Shadow Search

A shot rang out

Bolan heard the slug whack into the wall behind him, felt chunks of clay strike his shoulders. He took evasive action, going down on one knee and returning fire. The shadowy figure on the far side of the room flew backward, becoming entangled with a chair and fell hard, blood coursing from his chest and throat. He lay for a while choking on blood and sucking air through his shredded windpipe.

Bolan stayed alert, scanning the room until he was satisfied he was alone. He moved from man to man, checking for signs of life. There were none. He picked up the dropped weapons and threw them in a corner after pulling the magazines.

Then he turned and stepped outside, feeling the heat of the sun as he crossed to the old truck—and the figure bound to it.

MACK BOLAN®

The Executioner

#227 Blood Circle

#228 Terminal Option

#229 Zero Tolerance

#230 Deep Attack

#231 Slaughter Squad

#232 Jackal Hunt

#233 Tough Justice

#234 Target Command

#235 Plague Wind

#236 Vengeance Rising

#237 Hellfire Trigger

#238 Crimson Tide

#239 Hostile Proximity

#240 Devil’s Guard

#241 Evil Reborn

#242 Doomsday Conspiracy

#243 Assault Reflex

#244 Judas Kill

#245 Virtual Destruction

#246 Blood of the Earth

#247 Black Dawn Rising

#248 Rolling Death

#249 Shadow Target

#250 Warning Shot

#251 Kill Radius

#252 Death Line

#253 Risk Factor

#254 Chill Effect

#255 War Bird

#256 Point of Impact

#257 Precision Play

#258 Target Lock

#259 Nightfire

#260 Dayhunt

#261 Dawnkill

#262 Trigger Point

#263 Skysniper

#264 Iron Fist

#265 Freedom Force

#266 Ultimate Price

#267 Invisible Invader

#268 Shattered Trust

#269 Shifting Shadows

#270 Judgment Day

#271 Cyberhunt

#272 Stealth Striker

#273 UForce

#274 Rogue Target

#275 Crossed Borders

#276 Leviathan

#277 Dirty Mission

#278 Triple Reverse

#279 Fire Wind

#280 Fear Rally

#281 Blood Stone

#282 Jungle Conflict

#283 Ring of Retaliation

#284 Devil’s Army

#285 Final Strike

#286 Armageddon Exit

#287 Rogue Warrior

#288 Arctic Blast

#289 Vendetta Force

#290 Pursued

#291 Blood Trade

#292 Savage Game

#293 Death Merchants

#294 Scorpion Rising

#295 Hostile Alliance

#296 Nuclear Game

#297 Deadly Pursuit

#298 Final Play

#299 Dangerous Encounter

#300 Warrior’s Requiem

#301 Blast Radius

#302 Shadow Search

The Executioner®

Shadow Search

Don Pendleton

Wrongdoing can only be avoided if those who are not wronged feel the same indignation at it as those who are.

—Solon, Athenian Statesman c.638 B.C.

The salvation of mankind lies only in making everything the concern of everyone.

—Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Nobel Prize winner

To those who prey on the defenseless and the weak—beware. I have seen that despair and weakness in your victims and I will not stand aside and abandon them, or allow it to continue.

—Mack Bolan

To all of the coalition military personnel who have been, or are, serving in the Middle East. Thanks.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

1

Tempala Airport, West Africa.

Phil McReady wasn’t a nervous type but he felt slightly uneasy in the presence of the man he knew only as Mike Belasko. Since his introduction to the man at the airport just outside Tempala City, McReady had sensed there was far more to Belasko than the quiet-spoken, reserved persona he displayed. Belasko had stepped off the plane, checking the corner of the airfield that had been allocated to the U.S. team led by Ambassador Leland Cartwright. His manner was that of a man who didn’t trust any situation until he had checked it out personally. Because of the presidential authorization given to Cartwright’s organization, McReady had been able to take Belasko straight to the waiting car and out of the airport.

