Don Pendleton - Appointment In Baghdad

Just beyond the airstrip Mirjana’s property abutted a bend in the river. A two-story yacht was moored to a man-made jetty of boulders that sheltered the craft from the river current.

James and Encizo had done preliminary reconnaissance of the Mirjana estate. The man’s defenses were considerable and appeared left over from the 1995 battles with Serbian forces: ground surveillance microphones, electronic sensors, commercial alarms and land mines along certain approaches.

Mirjana kept a small cadre of former members of the Serbian Special Police Units, the SMJ, as bodyguards. It was at first confusing why a Croatian arms dealer would be using Serbian commandos who had been accused of war crimes against his own people.

On further reflection it made a certain, cynical sense. Serbs were a minority in Croatia. Former Serb military veterans were hated and the SMJ most of all. The social animosity kept Mirjana’s private army isolated and thus loyal to him. He paid them well, they lived in luxury and were kept busy.

In addition to duties as security for shipments, action as bodyguards and sometime strike force for underworld disputes, the ex-SMJ troopers served as estate sentries. Armed with modern weapons and equipment, they patrolled the interior of the property and responded to any alarms or other disturbances.

Bolan sat in a rest area just off the northern expressway where it turned into a more rural highway. From that position the Stony Man team could overlook the entrance to Mirjana’s estate. Behind it the Sava ran in an almost perfectly straight diagonal line up toward the northwest.

It was night, and lights from Mirjana’s estate cut through the dark to illuminate expansive lawns and the purple tree copses on the mountain slopes behind it. At the front gate a sentry worked a brick booth, controlling entry.

Bolan lowered his night-vision binoculars.

“These are good,” he said.

“I thought it would be ironic if we took him down using equipment and weapons he’d sold us as part of our preliminary package,” James said.

Bolan smiled. “All this gear is from him?”

“Yeah. He took us to a warehouse in Pleso to show off his selection. We pulled exactly what we needed off the shelves. It was like Home Depot, dudes with electric forklifts and everything,” James said.

“When’s my meeting?” Bolan asked.

“About thirty minutes,” James replied.

“And he always does his business meets in the hunting lodge?”

“He claims it’s easier to ensure his electronic countermeasures are working against surveillance,” Encizo stated. “Like I told you, he even has an airport metal detector in the entrance hall.”

“I doubt you can get a piece in,” James said.

Bolan nodded. “I don’t intend to. I’ll rely on you two to shut the place down. I’ll keep Mirjana busy until you get in, Cal,” Bolan replied.

The two Phoenix Force commandos had thought Bolan’s plan for the Mirjana takedown risky. They were men used to danger, and Stony Man missions were run on extraordinarily narrow margins to begin with, but the news that Mirjana was tied into the Croatian government had changed everything for Bolan.

A straight assault could result in a distress alert making it out. The Stony Man commandos could find themselves trapped in the compound with SMJ killers while a Croatian government rapid-response force surrounded them, a diplomatically unacceptable situation. Smuggling their own weapons into the estate was also unfeasible due to Mirjana’s extreme security precautions.

Bolan had instead decided on a multipronged strategy. He would meet with Mirjana as the top purchaser of overseas acquisitions for North American International. The man who could sign the checks for big orders. Once Bolan was in proximity to Mirjana and could control his movements, Encizo and James would begin their assignments.

Encizo would approach from the Sava River and provide security overwatch across the lawns between the hunting lodge and the rest of the estate. He would neutralize any reinforcements moving to assist their boss.

James would infiltrate across the estate and bring in the weapons to secure the lodge. With Mirjana under wraps and Encizo providing security, the two men would begin their interrogation of the Croat arms dealer.

Bolan had brought hell with him to Croatia. He was about to introduce the Zagreb arms dealer to a fiery term of retribution.

Karl Mirjana had information the Executioner needed. Saying no was not an option.

The Stony Man team readied its gear and climbed into the Ford SUV. Bolan drove the Excursion now and he navigated through the outskirts of Zagreb, dropping James and Encizo at predetermined locations before heading directly toward Mirjana’s estate.

Headlights stabbed through the pitch darkness as Bolan rolled to a stop and switched them off for the first insertion. Calvin James, dressed in a sniper’s ghillie suit and armed with a Croatian-made APS-95 assault rifle, rolled out of the back of the vehicle and into the woods. The forest ran unbroken up into the southern foothills that formed the northern perimeter of the arms dealer’s remote estate and private hunting preserve.

Bolan pulled the SUV away from the spot and sped toward a secluded section of highway that ran next to the Sava River.

Outfitted in a neoprene drysuit, Encizo quickly disappeared into the low hedges along the riverbank, equipped with combat swimmer fins and a rebreather as well as an oilskin shoulder bag containing his long weapon and a silenced machine pistol. A double-edged dive knife was secured to the knotted muscle of Encizo’s calf and ankle.

Bolan was gone long before the Cuban-born commando had entered the water. With the members of his team deployed for their assault, the soldier guided the Ford Excursion back toward Karl Mirjana’s estate.

Bolan had dressed in upscale casual for his meet with the Croat. He wore sturdy but stylish khaki pants in black. Under his jacket he wore a crew-necked black pullover of expensive material and weave. He wore his Rolex Submariner watch and a pair of low-cut loafers with thick tread. The loafers were steel-toed and he hoped this would go unnoticed. Except for those steel caps he would be unarmed going into the death merchant’s lair.

After several minutes Bolan pulled off the main highway and took an unmarked paved private road. The long drive wound through several gentle curves cut through a dense copse. After nearly a full mile Bolan caught sight of the gate complex set across the road like a military checkpoint.

The fence was constructed of deeply red brick, ten feet high, and ran into the forest on either side. The heavy wrought-iron gate was electronically controlled, and heavy enough to resist ramming by even a semi-truck.

Bolan slowed as he approached the cinder-block gatehouse. Through the window he saw a tall man in blue coveralls rise from behind a desk. The black nylon pistol belt secured around his waist held a Glock handgun secured in the holster.

As the soldier stopped the SUV beside the gatehouse and powered down his window, the sentry came out, a telescoping metal pole with a mirror fitted on the end in his left hand.

“Mike Cooper, North American International,” Bolan said. “I have an appointment with Mr. Mirjana.” He wondered if the man spoke English, though the names should get the message across if he were expected.

The man nodded. “ Ja, moment.” His English was broken and accented but passable. “I check the vehicle. If you have weapons, I request you turn them me, now.”

Bolan grinned. “I’m clean.”

The sentry seemed to accept his word and focused on playing the mirror across the vehicle’s undercarriage. As he went about his security check, Bolan was able to get a better look at the pistol in the man’s holster.