Don Pendleton - Critical Exposure

Tyndall AFB, Florida

“I DON’T LIKE him,” Mack Bolan announced.

“Who?” Grimaldi asked.

“Major Shoup. He just rubs me wrong.”

Grimaldi looked stoic. “You think he’s lying?”

“I think he might be,” the Executioner replied. “Whatever else, I’m going to have to watch my back every second. Or I could wind up with a knife in it right when I’m not looking.”

“So maybe going to Guatemala with him and his team isn’t such a wise thing.”

They sat in the VIP quarters at the base with an array of weapons disassembled on the small, simple table in front of them along with a cleaning kit for various calibers. Bolan ruminated as he worked mechanically on his deadly hardware. “I’m really only going for the lift.”

“I could give you that, Sarge.”

“You will.” Bolan winked at his friend. “In a way.”

“Meaning?”

“You’re going to take the jet down on your own. Once there, I need for you to arrange for a civilian chopper.”

“A civvie job won’t be of much good in a hot LZ, Sarge,” Grimaldi replied. “Although I’m guessing you already know that.”

“I do.” Bolan ran a bore cleaner through the barrel of his Beretta 93-R before saying, “I need something small and quick. There’s a lot of jungle terrain, and you won’t have much in the way of maneuvering room.”

“So there is a method to your madness.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“You think there’ll be trouble.”

“I’m betting on it,” Bolan said. “It all seemed just a little too timely that Shoup and his people had a finger on this from the outset. Don’t you think?”

“It does seem like heavy coincidence.”

“Not to mention there weren’t one but two agents, one working local, that Shoup said disappeared shortly after the first man. And why Guatemala? What’s the connection? There’s nothing down there that would pose any sort of an internal threat to USAF operations here in the U.S. And we don’t have anything going on down there at present in the way of major military intelligence. Just minor CIA work keeping an eye on the drug runners.”

“Weren’t there rumors of al Qaeda using Guatemala as a base of operations?” Grimaldi asked.

Bolan dismissed the rumor with a wave of his hand. “Small-time. Mostly wannabes with the occasional real bad guy in the Islamic Brotherhood thrown in to gain credibility. The one thing terrorists have encountered in Guatemala is a whole lot of resistance from state terrorist groups. Basically drug gangs like Mara Salvatrucha and so forth. Local crime is the big problem there, and it’s no secret that the local gangs don’t like to share.”

“Ah, honor among thieves,” Grimaldi quipped.

Bolan deadpanned. “Really.”

“Sounds like maybe you’re walking into an ambush on purpose.”

“Exactly. I’m betting whoever is behind the compromise in the security of American MI operations is also getting nervous. They’ll want to do some damage control, and they’ll want to make sure they get all the players in one fell swoop.”

“Sounds like a real group of sweethearts.”

“Interesting you say that,” Bolan replied. “Because that’s exactly what I’m thinking. We’re dealing with a group here, and one that seems to have significant knowledge about special operations. At least insofar as ops by the U.S. military. So far, we’ve had a Navy SEAL operation compromised, intelligence signals and data to NORAD intercepted, and the near destruction of an entire platoon of special recon Marines.”

“Plus the Delta Force gig in Germany.”

Bolan nodded. “All military operations, all highly classified, with no rhyme or reason for specific locations. None of the groups these special units were operating against was related in any way. That means the motive has to be centered on intelligence or, more specifically, American defense intelligence operations.”

“You definitely have your work cut out for you on this one, Sarge.”

“Guess that’s just how I roll, Jack,” Bolan replied.

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