Contagion Option. Don Pendleton
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“Or it was just an animal with similar fur patterns as the smaller missing cow. Hollowed out with its soft tissue missing, it would look like something could have deformed the animal,” Bolan explained.
“You take all the fun out of conspiracy theories,” Kurtzman mumbled.
“I’ve yet to run into a conspiracy that was fun,” Bolan retorted.
“Usually because they’re out to kill you,” Kurtzman added.
“There’s that,” Bolan replied. “Smuggling from Korea to Utah…but not the other way around?”
“Perhaps the exports from the area are of a more subtle means,” Kurtzman mused. “Though, that explains why the bank robbers were armed with 5.45 mm ComBloc ammunition.”
“Five point forty-five?” Bolan asked. “Usually street gangs use either stolen National Guard M-16s, in 5.56 mm, or AK-47s smuggled up from Central and South America, in 7.62 mm. That’s still cutting-edge equipment. How’d you find that out?”
“FBI agents at the scene figured it out after they tore apart a police car,” Kurtzman explained. “I’m sending what reports we have. Unfortunately, any other forensic analysis is going to be put on hold since half the bank collapsed.”
“The hostages?”
“Alive and well,” Kurtzman informed him. “The FBI and police rushed the bank as soon as the robbers disappeared into the basement. They evacuated everyone before the building came down.”
“Anyone hurt?” Bolan asked.
“A SWAT commander suffered a broken collarbone and three broken ribs, and an FBI contract agent took a whack on the head, but they’re okay.”
Bolan nodded. “Who was the contract agent, one of our blacksuits?”
“No, but he’s a friend of one of our irregulars, Kirby Graham,” Kurtzman stated. “I don’t know if you met…”
“Close Quarters Combat training in hazardous material environments, three years ago,” Bolan stated. “It was a refresher course for me as much as it was for them.”
“Good memory,” Kurtzman complimented.
“It helps in this business,” the Executioner replied. “And the contract agent?”
“Old college buddy of his, Professor Stan Reader.”
“I’ve heard of him, too,” Bolan stated. “Buck Greene and I have wanted to vet him for the blacksuit program, but he’s just a shade too high profile to fit in with the Sensitive Operations Group. Nuclear physicist and a professional biathlete, among other things.”
“Get in touch with Graham,” Bolan stated. “If Reader’s up to it, I’d like them keeping the Farm informed of everything on Utah’s end of things.”
“You’re not coming back here?” Kurtzman asked.
“I’ll be taking the scenic route, Aaron,” Bolan told him. “I hear that North Korea is quite pleasant at times like this.”
“And what time is that?” Kurtzman asked.
The Executioner took a deep breath. “Blitz time.”
He signed off and prepared for his infiltration of North Korea.
CHAPTER FIVE
Salt Lake City, Utah
“Now take it easy, Stretch,” Kirby Graham admonished as Stan Reader pulled on his shirt. “You took a good clobberin’ when that bank fell on you. You’re lucky to have had such a short hospital stay.”
Reader glanced at his old friend. “You know I bounce back pretty well. Once you showed me that a few knocks won’t kill me…”
He stood and fought off some momentary dizziness. “Lieber still mad at you?”
“He’d take a potato peeler to my ass and dip what’s left over in lemon juice if he could,” Graham replied. The Fed smirked.
“So what’s so funny?” Reader asked.
“Seems I had an old boss call in some favors to cover me,” Graham stated.
“An old friend? Wasn’t me, Kirby,” Reader said.
“No, not you,” Graham replied. “I did a little hush-hush security work at an installation a couple years back.”
“CIA?” Reader asked.
Graham shrugged. “Never really could tell. But I know I have the Justice Department watching out for me. Even though Lieber has me and Rachel in the dog house, there’s nothing they can really do to us with my guardian angel.”
“So you really don’t need me to bail you out?” Reader concluded, looking a little crestfallen.
“Aw, come on, Stretch, you know I’d join you in a heartbeat,” Graham stated. “Even if we were just running a garage or a greasy diner.”
“Kirby, you’re sheep-dipped. Maybe by the CIA, maybe by someone a little more covert. You think they’ll let you gallivant all over the world with me?” Reader asked.
Graham shrugged. “They gave me a ring while the doctors were still running X-rays on you. They’re interested in having you pitch in here.”
“Me?” Reader asked. “And you told them I’d help? You know, I have some morals, Kirby.”
“Yeah. These guys that have me sheep-dipped, they’ve got some morals, too.”
Reader frowned. “What do they want?”
“To keep them informed of our progress in this investigation,” Graham said. “Their usual resources are busy, but one will be here soon enough.”
“Resources,” Reader repeated. This time it wasn’t dizziness, but nauseous dread. “Is that what they call ‘assets’ now?”
Graham looked defeated at the implication. “This isn’t the Company, Stretch.”
“And whoever we catch isn’t going to be outsourced to Egypt to be tortured?” Reader asked.
“No way,” Graham stated.
Reader’s lips were drawn into a tight line as he considered the identity of Graham’s mystery controllers. There had been a few cues in what his friend had told him that they were of a covert nature, and extralegal. The Justice Department wouldn’t bypass Special Agent in Charge Lieber to tap a low-level agent to get all the dirt on an investigation. And Lieber would tell the Justice Department whatever it wanted to hear.
It also had to have been a small organization from the mention of its resources being previously occupied. If that was the case, then it couldn’t be the CIA, since the Company had thousands of agents and operatives inside and outside the United States that they could call upon for assistance. Graham pinned his involvement with these people as stemming from a covert security posting a few years back, so they had the resources to legally employ law-enforcement operatives, but not use them as these “resources.” He regarded Graham for a moment.
“All right, Kirby. I’ll help out,” Reader stated.
A small organization, utilizing a network of law enforcement, and perhaps even ex-military men to supply it with intelligence and information outside conventional channels intrigued the polymath. It was one way to slip the fetters of interagency petty rivalries, without being a form of monolithic bureaucracy such as the Department of Homeland Security had proved itself to be. Perhaps he’d have an opportunity to learn more about these mystery men. If they were behind similar skullduggery as the “School of the Americas” or the “Air America” torture transports to Egypt, then Reader would bow out and try to salvage his friend Graham from their dark