woman recoiled in horror, but the assassin had already grabbed her by the arm and was forcing her toward the elevators. He swept the woman’s feet out from under her and forced her down on the slick, tile floor. She moaned in agony and the Talon raised his finger to his lips, hissing softly.
“Be quiet, if you want to live,” he said, pressing the elevator call button. He then took out his cell. It was time to summon the expendables.
It was answered a moment later.
“Block the road,” the Talon said in Italian. “Have someone shut off the sprinkler valves.”
“Sì,” was the terse response.
The Talon grabbed the woman’s upper arm, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, and lifted her to her feet, his body and especially his face, pressing close to hers. He let the cylindrical end of the sound suppressor caress her cheek then her nose.
“We have a few visits to make,” he said. “If you make any attempt to cry out or warn anyone, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
She nodded, tears running down her cheeks.
The elevator doors opened and two men in lab coats started out and then stopped, expressions of surprise etched on their faces.
The Talon shot each man in the forehead. They dropped instantly. The killer placed his foot against the rubber auto-safety device between the halves of the doors to keep them from closing.
Pulling the woman inside, he said, “What floor is your boss on?”
The woman glanced down at the crumpled bodies.
“What floor is Mr. Chevalier on?” he growled.
“Two,” the woman said, her voice cracking.
“Where is the security office?” he asked.
She raised her arm and pointed down the hall.
It made sense. Security would be on the main floor for quick access to the entrance and exit. He pulled her erect, feeling her body trembling under his grasp.
“Do not worry,” he said in a soft voice, using his foot to shove one of the bodies in place to block the doors. “It will be all right. Everything will be fine.”
He hoped his calm tone would allay her fear enough to get him through the next few minutes. At least until he had what he needed. Exiting the elevator, he led her down the hallway, staying behind her. The woman seemed to be catatonic, forcing each step with considerable effort. He nudged her with the end of the silencer to quicken her pace. She took a few more steps and then stopped, cocking her head at the door.
The Talon pushed her against it and reached down to try the knob. It was unlocked. Score another one for lax security. He twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open, shoving the woman into the room in front of him. She went sprawling onto the floor.
Two men who had been sitting at a card table smoking and playing cards looked up in shock as the intruder shot each man twice, once in the chest and once in the head. They both crumpled onto the tabletop then rolled lifelessly to the carpeted floor.
Two rows of monitors sat in horizontal lines above a long counter. None of the rooms on this level, he noted as he scanned the screens, appeared to be occupied.
As he stooped to retrieve a large ring of keys from the belt loop on one of the dead men, he thought about putting a round into the recorder but decided to wait. Getting the disk was something he could do on the way out. Right now, he had a building to clear. And it was time to have the lackeys move up and start herding however many employees remained.
“Come on,” he said to the woman, lifting her gently to her feet. “Let’s go see your boss.”
Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a flash drive and held it in front of her face. “Do you have access to the computer files here?”
She nodded.
“That’s good,” he said. “I have a file I wish you to download for me.”
They exited and he closed the door behind him.
Heading back down the hallway toward the elevator, he checked the stopwatch: 348 seconds.
Just under seven minutes... Right on schedule.
USS Fuller
Signorelli Naval Air Station
Signorelli, Italy
BOLAN AND GRIMALDI STOOD on deck watching as the captain and crew eased the enormous vessel into the docking space as easily as a chauffeur parallel-parking a limo. Several of the sailors tossed the enormous mooring lines downward to waiting hands on the pier.
Grimaldi took a deep breath and began a horribly off-key rendition of “Mombo Italiano.”
“Jack,” Bolan said. “You want to cool it? They may not let us off this ship if they hear you.”
Grimaldi stopped singing and snorted. “You just don’t appreciate talent, that’s all.” He spread his arms wide. “This is the land of my ancestors. Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin...”
“Sinatra was born in Hoboken, New Jersey,” Bolan pointed out. “And Dino was from Ohio.”
Grimaldi shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. My roots are here. As soon as we get on shore, I want to take you to the best little cantina I’ve ever set foot in. The vino, the mozzarella, the young ladies...” He closed his eyes and kissed his knuckle. “Just wait.”
Bolan was watching with an amused expression when his satellite phone vibrated on his belt. He slipped it from its case and looked at the number.
“What’s up, Hal?” Bolan asked, answering the call.
“Bad news. Looks like there was another terrorist attack in Belgium.” Brognola’s sigh was audible. “Twenty-six people massacred.”
“Where?”
“A drug research facility near Luxembourg. The killers walked through the place like it was a turkey shoot. No survivors.”
“Anybody taking credit for it?”
“Not yet,” Brognola advised. “But somebody wrote Allah akhbar on the wall in blood. In Arabic, no less.”
“Any Americans involved?” Bolan asked.
“Three. All research scientists. The place did a lot of studies for drug companies.”
“You want us to check it out?” Bolan saw Grimaldi’s head swivel toward him with a wretched expression.
“Yeah, I’d appreciate it,” Brognola said. “I know you guys are tired and just got off a mission, but you’re the closest we’ve got to the scene and we need to get a handle on this thing, especially if it’s the start of a new wave of attacks.”
“We got plenty of rest on the ship,” Bolan said, grinning at Grimaldi.
“I
