mirror across the vehicle’s undercarriage. As he went about his security check, Bolan was able to get a better look at the pistol in the man’s holster.
Calvin James had been correct during his earlier briefing to Bolan. The Glock was a specialized model only available to military and police units. The Glock 18 fired 9 mm Parabellum ammunition and, like Bolan’s Beretta 93-R, could operate in either semiautomatic or 3-round bursts. The pistol had a 31-round extended magazine and a theoretical rate of fire in burst mode of 1200 rounds per minute.
Karl Mirjana was a serious man, which suited Bolan just fine. The Executioner was serious himself.
The sentry stepped back from the vehicle. “Follow road past the main house to left, ja? You drive all the way through the property to lodge where Mr. Mirjana meets clients. Do not get out of car. Security meet you at lodge. Go.”
The man stepped back inside the gatehouse and worked a button on his console. With the hum of powerful electric motors the gate unlatched and began to swing open. Bolan waited until the gate was fully open before driving through.
He did not wave at the man as he drove past.
W HILE B OLAN DROVE into the estate Calvin James circumvented the property and approached it from the rear. The going was tough. The woods were thick and the terrain steep. A former Navy SEAL, James had been in uncompromising physical condition before coming to Stony Man and still followed a grueling fitness program.
Despite his level of fitness, James sweated freely in the commercial camouflage suit. He scrambled up hillsides thick with brush and weeds, making his way around Mirjana’s estate toward the rear. He swept up the incline, sticking to patches of deep woods and using game trails so that as he made his final approach he was coming downhill toward Mirjana’s property.
As he neared the back of the estate James was forced to slow his approach. From his earlier reconnaissance he knew that a line of wild brambles and blackberry shrubs marked the beginning of Mirjana’s property line, set well before the wall that encircled the estate. The ex-Navy SEAL made his approach toward the brambles with trepidation.
Just beyond the brambles Mirjana’s security consisted of an array of spike microphones. Anyone thrashing through the brambles would be picked up on the hidden mikes and trigger an alarm response. Because of that James knew he would have to leave behind the relative invisibility offered by the ghillie suit.
James sank to the forest floor and quietly removed the camouflage. The loose patches and swathes of fabric that were so effective in breaking up the outline of a human body would only serve to snag and catch on the brambles and thorny blackberry branches.
Moving carefully, he crawled into the thicket on his elbows and knees, picking up thick vines and sliding under them, carefully dragging his weapon with the stock folded down behind him. He pulled a pair of garden clippers from a cargo pocket and carefully began to cut out a path.
Though he had purposefully chosen a section of bramble thicket that was in his opinion less dense than some other areas, it was still painstaking work. Every movement he made had the potential to be detected by the electronic sensors positioned on the other side.
Sweat rolled down his face. He pressed down slowly and steadily with the clippers to avoid the snipping sound common to his activity. Beyond the thicket and across a strip of tall grass Mirjana’s wall rose in an imposing barrier.
One thing at a time, James told himself. One thing at a time.
R AFAEL Encizo PURGED his regulator and slipped into the Sava river without disturbing the surface. The closed-system rebreather eliminated the telltale exhaust noise and bubble trail left by conventional Scuba gear and provided for a more silent diving experience.
Encizo felt the current of the deep river catch him up and sweep him along toward his target as he descended into the chilly darkness. His load-bearing harness was front-loaded, and the Phoenix Force commando compensated by adjusting buoyancy for that and the gear attached in oilskin to his back. He settled slowly down through the murky water and began to check his analog and digital displays. He would use the bottom to ensure depth consistency and a built-in pace counter to indicate the distance he swam.
Encizo kicked out gently with his swim fins, using the current to push him along and conserve energy. His breath echoed slightly behind his mask and visibility was less than an arm’s length in the polluted river water.
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