Don Pendleton - Double Blindside

The truck pulled in at the service entrance to the hospital, and two figures dressed in the standard green uniform of ancillary workers climbed out. They both had identification cards hanging around their necks and were wearing latex gloves. They opened the rear of the truck and maneuvered a large wicker basket on wheels to the ground. It contained piles of folded towels and sheets. They pushed the basket in through the rubber doors leading to the ancillary department.

It was late, almost nine o’clock at night, and the department was quiet. They rolled the basket through the department unchallenged and entered a service elevator that accessed all floors. The men talked between themselves as they emerged onto the floor they wanted. At the reception desk they asked for the linen supply section and were directed along the corridor. They carried on until they reached the section they wanted and pushed through the swing doors.

Once inside, they reached into the basket and threw the sheets and towels to the floor. Resting in the bottom of the basket was a pair of AK-47 autorifles and two canvas bags. The bags were slung across the men’s shoulders and the AKs were quickly checked and made ready.

Emerging through the door, the men walked along the semilit corridor until they came to a junction. It was obvious they knew where they were going as they chose the left junction.

They were halfway along the corridor before they encountered anyone. A nurse, studying a patient chart, glanced up as the men appeared. She stared at them, surprised at what she saw. She was given no chance to warn anyone. One of the men produced a handgun from beneath his uniform top; it was a bulky weapon made larger by the suppressor screwed to the end of the barrel. The pistol fired twice, making a comparatively quiet sound. The 9 mm slugs hit the nurse in midchest. She fell back against the wall and slid to the floor, blood blossoming on the front of her uniform top.

The men didn’t break stride as they walked by the body. The shooter kept the pistol in his hand in case they encountered anyone else. They saw no one.

The corridor branched off at the end and again the two men changed direction without pause. The man with the pistol put it away so both hands were free to hold his Kalashnikov.

The corridor ahead of them ended after thirty feet. There were doors on each side of the corridor. Midway along, two uniformed city cops stood guard at one of the doors. They reacted when they saw the armed men approaching.

The AK-47s rose and the loud hammering sound of autofire filled the corridor. The cops never stood a chance as twin streams of jacketed slugs ripped into them. They were knocked back by the impact, bodies punctured by the slugs. Their bloody corpses slammed to the floor.

One of the men raised a foot and kicked open the door. The room inside, with a shrouded light, was empty except for the motionless figure in the bed. Monitoring equipment showed lights and a number of tubes were attached to the patient.

Standing side by side, the intruders trained the AK-47s on the figure. They opened fire and triggered their weapons until they snapped empty. Brass casings littered the floor around them. The shooters ejected the empty magazines. They took fresh ones from the shoulder bags and reloaded. While one man guarded the door, the other took out the pistol again, walked to the side of the bed and fired two shots into the head of the man in the bed. It was an entirely unnecessary action; the man on the bed, resting in a spreading wash of blood, had been shot almost to ribbons by the sustained AK-47 overkill.

Together the men left the room. Already alarms were sounding as they moved along the corridor. From their bags they produced smoke canisters. Activating them, they dropped them on the corridor floor. Thick smoke began to rise and fill the corridors. The men dropped more of the canisters as they proceeded to their escape route.

They pushed through the fire escape door, emerging on an iron landing, and made their way down the ladder. When they reached the bottom they made their way to the far corner of the hospital grounds, pausing only long enough for one of them to take out a remote unit. He flicked the power switch and waited for the light to come on. He thumbed the button. The van they had arrived in was suddenly engulfed in an explosion that blew it apart. Flame and smoke rose in a cloud. Pieces of bodywork were thrown into the air.

As the debris fell back to the ground, the two made their way to the trees that edged this section of the hospital grounds and concealed the AK-47 rifles, the pistol and the bags that had held their weapons in the undergrowth; they would eventually be discovered, but by then the assassins would be long gone. The latex gloves and the hospital uniforms were removed and dumped. The men wore casual civilian clothing underneath.

Three streets away a nondescript Fiat sedan sat at the curb outside a closed store. The keys were already in the pocket of one of the men. They climbed in and drove away. Behind them in the distance could be heard police sirens approaching the hospital.

* * *

AHALF HOUR LATER Kartal received a call informing her that the man wounded in the attack on Phoenix Force had been killed during an armed strike at the hospital where he was being treated. She was with Phoenix Force at their hotel and immediately passed along the information.

“Great,” McCarter said. “These buggers don’t waste time. They’re bound and determined to keep us in the dark.”

“Didn’t want anyone talking,” Encizo said.

“They are organized,” Kartal agreed. “Able to buy whatever they need. People. Weapons.”

“Well,” McCarter said, “we’ll have to see about that. But tomorrow, how about we go take a look at Mr. Polat? Time we sussed out our enemy.”

London

Tak Kumad had just shot two men and was on his way to kill a third.

His agenda was firmly set out. It was to clean up matters relating to Özgürlük to make certain nothing could be traced back to the organization and hinder the progress of the operation. His orders had been specific; and Tak Kumad followed his orders for the client he was working for.

It was his job.

He was an assassin. His current assignment was to locate and eliminate the three men who had turned against Özgürlük and betrayed the organization.

Kumad had already visited the apartment where two of the men had been staying. He’d caught them both and placed 9 mm slugs in their skulls before they’d been able to do a thing to prevent it.

With that part of his assignment over, Kumad moved on.

Aziz Makar was Özgürlük’s banker. He handled all the money the group used and collected. And, as with a number of terrorist organization bankers, he was based in London.

Makar had decided to go into business for himself by cheating Özgürlük out of millions of dollars. To add to Hakan Kaplan’s problems, two of his trusted lieutenants had also joined forces with Makar to work a deal that would give them the chance to fleece the organization out of even more money.

Kaplan’s betrayal by Egemen Binice and Bora Terzel had been a bitter blow. He had championed the pair since they had first joined the organization, not realizing their enthusiasm and dedication to Özgürlük had been false from the start.

Binice and Terzel were cousins. In their late twenties, they were minor criminals, having spent most of their teen years committing small crimes for little reward. They considered themselves smart, a cut above the lower Turkish criminal element, and they possessed sharp minds always on the lookout for a chance to make a score. Unfortunately they always seemed to miss the best opportunities.