Maximum Chaos. Don Pendleton

told you Heather was pregnant. That’s right. An hour? See you then.”

      * * *

      Washington, D.C.

      THE PARK WAS nearly deserted. A sudden rainstorm had cleared the wide swathes of grass and trees. Mason slipped on a long waterproof coat and jammed an old ball cap over his hair. As he crossed the lot, he picked out his friend’s broad-shouldered form waiting under the branches of the massive oak. Mason crossed the grass and came face-to-face with his old friend.

      “Larry, what’s this all about?” Hal Brognola asked.

      Struggling to keep his emotions under control, Mason explained what had happened. Brognola listened, his face betraying his own shock at hearing that Abby—his goddaughter—had been kidnapped. When Mason finished, Brognola was silent for long moments.

      Mason’s cell rang. He glanced at his watch and saw the two hours were up. His tormentors were nothing if not punctual.

      “Hal, don’t speak. We need to keep this silent.”

      Brognola nodded. Mason pressed a key and took the call.

      The screen brightened into a video of Mason’s daughter, holding up a newspaper. The print was clear, and Mason could read the current date beside the paper’s headline. Abigail’s eyes were wide in agitation as she stared directly at the camera. Behind the child was a blank wall.

      The electronic voice said, “Tomorrow morning, you’ll get the same proof. Just remember, time is running out.”

      The image jerked briefly and the screen went blank. Mason stared at it for a while, saying nothing.

      “Okay,” Brognola said. “We keep this between ourselves. No agency involvement. Marchinski might have contacts within the law community.”

      “How do we handle it, Hal? I have seven days to turn Marchinski loose. If I don’t, Abby dies. I know the man. He’ll do it just to prove a point, even if he doesn’t get out. I want her back, but how can I justify freeing an animal like Marchinski?”

      Brognola cleared his throat. “Larry, do you trust me?”

      “Hell, yes. There’s no question. Why do you think I came to you, Hal?”

      “Then turn around and go home. Go to work in the morning as you normally do. For now, we play Marchinski’s game. Let them believe you’re working on his release. Lie through your teeth if you have to. Just keep him dangling.”

      * * *

      MASON FELT THE hours slipping away. The days counting down to the death of his daughter.

      He didn’t regret contacting Hal Brognola. The man was more than just a friend. They had known each other for over fifteen years. Brognola breathed the concepts of law and justice. He was a dependable, smart man, whom Mason trusted without a shadow of a doubt.

      Even so, Mason couldn’t help wondering if this was out of Hal Brognola’s scope.

      He returned to his house and switched on his laptop, bringing up the extensive file on Marchinski. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, whether any of the pages of information could suggest some way he could outmaneuver the man.

      After an hour, he pushed to his feet and went to the kitchen. He forced himself to prepare a pot of coffee, the smell of freshly ground beans failing to work their usual magic. Mason waited while the coffee percolated, and when it was ready he filled a mug and stood over it, distracted by the thoughts churning through his mind.

      Who was he kidding?

      This wasn’t going to work. Not even Hal Brognola could return Abby unhurt.

      “Is there enough in that pot for one more mug?”

      The voice, coming from behind him, was strong and firm, and it had a quality Mason found uplifting.

      He turned and saw the man standing a few feet behind him. Relaxed. Confident.

      Mack Bolan, aka the Executioner, had just joined the fight.

       Chapter 2

      “Hal told me about your problem,” the stranger said. “Let’s see if we can figure out a solution.”

      Mason found himself filling a second mug and sliding it across the kitchen counter.

      “Matt Cooper,” the man said by way of introduction.

      He was tall, Mason saw. Over six feet and dark-haired. Cooper’s eyes were an intense shade of blue, and he studied Mason with an unflinching gaze. He was well built, but there was a relaxed grace to his movements. Dressed in black, Cooper wore a thin leather jacket, unzipped, so that when he turned Mason spotted the shoulder-holstered auto pistol.

      “I was told not to involve any...”

      “You asked Hal for help. You told him not to bring in any official agencies.”

      “You’re not a cop? FBI?”

      Bolan smiled. “Only three people are in on this. You, Hal and me.”

      “You work for Hal?” Mason asked.

      “I work with Hal, but you won’t find my name on any official databases, and I don’t carry a badge.”

      Mason sat back on one of the kitchen stools.

      “You must figure I’m ungrateful. Suspicious.”

      “Larry, I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

      “The guy who called threatened to murder Abby if I brought in outside help.”

      “He wants you so scared you’ll do everything he demands.”

      “Like releasing Marchinski?” Mason shook his head. “His people overestimate my influence. It isn’t in my power.”

      “Then we need to get your daughter back before the deadline.”

      “How?”

      “That’s my part of the deal. Yours is to stall Marchinski’s people. They have to believe you’re attempting to free him. I don’t care how you do it, but keep them believing. If Marchinski has people in the system, we have to give them something to pass back to the organization.”

      Mason nodded. “I’ll work something out.” He stared at Bolan. “Can we do this, Mr. Cooper?”

      “To get Abby back we have to. And it’s Matt,” he said. “Hal told me how you forced the caller into updating you about Abby. That was a good move. It pushes the responsibility back into their hands. They have to keep Abby alive and keep proving it to you.”

      “I had no other ideas on how to handle things.”

      “You did great. Now it’s my turn to push them.”

      “Do I need to know how you’re going to do it?”

      Bolan drained his mug of coffee. “Better you don’t.”

      “I understand.”

      “Whatever happens, the Marchinski organization is going to have a bad week. They chose the rules for this game, so they can take the hits.”

      The implication behind Bolan’s words was not lost on Larry Mason. But these were the men who’d killed Nancy Cleland and kidnapped his daughter.

      “Is there anything I can do to help? I can’t even give you an idea of who this caller is. The voice was altered.”

      “Get in touch with Hal. Tell him I suggested we try tracing this caller the next time he makes contact.” Bolan slipped a cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Mason. “This is a prepaid burner. My number and Hal’s are already logged in. Nothing else. You need to tell me something or ask a question, I’m available anytime. If Hal calls it’ll