Zero Option

But Grimaldi was no average citizen, and there was no way these people were customers. His suspicions made him step forward, slightly in front, blocking Buchanan from the men. His stance, outwardly easy, told them he was on the alert, watching for any problems.

At the forefront of Grimaldi’s mind was the telephone message from Jess’s uncle.

Don’t talk to strangers.

“What can I do for you?” Grimaldi asked.

The lead man, his white-blond hair cut short, body solid under the loose folds of his suit, turned his head slightly so he could see Buchanan over Grimaldi’s shoulder—but he spoke directly at Grimaldi.

“Are you Jess Buchanan, mister?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t have business with you, and you are interfering in mine.”

Buchanan touched Grimaldi’s arm, moving to stand beside him. “I’m Jess Buchanan. What do you want?”

“We need you to come with us. No arguments. No questions. You just do it.”

“Just like that? You walk into my place and I do exactly what you want?”

The man smiled as if he were calming an unruly puppy. “Now there’s a good girl. You see. No fuss. No bother.” Then his manner changed in an instant, the smile turning cold as Grimaldi tensed and put out a warning hand. “I already gave you an order, mister.”

“Order? Where do you think you are, friend? This isn’t a military base and you’re no damned squad leader.”

“No?”

Grimaldi caught movement off to his left. One of the suits lunged, his move fast and smooth as he arced in at Grimaldi. His left hand, previously at his side, rose to show the dark configuration of a hard-looking compact shotgun. The guy brought up the weapon, securing it with his right hand, and he was already into his swing as he stepped around the lead man. Grimaldi brought up an arm to ward off the blow. The solid steel barrel cracked against his forearm, the blow delivered with maximum force. The impact drew a pained grunt from Grimaldi, and he swiveled hard, his right hand catching Buchanan’s shoulder, pushing her aside as the lead man went for her.

As she stumbled out of the immediate area, Grimaldi swung his right hand and caught the lead man across the side of the face. The blow stung and the man’s head rocked. He stepped back, anger showing in his cold eyes as the shotgunner closed in, swinging the weapon again, slamming the butt into Grimaldi’s side, a savage blow that cracked ribs and drove the breath from the Stony Man pilot’s lungs. The others were moving in now, dark shapes converging on Grimaldi. He was no slouch when it came to defending himself, and he used his moment of freedom to set himself, gritting his teeth against the swell of pain from his broken ribs. The pain was sharp, sweat popping across his face as Grimaldi forced himself to fight back.

He got in a few telling blows, had the satisfaction of seeing bloodied faces before the overwhelming odds closed around him and he went down under a deluge of blows from weapons and feet. He struggled to push himself upright, the continuing blows starting to wear away his resistance. His face was dripping blood. He tasted it in his mouth. A savage kick drove in over his left eye, splitting flesh to the bone. He felt the hot gush of blood, which washed downward and blinded his vision. Somewhere out of the blur of movement and sound he heard Jess. She was yelling, fighting hard. Through the swirl of dark coats he caught a glimpse of her.

She was struggling in the grip of the lead man. He held her with little effort, a crooked grin on his tight face. She reached out and took hold of his short blond hair, yanking hard. He jerked away, then suddenly, cruelly, punched her hard in the face. The last thing Grimaldi saw was Jess going limp, her mouth bloody, eyes starting to glaze over from the blow. He tried to yell to her but he was choking on his own blood. Someone stamped down hard on his left hand, breaking several fingers. Grimaldi felt himself being hauled up off the floor, pinned against the bench as more blows landed on his body. He made a vain attempt at resisting. His attempts were brushed aside. As his body began to shut down, oblivious to the continuing beating, all Grimaldi could recall was the final expression in Jess’s eyes…it had been one of pure terror. And then he went under.

MACK BOLAN STOOD as the white-coated doctor came into the waiting room. The medic held out a hand, gripping Bolan’s firmly.

“How is he?” Bolan asked.

“When you called you said you were family. I don’t see a resemblance.”

Bolan smiled. “Maybe I should have added that I’m all the family Jack has, Doc. We work together. Right now my friend is in trouble, and I want to know how he is.”

