Don Pendleton - Chain Reaction

“It’s Brewster,” Mitchell said.

Bolan crossed the room in long strides, the 93-R trained solidly on the hunched-over figure. Brewster was on his knees, clutching his midsection. His Glock hung from his fingers, loose and presenting no threat. Bolan took it from the man, holstering his Beretta and holding the Glock.

Brewster, moaning, moved so he could sit awkwardly, still clutching himself. Blood soaked through his shirt in a continuous flood, turning his shirt and pants a glistening red.

“I’m calling this in,” Mitchell said.

Bolan handed her his cell phone and she keyed in a number. Standing at the doorway, she stared at Brewster as she raised her phone.

“SAC Duncan, this is Agent Mitchell. We have located Agent Bermann, sir. He’s dead. And we have Brewster. He tried to shoot us. It was Brewster who gave us up to Hegre. He’s down. We have the situation under control. Yes, sir, Cooper is with me. We need backup at the location you gave me. You can send in the troops now. Yes, sir, we’ll stand fast.”

Bolan saw the spread of blood as it pooled under Brewster’s slumped body. He grabbed cushions off armchairs pushed to one side of the room and laid Brewster down with one of the cushions under his head. The man stared up at Bolan. His face was sickly white and glistening with sweat.

“He’s in a bad way,” Bolan said over his shoulder.

“Good,” Mitchell snapped back. “Don’t expect any kind of help from me, Cooper. You see what they did to Jake?”

Her voice rose in anger. “You see what they did, Brewster. To one of your own. And Ray.”

“What did they want from him?” Bolan asked.

“Information,” Brewster said. “Hegre was concerned the FBI was getting too close and starting to unravel how it worked.”

Blood trickled from Brewster’s mouth, frothy and constant.

“You were helping them?”

Brewster nodded. Life was slipping away. His hands covering the bullet wounds in his body were wet with blood.

“They offered so much money,” he said, his voice weakening. “A million. It seemed so easy at the time. I took it because I was greedy. No other word for it. I was living above my means, seeing all kinds of perps with money coming out of their pockets. I was risking my life for nothing while they had it all.” Brewster began to cough up more blood. His face twisted in a spasm, then formed a crooked smile. “When Hegre made the offer, I just couldn’t refuse. You know the funny part? I never got the chance to spend any of it.”

“Where’s the woman?” Bolan asked. “Delaware?”

Brewster’s head moved from side to side. “Lise? She moves around. She’s hard to pin down.” He fixed his gaze on Bolan. “She wants you, Cooper. You killed Rackham, burned her with a bullet and wrecked their Korean deal. She will come after you.”

“I’ll try not to lose too much sleep over that.”

Behind Bolan, Mitchell’s Glock cracked once—twice.

“Incoming,” she called, and Bolan moved to her side. He saw shooters moving along the hallway, weapons up.

Bolan snapped up the Glock and started to lay down offensive fire. As the Executioner drove the shooters back, Mitchell ejected her empty magazine, reloaded and brought her weapon back online. Together they covered the hallway with a powerful curtain of .40-caliber fire. Two men went down, one screaming wildly.

Retreat became the order of the day as the Hegre crew backed off. Bolan refused to let it end there and he tracked the hallway, sending more deadly fire at the enemy as they pulled away. When the Glock locked back empty, Bolan snatched the 93-R from its holster and continued to fire. The interior of the house echoed with the constant stream of gunshots. The last man in the group reached a door and kicked it open. Before he could clear the opening, Mitchell’s Glock fired twice and the guy’s head was hammered by a pair of .40-caliber slugs. They cored in through his skull and blew a portion of brains out through the bloody exit wound.

Mitchell slumped back against the wall, Glock sagging in her two-handed grip. The weapon had locked on empty, smoke still curling from the barrel. Bolan saw her shoulders moving as she trembled in the aftermath. He could see the rage seeping away, and he knew in her mind she would be seeing the image of her tortured, dead FBI teammates.

Ray Talbot.

Jake Bermann.

Mitchell would be taking on the blame because she felt a responsibility toward her team.

It wasn’t enough they had found Bermann.

They had arrived too late.

Bolan watched her, seeing her expression and feeling for the FBI agent. There was not a thing he could do for her.

His thoughts turned to another female.

Lise Delaware.

The woman would seek revenge, would attempt to even a perceived score with Bolan. Somewhere along the line that need would be addressed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“One way or another, Cooper, I’m getting to the bottom of this.”

The determination in Mitchell’s voice told Bolan all he needed to know. The FBI agent was not going to stop until she had the answers she wanted. She had good reasons.

Mitchell reloaded automatically as she voiced her thoughts.

“They don’t do this and not pay.”

Her partners had been killed because they had been betrayed.

And Mitchell’s own tenacious nature would not allow her to ignore facts.

“The Bureau is in a good position to run some checks on Brewster’s recent history,” Bolan said, then added, “second thoughts. Go careful. Hegre appears to have deep contacts. It could be they might get wind of anyone looking too close at their business.”

“Are you saying they might have someone else in the Bureau? That’s crazy, Cooper. This is the FBI were talking about. Hegre doesn’t own it.”

“Agent Mitchell, I’ve been up against this group before. They had a pretty good reach last time around. I can’t do anything to stop you from checking them out. Just be careful is all I’m saying.”

Mitchell understood his concern. And as much as she even hated the thought there might be some other kind of leak within the FBI, her good sense cautioned against being careless.

She only had to remind herself what had happened to Joe Brewster. He had been a careful man, never one to even think about taking unnecessary risks. He was a stickler for obeying the rules. She had believed him to be an upstanding FBI agent who played by the book.

She had been wrong there. Brewster had stepped outside the circle and accepted Hegre’s money. He had been turned. In Mitchell’s eyes, if Brewster had been corrupted, it could happen to anyone.

Mitchell was at the room’s front window, keeping watch, waiting for backup to arrive. Her initial anger when she had realized Brewster had betrayed them had ebbed, leaving behind a dull ache. It wasn’t every day she had two friends die and witnessed another partner selling her out.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Cooper crouching over Brewster’s prone figure, talking quietly to the wounded man. Cooper fought with the dedication of a professional, yet now he was speaking to the man who had tried to kill them with the compassion of a priest taking confession. In the brief time she had known the man, Cooper had shown her many facets of his character. She found herself drawn to him, fascinated by his powerful presence and the deadly skills he used so well.

“Game’s over,” Bolan said to Brewster. “You rolled the dice and ended up with snake-eyes. A low roll. Whichever way you look at it, you don’t come out with any kind of winning hand.”

“So this is where I open up and admit the error of my ways?”

“Hegre isn’t going to come to the rescue.”

“But you are? You’ll offer me absolution if I confess before I die?”