were strong, but leverage and position gave the advantage to the terrorist and his blades inched closer and closer to Bolan’s exposed throat.

  “I have a shot,” Seles said in his ear.

  “No!” Bolan shouted, trying to force the blades back. In the dim light of the warehouse, he could see the razor-sharp edges gleaming.

  “I have a shot,” Seles repeated.

  “Don’t,” the Executioner said, straining with his whole body, but Yasim wasn’t giving an inch.

  The blades pushed down, flashing one last time as Yasim twisted his wrists and escaped Bolan’s grasp. They rushed down, twin messengers of death.

  It’s over, Bolan thought wildly. One stupid mistake. Then the shot from Seles’s rifle cut the air and the back of Yasim’s head exploded.

  His body slumped over to one side and Bolan pushed him the rest of the way off, glad to be alive, but stunned at the end result.

  Their last lead was dead. And somewhere in Detroit, a nuclear bomb was about to go off.

  21

  Seles came down from the catwalk with the rifle slung over one shoulder. “I didn’t have a choice, Cooper,” he said as Bolan got to his feet. “He was going to cut your throat and the head shot was the best angle.”

  Bolan removed his shirt and wiped the blood spatter off his face, shaking his head. “I know,” he said. “But now we’re in serious trouble. The chain doesn’t end with Malick and we don’t have a clue as to where the bomb is.”

  Crossing the floor, he picked up the knife he’d dropped and slid it back into the sheath on his boot. With Batin and Yasim dead, they were stuck. This operation should have been simple and flawless, but nothing in this mission had gone that way. Murphy’s Law was one thing, and sometimes things just didn’t work out, but that’s not what this was. This was a case of everyone being caught flat-footed by a terrorist operation and no one having enough information to cut the bad guys off at the knees.

  “It would’ve been nice to leave at least one of them alive,” he muttered, as much to himself as Seles.

  “You’re complaining about the body count?” Seles said. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

  Bolan paced back and forth. “Sorry,” he said. “And thank you. I’m just trying to get a handle on how this entire situation could have gone wrong from the beginning.”

  “We just haven’t had enough information,” Seles said.

  “No, it’s more than that. My gut says someone else is involved.”

  “Are you just being paranoid?”

  “No,” Bolan replied. “No, I don’t think so. I had the same feeling back at the mosque. Think about it, every time we’ve started to close in, these guys would rabbit. They’ve been reacting to information that they shouldn’t have had. When I took Batin into custody...if they’d known I was on the roof, they would have tried to neutralize me directly. Instead, they were just running from shadows.”

  “Maybe,” Seles replied, sounding unconvinced. “But no one even knew about what we were doing here, so there was no information to react to.”

  Both men paused as they considered this, and realized in the same moment who’d been feeding the information to the terrorists.

  “Allison Hart,” Bolan said. “It has to be.”

  Seles tried to defend her, in spite of how it looked. “Come on, Cooper. I’ve known her for almost five years! She’s not playing for the other team. She couldn’t be. It’s not in her character.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense, Denny,” he said. “We’ve kept her informed of everything happening in the field all day long. Just like we’re supposed to do when we’re all on the same team.”

  “Yeah, but...”

  “But nothing,” Bolan said. “She’s the only person outside of your team here and myself who knew we were going to use Batin to trap Malick. She talked to someone.”

  Denial warred with acceptance on Seles’s face for a moment, then acceptance won. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t like it and can hardly believe it, but... This whole time! She’s been feeding them information this whole time. Do you know how many good people we’ve lost today?”

  “Too many,” the Executioner said. “But we’re going to lose a lot more if we don’t put a stop to all of this. Have your guys clean up here and we’ll head back to the station to deal with Allison.”

  “Should I call and have her taken into custody?” Seles asked.

  “Absolutely not!” Bolan said. “We don’t know who else could be involved, and we definitely want her in our hands before she can find a way to alert her friends.”

  “I’m just sorry that it’s come to this, Cooper. You’ve been running in circles all day, trying to keep us in the loop, and then we find out that she’s working for the other side.”

  “The day isn’t over yet,” Bolan replied. “Let’s go end this and all the running will be worth it.”

  * * *

  THE COMMUNICATIONS ROOM at the police station was overrun with personnel trying to make certain that their station for the emergency operation center was getting the attention that it needed. Bolan didn’t wait his turn in line to see Hart, but went straight to the front and grabbed her arm. The Executioner held on to his cool as he marched her down the hall with her staff watching. There was no time for delicacy.

  Seles had already arranged an interrogation room and Bolan pulled her down the hallway and into the room and pushed her into a chair. Seles shut the door behind them and nodded at Bolan, indicating that the audio for the room had been cut, as well. They wanted to keep the situation as contained as possible.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Hart shouted. “I’m in the middle of trying to run an operation.”

  “Yeah, we know,” Bolan said. “It’s just that your operation and ours aren’t the same, are they?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We want to know about the other operation,” Seles said.

  “Denny, have you gone crazy?” she asked.

  “You know, the one that’s designed to take down the whole city with your help.”

  Hart stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Okay, boys, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but why doesn’t someone come out and say it so we can quit playing games? Don’t we have enough problems already? I’ve got a city up in flames, staff in the hospital and a building that is supposed to be the nerve center for coordinating all of this left in ruins.”