“All right, Mr. Belasko. Let’s sit down. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

When they were seated, the doctor took a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Jack Grimaldi was brought in about five hours ago. He had taken one hell of a beating. We have three broken ribs on his left side. Came close to puncturing his lung. He also has three broken fingers in his left hand. In addition his upper torso, arms and face are showing severe bruising associated with the beating he took. He has a slight fracture in his right cheekbone, and it looks like someone kicked him above the right eye. Left a deep gash. His eye has swollen so he won’t be able to see for a while. In nontechnical terms your friend has been well and truly worked over.”

“Are any of the injuries life threatening?”

“No, but he’s going to be out of action for a while.”

“Is he awake?”

The doctor sighed; he knew what was coming.

“You want to see him?”

“I understand he needs rest. I’m not going to be there long, and I’m not about to put him under any kind of stress. I just need to see him for a couple of minutes. Then I’m gone.”

The doctor stood and beckoned for Bolan to follow him.

“If I say no, you’ll just keep pestering me. Am I right?”

“You got it.”

“I’ve already sent the police away when they wanted to question him. So why am I letting you in?”

“Did the police ask as nicely as I did?”

The doctor shook his head and chuckled.

Bolan followed the medic down the hall and to the private room where he could see Grimaldi’s prone shape on the bed through the window.

“I’ll be outside,” the doctor said. “And I’ll be watching. Any signs of distress, and I’m hauling you straight out. He’s been sedated to ease the pain, so he might not be fully awake.”

“Understood. And thanks.”

Bolan eased into the room. The lights were low and the room was silent except for Grimaldi’s slightly harsh breathing. As the soldier stood beside the bed, looking down at his friend, Grimaldi’s good eye opened and he stared up at his visitor.

“Hey, Sarge, thanks for showing up.”

“I’m going to make this quick,” Bolan said. “Your doc’s got his eye on me.”

“Sarge, they took her. They took Jess.”

“Who were they?”

“I don’t know. But they looked like they had military training at some time. The guy in charge had close-cropped white-blond hair. I got one in on his left cheek before they put me down.”

Grimaldi was talking slowly so as not to increase any pain he was suffering. It still had to have hurt, Bolan realized, seeing the strain on his friend’s face.

“Any idea why they wanted Jess?”

“The only thing I can tell you is she told me she’d had a call from her late father’s brother. Jess was out at the time, and he left a message on her answering machine. She hadn’t had contact with him for some time. He’s in the Air Force, Sarge, and his name is Doug Buchanan. The call came out of the blue. Jess said he sounded like he was under some strain. He warned her not to talk to anyone about hearing from him and to watch out for strangers. Coincidence?” Grimaldi fell silent for a moment. “What could they want from her, Mack?”

Bolan rested a gentle hand on Grimaldi’s shoulder. “Let me worry about that. One way or the other, I’ll find out.”

Grimaldi nodded, satisfied. He knew Mack Bolan well enough to accept those few words as a promise.

“You rest easy.”

Bolan turned to leave. At the door he paused as he heard Grimaldi’s whispered thanks. When he turned to look back, the Stony Man pilot had drifted into a tranquilized sleep.

Back in the corridor Bolan thanked the doctor and made his way outside. He stood in the warm afternoon sun, considering his next move. There was, he realized, only a single option open to him. Bolan walked to the street and picked up a cab. He told the driver his destination, then settled back and watched the tourists going about their business, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Taking time out to be a tourist had been the reason Bolan had come to Nassau. He had finally accepted Grimaldi’s invitation to join him and Jess on the island for a few days, and had been looking forward to the brief R&R. A break from the battlegrounds that dominated his life. Bolan might have dedicated himself to a life of struggle against the forces of evil, but he wasn’t so immersed that he failed to realize the need for a moment of respite. Endless missions took their toll. Time out had been called—but even that looked as if it was about to be canceled.

THE CAB DROPPED Bolan at the entrance to the charter airstrip next to Nassau International Airport. He paid the driver and crossed to the security hut. The soldier had spoken to the uniformed man earlier when he had arrived. Earl was in his late fifties, quiet spoken.

