Proof positive was almost an impossibility, and although a dedicated effort was being made, no indictments had yet been achieved. Government task forces working together had their hands tied. They struggled for months to concentrate their investigations only to find that their superiors, sensitive to the demands of the courts, would shake their heads and demand even more proof.
The task forces looked for ways to gather their evidence and took the decision to insert undercover agents into the organization in an effort to obtain what they needed.
Dean Turner and Ron Bentley were seasoned agents, working for the joint task force. When they had been asked to take on a covert assignment to infiltrate the trafficking group in Rotterdam they didn’t need to be asked twice. Once assigned they distanced themselves from the main group, setting themselves up to watch suspected members of the trafficking organization. Over a couple of months they concentrated on the Rotterdam group, looking for any members who seemed to be vulnerable to turning, and finally fixed on a single individual who expressed some vocal dissatisfaction with his position within the organization.
The initial contact went well. Their man seemed to have a grievance against his employers and a tendency to complain about them to the American undercover agents. They spent time with him, sympathizing with his complaints, and slowly reeled him into their confidence. In the end he agreed to provide them with evidence that would give the task force solid evidence into the workings of the trafficking group.
However, when the agents made the rendezvous to meet their contact they were ambushed, disarmed and taken to an isolated location.
They were told they were going to be made examples of—used to show the task force that further efforts to break the organization were useless. The traffickers wanted the international task force to know powerful forces ranged against them. The organization had high-profile protection. They could not be touched. No one could harm them. The agents would be used to make the task force realize they were simply wasting their time.
For three days the agents were savagely tortured, their naked bodies abused and broken. Photographs were taken to be sent to the task force and a final message stated where the bodies could be found.
The stark warning, showing the brazen contempt the traffickers had for the task force, had its effect. After the bodies had been located and removed, the task force was ordered to stand back and reassess its operational method. There was a need to regroup—by no means to admit defeat, but the clear message to the task force from the traffickers had got through, and it was realized that the enemy had the upper hand.
1
From the window of his hotel room Mack Bolan could see the distant configuration of Rotterdam Port, the night sky ablaze with lights. He saw a vast sprawl of warehouse units, cranes and endless rows of steel cargo containers. He was seeing the vista through the sheeting rain covering the city, blown in from the cold swells of the North Sea. Across the stretch of water was England, the secondary target of Bolan’s mission.
The Executioner’s presence in Rotterdam was down to intel he received during a briefing with Hal Brognola back in Washington. That clandestine meeting between the man from Justice and Bolan had kick-started the Executioner’s journey to Europe. After touching down at Schiphol Airport, Bolan had ridden a local train to Rotterdam and his prebooked room. The weather had been rough for most of the flight and stayed the course while Bolan had transferred to his hotel. It was midevening, the sky already dark. Bolan had a rendezvous with a contact the next day, so he figured he would have an early meal and turn in. The turbulent weather during the flight had denied him sleep, so a solid night’s rest was advisable.
Bolan turned from the window when he heard a tap on his door. He crossed the room and opened up. A trolley was wheeled inside carrying the meal he had ordered. Bolan handed the service girl a tip, then closed and locked the door after she left. Bolan was on alert. He wasn’t the paranoid type who saw threats lurking in every corner. Even so, past experience had taught him never to leave anything to chance.
He took off the covers and checked the meal. It was exactly what he had ordered. A steak, potatoes, salad. He pulled up a chair and settled down to eat. The food was good. Only when he was done did he activate his tri-band cell phone and tap the speed-dial number that would connect him with Hal Brognola. The connection hummed and buzzed, then the big Fed’s voice reached Bolan.
“So how is Rotterdam?”
“Cold. It’s raining like it’s in for the duration. I’m fine. You have any updates for me?”
“No. Status hasn’t changed much since we talked and you flew out. The operation is stalled. The heads are talking. Trying to come up with a fresh way of moving on, but as of now it’s a no-go. Those two agents getting killed has hit hard. You know why. Suspicions there was a mole inside the task force appear to have been proved. Turner and Bentley were betrayed and the fact we have someone operating inside the group and capable of passing along information makes everyone suspicious of the man next to him. No one is going to commit to anything.”
“Let’s hope my meeting in the morning throws up something useful,” the Executioner said.
Brognola hesitated before he replied.
“Tread carefully with this man Bickell. Hasn’t been proved he was the one who turned Turner and Bentley over to the opposition but he was the only man who had access to them. The more I think about it, the less I’m in favor of you using him.”
“Right now we don’t have anything else. I’m not about to go into this meet blind.”
“Striker, these people are bad. You saw what they did to our two mans. They work a business that treats human beings like so much merchandise. Don’t believe they won’t do the same to you given the chance.”
“Understood, pal, now quit worrying and give me some good news.”
“Your Brit buddy,” Brognola said, referring to David McCarter, the Phoenix Force commander, “has a contact for you in London. He can set you up with specialist equipment. I’m sending a photo over your phone for identification. And I’ll text a name and phone number to set up your meet. This man is supposed to be good. He’ll sort out anything you want. Anything else you need right now?”
“Just a good night’s sleep,” Bolan said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Bolan checked the information Brognola had sent to him. A half hour later he turned in, clicking off the light. He lay staring at the rain-flecked window, his mind still active as he reviewed the past couple of days and the events that had brought him to Rotterdam and his upcoming meeting with a man who might turn out to be a Judas.
Two Days Earlier, Washington
DRESSED IN CASUAL clothing he might have been just another tourist taking in the sights of the nation’s capital.
But Mack Bolan was a world away from being just that. As he strolled around in the pale sunlight, observing the scene around him, Hal Brognola fell into step beside him.
“Looking good as ever,” Brognola said lightly. “Your lifestyle must suit you.”
“You didn’t call me just to boost my confidence, Hal.”
“Would you believe I need your help on a problem?”
“Go ahead.”
“A joint US-UK-European task force has been compromised by
