Desert Impact. Don PendletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
watching the exchange with interest, but now she stepped over to greet them. Bolan offered his hand but was pulled into a short, friendly embrace. Into his ear, she whispered, “Thank you for understanding,” then pulled away again, giving Rivers a hug, too. She smelled like baking apples and corn bread and all the wonderful scents of home, but as they entered the trailer, he noted pictures on the wall of her riding horses and any number of trophies to go with them. She was just as extraordinary as her husband.
“Now you boys get in here, but leave all those guns by the door.”
Rivers was already removing his weapons, and Bolan glanced at Tony.
“Don’t worry, son. There’s nothing to fear here. I have a suspicion that if you wanted it bad enough, you could get it quickly sitting here by the door.”
Bolan pulled the Desert Eagle from the holster and placed it on the table next to the door. He was halfway across the room before Eleanor stopped him.
“You must be as forgetful as Tony,” she scolded, “but you have an excuse. You don’t know that I won’t serve an armed man at my table. You can leave the ankle gun over there, too.”
Rivers and Tony both smiled as they followed Eleanor and left Bolan to pull the small pistol tucked into his ankle holster and place it on the table next to the Desert Eagle.
“Now, you boys sit down and I’ll fix you up something nice while you talk.”
Bolan began to argue, but Rivers shook his head, dissuading him. Bolan took his seat at the table.
Once they were all seated, Tony leaned back in his chair and cocked an eyebrow at Rivers. “So, what brings you, Colton? We love it when you visit, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t bring Mister...Cooper here without a reason.”
“True enough,” he said. “I figured you might have a bead on a situation we ran into a couple of days ago.”
Rivers ran through the fight on the border, showing them photos on his phone of the weapons and the serial nomenclature. Tony nodded a few times but didn’t interrupt until the younger man was finished, ending the story with his call to Bolan. Tony stared at Bolan and then looked at Rivers again. “This hasn’t been in the papers or on the news,” he said thoughtfully.
“We’ve managed to keep it quiet so far,” Rivers replied. “But I don’t think we can keep a lid on it forever—and it will blow sky high if it happens again.”
Tony nodded, turning to Bolan. “What do you think of all of this?”
“The border’s been a mess for years, and it’s getting worse. Without evidence, I can’t be sure of anything.”
“You know, I ran this area for a long time. Nothing came in our out of here without me knowing. Some things we let by to keep the peace and some we laid down the law on. I’ve worked undercover for the worst thugs and then tracked them across half a continent to bring them to justice. I’ve learned to trust my gut, and it tells me your suspicions may be as good as most people’s facts, so please, share them with us.”
Bolan leaned back and pondered the man before him. Few people Bolan met in his life he felt he could trust, but there was something about this man that said he might just make the list. That was a very rare thing in his world.
“Normally, I’d say Mexican Mafia, maybe. They’re a little more organized than most of the drug lords. Still, taking on U.S. military weapons is a little out of their league. On the other hand, with things heating up down here the way they have been, I wouldn’t cross anything off of the list.”
“Ten years ago, maybe even five, I would agree with you,” Tony said. “But as you say, the border here is worse than it has ever been. Mexico can’t keep a handle on any of their cartels and small paramilitary groups are all vying for power. The government is powerless, and they’re basically fighting a civil war with about a dozen different factions wanting a place at the table. We can find out who is responsible on the other side of the border, but the selling of U.S. arms on this side is more concerning.”
“We’re going to poke around in Sierra Vista next,” Bolan said. “A lot goes on at Fort We Gotcha that happens behind the scenes.”
Tony and Rivers both nodded, apparently amused that Bolan knew the more colloquial name for Fort Huachuca.
“In the meantime,” Tony said, “I’ll make a little noise and see who I can roust from their dens south of the border. You boys be careful, though. Something about this feels downright dangerous.”
“I’m always careful,” Bolan said. “It’s a habit.”
“Not too careful to eat, I hope,” Eleanor said, setting a plate piled high with tortillas on the table. “That’s enough business talk. Eat first, solve problems after.” The smells from the kitchen were mouthwatering and all three men dug into the meal with gusto. Sometimes, a good meal before battle was all a man could hope for.
Fort Huachuca was situated just outside the small town of Sierra Vista and was home to the U.S. Army Intelligence Center as well as the 9th Army Signal Command, among other electronic communications and intelligence-driven units.
The gate guard took one look at Bolan’s identification, offered a quick, casual salute and sent him on his way. He’d offered the credentials that would get him access to damn near every military installation he could want: Colonel Brandon Stone.
In the distance, past the manicured lawns of the buildings closest to the heart of the fort, Bolan could see the yellow hangars of Libby Airfield, which was used by both military and civilian aircraft.
The building Bolan was looking for wasn’t hard to find—a quick internet search on his handheld revealed that a civilian company, Kruegor Enterprises, was in charge of the weapon warehousing and storage facilities on the base. Although Kruegor couldn’t actually hand the weapons out, they provided the building maintenance, basic security and administrative personnel, while the armory itself was manned by Army regulars.
Bolan found the main administrative office quite easily. He parked his vehicle, then decided to try something. Instead of entering through the main office doors, he strolled around to the side of the building, where a set of bay doors, large enough for trucks to pass through, were wide open. He entered, whistling to himself. At the moment, no vehicles parked were inside, and other than a bored-looking sergeant at a checkout desk, no one was around. A quick visual inspection showed no weapons in the main area, but a sign on the door behind the sergeant indicated that only authorized military personnel were allowed beyond that point.
Bolan gave a friendly wave to the man and flashed his credentials. When the sergeant waved him through, he continued into the main office. There, another man was bent over a file cabinet, oblivious to Bolan’s presence and muttering to himself about the nuisance of inspections. The man’s white shirt wasn’t quite tucked in on the sides, where it was a little small, and small trickles of sweat had formed on his bald head. He gave the impression of a man who knew a lot more about paperwork than building security.
Bolan pulled the door shut behind him, rocking the picture on the wall, as the man wrenched up from his hunched position. “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me!” he exclaimed.
Bolan didn’t say anything but eyed the thin wad of papers the man was tucking behind his back.
“Can I help you? I mean...what are you doing here? This is a restricted area.”
“Yeah, I got that from the mountains of security,” Bolan quipped.
“Everything that needs to be secured is, but that’s none of your business anyway. What do you want?”
“That remains to be seen. Either way, I’m looking for Brett Kingston.”
“He’s out of the office right now.”
“I’ll