Aftershock

“I know you’re used to risking your life, but you do it to get stories. I stay out of the limelight. If you want to save lives, then you tell me what I have to do to keep those drugs from getting out of Van,” Bolan told her. “Unless you’re willing to risk thousands of people for your own little byline.”

“Stone, wait….”

Bolan started walking again. “You’ve got forty minutes to make your choice. If you haven’t made a decision by the time I get to my stash of clothes, I’m walking one way and you’re taking a hike. You’ve got guns. You look after your own safety.”

Abood fell silent.

Bolan knew that his decision wasn’t appreciated, but he also had his duty. He was as much a defender of lives as an avenger of victims. When it came down to it, anything he could do to deny the Reaper another soul was gravy. If he had to be tough, then so be it.

Better that they lived resenting his rough manner than they died because he was too polite to say what needed to be said.

4

Cat Abood checked her watch. They reached Colonel Stone’s stash of backup supplies a good four minutes early, but then, she knew that Stone hadn’t counted on walking at a pace to escape his frustration. She looked at the big man as he paused and checked the rugged chronometer on his wrist.

“You’ve still got four minutes to make your decision. I promised you that much,” he said curtly.

“I’m not the enemy. This is more than just about a story. Do you think you can do everything by yourself?” she challenged.

Bolan remained as silent as his namesake as he pulled off his battle harness. He slipped on a pair of jeans over the skintight leggings of his blacksuit, then slid the Jericho into its holster and cinched the belt tightly. He unhooked his shoulder holster from its place on the combat harness and slipped it and the sleek machine pistol that it housed across his broad back. A rumpled leather jacket came out of his war bag, and he threw it on over the outfit. “Three minutes.”

He busied himself, snapping on a sheath for a concealed knife and spare magazines for his two handguns as well.

“Can I at least lead you to the warehouse? I’ll hang back,” Abood said. “I promise not to get in the middle of a firefight.”

Bolan remained tight-lipped for a few moments. He snapped the folding stock shut on his AK and slipped it into the bag. He glanced at her.

“Give me your rifle,” Bolan said.

“How am I going to protect myself?” Abood demanded, gripping the AK more tightly.

“You have your pistol,” he answered. “Besides, if you’re going to walk through the streets of Van with me, I’d rather you not attract a lot of attention carrying a loaded rifle.”

Abood looked down at the ugly weapon in her hands, then surrendered it to him. “So I can take you there?”

“Don’t get in my way,” he said, finger aimed at her. “And keep your head down.”

Abood nodded. “You’re in charge.”

Bolan folded his arms across his muscular chest. Under the jacket, the blacksuit looked like a skintight T-shirt, the kind that weight lifters wore to show off their well-honed torsos. His words helped to distract her from the way he seemed poured into his jeans.

“You’re right. I’m in charge. And no mention of my involvement in the story,” Bolan explained. “I have people who can squelch the story if anything comes out. I’d hate to see you waste your time.”

Abood held up her hands in surrender. “I don’t even have a camera. Your secrets are safe with me. I’ll take them to the grave.”

Bolan’s jaw tightened.

“Sorry, poor choice of words,” Abood apologized.

“This isn’t a joke,” Bolan stated. “This is real.”

“Yeah. I have the bruises to prove it,” Abood agreed. “You’re forgetting that I’m not a tenderfoot.”

Bolan’s ice-blue eyes narrowed. He wasn’t amused.

“You’ll be kept confidential,” Abood stated. “Anything you let slip—”

“I won’t.”

Abood swallowed. He’d been so friendly nearly an hour before, prior to her wanting to deal herself into the recovery of the missing medical supplies. But, from what he’d said, she understood the change in tone. He’d been expecting to drop her off, safe and sound with no worries. Now, he was going to bring her close to the flames, and he didn’t want her wings to ignite if she got too close. He’d taken responsibility for her, just like he’d taken on the sole responsibility of recovering the drugs.

Abood had heard rumors across the years of such lone wolves, solitary crusaders reporters had occasionally run across. He was like a guardian angel, drawn to the most dangerous spots on Earth, performing good deeds, saving lives and providing aggressive, decisive strikes to those who would harm others.

Abood understood. There was something about the man called Colonel Stone that inspired her to feel not only loyalty, but the desire to protect him. She thought maybe it was because she was a reporter who hunted out the truth and fought for justice in her own way. He was on the same side, waging the same struggle as she did, except with force of will and arms instead of words. Either way, they were both working toward the same cause.

“Thanks for letting me help out, Stone,” Abood said softly.

“Call me Brandon,” Bolan said. “Sorry for being such an ass, but it’s for your own good.”

“I know,” Abood replied.

“All right. Can you hold the bag?” he asked her. “It’s heavy, but…”

“I’ll manage,” Abood said. She took it, and sure enough it was about as heavy as her dad’s range bag when he went to test rifles and pistols for his gun rags. It was nothing she wasn’t used to. “What are you going to do?”

Bolan winked. “I’m going to borrow some wheels.”

“Yeah, I got the bag. See if you can get something nice, like a Corvette,” Abood quipped.

“I’ll see what I can do—”

The ground vibrated beneath her feet, and she looked down. Bolan whipped around and looked at the city as the tremors grew in force.

“Earthquake!” he growled.

Suddenly the dirt at her feet heaved, and a fissure opened up between her feet. She lunged forward, and Stone caught her as soil cascaded into the crack in the earth. The pair lurched away as fast as they could on the flexing ground, and at one point, the dirt seemed to disappear beneath their bicycling feet, only to surge up again and knock Abood to her knees. Bolan tumbled forward, heaved off balance by the surging hillside.

A slope suddenly deepened as the earth continued to flex, and Abood let go of the bag to reach for Stone.

The big man skidded down the slippery slope toward a crack in the ground that yawned and snapped shut, like a pair of gigantic jaws.

5

Jandarma Major Omar Baydur arrived in his jeep, looking at the aftermath of the battle between his men and the Kurds.

“Major,” one of his men said. He managed to stand at attention, though his right arm hung limply, soaked with blood.

“What happened here?” Baydur asked.