Assassin's Tripwire

Brognola waited impatiently as the Stony Man team and computers worked their magic. He was on his third ant-acid pill, working his way through the pack in his jacket pocket, when Kurtzman came back on.

“Well?” Brognola asked.

“You were right. There’s a high probability that the two are siblings. And if the Wolf and this Eidra are, in fact, related…”

“Then Striker is in big trouble,” Brognola said, “because the Wolf’s brother tried to attack the President in order to give Hahmir the chance to ‘save’ the Man.”

“Striker’s radio-silent,” Kurtzman said. “That was your own mission parameter. We can’t reach him and he’s not going to call us.”

“I know, damn it. Don’t you think I know? But we’ve got to find a way. We’ve got to get this information to him somehow.”

“We’re on it,” Kurtzman said. “Farm, out.” The secure transmission ended.

Brognola stood up and went to the window, feeling his stomach roil. He hadn’t wanted to believe it. But he was one of the few people in the Western world who’d actually seen a picture of the Wolf, not to mention the Wolf and his apparent brother. It was no wonder the connection hadn’t been made before. Now that they knew, however, they had to warn Mack Bolan.

5 (#ulink_b62f7d94-99ee-51f1-a89f-6d34aca59c0b)

Bolan ripped the Beretta from its shoulder holster and stroked the trigger repeatedly, spraying 3-round bursts across the surface of Khasky’s poker table. Confetti filled the air as bullets tore through the deck of cards. The fat man squealed and toppled over in his chair, dropping his machete. Seated behind the table, Khasky was never the real threat. That came from the guards. Bolan simply needed the distraction that targeting their leader would provide.