Enemy Arsenal

Hearing his doom, the captive man lashed out with his head, trying to butt Hu in the face. A blurred form rushed in and slammed the man into the backs of the third-row seats. Zheng retreated just as quickly, her open palm out, ready to defend or attack as needed.

Hu shook his head sadly. Now, when he had spent so long preparing to put his plan into motion, he couldn’t afford any action—by himself or others—that would endanger the operation he had been planning for half his life. “It is foolish actions such as this that can

endanger everything we have worked for. Have him

removed as an example to the others that this sort of base behavior will not be tolerated. I trust you will come up with a suitable message for them.”

Zheng smiled, her expression devoid of any humor or warmth. “Yes, sir. I have just the right lesson planned. They won’t forget it, and he certainly won’t miss what I will use to drive the point home.” She closed the door on the gasping, crying man, his last mumbled pleas for what Hu assumed were mercy falling on deaf ears.

“Make sure he is never found.”

“Of course, sir.”

“When will we be ready to begin the second phase?”

“Once the lesson has been delivered, then it is a matter of locating the right vessels to commandeer. The men will need some time aboard to set the devices to ensure their proper destruction.”

“Very good, you will keep me informed as to their progress. Also, is the diversionary force ready to go on my orders?”

“Yes, sir, their fee to the event has been handled through one of our shell corporations. There is nothing tying it back to us. They are encamped in the desert thirty kilometers south of Tiznit, and are awaiting the word to move out.”

“Excellent. Please inform my pilot that his services will not be needed. I’ll be resting here tonight. I will see you in the morning.”

Zheng bowed again. “As you wish.” She went to the driver’s side of the SUV while Hu walked back to the elevator to return to his office—and the continued contemplation of the pit that was Hong Kong around him, and how best to cleanse it and the others complicit in a betrayal that stretched back more than half a century.

CHAPTER THREE

Eight hours later, Bolan, James and their prize were at Stony Man Farm, in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Jack Grimaldi had flown them out of John Wayne Airport on a red-eye back east, resulting in them enjoying a cup of real coffee—not Kurtzman’s superstrong black swill—and watching the sun come up over the fog-shrouded peaks.

Bolan had decided to spirit Araña back to Stony Man Farm to avoid any federal entanglements. The Executioner and James decided to check out leads the cyberteam had before they began questioning their informant. The two men heard a whoop just as they walked into the computer room in the Annex.

“What do ya think that’s about?” Calvin James asked.

“Akira either found the latest bootleg he’d been looking for, or he’s actually on to something. Only one way to find out.”

Akira Tokaido was one of Stony Man’s youngest members. He was also its best computer hacker, slipping in and out of foreign government mainframes, through criminal syndicate firewalls and anywhere else intel was needed from cyberspace.

But when Bolan and James walked to Tokaido’s workstation, his clenched fists weren’t raised in triumph at his latest sneak-and-peek, nor was he crowing about his success to anyone within earshot. Instead, his dark brown eyes were glued to a large monitor, his fingers blurred over the keyboard.

“Heard you hollerin’ in the hallway. What’s up?” James asked.

Tokaido didn’t take his eyes off the screen as he replied. “Shouted too soon. It’s probably just a false alarm. For a second, I thought I’d found a link to the Sale in the Sands.”

The name got both Bolan’s and James’s attention right away. Throughout the world, there were certain black-market events that Stony Man was constantly on the lookout for. The “Sale in the Sands” was one of them—a huge assembly of black-market weapon dealers that got together every other year to sell weapons, espionage technology, engineering and systems knowledge and entire mercenary groups to the right bidder. It had been on Bolan’s list to check out for some time, but either other more pressing ops had come up at the same time, or the Farm had followed artfully disguised trails that had led them nowhere.

“Why do you think it’s a no-go?” Bolan asked as he leaned down to survey the screen.

Tokaido leaned back and interlaced his hands behind his head. “Because, how would a low-life L.A. gangbanger get access to the triple-encrypted website that allows potential attendees access and the chance to put down their fifty-thousand-dollar advance reservation fee?”

“Fifty grand?” James whistled. “Damn, that’s one exclusive club.”

“That’s not the half of it, brother.” Tokaido tapped more keys. “From what I can tell, that’s only half of what someone needs to pony up to attend this little party.”

