Zero Option

“All right, Vernon. However you want it,” Stahl said and turned to leave.

“Eric,” Randolph said, “do your worst, and to hell with your damned games.”

“A neat analogy,” Stahl replied. “Just remember that games all have one thing in common. A winner and a loser. And you know well enough, Vernon, I hate to lose.”

“THE EQUATION CAN’T be that difficult to grasp,” Stahl said. “If Doug Buchanan is out there looking for some kind of sanctuary, there’s only one man he’ll look for.”

He paused, savoring the moment, his triumph over every man in the room. He was still surprised at the revelation that had come to him on his return from confronting Senator Randolph.

“Senator, don’t play fucking games,” Cal Ryan said. “And pardon my language.”

“No, you’re right, Mr. Ryan. Excuse my indulgence. The man we need to locate is Saul Kaplan. Find Kaplan, and Buchanan won’t be far away.”

“What’s the connection?” Ryan asked.

“Kaplan brought Buchanan into the Zero project, chose him as the man who would inherit Zero as his savior.”

“You mean Buchanan is the guy who gets to sit in the control seat?”

“Exactly. He was chosen because he has all the military skills, is a man with a strong moral sense of right and wrong and he has terminal cancer.”

“We playing games again? They were going to put a dying man in charge of Zero?”

“Two reasons, Mr. Ryan. Buchanan was aware that on his own he would have been dead in a couple of years, but once he became part of Zero, his biological functions, including his immune system, would be taken over by the machine. It would replace his natural bodily awareness and integrate it into the biocouch. Zero’s capabilities are far in advance of anything in existence. You can appreciate why I want it under our control, Mr. Ryan. Our control alone.”

“I’m starting to, Senator.”

“With Zero in our hands, there won’t be a nation that would dare to even think about threatening the U.S. We would be in total control of the nation and have the ability to make our enemies toe the line. If they refuse, Zero could be used to make them see sense.”

“The ultimate authority.”

Stahl smiled. “Zero tolerance, Mr. Ryan. Zero tolerance.”

“Can we be certain Buchanan will head for Kaplan?”

“I believe he will. Buchanan has no one else to turn to. The Zero project was hit by an unknown force. Destroyed. No one is certain by whom. We suspect foreign interference. Regimes who see the threat Zero would pose to them. Which is why we need the project up and running. To counter such threats. If we bring Zero fully online, anyone contemplating a strike against the U.S. is going to know they would be under Zero’s scrutiny. To answer your question, Buchanan is a man out in the cold. Who can he trust? He’ll understand his position and he’ll know he’s a wanted man. Saul Kaplan was his mentor, the one man he knows he’ll always be able to turn to. If Buchanan calls, Kaplan will help him.”

“Where do we find Kaplan?”

“Right now we don’t know where he is. Kaplan vanished from his university post weeks ago. Just took off. It could be he’s heard from Buchanan in the past few days and the pair have arranged some meeting. We have to follow it up.”

Stahl slid a folder across the desk. Picking it up, Ryan flicked through the data sheets.

“Everything there is on file about Saul Kaplan. Use it and find him. We need them both alive. Kaplan has knowledge about Zero we can use.”

Ryan nodded. He gestured to his team and they followed him from the room, leaving Stahl alone. He remained seated for a while, then stood and crossed the room. He lingered at the window, watching Ryan and his people as they climbed into their vehicles. Stahl stayed there until the cars had driven out of sight. He made his way to the desk in a corner of the room, picked up his phone, punching in a number sequence.

“Are you available, Orin? Good. Where? That’s fine. An hour?”

STAHL ARRIVED ten minutes early, which gave his security team time to check out the area around the meeting place. It paid to be careful. A man in Stahl’s position needed to be cautious. He knew he had enemies. There was no point in making it too easy for them.

His team came back to report the area was clear. They climbed back in their car, and Stahl made his way down to the canal. Even though his car was some distance away, he knew his security men would have him in their sight.

The water was flat, not a ripple breaking the surface. Birds sang in the distance, calling to their mates. Stahl took a breath, allowing himself a moment of calm.

