War Drums. Don Pendleton

head and slackened his grip on Bolan’s throat. The soldier immediately slammed his left hand under Novak’s chin, the heel impacting hard. Novak gagged, head arcing back, and Bolan swung the Beretta one more time, steel crunching against the other man’s jaw. The blow spun Novak to one side and as he slumped to the carpet Bolan swiveled to face Stratton, and met the guy as he turned from the desk, his right fist gripping a SIG-Sauer P-226. The muzzle was already arcing in Bolan’s direction, Stratton’s flushed face taut with rage. The Executioner didn’t hesitate, his finger stroking the 93-R’s trigger. The pistol fired a suppressed 3-round burst into Stratton’s chest. He fell back against the desk, eyes widening in total shock, sliding to the floor, facedown, the P-226 spilling from his limp fingers.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Bolan stood in the silence, shaking his head at the sudden change in the situation. Soft to hard in a matter of seconds. No way could these events be predetermined.

      He stripped off Novak’s belt and used it to secure the man’s hands behind his back. He lifted the unconscious man onto the leather couch, then bent over Stratton and took his belt. Kneeling in front of Novak, he bound the man’s ankles together.

      Bolan took out his cell phone and contacted Stony Man. The connection was smooth and fast in spite of various cutouts and Bolan asked for Brognola. When the big Fed came on the line, Bolan explained the situation and made his request.

      “You sure on this, Striker?” Brognola asked, then caught himself. “I know you wouldn’t be asking if you weren’t.”

      “I need Stratton’s body removed and Novak in secure—and I mean secure—isolation. We remove Stratton’s Rolls from outside his place and have it hidden in a secure garage. Make it look like he’s gone on a trip. Novak’s car, as well. It might be less suspicious if his car is removed ASAP. It might give me some lead time. And Stratton’s phone needs monitoring for any incoming calls.”

      “Give me his number and Aaron can access it and keep 24/7 surveillance. Anything else?”

      “Not at the moment.”

      “I’ll arrange the removals.”

      “Novak’s flight isn’t until tomorrow afternoon. I’ll lay low until then. I also need a UK passport in Novak’s name with my photo and details on it. A suggestion—have the removal team arrive late in the evening. Less chance of anyone getting suspicious, or seeing it isn’t Stratton driving away. As soon as it’s done, I can leave and get back to the air base.”

      “Stay close, Striker, I’ll call back with details.”

      BOLAN LOCATED THE SMALL, expensively fitted kitchen and made himself a mug of coffee. He took it back to the living room and waited for Novak to regain consciousness. The man eventually roused, groaning at the pain in his head. Blood had run heavily down his face and soaked the front of his shirt. He struggled against the bonds at his wrists and ankles. He finally raised his head and stared across the room at Bolan.

      “What’s your game?”

      Bolan remained silent. He let it stretch, waiting until Novak looked around the room and saw Stratton’s corpse.

      “Jesus, is he dead?”

      “He’s dead. You can be next, Novak.”

      The man shook his head. “If you wanted that, I’d already be dead. You want something. So we have a trade-off coming.”

      “You can still end up like the deceased Mr. Stratton. Let’s be clear, Novak. If I can get what I want, fine. If not, I can go with what I have.”

      “And what’s that?” Novak’s voice held a trace of a sneer.

      “Your inventory. Your flight ticket and the reservation at Le Meridien Hotel in Aqaba, Jordan.”

      “Maybe I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

      “Then we don’t have anything to discuss,” Bolan said, and reached for the Beretta on the coffee table. “Like I said, it makes no difference to me. Two dead is just as acceptable. Actually it would make my life easier.”

      BY THE TIME THE CLEANUP team arrived it was dark. Bolan had received an advance call and was there to let the four men into the apartment. They worked quickly and efficiently. Within twenty minutes Stratton’s body had been taken outside and placed in the trunk of Novak’s car. One of the men took the keys, slid behind the wheel and drove off. Novak, hands cuffed and mouth gagged, was taken out of the building and placed in the rear of the Rolls. All this was done with the minimum of fuss and at chosen moments so as not to alert anyone in the other apartments. There was only one of them that showed any light in a window, and close observation by the cleanup team ensured no one was watching. After the Rolls had driven out of the mews, the remaining member of the team handed Bolan a package.

      “I believe this is what you’ve been waiting for, Cooper,” he said, using Bolan’s cover name.

      “Thanks.”

      They were standing in the gloom of the apartment, all the lights turned off following Stratton’s supposed departure.

      “Novak?” Bolan asked.

      “Don’t worry about him. Where he’s going they don’t have guest telephones. He’ll be out of circulation big-time until we get the word. Could be useful. We’ve been dying to get our hands on that character for some time. This gives us the opportunity to talk to him without his legal team breathing down our necks.”

      “If you get anything that might be of use to me, I’d appreciate the information.”

      “We know where to pass it along.” The man pointed at the laptop. “Likewise, anything we can use.”

      “I’ll give my people the word to download the contents soon as they can.”

      The apartment had offered up nothing else in the way of information. Bolan and the cleanup man slipped out of the apartment, pulling the door shut behind them. They stayed out of the security light and left the quiet mews. Bolan crossed to his rental car, the cleanup man already out of sight on the far side of the street. He started the vehicle and swung it around, his destination the military airfield where he had landed in the UK.

      Military Airbase, Oxford, UK

      “DOWNLOAD COMPLETE,” KURTZMAN said over the com link. “We’ll go to work on the files and give you anything useful.”

      “Once I get to Jordan I might be out of touch for a while. There’s no way of knowing how this is going to play out.”

      “Take it easy, big guy.”

      Brognola came on the line. “The package you asked for?” He was referring to the passport Bolan had requested.

      “Looks good. I don’t know how far it’s going to get me,” Bolan said. “If someone over there already knows Novak…”

      “This is not a good idea,” Barbara Price said over the multilink. “You’re going to walk in blind.”

      “It’s a chance I’ll have to take,” Bolan said. “I don’t have much more to go on, so I have to take what I’ve got.”

      “Just watch yourself, Striker. Backup’s here. Just remember that.”

      BOLAN, DRESSED CASUALLY AND carrying a small flight bag, arrived at Heathrow Airport well ahead of his flight time. He checked in and went to the departure lounge, bought himself a light snack and a coffee, and took a seat. He used the time to go over what he had already learned from his encounter with Stratton and Novak.

      Prior to the arrival of the cleanup team, Novak had given Bolan what he wanted. The destination and time of a shipment that would complete his transaction with the group based in Jordan. Novak had finally accepted his delicate position in relation to staying alive. Stratton’s unexpected death had shaken the man, and Bolan’s cool demeanor had