Lethal Tribute. Don Pendleton

Just you and the team below you.”

      Bolan scanned everything in a 360-degree arc. His spine spoke to him. “Bear, there’s someone else out here.”

      “Satellite shows nothing but you and Musa Company, Striker.”

      “There’s someone else out here, Bear.” Bolan trained his sight back on the area Musa Company surrounded. “I can feel it.”

      Kurtzman was silent a moment. Through long, hard experience he had learned that a Mack Bolan hunch was to be heeded at all costs. “Acknowledged, but we don’t see them, Striker. Satellite shows no motion and no anomalous heat sources. If they’re hidden, then they are hidden but good.”

      “Translator, what are they saying?”

      “They are not saying anything.” The translator unsquelched the Pakistani transmission and there was nothing except silence. “They’ve stopped transmitting.”

      Bolan gazed hard at their position. “Bear, any motion?”

      “Negative, Striker. Musa Company has come to full stop.”

      Bolan let out a long breath. Whoever was in command of Musa Company didn’t like it, either.

      Something was wrong. The translator spoke again. “Musa—We are going to breach the bunker. Islamabad—Affirmative.”

      Bolan waited long moments. There was a sudden quick flare of light in his night-vision goggles. Bolan recognized the hissing crack of flexible-shaped charge detonating.

      “Musa—Sending in Number 1 section. Islamabad—Affirmative.”

      Half of the Musa Company team disappeared underneath an outcropping while the other half held down the perimeter.

      “Section 1—We are inside. No hostiles detected. Islamabad—What do you observe? Section 2—Extensive underground complex. Catacombs, very old stonework. Believe complex predates target occupation. Islamabad—Any sign of the packages?”

      Packages. Bolan raised a bemused eyebrow at the code word. His hunch had been right. Musa Company was hunting the same thing he was. If Musa could make a successful retrieval and get the warheads back in Pakistani government hands, Bolan might just be able to call his own mission a wrap.

      “Section 1—No sign of packages. No sign of targets. Signs of recent habitation Proceeding. Islamabad—Affirmative.”

      Bolan grimaced. Musa Company was no one to mess around with. If the bad guys had gotten wind that the elite commandos were on their trail, they would have hauled ass into India already and the nukes would be gone.

      “Section 1—Zia? What happened to Zia? Zia, report! Islamabad—What is happening?”

      Bolan’s instincts began to clamor up and down his spine again. “Translator 2, what are you hearing?”

      “Intercommunication between individual Musa Company soldiers, Section 1 and 2 and Islamabad. It’s becoming…confused.” The translator’s voice rose just slightly as she translated. “Section 1—Zia! Where is Zia? All units hold position! Section 2—What is happening, Falzur? Islamabad—What is happening? Section 2—Falzur! Falzur! Where is the sergeant! Islamabad—Report!” the Translator swallowed. “I am having difficulty keeping things in order—”

      “Keep translating!” Bolan ordered.

      “Musa—Section 2 hold positions! By God, I said hold positions! Islamabad—What is happening? Report! Section 1—Where are they coming from! I can’t see any—”

      Kurtzman cut in. “Striker, satellite reception shows multiple radio transmission points in Musa Company are now off the air.”

      Bolan’s blood went cold.

      The translator broke in. “Striker, I hear gunfire.”

      “Give me audio.”

      “Patching you in, Striker.”

      Kurtzman unsquelched Bolan’s end. The soldier’s eyes flared under his night-vision goggles. Someone was firing a semiautomatic handgun as rapidly as he could pull the trigger. The sound was followed by the crack of a hand grenade.

      People were screaming.

      The translator’s voice was rising close to panic. This wasn’t the sort of mission she had been trained for.

      “Islamabad—What is happening! Report! What is happening? I order you to report!”

      For a moment there was nothing but silence.

      A voice spoke in tightly controlled Sind and the translator spoke over it. “This is Section 2, all contact lost with Section 1. Repeat, all contact lost with Section 1. They are not responding. We are holding position outside. What are your orders? Headquarters—Try them again.”

      Section 1’s commander spoke slowly and clearly. It needed little translation. “Section 1, any unit, report. Repeat, Section 1 this is Section 2, any unit report.”

      Nothing but static came back.

      Section 1 was gone.

      Bolan watched Section 2 through his night optics. They were arranged in a crescent around the hidden opening of the catacombs.

      “Section 2—There is no response. We are holding position. What are your orders?” The pause on the line was lengthy. “Islamabad—Section 1, withdraw to primary extraction point. Section 2—Affirma—”

      The translator stopped as the transmission was cut off. Bolan didn’t need translation. He had the man in plain view. The man in Section 1 who was transmitting levitated from where he crouched. His arms flailed and with a convulsive jerk he floated up and over the rock he’d been crouching behind and disappeared.

      Section 2 began firing in all directions. One soldier rose. He heaved and flailed. His silenced submachine gun fell from his hands as he stumbled backward like a spastically moon-walking marionette. He dropped from sight in a crevice between two boulders.

      “Bear! What do you have!”

      “Movement, Striker!” Kurtzman was also perplexed by what he was seeing via satellite. “Anomalous movement! Musa Company is in a fight with something, but we can’t see it!”

      “Bear!” Bolan watched as another man from Musa Company was seized by the invisible and dragged into darkness. “Give me something!”

      “Striker, there is nothing! I repeat! Satellite does not pick up any hostiles! All we—Jesus!”

      Bolan watched as the waist, legs and then boots of a Musa Company commando were dragged behind a boulder and disappeared.

      “Striker, this is Translator 2.” The woman’s voice trembled. “I have nothing. No Musa Company units are transmitting. Only headquarters is on the channel, demanding to know what’s happening. It sounds like they are panicking back in Islamabad.”

      Bolan watched through his night optics. Nothing moved but the wind whistling through the rocks.

      “Striker, we have nothing.” Kurtzman’s voice went flat. “Musa Company is gone.”

      Bolan’s skin crawled.

      “Striker?”

      Bolan strained all of his senses out into the darkness. “Receiving you, Bear.”

      “Get the hell out of there.”

      Bolan adjusted the gain on his optics. “I see movement.”

      “Confirmed!” Kurtzman was adjusting his own optics from their vantage two hundred miles up in space. “Looks like one of Musa Company, staying low in the rocks and maintaining radio silence.”

      Bolan watched the man crawl through the mountain terrain. His submachine gun was cradled in his hands and his head whipped back and forth fearfully. The Executioner’s instincts tingled as he felt the watching