“How’s Jack?” he asked.

“He’ll pull through,” Bolan said. “That beating he took is going to keep him in hospital for a while.”

“Damned shame. I like Jack. Him and Miss Jess made a nice couple. I know he couldn’t get over here to see her as often as he wanted, but when he did they always had a good time. Miss Jess got real excited every time he called to say he was coming in.”

The Stony Man flier had that effect on people. His outgoing personality reached out to embrace anyone he met. Bolan didn’t fail to notice the way the security man talked about him. Jack—not Mr. Grimaldi.

“After it happened were the police told?”

Earl nodded. “They sent an officer after I called. He took my statement and had a look around. Thing was, the place was pretty quiet when it happened. Hardly anyone around. The cop who came, well, he didn’t put much effort into things. Problem is, the police are down on manpower. They didn’t even send down an experienced officer. He looked like he just got out of training school. He was a kid. Hardly knew the right questions to ask. Listen, Mr. Belasko, I know you’re a friend of Jack and all. I just wonder what’s going to happen to Miss Jess. Where is she? What did those people want with her?”

“I don’t know. But I want to find out. Earl, you mind if I go in and take a look around?”

“You take all the time you need. I got a phone in my booth. Anybody shows up I’ll make a call to Miss Jess’s office.”

Bolan made his way along the strip, crossing the concrete apron that took him by other charter companies until he was able to spot Jess Buchanan’s place.

He walked through the open hangar, making his way to Jess’s office. He hadn’t expected to find anything visible to offer any information. Bolan went directly to the telephone and checked the number. He took out his cell phone and speed-dialed Stony Man. The call was bounced off the satellite link and rerouted through a series of cutouts to the Farm. Bolan’s call was answered by Barbara Price herself. Bolan identified himself and told her what he wanted.

“I’ll get Aaron on it. How’s Jack?”

“Not at his best right now. He’s going to need some time to recover.”

“Listen, Mack, we’ll make sure he’s looked after. What do you need?”

“For now that check on all recent incoming calls to Jess Buchanan’s number. The only connection with her disappearance seems to be this out-of-the-blue call from her uncle. Doug Buchanan didn’t want Jess to say anything about his contacting her. Sounds like he was expecting problems.”

“You think maybe he’s in trouble with the Air Force?”

“Right now I don’t have any idea. Look into his background. See what you can find. If he was in trouble with his own people, I can’t see them handling it the way it happened. You going to have any problems getting information from the Air Force?”

“Let me worry about that. I’ll call the minute we have anything.” Price paused. “You take care.”

“You worrying about me?”

“Nothing in the manual that says I can’t.”

“Then I’ll be fine.”

He broke the connection and put the cell phone away.

Bolan spent a few more minutes going over the office. As before, he didn’t expect to find anything, but it never did any harm to check things out thoroughly.

When he stepped outside again, he took a slow look around the immediate area. He almost missed the security camera set on a corner of one of the adjacent buildings. Bolan took a walk across the concrete apron until he was standing under the camera. Turning to look back, he saw that as it panned from left to right and back again it would scan the frontage of Jess Buchanan’s building.

Bolan made his way back to the security hut.

“Earl, when the cop was here, did he ask about the security camera that overlooks Jess’s building?”

Earl thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“Matter of fact he didn’t. Like I told you before, he was nothing but a damned rookie. To be honest, Mr. Belasko, I didn’t give it much thought myself. This whole thing got me so I’m forgetting things myself. I’m getting too old for this kind of work. They should have a younger man here, but they won’t pay the money.”

Earl beckoned for Bolan to step inside. At the far end of the hut was a monitoring setup that contained a master and four smaller TV screens. They showed black-and-white images from the cameras located along the charter strip. To one side were four VCR machines in a stacked bank, each machine numbered to correspond with one of the cameras. Bolan studied the setup until he located the camera he had seen near Jess Buchanan’s building. He watched the camera pan slowly back and forth. At one point it covered the frontage of the Buchanan outfit.

“Earl, tell me you still have the tape that was in the machine when Jack and Jess were attacked.”

The security man cleared his throat.