There was no doubt, he told himself, America was a beautiful country. It had everything a man could ever want or need. It was worth defending from those who looked at it through envious eyes. Terrorists, religious fanatics, countries who saw America as their adversary. The do-gooders and the liberals, even in America itself, who wanted to weaken it from within. The government legislators. The Communist sympathizers. The list was long. The threats came from abroad and from within America’s own borders. Between them they would turn America into a soft target, with no military to speak of and the defense system pared down to the bone to appease the overwhelming lobby of pacifists and downright cowards. It was sometimes hard for Stahl to believe that America had been built by far-seeing, hardy pioneers, men and women who had crossed the primitive continent, creating the strongest, richest nation in the world. They had done it from scratch, using their bare hands and their burning desire to be free. In the end they had done just that. It had taken decades, spilled blood and the bones of the dead who littered a hundred dusty trails, but they had achieved a miracle.

And now, if it was left to the spineless administration, America would be weakened further, prey to any rogue nation that decided she was ripe for the plucking. There was talk of cutting back on defense, weakening the country’s armed forces, taking the nation’s protection out of the hands of the military. And there were too few politicians with the backbone to stand up in defense of those cutbacks. The Zero Option was ready and waiting, the ultimate weapon. In Stahl’s eyes, even if the current administration brought it online, it would step back from utilizing the weapon’s potential. Stahl would not hesitate to make the world fully aware of Zero and what it could do. His first act, once he was installed in the White House, would be a practical demonstration of Zero’s capabilities. There was nothing like a hard strike to show the world America meant business. And a hard strike was what Stahl intended. Then the world could look on and see that the new American government meant what it said.

Stahl’s hands were shaking as he plucked a cigarette from his silver case and lit it. He inhaled deeply, of smoke, letting the effect calm him. Just thinking about the enormity of his scheme unsettled him. Once he embarked on it there would be no turning aside. It would have to be seen through to the end. There was no doubt that there would be a global outcry. Condemnation. Accusing fingers aimed at America.

But what could they do?

With Zero online and able to target anyone, what could they do?

Damn them all!

America needed a hard man at the helm. Someone not afraid to take on the bitchers and the whiners and the appeasers, a man who could tell the enemies of the U.S. to go to hell, because the country had the best, the finest, the most deadly weapon under its control. Once Stahl had Zero in his camp, he could bargain his way into the White House and show the American people he wasn’t fooling. And when he had the administration firmly manned by his people and the military under the command of Orin Stengard, then it would be the turn of the global community to see that America had turned the corner and was really back as the strongest nation on Earth.

Stahl flicked ash from his cigarette and watched it fall into the water at his feet. He felt a little better after his internal rant. Sometimes his bitter feelings got the better of him, and it proved therapeutic when he gave vent to them.

He heard footsteps close by. Stahl turned and saw Orin Stengard walking toward him. He was in civilian clothing. Sharply creased slacks and an expensive leather jacket over a pale cream shirt.

“Eric,” Stengard said by way of greeting. “You made this meeting sound urgent.”

“I wouldn’t have asked to see you if it hadn’t been.”

“So?”

“I was correct. Randolph has been making more of his threatening noises. I offered him the chance to join us, but he turned the offer down point-blank.”

“Is it bluster, or does he actually know something?”

“I think he’s starting to became suspicious. You know what he’s like. He’s worked out you and I are close. He also knows about Buchanan being alive.”

“How the hell did he find out about that?”

“Not from me. Look, Orin, that old bastard has been around for a long time. He has contacts all over, a finger in every department of the administration and the military. He’s a one-man CIA. He’s done favors for so many people you couldn’t read the list on a long weekend. That man has survived so many changes of government it’s worth a fucking medal.”

“All right. So what does he want? A payoff? In on the deal? What?”

“I’ll tell you what his intentions are, Orin, and believe me I know what I’m saying. Randolph wants to take us down. The man is a dinosaur. He has principles and morals. He doesn’t have enough at the moment, but the minute he does he’ll take his findings to the President and spill beans all over the fucking Oval Office carpet.”

