“We believe it’s possible Downing found out about Neely’s involvement from a mole inside the NSA,” Brognola replied. “It’s proving it that might be a bit more painful.”
“We’ll keep an eye on Neely,” Price said. “I promise if anything happens we’ll let you know right away.”
“I just don’t want things to go sideways before I can get to him, Barb,” the Executioner said. “I’m sure this is his way of calling for help.”
Price nodded, and Bolan could see from her expression that she empathized with his concerns. Since he had severed official ties with his government, Stony Man had never interfered with his right to pursue private missions. If anything they had supported him more times than he could recall. He’d tried to return the favor whenever possible. Sure, he could have walked away right now from this thing and chosen to go after Neely instead, but he knew that wouldn’t do any good.
Bolan believed Neely was on the run because of Downing. The only way he could clear Neely’s name was to get the heart of the issue as soon as possible. Barb and Hal were right. This mission had to start at the source, and the soldier knew if he could get to the source of Downing’s operation he could get to Downing. By removing the threat posed by Downing’s OSI group and whatever project this Hagen was working on, the threat to Neely would probably go away, as well.
“We’ve arranged for a commercial flight out of Dulles,” Brognola said. “Tonight. I wish we could have sent Jack with you, but he’s currently on assignment in Turkey with Phoenix Force.”
“Cowboy’s arranged to have all your special friends waiting for you in Atlanta,” Price said with a knowing wink.
That was good news. John “Cowboy” Kissinger was Stony Man’s chief armorer and a first-rate operative. Cowboy had a unique talent for assessing the needs of the Stony Man crew before they even knew what they needed. Rarely did a weapon jam or fail when serviced under Kissinger’s practiced eye and meticulous craftsmanship.
So Garrett Downing was calling out the terrorists. Unfortunately, he’d chosen to ignore the rules of the game and he’d called out the Executioner, as well. Even in war the purposeful taking of innocent lives was unacceptable. Bolan knew that creed well, and he’d lived by it. It had earned him the respect of his comrades and the moniker of Sergeant Mercy. The Executioner would have to teach Garrett Downing this lesson the hard way.
And he planned to hold the first session of class in Atlanta.
CHAPTER TWO
Bolan’s flight touched down short of midnight.
Toting only a carry-on with two days’ change of clothes, Bolan bypassed baggage claim and headed straight to the underground parking garage where his car waited. Scrutinizing the garage a moment, he retrieved a special key from his pocket and used it to access the trunk. He traded his carry-on for a satchel there and the keys to the door and ignition, then climbed behind the wheel and exited the garage.
A light mist coated the windshield. Bolan maneuvered into the departure lanes with signs pointing the way to Interstate 85. Even at that hour, Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International wore its proud distinction as the busiest passenger airport in the world. Bolan took advantage of the logjam to open the satchel and retrieve a leather shoulder holster. At a red light, he slipped into the rigging and retrieved his Beretta 93-R, which had been wrapped in a thick silicon-coated cloth. After loading the Beretta with a 20-round clip of 135-grain Hi-Master rounds, Bolan nestled the pistol in the holster beneath his left arm.
Another ten minutes passed before he reached the highway and headed northeast. According to the dossier provided by Stony Man, Peter Hagen lived in the affluent suburb of Brookhaven. The Executioner wasn’t sure what to expect. Hagen might not have a clue about Downing’s current whereabouts, or even if Downing had continued to pursue the idea of his multiterrain vehicle.
Kurtzman had managed to pull some very basic schematics from data fragments within an obsolete NSA mainframe. The information proved fascinating and simultaneously puzzling. Bolan had never touted vast technical savvy, but one thing he did understand was the frightening prospect of a vehicle like that. In the hands of personnel trained to utilize it properly, such a dreadnought could prove a formidable opponent he wouldn’t be able to neutralize with mere small arms. The schematics alluded to twenty-six-inch homogenous armor, which belied a significant ability to withstand even heavier munitions.
Bolan could believe Downing would have credible reasons to pursue the construction of this vehicle. If Stony Man’s intelligence proved correct—and Bolan had learned long ago to trust it—Hagen was the kind of guy who could build it. Still, the lead wasn’t as solid as Bolan preferred.
Then again, he had other things to worry about. Like the twin set of headlights quickly moving up on his back end as he slowed to make the exit at Brookhaven. As the vehicle got within a few feet of his rear bumper, the driver switched to his high beams. The Executioner knew that trick, and he closed one eye so as not to be blinded by the bright-white glare in his rearview mirror.
Bolan would have chalked up the whole thing to an impatient motorist had it not been for the second vehicle that raced up the shoulder of the exit ramp into a parallel position. Unfortunately for this crew, the Executioner knew that trick. The driver would get his car just far enough past him and then veer into his path. An untrained driver would jam on the brakes, and the rear vehicle would contact the bumper and spin the target so that it left the ramp and crashed onto the highway below. Then the assailants would finish the job before the driver could recover.
The Executioner beat them to it.
Bolan increased speed, then turned the wheel hard right. The driver of the parallel vehicle stomped on his brakes and went the only place he could without ending up scrap metal below—to his left and directly into the path of his colleague’s vehicle. The second driver couldn’t stop his car in time and smashed into the swerving car’s rear driver’s-side door. The car spun as the one that struck it started to fishtail. Force of impact sent the first car skidding through the intersection at the top of the ramp. Its tires struck the sidewalk hard enough to flip the car onto its side. It slid into a telephone pole and ground to a halt.
The second vehicle, a late-model Buick, faired a little better. The driver managed to get it under control and bring it to a stop. For all the good it did him. Bolan was now EVA. He converged on the Buick with his Beretta 93-R in play. The driver saw him approaching and tried to open his door, but the impact had apparently wedged it shut. Three passengers bailed from the vehicle and reached for hardware, but Bolan already had them marked. He thumbed the fire selector switch to 3-shot mode as he targeted the closest enemy gunner and squeezed the trigger. The reports from the Beretta cracked sharply in the damp open air as all three rounds struck the man midtorso. The impact drove him backward into the rear seat.
Bolan grabbed what cover he could behind a metal light pole. The other pair returned fire, as eager to take him out. The Executioner had played the game more often, though, which proved unfortunate for his opposition. He waited for a lull in the fire, then sprinted directly toward the enemy gunners while they reloaded.
When the pair popped into view Bolan saw their eyes register surprise. He was now virtually on top of them. The Executioner squeezed the trigger once more, blowing off the better part of one man’s face. The remaining enemy gunman tried to draw a bead on Bolan, but his fumbling move was almost comical. The man’s shots went wide of Bolan’s left shoulder. The soldier dropped him with two rounds to the chest and a third to the throat. The man’s head bobbed to and fro awkwardly before his knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground.
The entire exchange had taken less than a minute, and the driver was just now coming to the realization he wasn’t getting out through his door. He slid over to the passenger side and made his exit in time to get disentangled with the toppling corpse