Hellfire Code. Don PendletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
on Downing’s payroll, taking care of this Malaya might be part of the deal.”
“Possibly,” Bolan replied. “I’m still skeptical about that.”
“Why?”
“Seems to me a man as fanatical about duty and honor as Downing is would probably use this woman more as leverage to keep Neely in line. I’ve known Roger Neely for some time, and he never struck as me the kind seduced by greed or power. But do something to threaten his family, I think he might cooperate.”
“That’s assuming a lot,” Price replied.
“Like what?”
“Like this Malaya and her kid are Neely’s family.”
“Okay, maybe they are and maybe they aren’t,” Bolan said. “Just do me a favor and have Hal get the CIA to back off on the surveillance.”
“Sounds like you have a plan.”
“In a way,” Bolan said. “I’d rather handle it myself. Neely knows me and he trusts me, and right now that may be the only thing going for us. I don’t want to spook him.”
Yeah, Bolan had Neely figured. The NSA agent was a straight-lace guy all the way according to his performance reviews. Smart, educated and born into a family of old money, Neely joined the NSA as a junior analyst following six years with a U.S. Army Signal unit where he’d specialized in cryptography and domestic intelligence. He met the challenge with acclaimed success, making analyst in an unprecedented three years and senior analyst on the eve of his fortieth birthday.
Downing had some leverage on Neely and he was using it to his maximum benefit.
When they reached Neely’s apartment building, Bolan passed the cabbie twenty U.S. dollars and then exited the Jeepney without waiting for change. He pushed through the cheap front door and ascended a flight of rickety wooden steps. They creaked with every footfall, and Bolan figured if Neely hadn’t been expecting him he was now. The lack of security held no surprises for the Executioner, especially not in this part of town. There was little crime, mostly because the residents in this section of Manila had little if anything of value to steal.
Bolan located Neely’s apartment and knocked. A minute elapsed before he knocked again and waited patiently in silence. He pulled a lock-pick set from his pocket and expertly overcame the cheap door handle. The apartments here didn’t even have dead bolts. Bolan opened the door wide enough to slip through, and then quickly swept the apartment only to find it empty.
The Executioner took a position in the darkened recess of a doorway and waited.
ALMOST TWO HOURS ELAPSED in Bolan’s vigil before he hit pay dirt. It started with the sound of keys jingling outside the apartment, then the click of the lock. Bolan peered out of his shadowy position to watch as the door handle turned and the door swung inward. He recognized his mark the moment Neely entered, and waited until the door closed before he stepped from the shadows and raised the Beretta. He aligned his sights on the back of Neely’s neck as the NSA agent closed the door and locked it.
“Don’t move,” Bolan ordered. Neely started to turn and Bolan drew back the hammer on the Beretta. “I said ‘don’t.’”
Neely froze.
Bolan walked over to Neely, pistol unwavering, and quickly frisked him. He found a 9 mm SIG-Sauer pistol tucked in Neely’s front pocket and relieved him of it. Bolan then grabbed Neely by the collar and pulled him backward into an overstuffed chair. He studied Neely for a moment, watched his eyes, but saw only surprise there.
“I can see from that look you weren’t expecting me,” Bolan said.
“Actually I was,” Neely replied. “I just didn’t think it would be this soon. It took you long enough.”
“Don’t try it,” Bolan said in a clipped fashion.
“Try what?”
“Try to make it sound as if this was all part of your plan. You skip on our meet without so much as getting a message to me. Then you show up in the Philippines, chumming it up with terrorists.”
“What terrorists? You mean, Downing?” Neely let out a snort. “That guy’s no terrorist.”
“I think ordering the wholesale slaughter of innocent people and then calling them ‘casualties of war’ qualifies him for the title,” Bolan replied.
“Downing didn’t order any such thing, Cooper,” Neely shot back. “His little hit team did all that on their own. It wasn’t intentional.”
“Doesn’t explain why you’re running,” Bolan said.
“Because Downing’s a crazy son of a bitch, and so is Stezhnya.”
“Who’s Stezhnya?”
“Alek Stezhnya.” Neely waved his hand with irritation. “He’s some type of gun-for-hire, ex-Russian military I think. The guy creeps me out. Both of them creep me out.”
Bolan expressed frostiness. “Most fanatics do.”
“They’re not fanatics, they’re—I don’t know…fatalists.” Neely paused to take a deep breath. “Look, Cooper, I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I’m sick about it.”
“So do the right thing and tell me how I can get to Downing and his mercenaries.”
“I don’t know for sure.”
Bolan didn’t hide his skepticism.
“Look, I swear I don’t,” Neely said, throwing up his hands. “I know Downing has a base of operations somewhere south of here.”
“How far?”
“Can’t be sure, but I’m positive he’s operating out there.”
“The woman and child living here,” Bolan said quickly. “How do you figure in with them?”
“My wife and little girl.”
“Why aren’t they living with you in the States?”
“Because I had some difficulty with her immigration status,” Neely replied in a tone Bolan read as truthful. “It’s been hell trying to get her over there since the crackdown on terrorism. Lots of bureaucracy and red tape.”
“You shouldn’t have trouble given your connections,” Bolan challenged.
“I decided not to use them,” Neely said. “I was trying to keep it quiet.”
“Why?”
Neely gestured in a nondescript fashion. “Because I wanted to avoid Downing finding out about them. Somehow he got on to Malaya and Corinne before I could do anything about it.”
“So you came here to make sure they were okay,” Bolan finished.
“Yeah,” Neely said with a sigh of relief. “I had some vacation time coming and I thought I could beat him to it. First he contacted me and asked for my help. When I turned him down flat, he threatened my family.”
“Why you?”
“Who knows, but I’m sure it’s because he didn’t know who else might have the information he needed. Nobody has intelligence on the terrorists like the NSA. Hell, you probably know that better than most. There were times I figured you knew more than I did and I was just confirming your facts.”
“Maybe so,” Bolan interjected. “Keep talking.”
“Word on the inside is that Downing’s horned off a few important people. In NSA-speak that means he’s out of any favor with most of our internal bunch, and what few friends he has he either alienated with the Atlanta stunt or just plain murdered.”
“Where’s your family now?”
“I’ve moved them, hopefully where Downing and his goons