Stengard ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. He looked down at his highly polished leather shoes, cleared his throat, then looked out along the peaceful canal.

“We get rid of him, then. No ifs or buts. Senator Randolph has reached the end of an exceptional life in politics. It comes to us all, Eric. None of us is immortal. You have any problems with Randolph’s imminent demise?”

“Do I look like a man with a problem?”

“To be honest, Eric, yes, you do. You need to learn how to relax. Tension never won any battles. Go with the flow. See the problem, work it out and send in the troops.”

This time Stahl had to laugh.

“I have to hand it to you, Orin. Here we are getting ready to make a hostile takeover for the government of the United States. We have teams of covert mercenaries on the loose. A fully armed orbiting weapons platform over our heads just waiting to be switched on. And all you can say is ‘Relax.’ How the hell did you get where you are in the military?”

“By following my instincts. Letting the other poor idiots run around and get sweaty. Watching them work their butts off so they were old men before forty. I waited and listened, and took the chances they were too scared to tackle. They fell behind while I moved up the promotion ladder. And before you say it, yes, it was as easy as that. The military and politics are not so unalike. We plot and connive. Cultivate our allies and get rid of our enemies. Build up a store of favors we can call in. Make sure you always have your back to the wall and an eye out for the main chance.” Stengard turned so he had Stahl full face. “After that little speech I think we both should watch the other. After all, Eric, aren’t we after the same thing? Total power? High positions and control of the most awesome piece of hardware ever conceived? Tell me, Eric, do you still trust me?”

“If I told you, it would place me at a disadvantage.”

“Spoken like a true politician.”

“Can I leave you to deal with Randolph?” Stengard nodded. He turned to make his way back to his car, Stahl at his side. He had his door open before he spoke again.

“Have you ever heard of a man called Belasko? Mike Belasko?”

Stahl shook his head.

“Name doesn’t mean a thing. Should it?”

“No. Forget I asked. You’ll not hear it again.”

AS HE WAS DRIVEN back to his own office, Stahl wondered briefly who Mike Belasko was. The name occupied him for a few minutes as he tried to make a connection. When he failed he dismissed it sat back in the comfortable leather seat, watching the Washington landscape flash by.

If things went as planned and they gained control of Zero everything he saw outside the car, as the old saying went, would be his. It was a pleasing thought.

CHAPTER THREE

Stony Man Farm, Virginia

Bolan was on his third coffee when Hal Brognola arrived. He took one look at the soldier and reached for the pot himself, pouring himself a mug before dropping into the chair behind his desk. Brognola looked like a man who hadn’t slept for a long time. He took a long swallow of coffee, leaned back in his seat and stared at his old friend while he formed the words he wanted to speak.

“What the hell is going on, Striker?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. I’d planned to spend some R&R with Jack on Nassau. I touched down and found out it had gone to hell—Jack in hospital, Jess Buchanan kidnapped. I picked up some information on the perps and headed back for the mainland only to get hijacked at the airport and ended up having to fight my way out of a bad situation. That’s it. I dropped off the security tape I located at Jess Buchanan’s airstrip. Aaron is running it through the computer now to see if we can get some names for the faces. End of story. Now it’s your turn.”

“You up for another ride?” Brognola asked.

“Sure. Why not? I’m not even going to ask where.”

“One of your admirable qualities, Striker. Flexibility.” Bolan scowled at his longtime friend and ally. “Don’t push it.”

Brognola allowed himself a brief smile. He drained his coffee mug and stood.

“We’ll check with Aaron before we head out.”

AARON KURTZMAN was alone in the Computer Room. He spun his wheelchair away from his workstation as Brognola stepped into the room, with Bolan shadowing him. One look at the Executioner’s expression and Kurtzman knew it was no time for levity. He had been updated on what had happened from the moment Bolan had arrived in Nassau.

“I ran your security tape through the military database. You and Jack were right with the military connection. I came up with two positives. Your blond guy is one Calvin Ryan. Ex-Army. Retired a couple of years back from his last unit. Worked his way up through the ranks. Quite a record. The guy is a professional, a hard hitter. Desert Storm. Grenada. Headed a team of infiltrators for his commanding officer. You’ll like this. Colonel Orin Stengard.”

