Critical Exposure. Don Pendleton

      

      CLASSIFIED ANNIHILATION

      Across the globe, undercover U.S. military missions are compromised when double agents begin identifying and killing covert personnel. The situation threatens to devastate national security, so the White House calls in Mack Bolan. As the warrior flushes out traitors in Central America, the opponents manage to stay one step ahead, eventually leading Bolan to the center of Istanbul’s underworld.

      Posing as a spy, Bolan infiltrates the realm of black market arms dealers and intelligence brokers, determined to tear down the smoke screen and expose the true enemy of the state. Faced with an expansive operation designed to inflict harm and retribution on the U.S., the Executioner’s strategy is simple and hard: strike at the heart, and don’t let up until it stops beating.

      The wall shattered in a shock wave of splintered glass

      “Get down!” Bolan ordered as he went into action, swinging the MP5 in the direction of the gunfire and triggering a short burst. His eyes were still adjusting to the gloom, but through the broken glass he could make out several shadowy forms approaching, firing as they advanced.

      Equipment exploded, terminals emitting showers of sparks as the technicians jumped out of their seats and dived to the floor. Bolan got behind a console just as the next volley of rounds passed overhead, then he peered over the top long enough to deliver a sustained burst.

      The Executioner had emptied his magazine and was reloading during a lull in the firing when something metal sailed through the window, bounced off a workstation and skidded to a stop near his foot.

      It was difficult to see in the dim light, but Bolan recognized the shape well enough to know what it was.

      Putting all fear aside, the Executioner reached for the grenade.

      Critical Exposure

      Don Pendleton

      If God listened to the prayers of men, all men would quickly have perished: for they are forever praying for evil against one another.

      —Epicurus

      It never ceases to amaze me what kinds of terrible things can be conjured by humans to inflict on their fellow man. But I’m here to even the odds. In spades.

      —Mack Bolan

      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       Introduction

       Title Page

       Quote

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

       CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      Benghazi, Libya

      Lieutenant Commander John Falk, leader of SEAL Team Four, emerged from the murky waters off the pier at Dock 17. He lifted his goggles, disconnected his lips from the mouthpiece and withdrew waterproof binoculars from his pack. Through the enhanced NVDs he could make out at least a dozen sentries aboard the massive cargo freighter that had arrived in port early that morning.

      While the freighter claimed to hail from a port of call in Capetown, Falk knew better. Military signals intelligence—MIL-SIGINT—reports claimed the raw materials such as the metals and other goods the freighter officially hauled were actually weapons to supply Islamic dissidents that had formed a local rebel group in Benghazi designed specifically to foil U.S. interests. The fighting had grown fiercer in Libya the past few weeks and the government leaders in Tripoli were screaming for U.S. assistance.

      Personally, Falk didn’t like the people in power. He didn’t see much difference between them and the former regime headed by Moammar Khaddafi. But he knew the Islamic radicals running through the country unchecked weren’t any better. They were an offshoot of Ansar al-Sharia, with sympathizers sent in to shore up Islamic terror-group operations. Those operators were active members of the AQIM and U.S. intelligence circles knew the Al Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb bankrolled Ansar al-Sharia efforts in Libya to the tune of millions of dollars. They were basically out of control. Many civilians and innocents had died at their hands, and this new cache of weapons and explosives aboard the freighter was only going to make a bad situation worse.

      Enter SEAL Team Four to neutralize the cache by Executive order.

      The mission parameters were simple. Get aboard the freighter, locate and blow the weapons cache, get out and await extraction. Simple and straightforward tactics for which they had trained time and again. Whether the mission itself would be simple remained to be seen—Falk didn’t wear any blinders on that point. No mission, however standard it might seem, was ever without potential complications.

      After one more sweep of the entire deck, Falk stored his binoculars and then reached to the laser light on his belt and keyed the button built into its base three times. A moment passed before five more figures surfaced. The alpha squad of the team would make the actual breach through the maintenance hatch in the hull while the second team provided a distraction for the sentries on deck.

      “You guys ready?” Falk asked his men.

      Each gave him the proverbial thumbs-up. He nodded, donned his scuba gear and they all submerged in unison. The swim through the coastal waters in the dark was nothing less than hazardous. Tides were rough and their safety margin was minimal at best. The waters in the port were horrendously dirty and rife with potential hazards. They could swim through the wrong spot and rip their bodies open on sharp scrap metal or acquire some sort of bacterial infection—or even worse.

      Falk didn’t let it faze