“Wait a sec—you’re telling me Araña had access to the site, that he was in, for all intents and purposes?” Bolan asked.

“Near as I can tell, yes. I’ve been tracking down every bit of conversation he’s had regarding this, and from what I’ve gathered, MS-13 was planning to attend. They’d put down their money, and were awaiting confirmation of their account being created, as well as the second part of the password to wire the second half.”

Bolan and James exchanged glances. “In for fifty grand, in for a hundred,” the lithe black man said.

“Akira, I assume you can masquerade as Araña and finish the transaction?”

“Well, I had already begun setting up a slave system on his smartphone to see just how far down the rabbit hole I could go. I was just waiting for authorization—”

“Which you just got.” Bolan straightened as his own cell phone buzzed. “Stay on this, and gather as much intel as possible. Cal, notify Phoenix to be on standby. If it’s going down in the next few days, we may have to scramble to get wherever it is on time.” He flipped his cell open. “Yeah.”

“It’s Hal.” Bolan’s long-time colleague and friend usually sounded either disgruntled, disgusted or dyspeptic, but this time his voice carried none of those overtones. Rather, Hal Brognola’s voice carried an undercurrent Bolan had hardly ever heard—nervousness.

“Are you all right?” Bolan asked.

“Yeah, everything in Foggy Bottom is as per usual—gridlocked and logjammed. Striker, I have a favor to ask you. How soon can you get to JFK?”

“Jack’s sacked out, but Charlie’s available. What’s this about?”

“I can’t talk about it like this, even over a secure line. Just get there as soon as you can, and call me. I’ll direct you the rest of the way once you’ve landed in New York City.”

“Hal—” Bolan turned away from the other men and lowered his voice “—you’re all right?”

“Yeah, this has to do with the circles I run in. Just get up here, would you? It would mean a lot to me.”

“I’m on my way.” Bolan hung up and speed-dialed Charlie Mott, Stony Man’s second pilot. “Charlie...yeah, it’s me...prep the jet for a flight to JFK...leaving in the next hour...thanks.”

James was watching him as he headed for the door. “What’s up?”

“Hal needs me in NYC. I want you to take over Araña’s

interrogation. Find out everything he knows about the Sale in the Sands, and anything else MS-13’s up to. I’ll call in once I’m in New York.”

“You got it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Xiang Po bolted upright in the bed, the soft cotton sheets puddling around his body as he choked off his shout of fear. Heart hammering in his chest, he looked in every corner of the small stateroom, searching for the furious, black-haired ghost that had been crawling after him, its bloody hands reaching for him from beyond the grave....

A dream—it was only a dream, he thought. He cocked an ear, listening for any sign that his outburst might have been heard by the other pirates. When no fist hammered on the door, he leaned back against the plush headboard and sighed in relief. He stared at the opulent room he’d been given as a reward for his part in taking over the yacht, taking in the soft carpet, the real wooden furniture, the faint smell of some kind of floral fragrance that had filled the room when he had first entered. All of this, as well as a wonder he had scarcely believed when he had first set eyes on it.

Just thinking about it made him shiver in anticipation. Xiang slipped out of bed, carefully drawing up the covers again—it would be a crime to leave such a luxurious abode unkempt. He grinned as he thought about the first night they had stayed aboard, when he had tossed and turned on the soft mattress, unused to such comfort, until he had wrapped himself in the topsheet and slept on the floor, which had still been more comfortable than any other bed he’d ever been in. Over the next few days, he had moved to the bed, and his rest had never been so peaceful—except for the damn dreams.

He crossed to the private bathroom, marveling again at how his bare, callused feet sank into the soft, ivory-colored carpet. Sliding open the narrow door, he gazed at the object of his desire—the small, tiled shower stall. When Xiang had first found it, he had stayed under the fresh, clean spray for fifteen minutes, using up almost all of the water on the boat. The other pirates had wanted to beat him for his mistake, but their leader, Lee Ming, had instead made him responsible for maintaining the desalinization system for the yacht as long as they were on board, which he had done scrupulously ever since. Xiang had overheard a conversation between Lee and another pirate, and learned that they might remain onboard for as long as a week, maybe ten days. It wasn’t their normal operating procedure, but was to be followed until the next phase of their plan was to be put into motion. He didn’t mind; this was the best he’d ever had it in all of his twelve years.