“Steel and Thunder Stengard?” Brognola said.

“The one and only. Makes all the other hard-liners look like pacifists.”

“The guy is always in the news with his views on why America needs to pull up the drawbridge and turn the country into an armed camp. Given his way, he’d have kids in school being taught weapons drill and issued with M-16s.”

“Any suggestions on what Ryan has done since he left the military?” Bolan asked.

Kurtzman shook his head. “Nothing on file.”

“You said two IDs.”

“Only got a clear image on one other man. Paul Meeker.”

“One of Ryan’s former military unit?”

“How did you know that?”

Bolan shrugged. “Just a guess.”

“Every time you start guessing, I get a cold finger down my spine,” Brognola said. “You have any other insights?”

“One observation,” Bolan said. “Orin Stengard has been known to associate himself alongside Senator Eric Stahl. Another might-is-right believer, and a man who has more than a passing connection with the armaments industry.”

“Connection is a nice way of putting it,” Brognola said. “The Stahl family has been in armaments since the 1930s. It’s where he gets his money. The man is worth billions.”

“Is this the Eric Stahl who fronts the Third Party?” Kurtzman asked.

“Stahl is the Third Party. The guy wants to be President. He was elected on his manifesto in his home state because he has one hell of a following in the Fortress America camp. We might not like his views, but a lot of people do. Stahl makes no concessions to political correctness, or tiptoeing around the issues. He says it as he sees it. The country is losing face and the ability to defend itself because we fudge the issues and let our enemies tell us how we should act. According to Stahl, we should think of the U.S. first and if it upsets the rest of the world, so what?” Brognola glanced across at Bolan. “Time we left.”

“You guys on a date?” Kurtzman asked.

“Not the kind you’re thinking about,” Brognola said.

“See what you can come up with on the wallet and the car-rental details,” Bolan said as he followed Brognola out the door. “Check those Glock pistols, as well. I’ll catch you later.”

“You know where to find me,” Kurtzman said to the Executioner’s back. He swung his wheelchair back to his desk and bent over his keyboard.

He had been working on the car-rental information Bolan had brought in. The credit-card detail ran him into a firewall on his first attempt. It went so far, then threw up a block. That was its first mistake. Kurtzman didn’t like being denied access to information. So he had pulled back and brought up one of his own programs, using it to bypass the card company’s firewall. He had just requested his program to worm its way into the card company’s database when Bolan and Brognola had visited. Now they had gone, Kurtzman turned back to his computer’s search and checked on the results. A smile creased his face as he read what the search had produced. He was into the card company’s database. His program had overcome the firewall put up by the security system. All Kurtzman had to do now was trace the ownership of the card, and it would point the finger at whoever was financing the people who had attacked Jack Grimaldi and Jess Buchanan.

THE BLACKSUIT PILOT behind the controls of the helicopter nodded as Bolan and Brognola settled in their seats behind him.

“Any update on Jack, sir?” he asked.

“Nothing new. He’s going to be out of action for a few weeks, but he’ll be okay.”

“Glad to hear it. Hope everything works out okay. He was really looking forward to his break on Nassau. All he talked about the last few days before he left.”

“He’d be pleased to know people are thinking about him,” Bolan told him.

“Yeah, they sure are, sir. Hell of a guy.”

Bolan sat back as the chopper rose into the air and gained altitude.

“Hell of a guy” didn’t even scratch the surface when it came to describing Jack Grimaldi.

RAIN PELTED the helicopter as it touched down on the well-tended lawn behind the White House. The pilot shut off the power and the rotors began to slow, making a soft pulse of sound as they cut the air.

A pair of dark-suited Secret Service agents came out to meet Bolan and Brognola as they ran across the grass to the entrance that would admit them to the President’s residence.

“The President is expecting you,” one of the agents said. He was staring at the slight, telltale bulge under Bolan’s jacket.

