Don Pendleton - Nuclear Reaction

“Sometimes it sneaks up on you,” Bolan said. “But once you come to the decision, there’s no turning back.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“I know that it may mean my death,” Pahlavi said.

“But not just yours. How has the rest of Ohm been taking this?”

“You saw Adi and Sanjiv die for us. The others feel the same.”

Bolan frowned. “Can you be sure of that?” he asked.

Pahlavi felt his hackles rising. “Ask me what you mean to say.”

“It’s SOP—standard operating procedure—for a government to infiltrate opposing groups whenever possible, keep track of what they’re planning.” Bolan spared another quick glance from the two-lane highway. “It may be an absolute coincidence that a patrol with thirty-odd soldiers came along just at the time we were supposed to meet, but then again, maybe it wasn’t.”

“You believe there is a traitor in the group?” Pahlavi asked.

“I don’t believe or disbelieve,” Bolan replied. “I’m saying it’s a possibility you should consider, if it hasn’t crossed your mind already.”

“You’re wrong,” Pahlavi answered stubbornly. “Darice and I joined Ohm. They did not come to us with flattery, pretending to believe as we did. As I do.”

“All the more reason to consider who your friends are,” Bolan said. “The group has been around a while. Presumably it’s known to the security police, maybe G-2.”

“I do not understand.”

“Army Intelligence,” Bolan explained. “I don’t know what you call it here. I guarantee your government has one or more departments dedicated to collecting information on its opposition, doing everything it can to bring them down.”

“Of course.” Pahlavi thought about it for a moment, suddenly uneasy. “But if what you say is true, then we are doomed.”

“Not necessarily,” Bolan replied. “First thing, remember that I’m only saying if. What if there was a mole inside. Then he or she may not know where we’d go, in case the setup fell apart. Be careful who you trust, is all I’m saying.”

“But you ask me to trust you,” Pahlavi said in challenge.

“The difference is that you called me, and I’m from the outside. You’ve also seen me stand against your enemies. A double agent wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t risk it.”

To that logic, there was no response. Pahlavi knew that the American was correct. No traitor working inside Ohm would kill soldiers to keep his cover story solid. His superiors surely would punish such an act with death, perhaps the execution of the man’s whole family.

Or woman’s, Pahlavi thought, riven with suspicion. His mind had moved along those lines before, of course, but each time he’d found some excuse to tell himself it was impossible. No traitors could exist within the group he’d come to trust with everything—his life, his sister and his sanity.

Pahlavi would have cursed Cooper for raising all those ugly doubts again, but the American was simply speaking honestly, forcing Pahlavi to confront a possibility that he had been remiss in overlooking previously.

“Now, I’ll ask again,” Bolan said. “What’s our destination?”

“Still my village,” Pahlavi said. “It is not Ohm that we run to, but the people I grew up with. If they betray me, then it’s better that I simply die.”

“Your call on that,” Bolan remarked. “But if it’s not too much to ask, try not to take me with you, okay?”

“You need not fear my people, Mr. Cooper.”

That brought no response from the American, but it suddenly occurred to Pahlavi that if the people of his village failed him, they might have something to fear from the American. He had already seen the man in action, killing all but three or four of the soldiers who had been slain that afternoon.

It hit Pahlavi full force that he was not the same man he had been that morning. In the meantime, he had killed and watched friends die. He was a fugitive now, from whatever passed for justice in his homeland. The authorities could not stop heroin from passing through the country on its way to Europe, and they might be scheming to ignite another war with India for no good reason, but they would be out in force to find him, because of this day’s bloody work.

And now, he might be bringing sudden death into the very village where he had been born and raised.

But where else could he go?

Nowhere.

“You have nothing to fear,” Pahlavi said again. And hoped that it was true.

“Another thing you need to think about,” Bolan remarked. “We don’t know when they’ll find the bodies, but it may not be too long. For all we know, they may have sent out bulletins while they were chasing us, before we led them off the road. If they know how to run a search, they’ll work out from the killing ground and won’t give up until they find something. If you’re already on a list, and they know where you came from, well…”

He left the statement dangling, let Pahlavi finish it himself. There was another risk to which he would expose his people, but he still had no alternative. If he could not run back to Ohm, which had no central headquarters in any case, then only in his native village could he hope for sanctuary.

“We will not stay long,” Pahlavi said. A compromise. “Just long enough to get supplies, and then…”

Pahlavi hesitated. He was fresh out of ideas. It shamed and angered him that he could not present a finished plan to the American. But if he’d known exactly what to do and could complete the mission on his own, the American would not be there.

“Let’s try a different angle of attack,” Bolan said. “Tell me what you know about the lab and Project X.”

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