  Bolan carefully watched her every move. Her frustration was obviously rising, but there were no indications of fear or guilt. She was either a true believer or they were wrong. He didn’t have time to be wrong and needed to know about her part in it and fast.

  “Allison, we’ve been friends for quite a while, so it kills me to say this, but we know that you’re feeding information to the terrorists. I have ops running traces on your cell phone right now so you might as well tell us everything,” Seles said.

  “I’m not...” she stammered.

  “Listen to me carefully, Allison,” Bolan said. “You already know we’re out of time and out of leads, and frankly, I ran out of patience about six hours ago. I have no qualms about finding a way to make you talk.”

  “That...you...” she said, trying to find her voice, and finally succeeding. “This is outrageous! I’m not in league with the terrorists. I haven’t been helping them. I was almost blown up and some of my best friends are dead, how can you even think I might be involved?”

  “Cut the crap, Allison,” Seles said. “No one else knew about the last two times that we were close, especially this last one, except you. Everyone is dead and now we’re out of leads again. How convenient for you.”

  “It’s not convenient for me!” she snapped. “If they knew you were coming it had nothing to do with me. Someone from one of your crew could have tipped someone off.” Her face lit with fear as she paced around the room. Bolan stood silently with his arms crossed and waited for her to crack. A technician walked into the room with a stack of papers listing her phone log.

  “We’ll have her email archives in the next few minutes, sir,” the technician said.

  “You have no right to spy on me,” Hart protested. “I’m not part of some conspiracy. The only person I’ve talked to all day is my boyfriend, but he’d be...”

  She stopped in midsentence and Bolan could see the reality flooding down on top of her.

  “That can’t be... He would never….”

  “Would that be Michael Jonas?” Bolan asked, scrolling through the call log. He noted the times of all of the calls and backtracked the last twenty-four hours in his head to see if they matched up. If she was working with someone on the outside it was literally one someone, as her call logs had only one number outside of her regular duty calls.

  “Yes, but he’s Director of Security at Ford Field! It was like sharing information with a police officer.”

  “Look at this,” Bolan noted. “Two phone calls from Michael Jonas minutes before an operation was blown. Do you have his picture?”

  “Yes.” Hart pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through the pictures. She found one of just Michael and sent it to Bolan’s phone. Bolan sent the picture to Brognola with a rush message for facial recognition.

  “There has to be some other explanation,” she muttered. “He can’t have been using me this whole time. That would mean...all of this was my fault.”

  “There is no time right now for self-recrimination. I’m sure your supervisors will be looking more deeply into this. Where was he when you spoke to him last?” Bolan asked.

  “He was at the stadium. They have a packed house today for the game.”

  “Perfect soft target,” Seles said.

  Bolan’s phone rang with Brognola on the other line.

  “That was fast,” Bolan said.

  “Well, I was able to narrow it down with parameters from information we’ve gathered through the day. This is not Michael Jonas.”

  “Hold on. Let me put you on speaker and we can all work this out.”

  Bolan hit Speaker on his phone and set it in the middle of the table.

  “Denny, Allison, I’ll just introduce the voice on the other end of this phone as my eyes and ears.”

  “As I was saying, this is not Michael Jonas. The real Michael Jonas was killed and his identity stolen. This is Sayid Rais Sayf—he’s on our terrorist watch list, but not someone we’ve been actively looking for. This isn’t the first time we’ve heard his name today, and my guess is he’s been orchestrating this whole thing. Born in Pakistan, educated in Europe, he then spent some time as a soldier before he went off the radar and was lost.”

  “Based on the information that we gained from the container and the traces that were left on the decoy can you estimate what damage we’d be looking at if he detonated this in the stadium?” Bolan asked.

  “It depends on the nature of the weapon that he uses, but this guy is smart and I suspect he could decimate that stadium if he chose to do so.”

  “Agreed,” Bolan said. “Thanks. We’ll get back to you soon.”

  Bolan hung up the phone and stared at Hart, who’d turned several shades whiter. There was no more incrimination and no more defense of her boyfriend. All other thoughts were replaced by a look of total devastation.

  “We need to get to the stadium now,” Bolan said.

  Hart started to walk toward the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Seles asked.

  “I’ll order the chopper. Be ready to leave in five minutes.”

  “You aren’t coming with us,” Seles said. “I’m still not sure that I trust you.”

  “Funny, after all of this, I’m not sure that I trust me, but I want to see this thing through to its end. After that I’ll resign and they can do with me what they please, but for now I’m going to help bring this guy in.”

  The door closed and Seles turned to Bolan. “You think we should trust her?”

  “I think she’s the only one to trust right now. Did you see her face? She had no idea she was being used and there’s no better weapon than a woman scorned.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  They raced to the helipad, hitting the armory on the way. Bolan, armed with his favorites, jumped on board the helicopter and took his place across from Hart. She looked out of place in a bulletproof vest, but he knew without saying a word that there would be no deterring her from the mission.

  The ride in the helicopter seemed to take an eternity. Brognola had sent him the schematics for the field and Bolan scrolled through them to look for the points of vulnerability. Seles leaned over his shoulder as Bolan reviewed the plans. Bolan stopped at the junctions for the utilities and they noted the locations of the main structural beams.

 

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