“You need to take it?” Bolan asked, preempting the agent’s thoughts. He opened his jacket to expose the holstered Beretta 93-R.

A muscle in the agent’s jaw twitched slightly. He cleared his throat.

“The President has sanctioned your right to keep your weapon, sir.”

“I appreciate that.”

The agent held Bolan’s gaze for a heartbeat.

“If you’d feel more comfortable, I’ll hand it over,” Bolan said evenly.

“That won’t be necessary, sir. Thanks for your cooperation.” The agent turned his gaze on Brognola. “Same concession goes for you, as well, Mr. Brognola. Would you both come this way.”

The agents led the men to a thickly carpeted hallway that deadened the sound of their passing. They paused at the door to the Oval Office. One of the agents tapped on the door, which was opened by one of the White House staff members who spoke briefly to the agent before withdrawing. He reappeared moments later, beckoning to Bolan and Brognola.

“The President is ready to see you.”

Bolan let the big Fed step inside first, then followed close behind. The staff member retreated, closing the door behind him, leaving the men alone with the President of the United States.

The Man came from behind his desk, holding out a hand to greet Brognola. The President’s jacket was draped over the back of his chair behind the desk and his sleeves were rolled partway up his arms.

“Hal,” he said.

“Sir.”

The President turned his attention to the Executioner. It was a rare happening for the President to actually meet the man he was in the habit of sending out to do dangerous work on behalf of the nation. Before he even had words with Bolan, the President realized this was someone he could trust. The soldier had a presence, a quiet confidence that reached out and confirmed his devotion to country and duty. It was a rare thing, especially in the current climate of mistrust and deceit, and despite being hailed as the most powerful man in the world, the President found he felt safe being in the same room as Mack Bolan.

“Glad you could make it, Striker,” the President said, holding out his hand.

Bolan took it, feeling the firm grip of the President.

“Did Hal fill you in with the details?”

“No, sir,” Brognola interrupted. “I wanted this to come directly to him when the three of us were together.”

“There’s fresh coffee over there. Help yourselves before we start.” The President crossed to the tray resting on a small table and poured himself a mug. “Anyone?”

“Black for me,” Bolan said.

“Nothing for me just now,” Brognola said.

Bolan took the mug the President handed him. He waited until the Man had taken his place behind his desk, then settled himself in one of the comfortable chairs facing the desk. Brognola sat on his left.

“Cards on the table, gentlemen,” the President said evenly. “We have a problem brewing and you, Striker, however you want to call it, seem to have become involved.” The President allowed himself a quick smile. “Not the first time that has happened, either.”

“No, sir.”

“Hal has given me the details of your involvement from the start, up to the present, so we don’t need to go through that again. I also understand that your people at Stony Man are working on material Striker brought back with him, Hal?”

“Yes, sir, and we do have some feedback already,” Brognola said. “It’s a little early to give us definite connections, though.”

“Cards on the table?” Bolan interrupted, leaning forward in his seat. He caught Brognola’s warning glance but chose to ignore it. “I’m picking up a feeling of urgency, so I’m going to play my hand.

“From evidence I picked up in Nassau and the people who were waiting for me at the airport, we came up with two names. The man in charge of the team who took Jess Buchanan and attacked Jack Grimaldi is an ex-military man named Calvin Ryan. The other man is Paul Meeker. Meeker was part of Ryan’s special-ops team. Their commanding officer in the army was Colonel Orin Stengard, and Stengard is a known associate of—”

“Senator Eric Stahl,” the President said. He glanced at Brognola. “Hal? What do you make of this?”

“Right now they’re just names and tenuous connections, Mr. President.”

“But in the context of what I’m about to explain to Striker, don’t you feel those connections are too strong to ignore?”

“As we’re off the record and this goes no further, my personal feelings are that Stengard and Stahl are involved right up their necks, Mr. President. On past records concerning their political and personal views, I have to admit to being downright biased against them.”

The President nodded. “That wasn’t too hard to say, was it, Hal?”

Brognola glanced across at Bolan. “Happy now?”

“Getting there.”

The President placed his coffee mug on the desk. He looked directly at Bolan.