.
Читать онлайн.
“Did you know we detected pepper spray within the room?”
“She tried to get into my laptop,” Bolan reiterated.
Finch tried a different tack. “You shot one of the suspects twenty-two times. He survived only because he was wearing body armor.”
“I shot him twenty-two times precisely because he was wearing body armor and I knew you would want him alive.”
“Mr.—”
“The large one out in the hall is South African. Did you get an ID on the other two?”
Bolan was pretty sure she would have hung up had she not been attempting to trace the call. The NSA satellite Bolan was bouncing his signal through made that a losing proposition, but it would take the MI-5 communications people a little while to figure that out. Finch let out a long, grudging breath. “You’re correct. The large one is Ruud Heitinga, South African citizen, as is the other, one Kew Timmer.”
“You get a bead on the man inside?”
“He was a bit of an anomaly. His papers say he is a French citizen named Guy Diddier. All of them have clammed up, however, call it a hunch, but I found Monsieur Diddier most un-Gallic in his behavior.”
Bolan was swiftly coming to the conclusion that Assistant Director Heloise Finch had earned her hunches the hard way. “So what did you do?”
“I called in a favor with French intelligence and ran the name. Diddier is a French citizen, but not by birth.”
Bolan’s intuition spoke to him. “He served a tour in the French Foreign Legion.”
Finch seemed pleased. “That is correct. He was originally an American citizen by the name of Gary Pope. He served four years in the California National Guard’s 223rd Infantry Regiment. Somewhere along the line, he got the romantic notion of joining the Legion. Once he’d been accepted, he took advantage of the Legion’s opportunity of identity change and after serving his tour successfully he accepted French citizenship.”
“Any line on the two South Africans?”
“Not yet, but I have every faith they are veterans of the South African Defense Force.”
Bolan agreed. “Ms. Finch, these individuals are mercenaries.”
“So it would seem, and how do you believe the girl fits in?”
Bolan glanced over at the hacker. “She may use a computer rather than a silenced submachine gun, but she’s a hired gun, nonetheless.”
“I agree.”
“Director, I find it very strange that the IRA is employing mercenaries.”
MacJory stared at Bolan strangely and then snapped her poker face back on. Bolan pretended to ignore the slip as Finch continued.
“It is indeed odd. It goes completely against their method of operation. By nature, mercenaries work for money and historically are notorious for switching sides. The terrorist wing of the IRA chooses its members for their absolute loyalty. They would never entrust any kind of sensitive operation to outsiders.”
“So someone else is in the game.”
“So it would appear.”
“Any ideas?”
“None whatsoever. The appearance of mercenaries in this situation is positively anomalous.”
“What’s their legal status, currently?”
“Well, their visas and passports are in order, and while they weren’t guests of the hotel there is currently no law in England against being beaten to a pulp in a hallway. However, we did find three automatic weapons on the premises. They are currently being held on suspicion and possible weapons charges.” Finch’s voice went slightly dry with sarcasm. “Since you took the liberty of kidnapping Miss MacJory, I suspect any evidence concerning her will be inadmissible in an English court of law.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“So what do you intend to do with her?”
Bolan raised the BXP. “Shoot her.”
MacJory started in her seat.
Finch shouted in alarm. “You can’t—” Bolan clicked his phone shut and stepped forward. MacJory cringed as far as her restraints would let her. Bolan pressed the muzzle of the BXP between her eyebrows and pinned her head to the back of the chair like an insect.
“You’re of no more use to me.”
“No!”
The safety clicked off beneath Bolan’s thumb with grim finality.
MacJory screamed. “Please!”
“Who do you work for!” Bolan roared.
The woman shook her head, crying. “I don’t know!”
“You’ve got five seconds.”
“Please—”
Bolan knew MacJory’s type. She wasn’t a terrorist. She was a genius. Breaking code and committing crimes in cyberspace was a game to her. Even after her conviction, she still didn’t believe she had done anything wrong. He wouldn’t shoot her, but he had to make her believe he would.
Nothing had prepared her for gutter-level, get-your-hands-dirty fieldwork.
“One…”
“Please!”
“Two…”
“I don’t know who I work for!”
“You’re working for the IRA. You’re a traitor to the U.K. Three.”
“I didn’t know!”
“Four…”
“I don’t know anything about the IRA!” The woman wept uncontrollably. “I swear it!”
Bolan read her body language and pulled the gun back. MacJory started to suck in a breath of relief and gave a strangled shriek as Bolan fired a burst into the ceiling. Plaster rained down on her, and he aimed the weapon at her again. “Okay, you’re a merc. Who brokered the deal? Who pays you?”
She shuddered with her betrayal. “Aegis…”
Bolan cocked his head slightly. “Aegis Global Security?”
“Yes! I swear! I freelance for Aegis!”
That was not good news. Aegis was one of the oldest, and in the controversial world of executive VIP protection, military advisement and “solutions by other means,” Aegis Global Security was one of the most respected.
Bolan clicked his phone open. Finch picked up midring. “Jesus, bloody—”
“She’s still alive and unharmed. She freelances for Aegis. I suspect the other three are permanent men on the roster.”
Finch was flabbergasted. “Aegis Global Security?”
“That seems to be the situation.”
“Not good.”
“No, it’s not. I’m going to turn Miss MacJory loose in a couple of hours, and I’ll let you know where you can find her.”
“Listen, I need you to—”
Bolan clicked off and went back to his computer. “You get all that?”
Kurtzman nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
“Get me everything you can on Aegis.” Bolan already knew a lot about it. “Where’s David McCarter?”
“You’ve got a bit of luck there. He’s in the U.K.