Brognola sighed, as if releasing a heavy burden.
Once more, Bolan looked at the pictures of the smashed defensives of the Oskemen Valley, and the completely unharmed bridges, tunnels, electrical power plant and, of course, the old Soviet factories. It would seem that somebody knew their history.
For a long time after World War II, military strategists had analyzed the attack pattern of Hitler’s army, trying to figure out why he would pass by one town to attack another. The strikes almost seemed random, even chaotic, until some clever paper-pusher in the Pentagon compared the invasions to Hitler’s supply list.
None of the blitzkriegs were random—they were all precise hits on factories that he wanted to take intact, scientists he wanted captured alive, or mines that he desperately needed undamaged and fully operational, so that his engineers could regularly upgrade the backbone of his army, the panzer tank.
“Anything else been hit?”
“Unknown. Too many of the smaller countries surrounding China are third world nations. Their capital cities are relatively modern, but the outlying farms are still operated by sheer muscle power.”
True enough, Bolan supposed. “The people operating the drones probably hit the valley during a storm to try to disguise the destruction as lightning strikes,” he stated.
Brognola nodded. “Now, given the location of the valley…”
“Along with its complete lack of nuclear weapons.”
“…I think that we can easily make an educated guess who is behind all this,” Brognola growled, closing the lid on the laptop. “Our old pal, Red China.”
“You mean the Red Star,” Bolan corrected. He had tangled with the Communist spy agency before and found them a lot trickier, and much deadlier, than the KGB had ever been, even in its glory days.
Across the diner, a couple of pimps started shouting at each other over who owned what street corner, and suddenly switchblade knives snapped into view. Instantly, Lucinda hurried over with a pot of boiling coffee. As the pimps rose, she spilled it on the table and everybody quickly retreated to avoid getting scalded. Wheeling out a bucket and mop, the scrawny Latino youth started cleaning up the mess and the frustrated pimps took their fight outside and away from the other customers.
“This could just be an internal coup,” Bolan suggested. “The Red Star has wanted to seize absolute control over China for a long time.”
“Maybe,” Brognola admitted, folding his hands on the table. “But the worst-case scenario is that they’re planning to expand the borders of their nation, and seize everything they can—Russia, Laos, Vietnam, Japan, India—giving them an unbreakable stranglehold on the east, paving the way for a Communist expansion such as the world has never seen before. And after that…”
“World domination?” Bolan said, pulling out some loose bills from his pocket.
“Nobody has seriously tried that in a long time,” Brognola added. “I’ve been wondering when it would happen again.”
“Where’s the Farm on this?” Bolan asked, paying for the food and leaving a generous tip.
“Both teams are in the deep bush of South America handling another matter,” Brognola replied, typing on the laptop’s keyboard. A second later, the screen turned blank, the hard drive gave a loud buzz, then went silent and a puff of smoke rose from inside the machine.
“Barbara says it would take at least a week to extract Able Team and Phoenix Force. That is, without full military intervention,” Brognola continued, pushing aside the hot laptop. There were scorch marks on the tabletop where it had sat.
“So I’m alone on this.”
“I’ll try to rustle you up some tactical support some friends overseas. There’s an Israeli hacker who owes me a favor, Soshanna Fisher. But yeah. Basically, you’re alone on this.” Brognola gave a wan smile. “You’ve been there before.”
“Only out of necessity,” Bolan said, then rubbed the back of his neck. “This is a pretty wild-ass theory, Hal.”
“Yes, it is, Striker.”
“And you’re probably dead wrong.”
“Sure as hell hope so.”
“But if you’re right…”
“Yeah, I know.” Brognola sighed.
“I’ll call if I find anything,” Bolan said, offering his hand.
The men shook.
“Any idea where to start your search?” the big Fed asked. “China is mighty big. But—”
Bolan interrupted, standing. “I’m headed for Hong Kong first.”
Pushing back his chair, Brognola frowned. “What for?”
“To ask somebody about the drones,” Bolan replied, heading for the door.
Before the big Fed could respond, his cell phone vibrated.
Checking the screen, Brognola saw the call was from one of his contacts in the NSA. Only minutes ago, the Lady Durga, the flagship of the Indian navy, a brand-new, state-of-the-art, nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, had been reported sunk off the Sea of Bengal after entering a fog bank. All hands lost. It was a major blow to India.
Plus, at the exact same time, a research lab in South Korea got hit by lightning during a rain storm and mysteriously burned to the ground. They had been working on a new type of radar. The entire staff of technicians and scientists were dead, and all of their records destroyed, along with the only working prototype.
“Move fast, Striker,” Brognola muttered, snapping the phone shut with a savage jerk of his wrist, “because it looks like its has already hit the fan.”
CHAPTER TWO
Northern Laos
Five trucks jostled along the old dirt road meandering through the steaming jungle. Razor-sharp machetes welded to the grilles and bumpers helped trim away the hanging vines and thorny creepers that regularly overgrew the winding road. By this time the next day, there would be no trace that anybody had driven through the jungle at this point, which was the precise reason this particular road was used so often.
High overhead, tiny monkeys ran and chattered in the treetops, while at the noise of the engines colorful birds took wing. They erupted from the bushes and flew into the air like living fireworks, briefly filling the sky with wondrous colors. Somewhere in the distance, a tiger roared, announcing a fresh kill, a crimson snake slithered through the flowering wines and hordes of unseen insects endlessly sang their secret song.
In the rear of each truck was a single large trunk, securely strapped to the metal floor and surrounded by armed guards, their scarred faces grim and unsmiling. This was their second run of the month, and everybody was eagerly thinking of the exotic pleasures their bonus would purchase once the five trunks were delivered across the border. Heroin was very big business in China, and no country in the world grew it better than Laos. The much vaunted black-tar heroin from Turkey was
