Aftershock. Don Pendleton

have your pistol,” he answered. “Besides, if you’re going to walk through the streets of Van with me, I’d rather you not attract a lot of attention carrying a loaded rifle.”

      Abood looked down at the ugly weapon in her hands, then surrendered it to him. “So I can take you there?”

      “Don’t get in my way,” he said, finger aimed at her. “And keep your head down.”

      Abood nodded. “You’re in charge.”

      Bolan folded his arms across his muscular chest. Under the jacket, the blacksuit looked like a skintight T-shirt, the kind that weight lifters wore to show off their well-honed torsos. His words helped to distract her from the way he seemed poured into his jeans.

      “You’re right. I’m in charge. And no mention of my involvement in the story,” Bolan explained. “I have people who can squelch the story if anything comes out. I’d hate to see you waste your time.”

      Abood held up her hands in surrender. “I don’t even have a camera. Your secrets are safe with me. I’ll take them to the grave.”

      Bolan’s jaw tightened.

      “Sorry, poor choice of words,” Abood apologized.

      “This isn’t a joke,” Bolan stated. “This is real.”

      “Yeah. I have the bruises to prove it,” Abood agreed. “You’re forgetting that I’m not a tenderfoot.”

      Bolan’s ice-blue eyes narrowed. He wasn’t amused.

      “You’ll be kept confidential,” Abood stated. “Anything you let slip—”

      “I won’t.”

      Abood swallowed. He’d been so friendly nearly an hour before, prior to her wanting to deal herself into the recovery of the missing medical supplies. But, from what he’d said, she understood the change in tone. He’d been expecting to drop her off, safe and sound with no worries. Now, he was going to bring her close to the flames, and he didn’t want her wings to ignite if she got too close. He’d taken responsibility for her, just like he’d taken on the sole responsibility of recovering the drugs.

      Abood had heard rumors across the years of such lone wolves, solitary crusaders reporters had occasionally run across. He was like a guardian angel, drawn to the most dangerous spots on Earth, performing good deeds, saving lives and providing aggressive, decisive strikes to those who would harm others.

      Abood understood. There was something about the man called Colonel Stone that inspired her to feel not only loyalty, but the desire to protect him. She thought maybe it was because she was a reporter who hunted out the truth and fought for justice in her own way. He was on the same side, waging the same struggle as she did, except with force of will and arms instead of words. Either way, they were both working toward the same cause.

      “Thanks for letting me help out, Stone,” Abood said softly.

      “Call me Brandon,” Bolan said. “Sorry for being such an ass, but it’s for your own good.”

      “I know,” Abood replied.

      “All right. Can you hold the bag?” he asked her. “It’s heavy, but…”

      “I’ll manage,” Abood said. She took it, and sure enough it was about as heavy as her dad’s range bag when he went to test rifles and pistols for his gun rags. It was nothing she wasn’t used to. “What are you going to do?”

      Bolan winked. “I’m going to borrow some wheels.”

      “Yeah, I got the bag. See if you can get something nice, like a Corvette,” Abood quipped.

      “I’ll see what I can do—”

      The ground vibrated beneath her feet, and she looked down. Bolan whipped around and looked at the city as the tremors grew in force.

      “Earthquake!” he growled.

      Suddenly the dirt at her feet heaved, and a fissure opened up between her feet. She lunged forward, and Stone caught her as soil cascaded into the crack in the earth. The pair lurched away as fast as they could on the flexing ground, and at one point, the dirt seemed to disappear beneath their bicycling feet, only to surge up again and knock Abood to her knees. Bolan tumbled forward, heaved off balance by the surging hillside.

      A slope suddenly deepened as the earth continued to flex, and Abood let go of the bag to reach for Stone.

      The big man skidded down the slippery slope toward a crack in the ground that yawned and snapped shut, like a pair of gigantic jaws.

      5

      Jandarma Major Omar Baydur arrived in his jeep, looking at the aftermath of the battle between his men and the Kurds.

      “Major,” one of his men said. He managed to stand at attention, though his right arm hung limply, soaked with blood.

      “What happened here?” Baydur asked.

      “We lost track of the American journalist. She was taken by a stranger,” the wounded officer stated. “Captain Makal gave us the description over the radio.”

      “Where is Makal?” Baydur asked.

      “He continued pursuit overland. It appears that Abood and the stranger took off toward Van.”

      Baydur frowned. “And what was his progress on the Kongra-Gel search?”

      Another Jandarma trooper raised his hand. Baydur recognized this one as Gogin, Makal’s most trusted lieutenant. A white bandage covered a bloody thigh wound.

      “We had interrogated a suspect, but the journalist interfered before we could get any results,” Gogin stated. “We think that the man who snatched that witch Abood might be working with the PKK.”

      “So why did the Kongras attack him?” the soldier with the injured arm asked.

      “The Kongras shot at the man who had the journalist?” Baydur asked.

      “Nobody saw for certain,” Gogin growled. “Besides, that bastard killed Etter and the others.”

      “We heard. Four men killed, and Makal retreated to find you,” Baydur stated. “You took that bullet in the leg when the Kongras attacked?”

      Gogin nodded.

      “Strange,” Baydur said with a frown. “You seem to be walking pretty well.”

      “It went clean through,” Gogin explained.

      “I don’t see a bloodstain for the exit wound,” Baydur stated. “And if it bled that much in this short a time—”

      The earth rumbled, cutting off the Jandarma commander. Trees shook and birds took to the air en masse. It felt like a bomb had gone off nearby, but Baydur had lived through enough earthquakes to realize what was happening. He struggled to stay upright, and Gogin collapsed against the fender of the jeep, wincing in pain.

      The radio went wild with cries of alarm. The tremors rose in intensity, and Baydur held on to his vehicle’s frame. After what seemed an eternity, the earthquake abated.

      “What happened?” Gogin asked, sliding to a half-seated position on the hood of the jeep.

      “An earthquake. It was either a small, local one—” Baydur began.

      “Sir!” Sezer, his driver, interrupted. “The radio waves are crowded, but the closest I can make out is that Van was hit again. Something big.”

      Baydur got into the jeep. “A bomb?”

      “Earthquake. As much as I can tell from all the chatter, the landlines have been knocked out,” Sezer answered.

      “All right, try to get through on our secure lines. We’re pulling everyone we have to pitch in with the city,” Baydur said.