Don Pendleton - Meltdown

The Blazer moved slowly, trailing exhaust in the cold air. When it had passed from view around the first curve in the road, Bolan put his own lights on and pulled out of the snow onto the road. As he followed behind, he could track the vehicle by the play of its lights among the trees. The nearest major highway was several miles away, so he could hang back. As the Blazer reached the first intersection, Bolan was several hundred yards behind. He spotted the sweep of the headlights as the vehicle made a left turn, heading north on Route 84. Bolan followed, narrowing the gap a bit.

He still hadn't seen another car, and at two o'clock in the morning he knew that it might be a while before he did. The Blazer didn't seem to be in any hurry. It settled into the right lane and moved at a steady fifty miles per hour. After fifteen minutes, Bolan spotted the blinking turn signal and made ready to follow it off the highway onto a secondary road. It continued northward, slowing a bit to allow for road conditions.

Bolan wondered where Parsons was going. Nothing in his intel suggested there was anything nearby that Parsons and his followers were even remotely connected with. It was too late for sightseeing, and this trip had clearly been connected to the telephone conversation. Parsons had been given orders of some kind; reluctantly he was carrying them out. Bolan wondered what they were and if they were from Glinkov. The Executioner knew that Thunder Mountain was in the opposite direction, so it couldn't be a reconnaissance trip. There were only two men anyway, not enough to mount an offensive against a well-guarded installation like the nuclear power station.

Conjecture was leading him nowhere, so Bolan resolved to wait it out. As long as Parsons and his companion continued driving in the opposite direction, it was unlikely that anything would happen at the power station. After fifteen minutes, the Blazer signaled to make another turn, this time into a narrow, winding road heading due west. The Blazer and Bolan's Camaro were the only vehicles on the road.

Hanging well back, Bolan began to wonder whether Parsons was going anywhere at all. Maybe the men had just gone for a ride to settle their nerves.

Maybe Parsons was getting cold feet. The antinuke leader had never been involved in anything as deadly as this plot before.

Suddenly the Blazer made a sharp turn without signaling. It sped off down a rutted side road, traveled thirty yards and then stopped. Bolan couldn't chance following, so he continued past the entrance. He slowed a bit, but couldn't see anything. It appeared as if the Blazer had simply stopped, although the clouds of exhaust told him it was still running. Bolan hadn't seen any illumination other than the headlights, so no one had gotten in or out.

A half mile past the turnoff, Bolan knew he had no choice. He had to chance being spotted.

Banking into a small clearing, he made a quick turn and extinguished his lights, then coasted back toward the narrow road, keeping his approach as silent as possible.

He brought the car to a stop and rolled down the window to listen. The Blazer was out of sight, but he could still see the glare of its headlights. He debated about moving in on foot. Bolan knew that it might be worth a closer look. He had seen any buildings down the side road, and there were no other cars in sight. If Parsons and Achison had come here to meet someone, Bolan was at a loss to explain how the other party would have gotten to so remote a location.

While he pondered what to do, the Blazer's engine revved, and the 4Xbled began to back out of the cul-de-sac, its engine groaning against the heavy snow. The red glare of its taillights stained the snowy bank on either side, and then the rear of the Blazer burst into view.

The vehicle bounced unsteadily as it backed onto the road. In a sudden hurry, it sped back in the direction it had come. As soon as it was out of sight, Bolan clicked on his lights and roared after it. This time, Parsons drove like a man with a mission. The Blazer was bouncing recklessly, and Bolan had to goose his engine to keep it in sight.

At the intersection the Blazer continued to retrace its route, heading toward Route 84. Bolan was mystified. Nothing had happened. Parsons and his companion had met no one. They had visited a snowbank in the middle of nowhere and now appeared to be heading home. In a hurry. Moving up on the Blazer carefully, Bolan decided it was time to take a chance. He slowly narrowed the gap between the Blazer and himself. He intended to pass the Blazer and drive back to the Parsons place. It was clear that nothing was going to happen tonight. As he pulled up on the Blazer, Bolan realized with a start that there was only one occupant. The passenger seat was empty. He had never actually been close enough to know whether anyone had ever been in it. Could Parsons have been alone all night? If so, where was the other man? Had he merely walked Parsons to the car and then gone back to the house? Bolan drove closer, and as he did, he knew he'd been had. The Blazer pulled onto Route 84, and Bolan had his chance. The four-lane highway would allow him to pass without calling attention to himself. Not that it mattered, he thought. He had been lured out there on purpose. Bolan's car eased alongside the 4Xbled, and Bolan glanced at the driver. It wasn't Malcolm Parsons.

It was the skinny guy, Achison. As Bolan pulled alongside, the man ignored him. Bolan pulled slightly ahead, then eased into the right lane.

He glanced into the rearview mirror just in time to see the Blazer veer to the right, bumping over the shoulder.

With a roar that Bolan could hear over his own engine, it continued on into the open field and up the side of a hill. Bolan hit his brakes, skidded to a halt and bounced out of his car. The Blazer was gone.

Malcolm Parsons sat in the car, watching Peter Achison drive away in the Blazer. Just as Achison had predicted, a second car, a Camaro, drifted past the end of the driveway.

Clearly it had been waiting, planning to follow them. He didn't like Achison, but he had to give the man credit. He certainly knew his job.

Parsons had grown increasingly cynical in recent years. Ideas that had attracted him out of a sincere desire to make a difference in the world, to change it for the better, had lost their meaning. They had become the means rather than the ends. Notoriety had been good to him. He felt warm in the glow of the spotlight; it was an easy way to make a living, and it gave him ready access to young women.

He couldn't say with a degree of certainty when he'd stopped caring, when he'd stopped trying to make things change. He knew that he had become exactly the sort of hypocrite he had once deplored. He had been seduced by the trappings of success.

But lately he felt that things were slipping out of his control. Achison scared him. Without making any overt threats, Achison made it clear that Parsons had better do as he "suggested" if he wanted to continue his activities. In more reflective moments, Parsons wondered just what might happen if he were to balk. But Parsons knew that such a move would put his life on the line.

It had been bad enough, realizing that Achison controlled him. But learning that someone else controlled Achison had come as a shock. The master of duplicity had himself been tricked, not once but twice. He hated the fact that the Arab money he had been spending so freely was not Arab money at all. Glinkov was Russian, which meant he was probably KGB. Parsons quickly dismissed the thought. The Camaro was long gone. It was time to keep his appointment with Andrey Glinkov. He didn't like the man; his eyes were pools of emptiness. The antinuke leader had encountered that look only once before. It was during a hiking trip in Arizona when he'd stared into the eyes of a rattlesnake that had just bitten him. Starting his car, Parsons pulled out into the road and headed in the opposite direction. His appointment was for three o'clock, and he had been advised not to be late. He wouldn't dare. If he played his cards right, he might regain control of his organization.