“Should have if the night man hasn’t reused it,” he said lamely. “I’m going to feel bad if it’s been wiped.”

He moved to a shelving unit fastened to the wall and began to sort through the cassettes stacked there. Bolan could hear him muttering to himself, his guilt over his lack of foresight obviously bothering him. In his nervous state he fumbled with the tapes, knocking a couple onto the floor.

“Earl, take it easy,” Bolan said.

Earl took a deep breath, then started to look again. He gave a grunt of excitement when he finally found what he was looking for. He turned back to Bolan, holding up a cassette.

“I got it.”

He crossed to the monitoring desk and sat. There was a fifth VCR unit under the large monitor. Earl slid the tape in and punched the play button. When the image came on-screen there were date and time indicators in the bottom right of the screen.

“Give me a minute,” Earl said, pushing the fast-forward key. The on-screen image sped by, Earl watching closely. He stopped the tape and pointed a finger at the monitor. “There’s Jack arriving.”

Bolan watched as Grimaldi’s lean figure walked across to the entrance of the Buchanan hangar. He pushed open the door and went inside.

“Wasn’t much else happening that afternoon,” Earl said. He leaned across the desk and pushed the fast-forward key, sending the on-screen image into overdrive. He stopped it when a light-colored car rolled to a stop outside the hangar. “Not long after Jack arrived,” he said. “Come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing that car come in. Wait, I remember, ’bout that time I went across to the admin building. I got a call from one of the payroll clerks. They messed up my paycheck the previous week, and he wanted to talk to me about it. I locked the hut and went over. Guess I would have been away maybe twenty minutes is all.”

Bolan was watching the on-screen activity. Five men emerged from the car. They were all dressed alike in dark suits and moving like a squad of soldiers.

Score one for Jack’s assessment, Bolan thought. Somewhere along the line these men had received military training. There was no mistaking the precise, controlled movements, the way they carried themselves as they walked to the entrance door, opened it and went inside.

“Damn,” Earl muttered. “If I hadn’t been called across to the admin, I might have seen these people come in.”

“And you might have ended up like Jack. Or worse,” Bolan reminded him. “Move it on.”

Earl sped up the tape until the moment the men emerged from the building. One of them crossed directly to the parked car and opened the rear door. Bolan heard Earl let go a gasp of dismay when he recognized Jess Buchanan being led out to the car. She appeared dazed, having to be supported between two of the men. She was maneuvered inside, the rest of the group quickly following. The last man drew Bolan’s close attention as he took his time to look around before climbing into the car…

White-blond hair, cut short. Taut features, one hand reaching up to touch the left cheek where a dark bruise was visible, cold eyes staring straight ahead. A dangerous man, angry at being resisted, liable to react violently.

Bolan studied the face, stored it away for future reference. Here was a man the Executioner wouldn’t forget, and he also knew that sooner or later he was going to come face-to-face with him.

“Earl, can we see the license plate?”

Earl paused the tape, then used the remote to edge it forward, the car advancing into full frame, allowing them to study the rear end.

“I need to run down that number to see if I can locate that car.”

“I can tell you where it comes from,” Earl said. “Local rental agency. I recognize the number sequence. They have special plates for rental cars. Makes them easy to trace if they get stolen. We get a lot of tourists driving in for flights.”

Earl wrote on a sheet of paper and handed it to Bolan. He had recorded the license number and also the location of the rental agency.

“Thanks for this,” Bolan said. “Earl, if I don’t get to call back, I appreciate what you’ve done.”

“Wish it could have been more. I’ll drop by the hospital some time. Have a few minutes with Jack.”

Bolan stepped outside. There was a cabstand a few yards along the road. Behind him he heard the security hut door open.

“Mr. Belsako, you going to bring Miss Jess home?”

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

Bolan picked up a cab and had it take him back to town and his hotel. As he sank back in the seat, he thought.

It had been a long time since Bolan had dealt with something on such a personal level. Whatever the reasoning behind Jess Buchanan’s abduction, enough in itself, Jack Grimaldi was also involved. Badly hurt and unable to find out what had happened to Jess, Grimaldi was about to learn the meaning of true friendship. As far as Bolan was concerned, he would step in and deal with the matter on Grimaldi’s behalf. It would have been no different if the roles had been reversed. Bolan and Grimaldi went back a long way. Perhaps too far. But there were no questions that needed to be asked once the chips fell.

