Stealth Assassin

“You can use my office,” the XO said.

Bolan thanked the two officers, who then left. He turned to the team and held out his hand in front of the closest one.

“Nice working with you guys,” he said, shaking Washington’s hand first. “You all did well, even if what we did never officially happened.”

“We’ll go with you anytime, anyplace, Striker,” Vargas said, shaking his hand next.

A few minutes later Bolan and Grimaldi were making their way to the XO’s office.

“This has got to be Hal,” Grimaldi said.

“Most likely.”

“I wonder what he wants. Maybe he wants to put us in for a couple of medals or something.”

“Very funny.” Bolan stopped in front of the XO’s office door and knocked.

Upon entry they saw a large screen set against one wall. The XO handed the remote to Bolan, then stepped out of the room. The Executioner pressed the button and the screen came to life with an image of Hal Brognola sitting at the desk in the office he used whenever he was at Stony Man Farm. An unlit cigar dangled from his mouth as he looked up.

“How’d it go?”

“Mission complete, target tactically neutralized, WMD destroyed,” Bolan said.

The big Fed grunted his approval. “How’d that makeshift team we threw together perform?”

“They did well,” Bolan said. “One sustained injuries, but it appears he’ll be all right.”

Brognola’s face contorted into a frown. “Sorry to hear that. But...”

He let the sentence trail off. Bolan could tell Brognola was holding something back. He waited a few beats, then asked, “Hal, what’s up?”

Brognola removed the cigar from his mouth and stared at it. “You know, I’ve been trying to cut down on these things, but I’m seriously thinking about lighting this one up.”

“In celebration, I hope,” Grimaldi said, stepping up to insinuate himself into the camera lens. “That we accomplished the mission and are all still on the right side of the grass.”

“I wish.” Brognola’s frown deepened. “Ready for some bad news?”

Here it comes, Bolan thought. The reason for the call.

“Another mission?” he asked.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Grimaldi said.

Brognola’s smile looked weak. “Look, I know you guys are just coming off one, but the President’s asking for a special favor.”

“Aren’t they all special favors?” Grimaldi asked. “At least when we’re involved.”

Bolan silenced him with a look and turned back to the screen. “Let’s hear it.”

“Okay. A couple hours ago a UN aid station was hit in northeastern Syria, near Bagouz. Three doctors and four nurses were taken. Three French nationals, four Americans.” He paused and stuck the cigar back between his teeth. “To make matters worse, there was an American news team there about to do an interview. They got grabbed, too.”

“How many total?” Bolan asked.

“Seven medical, three journalists. They’re threatening to start beheading the hostages on camera again. Time is of the essence. As always, you guys don’t have to go, but you’re the best, as well as the closest. Plus, you’ve got a team already with you.”

“A partial team,” Bolan said. “They’re pretty worn out from just getting off a mission. And we’re a man down.”

Brognola’s face took on a pained expression. “Yeah, I know, but the nearest SEAL team’s tied up on a mission of their own in Afghanistan.”

“Does the Agency have anybody in place?” Bolan asked.

“They’ve got an intel team on the ground there, but they’re strictly monitoring things with some drones.”

“A fat lot of good those damn things will do,” Grimaldi said.

“Let me see if I can get you some more support,” Brognola said. Then his face twisted with an inquisitive expression. “That is, if you’re in.”

Bolan shot a quick glance at Grimaldi, then said, “I can’t speak for the others, but Jack and I are.”

Grimaldi snorted. “I’m glad you told me.”

The big Fed exhaled loudly. “Good. Transport’s already on the way to your location.”

“You were pretty sure of yourself,” Bolan said, allowing himself a rare smile.

Brognola replied with a nod and a wink before the screen went blank.

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