Don Pendleton - Critical Exposure

“At least it tells you something.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re on the right track. So what was your next move?”

“We’ve put a plan in motion, more of an information gathering than anything else,” Shoup said. “We’re hoping to be able to call it a rescue operation, but who knows if we’ll get our way on that count. The devil usually deals the cards the way he wants.”

“And often they’re not in our favor,” Bolan added.

“Right,” Shoup said with a curt nod.

“Okay, I’m game to go along with this plan. But I’m going to take over the operation.”

Shoup’s lip twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

Bolan put up a hand. “And before you go all territorial on me, you’ll still be in charge of your men. All of them. And you’ll call the shots in this reconnaissance. I’ll handle how we act on any intelligence we find. And if it comes down to a rescue operation and we get enough evidence either of these men are alive, I’ll accompany you on the op but you’ll get full credit. My name need not even come into it.”

“And what if it goes south?”

“Then the whole thing falls on my shoulders,” Bolan said. “I’ll take full blame and responsibility.”

Shoup appeared to consider it for a long moment and finally nodded. “Colonel, sounds like you got yourself a deal.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Istanbul, Turkey

Gastone Amocacci wasn’t pleased to hear the latest report regarding their operations in Colorado.

The Council wouldn’t be happy, either, although Amocacci worried much less about that than he did about how this would affect the overall timetable. So far they had only managed to counter three of the most recent special operations. So few was infuriating. He pushed down the anger that manifested itself as bile in his throat. In reality, those victories had proved no small feat. Not only had their intelligence been right about the operations, but they’d managed to conduct them at points across the globe. This proved the initial reach of the Council, but more, it proved that reach could expand. Yes, growth potential would be realized if they were able to continue to operate in secret.

This most recent incident in Colorado, however, threatened that possibility, and Amocacci knew his allies would expect him to deal with it. Swiftly and decisively; anything less would constitute a failure of a magnitude Amocacci didn’t even wish to entertain on a hypothetical basis. That idiot Shoup had screwed things up royally, and now Amocacci was forced to clean up the mess. Fortunately he’d managed to provide the diversion they’d needed, so with any luck they would be able to mitigate the damage. The guy from the DIA who called himself Colonel Stone, an obvious alias, would have a very nice surprise waiting for him in Guatemala.

Yes, a nice surprise indeed.

Amocacci tossed the fake paperwork into his briefcase, shut off the lights and left his office in downtown Istanbul. His driver took him across town to the airport, where he boarded his private helicopter and made for his home in the foothills. Amocacci liked to make it look as if he were a successful, fat-cat businessman. His cover as a successful exporter of Turkish goods had served him much better than any other he’d attempted in the past because it allowed him to grease the palms of certain government officials. Unfortunately he didn’t own any of it. All of his belongings, including his very personage, were community property of the Council.

The Council of Luminárii, also known as the Council of Lights, was composed of former and current high-rankers from some of the most active intelligence services in the world. It included representatives from the British SIS, Russian GRU, Mossad, Chinese MSS and the Turkish NIO. The Council also boasted informants and connections from nearly every intelligence service in the Middle East and a half-dozen in Europe.

Thus far, Amocacci had only been able to recruit support from the DIA within North America. There had been no Canadian takers at all, and the one CIA case officer Amocacci had approached had had the poor grace to kill himself rather than risk the exposure that such an organization had been operating in Turkey on his watch. Amocacci had merely shaken his head when he’d learned the news.

Amocacci jumped from the chopper and walked hunched over as he headed toward the house constructed with the funds from the coffers of the Council founders. Amocacci had contributed only a small portion, his funds limited after he’d left his position as an Italian police officer attached to Interpol. He’d been a dedicated officer until the death of his family; the net result of an intelligence operation gone very wrong. The criminals Amocacci had been trying to apprehend had discovered they had an informant inside their organization.

The informant had talked, blown the entire operation wide open, unbeknown to the task force assigned to the takedown. When the time came, there had been no criminals to be found. Many had been luckier than Amocacci, having lost their lives alongside those of their immediate family, but Amocacci had been on assignment when the criminals had killed his wife, two sons and his sister-in-law, who’d had the poor misfortune to be visiting at the time. Amocacci had immediately resigned his post and hunted down every last one of the bastards.

Unfortunately it hadn’t been enough for him and that’s when he created the Council of Luminárii. The Council had grown beyond anything he’d been able to comprehend, though, and although he’d started it he found himself mired in politics. The Council worked effectively, still, but Amocacci was in too deep, as were all the rest of them. Nobody left the Council unless feetfirst, and nobody would dare betray them by becoming slack. There were other punishments worse than death.

But Amocacci didn’t hate the Council. Far from it. In fact, he’d dedicated his life to eliminating special operations and intelligence where it would mean the compromise or death of bystanders, or create political upheaval where none need exist. The other Council members were as tired of their respective superiors creating havoc in the world as Amocacci, and they had finally reached a point where they could do something about it. These first few victories, as small as they might seem, were just demonstrations, a test bench to prove that the Council could work effectively on a macrocosmic scale, a global scale, and that those efforts could make a difference in the international intelligence community.

Amocacci entered the estate, dropped his briefcase on the antique table near the massive double front doors through which the housekeeper had admitted him. She tugged the overcoat from his shoulders as she advised him that the lady of the house had gone out for the evening. Ah, yes, Lady Allegra Fellini was every bit a woman as she was a consummate companion to Amocacci. They’d met while she was on vacation in Crete and Amocacci was on Council business. For more than a year Fellini had shared his table and his bed, and she’d never expected anything of him. It was a perfect match, and he’d been more than agreeable to her taking up somewhat of a permanent residence at the estate.

Amocacci acknowledged the housekeeper’s notice, advised her he would be ready for dinner in about an hour, and then entered his study. He secured the doors behind him and took the access tunnel—hidden behind a full-length mirror that doubled as a door—to the headquarters of the Council. The remainder of the Council of Luminárii was already present and awaiting him. From the looks on their respective faces, they had been waiting for some time. All the rest of them had made their entrance through a hidden elevator set off a private access road that wound its way from the Eastern Thrace regional capital of Kirklareli.