Don Pendleton: Decision Point

Law of the jungle

The Pacific Rim’s most vicious human predators, the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, are on the move again. But old-school terror tactics have given way to a more clandestine approach to hijacking global power. The Tigers have grassroots fundraising inside the United States and the death of a uniquely positioned software engineer tips to something big in the works. A young woman from a powerful family is ransomed at the same time a powerful new technology is stolen. Following the trail of both, Mack Bolan finds that it leads to Singapore and the murky waters of the Bay of Bengal. The Tigers have acquired a top secret satellite and soon the terror will go online.

Staying one step ahead of their stone-cold pursuer and finding refuge in their fortified compound, the Tigers and their calculating leader give Bolan a fight for his life. He’s willing to pay that price, but he’ll take the terrorist leader and his pirates to hell with him for their crimes.

The guards charged into the house

Shots rang out as they fired blindly at Bolan’s shadow, and he ducked back into the room. Dilvan and Faizal were still battling, and he was running out of options.

Dilvan stumbled backward, knocking a computer monitor to the floor, and Bolan took aim with his 9 mm pistol. Just as he fired, Faizal jumped forward, pushing the younger man out of the way.

“Why the hell did you do that?” the Executioner asked as his friend fell to the floor.

“He beat me at the keyboard. We need him.”

Bolan looked up in time to see Dilvan through the door and rolled to his feet. But he was too slow. The bullet from the close range pistol tore through the air. He felt the impact, knew he was hit, and then the cold darkness took him.

Decision Point

Don Pendleton

www.mirabooks.co.uk

All forms of tampering with human beings, getting at them, shaping them against their will to your own pattern, all thought control and conditioning is, therefore, a denial of that in men which makes them men and their values ultimate.

—Isaiah Berlin

1909–1997

A person must accept responsibility for his or her own actions, no matter the cost. But when someone takes away your free will and your ability to act, others have to get involved.

—Mack Bolan

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Dylan Garrett for his contribution to this work.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER ONE

The waters of the Malacca Strait were gray and choppy, mirroring the low-slung clouds overhead. Heather Daniels stood at the rail of the supply ship Favor’s Pride and watched Singapore slowly fade into the distance. For all her travels, she’d never been in a place quite like it. Singapore was a city of contradictions—beautiful, modern architecture, neon lights and all the technological conveniences of the United States crashed against old, run-down buildings, poor sanitation and desperate poverty. Like many of the other cities she passed through, Singapore wasn’t a place she would miss, but then again, her purpose there had only been to secure supplies for the next stop on her voyage.

Once they’d cleared the Malacca Strait, the ship would bear northwest toward the Andaman Islands and Port Blair, right in the middle of the Bay of Bengal. The small city was serving as a staging area for tsunami relief efforts in Sri Lanka and other parts of Indonesia. It was also a holding area for the hundreds of displaced and lost children, whose parents had either disappeared or died in a disaster that had claimed thousands of lives.

Four years as a nurse practitioner had given Heather the skills she would need to help with the many medical needs of the children, but her true calling was her work as a missionary, trying to bring a little faith and light to those who desperately needed it. As far as Heather was concerned, spiritual needs were just as important as medical ones. Maybe more.

As the ship began tacking north, she turned away from the rail. The ship wasn’t fancy, but she would be comfortable enough in her small cabin, though the heat would probably be stifling. The first mate, a man named Simmons, was making his way across the deck and paused, tipping his seaman’s hat politely. He was tall and lanky, with several days’ growth of beard on his face and scraggly black hair that looked to be in need of a good washing. He’d also been friendly and polite.

“You doing all right?” he asked, settling the hat back on top of his head. “Not the kind to get seasick, are you? If so, you’d best stay by the rail and watch the horizon. That’ll help.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said. “And I don’t get seasick. How long until we make Port Blair?”

“If the weather holds in the Strait, we should be there within a few days. This old tub isn’t fast, but she’s steady.” He rubbed his stubbled jaw contemplatively.

“And if it doesn’t?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Then we’ll get there when God says we should.”

She laughed lightly. “That will be true in any case, my friend.”

He laughed and headed toward the bow, while she moved on toward her room. Once in her cabin, Daniels settled onto her bunk, opened her briefcase and pulled out the small laptop. The computer was a necessity for keeping track of the numerous organizational details, but it was also her one indulgence allowing her to journal and communicate with family and friends. A small guilty pleasure filled her as the computer whirred to life and pictures from home popped up on her screen. She kissed the tip of her finger and pressed it against the picture of her family clumped together on the porch.

Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to send it until they reached Port Blair, Daniels began the draft of a letter to her father. They had a strange relationship that was complicated by the fact that just over eight years ago he’d been the President of the United States. Now he traveled all over the world giving lectures and playing the role of diplomat as much as a man who was known behind his back as President Iron Ass could do so. Jefferson Daniels didn’t particularly approve of her chosen vocation. Mentally, she corrected herself. He approved of the vocation—missionary work was a wonderfully valuable thing in the world. He didn’t approve of her being a missionary. The risks, he’d often told her, were far too great. She was his only child and he was overprotective, but she loved him dearly.

Daniels snuggled back into her bunk as the boat rocked its lullaby with the waves. Favor’s Pride wasn’t a particularly fancy ship, nor was she speedy. Most supply ships she’d been on weren’t. With a cruising speed of about twelve knots, no journey was going to be fast, but the steady thrum of the engines was reassuring, and the crew seemed capable. She scrolled through her supply lists and noted what she would need from the next group of missionaries that would be out the following month.

This time on the ship, she knew, was only a brief lull before the hard work really began, and it was important to get her rest. She shut her laptop down for the night and decided to doze until it was time for the evening meal.