Belasko moved with the confidence of a man who knew his way around. His manner belied his physical appearance. Over six foot in height, with a solid physical build, he weighed around two hundred pounds, none of it wasted on fat. He made no play about his appearance. He didn’t need to. McReady had also noticed the quiet way Belasko spoke. He didn’t raise his voice, yet there was something in his manner that drew good responses from those he did talk to.

As far as McReady was concerned, Belasko was another addition to the U.S. government team in Tempala. That was how he had been told to view Belasko, and to ask no questions. Belasko was also to be given all the cooperation he required—again with no questions asked. It was all on a need-to-know basis. McReady had been given his orders and that was it. The moment Belasko had stepped off the plane, his eyes checking out the area as he walked across the apron to meet McReady, he showed his true calling. This was no man to fool with. McReady made a mental note to keep his curiosity in check. Plain and simple, the message was, do not ask questions and do not get on the wrong side of this man. On the other hand, McReady wasn’t an idiot. He knew why Belasko was there. It irritated him because his insider knowledge allowed him the privilege of knowing what had happened to start all this off. The frantic calls to Washington and the U.S. President. McReady had been in on all of it, and then Cartwright had started getting tight-lipped about the whole thing.

In the air-conditioned comfort of the car on the way from the airport to the city, McReady concentrated on his driving.

“So what the hell did they tell you about me, Phil?” Belasko asked. “The way you’re avoiding talking, somebody must have laid down the rules pretty hard.”

“My boss, Leland Cartwright. He said to meet you at the plane, take you to the hotel and when you’re settled in, drive you to meet President Karima. Apart from that I don’t question you.”

Belasko laughed. “What does he think I’m going to do? Shoot you if I don’t like what you ask?”

“I guess we’re all a little touchy, Mike. Since Karima’s kids were kidnapped things have been a little tense.”

“I can see why. Has the lid been kept closed on the situation?”

McReady drew breath, unsure how to handle the question.

“We all know why I’m here,” Belasko said. “Karima’s children have been taken and the kidnappers are using them as a threat. They don’t want Karima signing the agreement with the U.S. because that gives our military a foot in the door in this part of the world. The opposition see that as a means of imposing Karima’s authority on the country. They say he’ll use the American military to put down any opposition. That won’t happen. All we’re looking for are deep-water facilities at Rugendi Bay. Refueling and repair units. It will bring in a steady source of income for the country. Karima is also looking for financial backing to regenerate the copper-mining business. Tempala has vast copper deposits and Karima wants to get the business working again. The old regimes have let the business fall apart. I know that and you know that, so talk to me, Phil. I need some intel if I’m going to get those kids back.”

McReady smiled. “I’ll say one thing for you, Belasko. You can sum up the problem without taking a breath.”

“I don’t see any reason to walk around the block.”

“I guess not.”

That summed up Belasko as a whole, McReady decided. The man would tackle anything that came his way in the same manner. Direct, to the point. Given why he was there it was probably the only way to go.

It took just under thirty minutes to reach the city. They drove along a straight, tarmac road cutting through fringes of lush forest and grass. Along the way they passed gas stations and a couple of small settlements. There was a fair amount of traffic.

“Tempala is a nice place,” McReady said. “Developing at a steady pace. Joseph Karima is a good man. Runs a straight government and deals honestly with the people. The only problem he can’t get settled is the old tribal affiliations. Africa still has a hell of a time with these blood ties and such. You can have the most democratic government, build houses and power stations, run a stable economy, but it can all be knocked off track by these tribal issues.”

“And it’s Karima’s stumbling block, from what I heard.”

“You said it,” McReady agreed. “He has an internal struggle going on that’s threatening his whole power base. Rebel forces want to turn their backs on everything he’s done because they believe it will ruin the country. Damn it, the place was in ruins when Karima came into power. What he’s done in twelve years is a miracle. The people have never been so well off and they don’t want change. So the rebels have turned to terror tactics. The worst thing they’ve done is to orchestrate this kidnapping. The way Karima tells it, they want him to step down and hand over all power to the rebels. Allow them to form a new government on their terms.”

