know that.”
“I do.” Bolan ran a bore cleaner through the barrel of his Beretta 93-R before saying, “I need something small and quick. There’s a lot of jungle terrain, and you won’t have much in the way of maneuvering room.”
“So there is a method to your madness.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“You think there’ll be trouble.”
“I’m betting on it,” Bolan said. “It all seemed just a little too timely that Shoup and his people had a finger on this from the outset. Don’t you think?”
“It does seem like heavy coincidence.”
“Not to mention there weren’t one but two agents, one working local, that Shoup said disappeared shortly after the first man. And why Guatemala? What’s the connection? There’s nothing down there that would pose any sort of an internal threat to USAF operations here in the U.S. And we don’t have anything going on down there at present in the way of major military intelligence. Just minor CIA work keeping an eye on the drug runners.”
“Weren’t there rumors of al Qaeda using Guatemala as a base of operations?” Grimaldi asked.
Bolan dismissed the rumor with a wave of his hand. “Small-time. Mostly wannabes with the occasional real bad guy in the Islamic Brotherhood thrown in to gain credibility. The one thing terrorists have encountered in Guatemala is a whole lot of resistance from state terrorist groups. Basically drug gangs like Mara Salvatrucha and so forth. Local crime is the big problem there, and it’s no secret that the local gangs don’t like to share.”
“Ah, honor among thieves,” Grimaldi quipped.
Bolan deadpanned. “Really.”
“Sounds like maybe you’re walking into an ambush on purpose.”
“Exactly. I’m betting whoever is behind the compromise in the security of American MI operations is also getting nervous. They’ll want to do some damage control, and they’ll want to make sure they get all the players in one fell swoop.”
“Sounds like a real group of sweethearts.”
“Interesting you say that,” Bolan replied. “Because that’s exactly what I’m thinking. We’re dealing with a group here, and one that seems to have significant knowledge about special operations. At least insofar as ops by the U.S. military. So far, we’ve had a Navy SEAL operation compromised, intelligence signals and data to NORAD intercepted, and the near destruction of an entire platoon of special recon Marines.”
“Plus the Delta Force gig in Germany.”
Bolan nodded. “All military operations, all highly classified, with no rhyme or reason for specific locations. None of the groups these special units were operating against was related in any way. That means the motive has to be centered on intelligence or, more specifically, American defense intelligence operations.”
“You definitely have your work cut out for you on this one, Sarge.”
“Guess that’s just how I roll, Jack,” Bolan replied.
Istanbul, Turkey
“Please, Alara,” Colonel Alan Bindler said. “Please let’s not go into this again.”
Alara Serif stood defiantly with hands on hips in their office located within the U.S. Consulate. “I will go into it again and again...and again until someone starts listening to me. Alan, you have to take this seriously.”
Bindler pinned Serif with a cool gaze. “I take everything seriously my staff members bring to me, and I give equal weight to the opinions of all. Is that clear?”
Serif did her best to look properly mollified. “Yes, sir.”
Bindler sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head as he continued. “You want to know why I hired you, Alara? It’s because you’re diligent, because you care about the security of our nation and you give a shit about your job. Sadly, I can’t say that about most of my people. And technically, you know we’re not even supposed to have military personnel within our consulate, other than the Marine guard.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” Bindler stood and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He went around the desk and sat on the edge of it to look into Serif’s eyes.
The haughty, impetuous expression she returned almost made him want to laugh. In so many ways, Serif was like one of those little girls who’s defiant and opinionated, and yet not out of spite but from driven curiosity. Serif was one of those little girls who’d been forced to grow up all too soon, if the contents of her CIA file were any indication.
The daughter of an American diplomat who married a Turkish man, Serif’s entire life had been spent in embassies throughout the world. Her father, Maliki Serif, had refused to let his precious Alara go through life absent of her Turkish identity, and he’d been quite insistent on teaching her the culture, customs and language—taking her on frequent trips to the country—even when she was absent so often while her American mother made her tours of duty as an attaché at various U.S. embassies around the world.
Her background had made Serif an highly advantageous instrument to defense intelligence efforts in Turkey. Where in most ways it would have taken much training to fit a representative from the DIA into that role in this country, Alara Serif had been tailor-made for it. She could speak the language, knew the customs, and had enough of her father’s genetic traits that she fit right in without a second glance. Other than her beauty, which caused a stirring even in Bindler now and again when he watched her coming or going.
Bindler forced his mind to more practical matters. “Listen, Alara. I know you’re convinced this...this Council of Lights exists.” Serif started to open her mouth but Bindler raised his hand. “Let me finish! I know you think it exists and maybe it does. But what do you have as a shred of proof beyond a series of loosely coupled theories that you can back with hard evidence but you can’t actually tie together.”
“Can’t tie together until now,” Serif said with a triumphant smile. She withdrew a photograph from the thick manila envelope streamed with classified red-and-white-striped tape and handed it to Bindler. “Take a look at that.”
Bindler sighed as he stared at the picture. “Okay, it’s a little grainy. What am I looking at?”
“The man in that photograph is Gastone Amocacci, a former Italian police inspector attached to the Interpol Intelligence Division.”
“Great. What about him?”
“I’ve long believed that the Council doesn’t have any leadership,” Serif said, charging straight to the point as she always did. “At least not in any conventional sense. I think they operate on equal terms with one another. An effort like theirs could not survive if there was one individual in charge. One person with all the power and/or information would pose a security risk to them. That’s why they’ve been able to operate for so long without being detected.”
“So
