Don Pendleton - Grave Mercy

“The communiqué said that Stone is, well, was U.S. Army,” Bannon noted. “Is he a good man?”

“There’s not a lick of interservice rivalry in his entire body,” James replied. “You won’t find a more staunch supporter of the military in the world.”

“A real supporter? Or a war hawk?” Bannon asked.

James looked at Bannon. “Real. He didn’t earn his colonel rank because of an accident of birth or a lot of money.”

Bannon’s broad shoulders relaxed. “Good. You see these ex-military contractors, and you start to wonder where their real sympathies lie.”

“He’s his own boss. This way, he gets to work without a lot of red tape sticking to him,” James said.

The helicopter settled down, and Bolan stepped off. His black BDU top didn’t match the digital camouflage BDU pants he wore, but the effect was a sharp blend, and the darker fabric was better at concealing the handles and bulges of his sidearms. If James hadn’t known that the Executioner rarely went unarmed, he wouldn’t have known that the man had at least two handguns and an assortment of other tools tucked away in pockets on his person. Bolan gave Bannon a sharp salute, then shook James’s hand.

“I’ve got your presents,” the soldier said.

James took the small cooler, giving its plastic side a soft slap. “Permission to head to your lab, sir.”

Bannon nodded. “Granted, Farrow. Ensign, escort him, and get him there double time.”

The ensign that Bannon addressed snapped to, and James turned, leaving Bolan and the carrier’s captain to talk.

BANNON HADN’T exaggerated about the extensive technology in the lab. James not only had an assortment of regular and electronic microscopes, but there were centrifuges and spectrometers for looking at the chemicals within the bloodstream. The final item that James had brought on the flight, aside from his personal weapons, was his personal laptop, which had the spec-profiles of hundreds of drug and toxin combinations.

The Phoenix Force medic was also familiar with the kind of alchemy practiced by the “zombie lords” of the Caribbean, and thus would be able to direct the search for the kinds of atomic chains left behind in the blood samples. Fortunately, the blood hadn’t been kept so cold that ice crystals had formed in its water content, making separating it into test tubes easier.

James knew that he was in for the long haul, and looked forward to the intellectual challenge ahead. He blanked the origins of the blood sample from his mind, burying his emotions over the violence the berserkers committed so that he could focus on the biochemical mysteries in front of him.

Once he narrowed down the origins of the maniacal tourist murderers, then James would switch into Phoenix Force commando mode and assist the Executioner in bringing hot lead and righteous retribution down on the murderous manipulators.

For now, the lab machines would hum and do their job.

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