“How widespread is the news of the kidnapping?”

“As of last night it’s still in-house, so to speak. Karima has kept it under wraps. If the news does get out there would be an outcry. Family is everything to this country, and Karima’s kids are part of his strength in the eyes of the nation.”

“Ten-year-old twins?” Belasko said.

McReady nodded.

“Boy and girl. Randolph and Katherine. Karima’s wife died six months after the kids were born. Since then he’s brought them up himself.”

“What does he know about me?”

“Only that you’ve been brought in by Ambassador Cartwright, via the U.S. President. You will handle the affair on your own without interference.”

“How does Cartwright know about the kidnapping?”

“Karima trusts him. Cartwright was appointed by the U.S. President to help organize the Rugendi Bay negotiations. When Karima contacted the President and asked for his help the President told Karima he could trust Cartwright. Seems the President and Karima are old friends. Dates back to when Karima was in the States, going through law school. The men and their wives were good friends. As soon as the President heard about the kidnapping he pulled some strings.” McReady grinned. “Which is why you’re here, I guess.”

“Pays to have powerful friends,” Belasko observed.

“I’ll have to remember that,” McReady said wryly.

They reached the hotel. It was a large, modern structure set in cultivated grounds. As McReady drew up outside the main entrance, a uniformed doorman stepped out to open the car door. Belasko carried his leather shoulder bag as McReady led the way inside and up to the reception desk.

The attractive girl behind the desk smiled at him. “Back so soon, Mr. McReady?”

“With a guest,” McReady said. “You have a room reserved for him.”

“This will be Mr. Belasko?”

Belasko nodded. He signed in and took the key card the girl handed him.

“Fourth floor, Mr. Belasko.”

“Thanks,” Belasko said as he picked up his bag.

“Meet you here in the lobby in thirty minutes?” McReady asked.

“Fine.”

MACK BOLAN TOOK the elevator up to the fourth floor, then followed the wall signs until he located his room. The key card opened the door and he went in, dropped his bag beside the bed and slipped out of his suit jacket. He tossed it on the bed before crossing to the large window. He stared out across the open view of the city. In the far distance he could make out the hazy outline of a mountain chain. He stood at the window for a while, simply enjoying the view.

When he did move he picked up the shoulder bag and placed it on the bed. Taking a small key from his pocket he unlocked the zipper restraint and opened the bag. He reached to the bottom and pulled out a packed shoulder-holster rig. When the rig was unrolled, a handgun was exposed. It was a 9 mm Beretta 93-R machine pistol. He laid the rig on the bed. He took a clean shirt from his leather bag and placed it beside the Beretta. Removing his tie he went to the bathroom, stripped off his shirt and washed up. Emerging from the bathroom, Bolan pulled on the fresh shirt and put on the tie again. Before he slipped into his jacket he put on the shoulder holster.

Checking himself in the mirror on the wall he ran his fingers through his thick black hair, nodding at his reflection. “So let’s get this mission on the rails, Mr. Belasko,” Mack Bolan said to himself.

24 hours earlier

HAL BROGNOLA SEARCHED the pockets of his jacket for a cigar, sighing audibly when he found one. The director of the Sensitive Operations Group unwrapped it and stuck it between his teeth, looking ready to chew it into oblivion. He looked as if he had resigned himself to the fact that all he could do now was wait for Mack Bolan to make his decision.

The man known as the Executioner, sitting across from the head Fed, was aware of Brognola’s agitation. Bolan had been ready to take off on a few days’ R&R when Brognola’s call had reached him at the ultracovert Stony Man Farm. Within twenty minutes Bolan was on board one of the Farm’s helicopters, being flown to Washington by Jack Grimaldi.

“What’s up, Sarge?” Grimaldi had asked.

“If I knew I’d tell you,” Bolan had answered truthfully. “Only thing I am sure of is I can kiss my vacation goodbye.”

