Zero Option

“I’ll tell you what his intentions are, Orin, and believe me I know what I’m saying. Randolph wants to take us down. The man is a dinosaur. He has principles and morals. He doesn’t have enough at the moment, but the minute he does he’ll take his findings to the President and spill beans all over the fucking Oval Office carpet.”

Stengard ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. He looked down at his highly polished leather shoes, cleared his throat, then looked out along the peaceful canal.

“We get rid of him, then. No ifs or buts. Senator Randolph has reached the end of an exceptional life in politics. It comes to us all, Eric. None of us is immortal. You have any problems with Randolph’s imminent demise?”

“Do I look like a man with a problem?”

“To be honest, Eric, yes, you do. You need to learn how to relax. Tension never won any battles. Go with the flow. See the problem, work it out and send in the troops.”

This time Stahl had to laugh.

“I have to hand it to you, Orin. Here we are getting ready to make a hostile takeover for the government of the United States. We have teams of covert mercenaries on the loose. A fully armed orbiting weapons platform over our heads just waiting to be switched on. And all you can say is ‘Relax.’ How the hell did you get where you are in the military?”

“By following my instincts. Letting the other poor idiots run around and get sweaty. Watching them work their butts off so they were old men before forty. I waited and listened, and took the chances they were too scared to tackle. They fell behind while I moved up the promotion ladder. And before you say it, yes, it was as easy as that. The military and politics are not so unalike. We plot and connive. Cultivate our allies and get rid of our enemies. Build up a store of favors we can call in. Make sure you always have your back to the wall and an eye out for the main chance.” Stengard turned so he had Stahl full face. “After that little speech I think we both should watch the other. After all, Eric, aren’t we after the same thing? Total power? High positions and control of the most awesome piece of hardware ever conceived? Tell me, Eric, do you still trust me?”

“If I told you, it would place me at a disadvantage.”

“Spoken like a true politician.”

“Can I leave you to deal with Randolph?” Stengard nodded. He turned to make his way back to his car, Stahl at his side. He had his door open before he spoke again.

“Have you ever heard of a man called Belasko? Mike Belasko?”

Stahl shook his head.

“Name doesn’t mean a thing. Should it?”

“No. Forget I asked. You’ll not hear it again.”

AS HE WAS DRIVEN back to his own office, Stahl wondered briefly who Mike Belasko was. The name occupied him for a few minutes as he tried to make a connection. When he failed he dismissed it sat back in the comfortable leather seat, watching the Washington landscape flash by.

If things went as planned and they gained control of Zero everything he saw outside the car, as the old saying went, would be his. It was a pleasing thought.

CHAPTER THREE

Stony Man Farm, Virginia

Bolan was on his third coffee when Hal Brognola arrived. He took one look at the soldier and reached for the pot himself, pouring himself a mug before dropping into the chair behind his desk. Brognola looked like a man who hadn’t slept for a long time. He took a long swallow of coffee, leaned back in his seat and stared at his old friend while he formed the words he wanted to speak.

“What the hell is going on, Striker?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. I’d planned to spend some R&R with Jack on Nassau. I touched down and found out it had gone to hell—Jack in hospital, Jess Buchanan kidnapped. I picked up some information on the perps and headed back for the mainland only to get hijacked at the airport and ended up having to fight my way out of a bad situation. That’s it. I dropped off the security tape I located at Jess Buchanan’s airstrip. Aaron is running it through the computer now to see if we can get some names for the faces. End of story. Now it’s your turn.”

“You up for another ride?” Brognola asked.

“Sure. Why not? I’m not even going to ask where.”

“One of your admirable qualities, Striker. Flexibility.” Bolan scowled at his longtime friend and ally. “Don’t push it.”

Brognola allowed himself a brief smile. He drained his coffee mug and stood.

“We’ll check with Aaron before we head out.”

AARON KURTZMAN was alone in the Computer Room. He spun his wheelchair away from his workstation as Brognola stepped into the room, with Bolan shadowing him. One look at the Executioner’s expression and Kurtzman knew it was no time for levity. He had been updated on what had happened from the moment Bolan had arrived in Nassau.

“I ran your security tape through the military database. You and Jack were right with the military connection. I came up with two positives. Your blond guy is one Calvin Ryan. Ex-Army. Retired a couple of years back from his last unit. Worked his way up through the ranks. Quite a record. The guy is a professional, a hard hitter. Desert Storm. Grenada. Headed a team of infiltrators for his commanding officer. You’ll like this. Colonel Orin Stengard.”

“Steel and Thunder Stengard?” Brognola said.

“The one and only. Makes all the other hard-liners look like pacifists.”

“The guy is always in the news with his views on why America needs to pull up the drawbridge and turn the country into an armed camp. Given his way, he’d have kids in school being taught weapons drill and issued with M-16s.”

“Any suggestions on what Ryan has done since he left the military?” Bolan asked.

Kurtzman shook his head. “Nothing on file.”

“You said two IDs.”

“Only got a clear image on one other man. Paul Meeker.”

“One of Ryan’s former military unit?”

“How did you know that?”

Bolan shrugged. “Just a guess.”

“Every time you start guessing, I get a cold finger down my spine,” Brognola said. “You have any other insights?”

“One observation,” Bolan said. “Orin Stengard has been known to associate himself alongside Senator Eric Stahl. Another might-is-right believer, and a man who has more than a passing connection with the armaments industry.”

“Connection is a nice way of putting it,” Brognola said. “The Stahl family has been in armaments since the 1930s. It’s where he gets his money. The man is worth billions.”

“Is this the Eric Stahl who fronts the Third Party?” Kurtzman asked.

“Stahl is the Third Party. The guy wants to be President. He was elected on his manifesto in his home state because he has one hell of a following in the Fortress America camp. We might not like his views, but a lot of people do. Stahl makes no concessions to political correctness, or tiptoeing around the issues. He says it as he sees it. The country is losing face and the ability to defend itself because we fudge the issues and let our enemies tell us how we should act. According to Stahl, we should think of the U.S. first and if it upsets the rest of the world, so what?” Brognola glanced across at Bolan. “Time we left.”

“You guys on a date?” Kurtzman asked.

“Not the kind you’re thinking about,” Brognola said.

“See what you can come up with on the wallet and the car-rental details,” Bolan said as he followed Brognola out the door. “Check those Glock pistols, as well. I’ll catch you later.”

“You know where to find me,” Kurtzman said to the Executioner’s back. He swung his wheelchair back to his desk and bent over his keyboard.

He had been working on the car-rental information Bolan had brought in. The credit-card detail ran him into a firewall on his first attempt. It went so far, then threw up a block. That was its first mistake. Kurtzman didn’t like being denied access to information. So he had pulled back and brought up one of his own programs, using it to bypass the card company’s firewall. He had just requested his program to worm its way into the card company’s database when Bolan and Brognola had visited. Now they had gone, Kurtzman turned back to his computer’s search and checked on the results. A smile creased his face as he read what the search had produced. He was into the card company’s database. His program had overcome the firewall put up by the security system. All Kurtzman had to do now was trace the ownership of the card, and it would point the finger at whoever was financing the people who had attacked Jack Grimaldi and Jess Buchanan.

THE BLACKSUIT PILOT behind the controls of the helicopter nodded as Bolan and Brognola settled in their seats behind him.