Don Pendleton: Chain Reaction

“So you decided there was a link.”

Mitchell nodded. “Duncan said that Ray had been found dead near the town of Treebone. Brewster and I had been on the lookout for him. That delayed email Ray sent had the GPS location for this place. Brewster figured it was tenuous at best but as I am higher up the pay grade he went along until I decided to go take a closer look. That was when he dug in his heels and started to quote protocols. Duncan gave me free rein, but Brewster wanted a directive. Now we have another missing agent.”

“You wanted to find out if your missing guy was around?”

“I couldn’t waste time. Ray was dead. Jake Bermann could be in danger. Waiting wasn’t an option.”

“I can’t fault that, Agent Mitchell.”

“Look, Cooper, I don’t have time to debate this. If Brewster has gone to call in the troops we could be waiting for a couple of hours.” She hesitated. “How long does it take to kill someone? For all I know Bermann could already be dead, but I’m damned if I can just wait around.” She took a breath to calm herself. “What I can’t figure is where Brewster is. The man is no Eagle Scout. Not the type to go wandering around in the woods.”

Bolan understood her reasoning. He could accept rules of engagement. But he could also see it from Mitchell’s viewpoint. If her teammate, Bermann, was in enemy hands his life expectancy could be counted in hours...maybe minutes. As she had also said the FBI agent might already be dead. It was an unenviable position to be in, and Bolan could sympathize with her predicament.

“What were you planning before I showed up?” he asked. “You looked about ready to go storming in on your own without any intel about how many you might be up against.”

“I was hoping my partner might join me...oh hell...I know I didn’t think it through. But I can’t simply do nothing. And now Brewster is missing.”

The haunted expression in her eyes made Bolan aware of the depth of her feeling. Sarah Mitchell was impulsive, but caring. Her need to locate one of her own had overridden her FBI protocols.

“We’ll do this,” he said, “but you follow my lead. No questions. Okay?”

Mitchell nodded.

“Where the hell is Brewster?” she asked again.

Bolan had been asking himself that question. There was still that faint but nagging suspicion tugging at him. The more he thought about it the stronger his suspicion became. Until he had proof one way or the other he would not voice his thoughts to Mitchell.

“We need to move back to the house. Check it out before we decide what to do.”

Mitchell nodded again, said, “It’s time I called in and found out what’s happening.” She searched in her jacket for her cell phone. “Damn, I left my cell in the car. I argued with Brewster and tossed it on the dash before I headed out. Losing my cool again...”

She got in the car and leaned forward to grab her cell phone, but it was not there.

“Let me do that,” Bolan said. “My cell is on a higher security setting than yours anyway.”

“You think mine could be compromised?”

“Think about it. If it’s missing, who has it?”

Bolan took out his cell phone and called Stony Man, getting Aaron Kurtzman on the line.

“What can I do for you, big guy?”

“I need you to contact FBI SAC Drake Duncan. Ask him if he’s had a call from Agent Brewster on Agent Sarah Mitchell’s team asking for help.”

“Something you’re not happy about?”

“You could say that. I just need clarification.”

“I’ll call back ASAP. Anything else?”

“Any more intel on Hegre?”

“We’re making some headway.”

“Keep me posted.”

“I’ll let you know what Duncan says.”

Mitchell was watching Bolan intently. “Well?”

Bolan lowered the cell phone. “My contact will get back to me when he has something.”

“So what do we do in the meantime?”

“What we were going to do. Only now we watch our backs.”

Mitchell leaned back in her seat, slowly shaking her head. The thoughts inside her head translated to the expression on her face. A particular thought had pushed its way to the surface.

“My God, you think Brewster has sold out. Right? Damn it, Cooper, you do.”

“Let’s say I have a doubt about him. A partner bugging out and allowing his teammate to go in alone. I may be wrong, and if I am I’ll be the first to say sorry. We let my people make contact. And we handle things my way.”

“Brewster? He’s sold out.”

“I only have a vague feeling at the moment. That’s why I wanted to check it out. I could just as easily be wrong, so we hold our judgment until confirmation one way or the other. Let’s say I have a suspicious nature. Reserve judgment until we have proof positive one way or the other.”

Bolan walked a few steps and waited for Mitchell to join him.

“Cooper, I hope you’re wrong,” she said.

“So do I.”

They retraced their way back to where Bolan had come up on Mitchell. A couple of minutes in and Bolan felt his cell vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and answered the call.

“Striker, Duncan has not had a call from Agent Brewster,” Kurtzman said. “He’s not a happy camper. What’s going on out there?”

“Nothing good. But at least the picture’s clearer. Thanks for the intel.”

Bolan cut the call. He felt Mitchell’s eyes on him.

“Brewster didn’t call Duncan.”

“Then you could be right about him,” Mitchell said. “Looks like he had me fooled. Had us all fooled.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, Agent Mitchell.”

“Hey, if he didn’t call it in, what the hell has he been doing? Maybe he got taken himself. Have you thought about that, Cooper?”

“It crossed my mind. I won’t dismiss it as a possibility.”

Mitchell had the same hope. It didn’t quite add up though. The more she recalled her last conversation with Brewster she had to admit his attitude had been evasive. She hadn’t caught on because of her own eagerness to move on the location.

Bolan’s keen instinct for situations had him checking their position as they walked. And that instinct alerted him to a shadow of movement to their right, within the overhanging bushes by the tree line.

They weren’t alone.

The subdued gleam of metal reflecting light brought the Executioner full circle. The people out there were not showing themselves as being friendly. Bolan and Mitchell were being stalked.

A sudden acceleration in movement confirmed that notion. The figures were closing the circle, shortening the distance between them.

Not friends by any means.

Enemies.

“Down, Mitchell. Now,” he snapped, reaching out to give her a none-to-gentle push that took her off balance and to the ground. Bolan followed, sliding his Beretta 93-R from leather as he dropped, swiveling it to line up on the shooter who had emerged from the trees. Bolan heard the crackle of autofire, felt the hiss of slugs passing over his falling body. His finger stroked the 93-R’s trigger and the Beretta fired a triburst. Bolan had gone for the chest, but his fast release, as he dropped to the ground, was off target.

The 9 mm slugs struck the shooter in the upper left shoulder, creating a significant wound as they hit bone, shattering it as they flattened and tearing at muscle and flesh. The guy stumbled, crying out in pain as his shoulder was mangled severely, losing a flap of torn flesh and spouting blood. He lost all interest in the battle as he went to his knees, letting go of his submachine gun, his attention focusing on the pain that engulfed him. Incapacitated, he was an open target for Bolan to make his follow-up shot. The soldier drilled a 3-round burst into the guy’s head. This time Bolan’s aim was on target. The dead man flopped over onto his back, his skull split and bloody.