Don Pendleton - Lethal Compound

Now someone wanted him dead.

Bolan didn’t find that surprising. One generally didn’t become a billionaire without making enemies. Often, vast numbers of them. The one strange caveat to the situation was that Phillip Eckhart was the only known billionaire on the planet who also happened to be a genuinely nice guy.

The President of the United States was concerned by the threats to Eckhart’s life. Eckhart was a friend and an important campaign contributor. Nonetheless Eckhart had refused the security services of the FBI, the CIA and the Secret Service, saying he could take care of himself. But the President was troubled. So was the CIA. Was Eckhart just being his eccentric self or was he involved in something he wanted to hide? The president had consulted Hal Brognola, Director of the Justice Department’s Special Operations Group, who’d called in Bolan for a covert operation.

Phillip Eckhart’s brain was a national treasure, and the country could not afford to lose him. Furthermore, if one of the wealthiest men on earth was really up to something ugly, the United States government needed to know about it. The men from Stony Man Farm had fanned out. Aaron “The Bear” Kurtzman and his team had begun their computer wizardry, looking into Eckhart’s comings and goings while Bolan and Manning sat in a sweaty sniper-hide eating protein bars while the smell of roasted boar wafted up the hillside to torment them.

Eckhart’s hired security wasn’t bad, but if Bolan and Manning could sneak up within rifle range so could someone else, and the Executioner knew he could take Eckhart anytime he wanted to.

Manning spoke very quietly. A tiny LED was flashing on their security suite. “Motion, near Suspect One.”

Bolan and Manning had spent the seventy-two hours before Eckhart arrived at the cabin mapping the valley and finding the best spots for an enemy to set up to kill Eckhart. They’d established a descending order of best possible points from which to launch an attack on the lodge. Bolan and Manning had rigged the sites with security. Suspect One was the prime spot in this neck of the woods for hunting billionaires. It gave a commanding view of the house and the grounds and was within five hundred yards, putting it well within range of a good rifle or a handheld rocket launcher. There was good cover and concealment and it offered several escape routes, one of which led to a glade that was wide enough to support a helicopter landing.

“Confirm motion,” Bolan said.

The pigs had been setting off the motion sensors regularly.

“Motion confirmed on two sources.” Manning looked up with a grim smile. “Sensors are picking up significant metal readings.”

Unless they had eaten a hunter and his gear the one thing the wild boars of California didn’t do was carry rifles, and something had tripped the motion sensors at Suspect One and was carrying a significant source of metal. Bolan took out his phone and pressed a preset number.

The Executioner watched as Eckhart stopped by a window and pulled out his phone. The billionaire stared at his phone for long moments while it rang. When he was off hunting, fishing, sailing or mountain climbing his personal secretary took all his calls. This was his personal phone. Only the people closest to him had access to this number. But, with the help of Kurtzman, Mack Bolan did, too. He watched Eckhart continue to stare at his phone. The screen was giving Eckhart no caller ID. The Executioner figured it was 50/50 whether he responded.

Eckhart suddenly flipped open the phone and answered brightly. “Eckhart!”

Bolan spoke quietly. “Mr. Eckhart, listen carefully. I’d like you to step away from the window.”

Eckhart’s face blanked for the barest instant and then he disappeared behind the three-foot beams of his log cabin mansion. “Who is this? What do you want?”

“I’m extra security for you. An attempt is about to made on your life. I would like you to very quietly pull your security teams, your staff and your guests into the house. I believe the enemy will have snipers and possible support weapons. Out in the open your men will be cut to pieces,” the Executioner said.

“I have a sharpshooter in the observatory up top. How about he counter-snipes?”

Clearly Eckhart was thinking ahead but not far enough. “Pull him. The dome is a death trap. Your shooter will get one shot and then he’ll be killed. You should have deployed him in the hills,” Bolan said.

“I never thought of that, I—”

There was no time to debate tactics. “I gather you have a basement shelter that is fire and earthquake proof?”

“Yeah…”

“Get everyone in it,” Bolan said.

“I’m not big on holing up. I’d rather keep my options flexible if I’m under attack,” Eckhart said.

“I can’t tell you what to do, Mr. Eckhart, but I would suggest you at least pull into the interior of the house, and if you see shots on the hillside try to hold your fire. I’m going to try to take the gunmen out, now, and you might hit me or a buddy of mine.”

“What if they get past you?”

“The only way they’ll get past us is if we’re dead. At that point you’re free to do whatever you like.”

Eckhart was silent for a moment. “Sounds fair to me. Good luck!” he said.

“Thanks, and you.” Bolan put his communication headset in place. “Stay on the line.”

“You got it. Keep me advised,” Eckhart replied.

Manning was smiling. “For a billionaire, he sounds like an okay Joe,” he said.

Bolan muted his mike. “Yeah, let’s keep the boy breathing.”

Bolan and Manning pulled night-vision goggles down over their eyes and began their approach on Suspect One. The little redoubt had a pair of fallen trees that formed a natural berm, and between the two trunks there was ample room to aim a rifle from cover. At fifty yards Bolan and Manning each dropped to one knee. Two rifle barrels could be seen between the trunks.

The barrels had hoop-shaped muzzle breaks as big around as beer cans.

“Those are anti-materiel rifles,” Manning whispered. “And bigger than fifty caliber.”

“Two heavy weapons, that’ll mean at least two spotters if not four. Make it a half dozen with a seventh as commander,” Bolan said.

“These guys are serious,” Manning said.

Bolan’s blood went cold as the light-amplifying lenses of his goggles showed him a pair of lasers drawing green lines down toward the house. He keyed his headset. “Eckhart?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” the billionaire responded.

“Where are you?”

“Just watching the football game with friends while the pig finishes. Security is pulling back and my guests and I are all in the interior of the house like you said.”

“Have everyone hit the floor! Now!” Bolan urged.

The hillside lit up like doomsday. Six-foot gouts of fire blasted from the muzzles of the two massive weapons. They fired and fired again, methodically. Splinters fountained off the side of the lodge as huge projectiles tore through the treated timber like tissue. Bolan could hear men and women screaming through his headset. The two massive weapons on the hillside jackhammered holes in the side of Eckhart’s hunting retreat. Eckhart shouted in Bolan’s earpiece. “We’re under attack!”

“On it!” Bolan raced along the hillside with Manning silently taking his six. “I’m going to flank! Pin ’em down on my signal!” he told Manning.

Bolan split off and took the deer path that looped up behind the snipers’ position. The antitank rifles kept punching holes through the lodge. Bolan came to the pocket on the hillside and found killers intent on business. Two men were crouched behind the gigantic rifles aiming through the firing slit formed by the fallen trunks. The optics attached to the weapons were impressive and appeared to include small targeting computers. Two more men were assisting with loading magazines into the smoking weapons. One more man, who was obviously in command, was watching the besieged lodge through binoculars.