the process with the second shoe. This one contained the shoulder rig for his Beretta. Grimaldi was taking apart the other pair, which contained small but powerful radios and ear mics.
“Hal did not disappoint,” Grimaldi said, emitting a low whistle.
With weapons and gear assembled and ready for use, both men changed shirts and slipped their guns into their holsters, checking to make sure their new outfits fully concealed the pistols.
Bolan’s handheld chimed with an incoming email. He picked it up and read it, then turned to Grimaldi. “It’s from Hal. The meet with the FBI man is set. Fifteen minutes. Remember that mountain plateau we passed on the way from the airport?”
Grimaldi nodded.
Bolan gave himself one final check in the mirror to make sure the hang of his shirt properly covered up the Beretta. “You ready?”
“As they say—” Grimaldi smoothed out his sleeveless BDU shirt and grabbed his SIG Sauer “—I was born ready.”
* * *
WILLARD FORSYTHE EVERETT III stood on the catwalk adjacent to the control room on the platform rig and watched as the helicopter made its landing on the helipad below. Edwin Grimes stood next to him, waiting like a bird dog eager for any sign of approval. Everett shot a quick glance at Grimes and began a mental assessment as to when it would be convenient to dump the man. He had proved useful, but lately his missteps, especially that fiasco with the yacht, had started to get under Everett’s skin.
On the helipad, a squad of fifteen men made their way out of the bird as the rotors slowed to a stop. All of them were dressed in dark, camouflaged uniforms and wore matching helmets with night vision goggles attached.
“You’re sure these guys are clear on the mission?” Everett asked. “I told you, we can’t afford any slipups.”
“Zelenkov assured me they’re top-notch,” Grimes responded. “Like I said, a couple are ex-Spetsnaz, just like him.”
Everett pressed his lips together and watched the squad assembling below. Grimes seemed overly impressed by this Spetsnaz bullshit. If these Ruskies were so special, why had they been drummed out of the Russian army? He concentrated his gaze on the group of them, each one holding his AK-47 at port arms. Zelenkov, whose rifle was slung over his right shoulder, walked back and forth in front of the group, barking something in Russian loud enough for the words to drift up to the catwalk. Vince Tanner, Everett’s assistant security chief, stood off to the side. He was clad in similar combat BDUs and was also armed with an AK-47. Zelenkov barked a command and the group snapped to attention.
“Anyone can look impressive doing D and C,” Everett said. “Have they seen any combat?”
“All vets of the conflict in Chechnya,” Grimes said.
“But do they know anything about ship assaults?”
“Zelenkov says they trained for it. Should be a cakewalk.” Grimes gestured down at the group. “Besides, Tanner’s going with them to keep us updated. What could go wrong?”
“There’s always something that could go wrong.” Everett watched the formation a few seconds more. “Tell Zelenkov I want to see him now. Before he leaves.”
Grimes nodded.
“What about those new Americans that came in?” Everett asked. “You get them checked out?”
“Le Pierre rousted them on the way from the airport. Didn’t find any weapons, which made them appear legit. Then they pulled a fast one at the hotel. Demanded to switch rooms. Smelled something funny, apparently, and the one guy threatened to puke.”
Everett frowned. “Sounds like bullshit. They must have noticed the bugs. They’re probably CIA or something. NSA at the very least.”
“They’re on the way to meet the FBI agent on the mountain plateau as we speak.” The yelling had ceased from below and both men glanced downward. Zelenkov was looking up at them, and Grimes motioned for the Russian to come up to the control room area.
“What’s that FBI agent’s name again?” Everett asked Grimes.
“Tyler. Tim Tyler.”
Everett smirked and thought for a moment. “If the U.S. government is sending more agents down, it’s a given that they’re sure Monk is here. Sooner or later they’ve got to figure I have him.”
Grimes nodded.
Everett stroked the stubble around his upper lip, then traced the lines down to his chin. He liked the feel of it under his fingertips—a reassurance that he still had plenty of testosterone. “Le Pierre’s man still with the corn husker?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” Everett said. “Tell him to stall the meeting a bit. Arrange a little reception party for them. Make it look like it’s the work of Boudrous and his boys. Have them take out a couple of bystanders, too, for good measure. Zelenkov can send one of his goons to supervise it just in case.”
Grimes’s brow furrowed, as if he didn’t think hitting the Feds at this juncture was such a good idea. Everett reconsidered the decision. Tipping their hand this early could bring more heat from Washington, and if things went wrong, more agents would be flying down here, perhaps upsetting his timeline. But Everett decided it would work, and this weasel’s critical expression bothered him. “You got something you want to say about that?”
“No, sir,” Grimes said.
“I didn’t think so.” Everett thought about how much he’d like to get Grimes in the ring and beat the shit out of him, just on general principle. He put it on his list of things to do, and smiled. “As I said before, this little mishap will be something for the French and the Dutch to deal with. Why do you think I arranged for Boudrous to come back from Haiti? He’s the perfect fall guy for any disasters that might beset some American agents. A good chess player is always thinking at least two moves ahead.” Everett smacked his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “Regardless, this weak sister we have in the White House now won’t dare do anything until he rehashes all his options. Hell, it might even be beneficial to our big plan. Sow the seeds of public outrage and discontent over the tragic deaths of some more Americans. Get people fired up. Then, when the big bang goes off, the President won’t have any choice but to act.” He let his voice trail off as he looked wistfully at the horizon. “It’ll be a new dawn for the United States of America.”
“It sure will, boss.”
Everett frowned again. Grimes’s ass-kissing sickened him. The weasel was obviously trying to sound convincing, but he was still a little weasel. But they’d been on a one-way track ever since they’d found that Russian sub, and Everett knew he had to finish the game with the players he had. No substitutions, no turning back.
Zelenkov’s heavy, muscular frame sounded like a jackhammer as he ran up the metal stairs to the catwalk. At the top, he whipped a salute at Everett, who returned it. The guy wasn’t even breathing hard.
“You have someone back on the island who can lead an ambush assault on some Americans with a group of Boudrous’s men?” Everett asked. “In a hurry?”
Zelenkov thought for a moment