“Situation normal then,” Grimaldi said, smiling.

“You said it, Jack.”

Brognola was waiting for Bolan when the helicopter touched down. The soldier transferred to the big Fed’s car and settled back for an explanation. Brognola didn’t say a great deal as he drove to a nearby diner. They went inside and ordered coffee.

“Hal, you’re looking smart,” Bolan observed, taking in the neat shirt and tie. Even Brognola’s suit looked as if it had just come off the hanger. “Been to see the head man?”

“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly where I’ve been,” Brognola said. “He asked to see me. Urgent meeting.”

Their coffee came and they sat drinking until the waitress had moved on.

“Urgent meeting?” Bolan reminded his friend.

“Yeah. The President wanted to ask a favor.”

“From you?”

“Christ, Striker, you don’t let even me off the hook.”

Bolan smiled, shaking his head. “Come on, Hal, we don’t need to pussyfoot. What does the man want?”

“You heard of Tempala?”

“On the west coast of Africa. Democratic independent state. The British ran the place about a hundred years ago. President is Joseph Karima. Right now he’s in some kind of talks with the U.S. Wants to offer the Navy the use of a deepwater facility. And there’s something about copper concessions as well.”

Bolan picked up his cup and drank. He waited for Brognola to speak.

“You amaze me. You’re right up to date. Karima is going through a hard time at the moment. He’s fighting a rebel faction from the Kirandi tribes who are resisting any changes that will benefit the country. These people are doing everything they can to cancel out the deep-water offer and the deal for the copper with U.S. companies. Things are starting to get serious. The rebels have started to use harassment and scare tactics against the general population. Karima has stood up to them until the latest escalation, and that’s where we come in.”

Bolan saw the look on Brognola’s face and knew for sure he wasn’t going to like what he heard.

“Just about thirty-six hours ago Joseph Karima’s children were kidnapped by the rebels. Karima has been given ten days to agree with the rebel’s demands. He must cancel all the negotiations he’s involved in and step down from office. If he refuses he doesn’t see his children ever again.”

“His country or his children,” Bolan stated. “Those rebels know how to turn the screw.”

“Which is why the President wants us to help,” Brognola said. “Striker, Karima is a friend to the U.S. From the mouth of the President, Karima is one of the good guys. He’s pulled Tempala out of the dirt and held it together through some really hard times. The future could be good for his whole country if he can complete his negotiations. The copper mining is ready to grow. The deals he has in the pipeline will bring in money and provide jobs. So would the agreement with our Navy.”

“You mentioned a favor?”

Brognola rubbed the back of his neck, chewing on his cigar.

“Okay, it’s like this. Joseph Karima and the President are good friends. They first met when Karima was in the U.S. at law school. When Karima met the girl he eventually married, the President and his wife were instrumental in helping the relationship along. They were at Karima’s wedding in New York. Karima’s wife died soon after the children were born. Boy-and-girl twins. Karima brought the kids up on his own and still found time to go into politics and become president of Tempala. It’s one of the things the people like about him. Karima is father to his children and his country. Right now the man is hurting. He needs help. Our President has asked for help, Striker. He wants you to go to Tempala, meet Karima and find his kids. All you have to say is yes. A plane is waiting to take you directly to Tempala. Cover has already been arranged. I can fill you in on the way to the airfield. I’ve got a file in the car. It will update you on everything you’ll need to know before you touch down.”

Bolan examined his cup.

“The President accepts he’ll owe us for this,” Brognola said.

“Damn right he will,” Bolan answered. “It’s going to cost you, too, Hal.”

Brognola stared at his friend.

“Big time,” Bolan said, smiling. “At least a coffee refill.” He pushed his cup across the table.