BACK IN HIS ROOM Bolan took time to freshen up before he put in a call to Stony Man farm. This time he spoke to Hal Brognola.

“You find anything useful?” the big Fed asked. There was a distinct weariness in Brognola’s tone. Bolan picked up on it the moment he heard his friend’s voice.

“There something wrong? You sound like you need a break.”

“Some hopes,” Brognola answered. “I’ve got Phoenix somewhere in the Middle East. Able chasing rebels in Central America. And you ready to go ballistic in Nassau. And there I’m thinking it might be a good weekend to go fishing.”

Bolan smiled at that. “Hal, you’d go crazy trying to land a salmon.”

“Yeah? I’d gamble a few gray cells just to give it a damned try.”

“Anything come through on the information I gave to Barbara?”

“I was afraid you were going to ask that.”

“Complications?”

“We’ve run Doug Buchanan’s name through the military computer banks, and all we come up with is a blank. It’s like he never existed. And Aaron detected some kind of a trace string. It tried to get into his system, but he blocked it.”

“Meaning someone got interested when he flagged up Buchanan’s name?”

“Aaron is trying to follow the trace back to its source. In the meantime the rest of the cyber team is doing what it can to find something about Doug Buchanan from other data banks.”

Bolan filed the information away. Interest in Doug Buchanan seemed to be the flavor of the day.

“Anything on the incoming call from Buchanan?”

“Not yet, but we won’t give up on it.”

“Okay.”

“You find anything at your end?” Brognola asked.

“Picked up something on the people who attacked Jack and took Jess Buchanan. I need a little more time down here before I come home.”

“Striker, are you seeing more than a simple abduction here?”

“Let’s say I’m starting to become curious. I’ll be in touch.”

Bolan cut the connection. He moved to stare out the window at the passing traffic, raising his gaze to the sunlight sparkling on the water of Nassau Harbour.

He took the sheet of paper from his pocket and checked the address of the car-rental agency Earl had written down for him. Using the room phone, Bolan spoke to the desk and asked for directions to the rental company. The desk clerk told him it was no more than a few minutes’ walk from the hotel.

Bolan slipped on his jacket and picked up his keycard. He left the room, took the elevator to the lobby and left the hotel. It was early evening. The sun was warm. A breeze drifting in off the harbor made the day comfortable. Bolan eased into the crowds thronging Bay Street, which ran parallel with the harbor. The crowds were from the great cruise ships that called in at Nassau, disgorging their souvenir-hungry passengers. The vacationers surged up and down the thoroughfare, eager to spend their money and stare at the pink-and-white buildings that were part of Nassau’s appeal.

If Bolan had been so inclined, he might have been envious of the simple needs of the crowds. He simply wished them well and moved on, his agenda somewhat deeper than which gaudy trinket was the best bargain.

The crowds began to thin around the time Bolan found his side street. It took him away from the harbor front, up a slight incline, then a spot where the street widened and he found himself confronted by the rental agency. The logo above the entrance also bore the telephone number Earl had written on the paper. To the left of the building was a lot where the rental vehicles were parked. Farther back was a medium-sized workshop. Bolan crossed over and took a cursory glance at the half-dozen parked cars, spotting the one he had seen on the security video.

Bolan stepped into the office. The woman behind the counter glanced up as he entered. She was dark skinned, her black hair worn in a short style that accented her striking features. Pinned to the front of her pale blue blouse was a name badge. Karen.

“May I help, sir?”

“Well, that depends,” Bolan said, keeping his tone friendly. “I need some information about a recent rental.”

The woman frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m an agent with the U.S. Customs Service,” Bolan said. “Agent Mike Belasko. Right now I’m working undercover, tracking a group of people we believe are committing crimes around the islands. They were in Florida before they moved here. A few days ago they rented a car from you.”

The woman continued to stare at Bolan, her eyes wide with surprise.