Don Pendleton - Lethal Compound

“Going swimmingly, actually. Phil and I are—”

“Phil?” Bolan inquired.

“Yeah, Phil. That’s his name.” Manning sounded vaguely offended. “Anyway, we all know Phil didn’t want CIA spooks or FBI suits lurking in every corner of his life. But after last night he’s pretty grateful and he seems to like me a whole lot.” Manning was positively smug. “I just happen to have the news flash you’ve been waiting for.”

“And what would that be?” Bolan asked.

“Eckhart’s planning, how does he like to put it? An…endeavor.”

Bolan and Kurtzman both smiled at the same time. “Would that be an archaeological endeavor?” Bolan asked.

Manning deflated as his thunder was stolen. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Skill and science. So where’s our boy headed?” Kurtzman asked.

“Don’t know. But he’s hinting like it’s a real roughing-it situation, and he implied it’s outside North America. He mentioned mountains and unfriendly natives and asked if I knew how to ride a horse. The real interesting news is that Eckhart said he’s hiring security for the endeavor, and we’re talking mercs.”

“So what did you say?” Bolan asked.

“I didn’t have to say anything. He offered me the job of head of security.”

“You took the job?” Bolan said.

“Naw, I wanted to, but I told him I couldn’t do it. Told him I had other commitments. I did tell him I knew a guy who was reliable, not on the government payroll and needed a job.” Manning gave Bolan a shit-eating grin over the link.

Bolan nodded. It was true, he didn’t work for the United States government. It was truer to say he had a working relationship with it, though the lines got blurry sometimes even for him. “Nice work. You find out anything else?”

“Not too much. When he and I weren’t flapping our gums about the great outdoors Phil spent a lot of time in his private study with some professor guy and a bubbly blonde.”

Bolan and Bear shot each other knowing looks.

Manning perked up. “Oh, and the Gurkha? I got his name. Lalbahadur Rai, and you were right, Striker. Phil hired him through Gurkha Security Limited, U.K. With that and his name we should be able to check his credentials, but I can tell you right now just by watching him. He’s a badass.”

Every Gurkha Bolan had ever met was. Pound for pound they were some of the toughest soldiers on earth. “How am I supposed to do the meet-and-greet with Eckhart?” he asked.

“Don’t know your ultimate destination, but if you want the job, you’ll meet him and the rest of his team in London. I chatted you up and he’s excited to meet you. I also told him you were broke so he has a round-trip plane ticket, first class and spending money with your name on it if you’ll come and give his endeavor a listen. Oh, and the job? It pays a thousand dollars a day, and he mentioned something about bonuses.” Manning’s face grew serious. “Oh, and one other thing.”

Bolan instantly knew he wasn’t going to like it. “What’s that?”

“He’s taking the attempts on his life seriously, but at the same time, he’s not.”

Bolan had seen this before in very powerful men. “This is a game to him.”

“Guarding him isn’t going to be easy.” Manning leaned back in his chair. “What do you want me to tell him?”

Bolan glanced into his camera. “Bear?”

“Well I don’t exactly like it.” Kurtzman scratched his beard. “But this is exactly the kind of mysterious activity the president wanted investigated, that and keeping our billionaire’s brain inside his skull are both going to be easier to do from the inside. It’s your call, Striker, but I would say accept.”

Bolan made his decision. “Gary, tell Phil I’m excited about this plan and I’m thankful to be a part of it.”

THE EXECUTIONER WAS ON A PLANE to London when his laptop peeped at him. Bolan watched the codes scroll across the screen. Kurtzman was trying to contact him. Bolan keyed in his own codes and Kurtzman appeared on his screen. Bolan put his earbuds in place and opened an instant messaging window.

Kurtzman looked concerned. “We think we know your destination, at least generally,” he said.

That was quick, Bolan typed. Where?

“Tajikistan. MI6 intercepted chatter.”

Chatter from where? Bolan typed.

“From their agents in the People’s Republic of China.”

Bolan clicked some keys and brought up a map of Tajikistan. What’s the gist of the chatter?

“Nothing conclusive. The only thing that is certain is that the Chinese know about Phillip Eckhart’s endeavor. They knew where he was going before we did, and they seem to be keenly interested.”

How would the Chinese find out?

“We don’t know,” Kurtzman said.

I can only think of one reason why China would care, Bolan typed.

Kurtzman nodded. “Heroin.”

Bolan knew from hard experience that there were three major heroin production centers. One was in Latin America, based out of Mexico and Colombia. The second was Southeast Asia, with Myanmar being party central. The third was Southwest Asia, and Afghanistan was ground zero. Afghani heroin took two major overland routes. One was the Balkan route. Turkey was the anchor and from there it branched out through the Balkans to eastern and western Europe. The other path followed the ancient Silk Road to Russia, the Baltic states and other former Soviet republics. Tajikistan was a major gateway state of the Heroin Silk Route.

Bolan knew China had a new generation of billionaire venture capitalists who sailed the seas of international commerce like buccaneers, and Chinese Triads were still the biggest heroin merchants in the world. They got most of their product from Southeast Asia, but the new breed of Chinese businessmen and gangsters were nothing if not expansionist in outlook.

The U.S. invasion of Afghanistan and the toppling of the Taliban had done little to stop the Southwest Asian heroin trade, but many routes had been closed, many drug warlords had been toppled. The situation was in flux and there were vacuums to be filled. The Chinese underworld and the mostly off-the-leash venture capitalists were always looking for opportunity, and with the U.S. and coalition forces in a state of occupation in Afghanistan, having one of the richest and most influential men in America on your side could smooth smuggling matters considerably.

Kurtzman read Bolan’s mind. “The Pentagon is thinking the same thing, but I don’t buy it. A man who willingly lost millions in the gem trade over his moral issues just isn’t the guy who’s going to set himself up in the international trade in junk. He doesn’t need the money. I just don’t buy it.”

Bolan had to admit that he didn’t, either. He’d only spoken to Eckhart for a few seconds but the vibe was wrong, and if Gary Manning said Eckhart seemed to be a stand-up guy, Bolan was willing to trust the big Canadian’s instincts.

Okay, lets get back to archaeology. Dr. Klein and Nancy Rhynman both specialize in the ancient Greeks. Why would Eckhart be consulting them about Tajikistan? Bolan glanced at the map on his computer screen. That’s three thousand miles off course.

“It is a conundrum,” Kurtzman admitted. “You’re just going to have to take the meeting and then you can tell me.”

You have gear in place for me? Bolan typed.

“A man is going to meet you when you get off the plane and give you a key. Take a cab from the airport. There’s a storage facility a few miles down the road. You’ll have a map, the key and the account number. The storage unit has a Land Rover parked in it and everything you asked for and everything else we could think of on our end.”

Thanks, Bear, Bolan typed. Anything else pertinent?