THERE WAS A CAR WAITING outside the hotel when Bolan joined McReady. They left immediately. The ride through Tempala City was interesting from Bolan’s viewpoint. He could see the good Karima had done. Clean, modern buildings stood on each side of the three-lane highway. There were some imposing structures, with a number of them showing American logos. There were a couple of buildings that showed the results of recent attacks. Slogans had been painted across walls, and windows had been broken. A blackened patch showed where a gasoline bomb had been thrown at the building, one belonging to a U.S. mining company.

“Rebels did that a few weeks back,” McReady said. “Place had only a week to go before it opened for business. Crazy thing is that all the American companies employ a large percentage of Tempalan citizens. How do you figure it? Someone phoned the local radio station and warned that this was only the start if things didn’t change.”

“How bad is the rebel problem?” Bolan asked.

“Becoming worse,” McReady replied. “They’re stepping up intimidation. A lot of it is out of the city and towns, away from the regular law-enforcement areas. Tempala only has a small military presence, and they’re spread pretty thin. So the rebels make use of that.”

“Sounds familiar,” Bolan said. “Only terrorize the people who can’t fight back, like the farmers who live in remote areas. How about the mining crews?”

McReady nodded. “Karima is trying to establish the copper production. The deposits here are huge. Which is why he wants an alliance with U.S. mining companies. It would be good for us both. But the rebels are opposed.”

Bolan smiled. “They would be.”

“Not all Kirandi are with the rebels. There’s a big percentage who have crossed the line, put the past behind them so they can improve the country. There are Kirandi in government positions, business. Hell, even Simon Chakra, Tempala’s military commander is a Kirandi.”

McReady pointed to a building ahead as the car rounded a corner. The straight approach to the government building was impressive. A wide square fronted the building. It was thronged with people enjoying the landscaped lawns and flower beds. Trees swayed in the warm breeze. Government House was a modest affair compared to some seats of power Bolan had seen. It was only two stories high, white and gleaming in the bright day. The car rolled to a stop at the foot of stone steps. Bolan and McReady climbed out. The Executioner followed McReady up the steps to the entrance, where they were confronted by armed soldiers in immaculate uniforms. Before they could respond to the challenge of the soldiers, Bolan and McReady were interrupted by a smartly dressed black man who held out his hands in greeting.

“Mr. McReady, punctual as usual. And this must be Mr. Belasko? Please come inside. The president is waiting for you.”

“Raymond Nkoya, Karima’s vice-president,” McReady said quietly as the man walked ahead of them.

Bolan and McReady followed the man into the building. He led them to a stone staircase and up to the next floor. There they emerged onto a long corridor with offices leading off both sides. All the offices appeared to be occupied. Bolan noticed there were a number of armed soldiers stationed along the corridor.

At the end of the hallway double doors opened to allow them to step inside a spacious office. A desk made from smooth, pale wood occupied a place in front of a wide window that overlooked the square fronting the building. Behind it sat the man Bolan recognized as Joseph Karima. The jacket of his light-colored suit was draped over the back of his leather chair and his sleeves were rolled up. He was in his early forties, handsome man, tall when he stood to step around the desk to greet his guests.

“Phillip, good to see you.”

“Mr. President,” McReady acknowledged. “This is Mike Belasko.”

Karima took Bolan’s hand. His grip was firm. “Thank you for coming.”

“I hope I can help, sir.”

Karima turned to McReady and Nkoya.

“Would you give us some time to talk?”

McReady nodded. “Of course, Mr. President, as long as you need.”

Karima closed the doors behind then. He indicated a chair for Bolan and returned to his own. “I am in your hands, Mr. Belasko,” he said. “Tell me what you need. If it’s in my power you’ll have it.”

“Photographs of the children would be helpful. Everything you have on the time they went missing.”

Karima picked up a file and handed it to Bolan. “It’s all in there.”

“Did the rebels have help from inside?”

“They were well informed about the children’s movements on that day. While it wasn’t a state secret it wasn’t common knowledge.”

“How many of your people had access to that information?” Bolan asked.

From Karima’s reaction he realized the man had been taken aback by the question.

“Sir?”

“It never occurred to me that I might have a…”