Don Pendleton - Meltdown

"Where are we going?"

"You'll sec."

Glinkov led the way to an elevator. He pressed the call button and stood with his hands folded behind his back. He paid Parsons no attention. For all the Russian cared, he might have been alone. When the elevator arrived, it opened with a soft hiss. Glinkov stepped to the rear of the car.

Turning to face forward, he indicated the panel of buttons and said, "Press Level 4, if you will, Malcolm."

Parsons did as he was told. Perhaps he had found his true calling. It seemed as if he were fit for nothing more lofty than operating an elevator. The door closed quietly, and a low hum filled the large car. It moved quickly down, marking each level it passed with an electronic beep. Level 4 was the lowest level, buried deeply beneath the ground's surface. When the door opened, Glinkov stepped into the dimly lit bowels of Thunder Mountain. Parsons followed meekly behind him.

Both men instinctively looked up at the ceiling. It was as if they could somehow feel the massive weight of the mountain, and its deadly burden, pressing down on them. The hallway stretched off into near darkness in both directions.

Glinkov turned to the right and moved swiftly ahead.

The size of the tunnel heightened the gloom.

Twenty feet overhead, the fluorescent lamps seemed as far away as stars. The wall on the right was marked by an occasional door.

The left wall was a blank expanse of gray concrete. Glinkov moved briskly, his heels tapping on the concrete floor. Parsons, wearing crepe-soled shoes, made no sound. It was almost as if he wasn't there. When they had traveled nearly two hundred yards, Parsons could make out the figures of two men in the gloom ahead. They stood casually, one on either side of a large steel door. Thirty feet beyond them, the hall ended in a blank wall. A smaller passage met it at right angles. Neither man was familiar to Parsons.

He wondered why it galled him so much that Glinkov had so neatly finessed him. The Russian had been able to pull this off without even bothering to get someone to betray him. How long had he been there in the wings, waiting? Long enough to recruit his own team obviously. And Peter Achison, where did he fit in? Had he been Glinkov's man all along, or had he too been fooled?

Glinkov gestured to one of the guards, and the man fished in his fatigue pockets for a key. The man bent forward in the dim light to fit the key in the lock, then opened the door. Glinkov waved Parsons in before him. Stepping in behind Parsons, Glinkov turned on the overhead light.

"You know Miss Peres, I believe, Malcolm?"

"You know damn well I do."

"Of course, and do you also know that she works for the Mossad?"

"That's preposterous!"

"I think not."

Rachel was sitting on the floor in the far corner of the small room. Her head was slumped forward on her chest, and she seemed not to be aware of them.

"What's wrong with her? What have you done to her?" Parsons demanded.

"You surprise me, Malcolm," Glinkov sneered. "You sound almost as if it mattered to you."

"Well, no, I... but you must be wrong. She's no secret agent, no spy, I..."

"And what makes you so sure? How well do you know her? Where did you meet her? Why was she interested in your little band of fools in the first place? Hmm?"

"I don't know, I..."

"No, Malcolm, you don't. But I do. And I can tell you that she is a Mossad agent. But don't feel too bad. She has fooled better men than you, Malcolm. Even the lofty Central Intelligence Agency has been duped by our little flower here. You should learn not to be so careless about women you take to bed."

"What are you going to do with her?"

"Nothing, for the moment. There is someone looking for her. As long as he has a chance to save her, he will keep on looking. As long as she is still alive, his attention will be divided. He is no ordinary man, Malcolm, as I'm sure you will discover if he ever catches up with you."

"What are you talking about? Why should he even be looking for me? Who is he?"

"His name is Mack Bolan. I'm sure it means nothing to you. Yet. He has been called by other names in the past as sergeant Mercy, Colonel John Phoenix. His file is among our thickest. And right now he is looking for you because he knows you were the last person to see Miss Peres. As far as Mr. Bolan is concerned you are responsible for her disappearance. That, of course, is just what I wanted. It is about time we closed our file. While he is concentrating on you, I can take him by surprise."

Parsons said nothing. He crossed the room to kneel in front of Rachel. He reached forward and took her chin in his hand. Tilting her head back, he gasped involuntarily. Her face was badly bruised. One eye was swollen closed.

"My God, what have you done to her?" Parsons got to his feet and turned to confront the Russian. Glinkov remained impassive, the merest hint of a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth.

"It was essential to gain certain information. Circumstances did not permit the use of more humane methods. But I have my responsibilities to discharge. In a few hours it won't matter anyway."

"What do you mean it won't matter?"

"Surely you don't think I can permit her to live? As soon as Mr. Bolan is out of the way, she will be of no further use to me."

Before Parsons could answer, Rachel groaned.

The older man turned back to her. He knelt again, and Rachel opened her eyes, although she couldn't focus. Parsons wheeled on the Russian.

"You really are a bastard."

"Don't be so squeamish, Malcolm. You're in this all the way, you know. She can send you away for a long time. You wouldn't enjoy spending the rest of your life in prison, would you?"

"Why don't you ask him what he really has in mind, Malcolm?" Rachel's voice was weak, but it startled both men.

"What do you mean?" Parsons demanded.

"Ask him what he plans to do here. Ask him what's going to happen. Go on, ask him."

"Well..." Parsons said, "what is going to happen? Why are you here?"

"Very well. I don't see any harm in telling you now. And it was rather well conceived, even if I say so myself. Ms Peres, thanks to you, has managed to learn a great deal about my intentions. She can fill you in." Glinkov smiled softly. "Go ahead, my dear; tell him."

Parsons turned to Rachel. "What is he planning to do?"

"He's going to sabotage the reactor and pollute the whole area. He'll blow it to kingdom come if he can, or cause a meltdown if he can't. Isn't that right, Mr. Glinkov?"

"Yes."

"Are you out of your mind, Glinkov? Hundreds of thousands of people live around this plant. You're putting them in mortal danger. This was supposed to be a public relations demonstration. We want to teach the people, not kill them."

"That's where you and I disagree, Malcolm. Besides, what could be more educational than a major nuclear accident? If you'll excuse me, I have some things to attend to. Why don't you two get reacquainted?" Glinkov smiled at each of them before turning to walk through the doorway.

Parsons turned to Rachel. "He's serious, isn't he? He really intends to destroy this plant!"

Rachel nodded. "And while you're digesting that, why don't you ask yourself what that means for us?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't think he can afford to let us live, do you? He's a KGB agent. He's here illegally. There's no way in hell the Soviets want to be connected to this thing. I'm not even sure he's acting on orders."

"But why? I don't understand what's going on here."

"It's quite simple, really. If the U.S. stops using nuclear power, it will have to use more fossil fuels. That makes it more dependent on foreign oil. Which means Arab oil. All the money you thought was coming from Libya was KGB money. They can use the Arabs against the United States and keep their hands clean at the same time. If the U.S. is not self-sufficient, it will become impotent. It looks like he's going to pull it off, too."