Preparing for the probability of not being able to make a deal, Bandaran had stationed a large squad of his best STF soldiers in the wooded area backing onto the rear of his house.
They would wait until the Tamil crossed the lawn before commencing the attack, and he would be leading them. Bandaran could see the headlines: Minister Of Internal Security Leads a.s.sault That kills Tamil Terrorist Leader.
Bolan waited for the young woman to unlock the car doors, then slid into the pa.s.senger seat. He could feel the eyes of the STF guard, acting as parking director, drilling through his clothes.
Allan Bandaran came out of the front door and led a well-dressed English couple to a Bentley. He watched as the two drove away, then turned and started to walk toward the side of his large house.
Stopping, he turned back and stared at Bolan through the windshield of Sirindikha"s car. The soldier eased his hand under his jacket and let it rest near the shoulder rig.
The minister shook his head and turned away, then walked briskly around the building until he vanished from sight.
Sirindikha had been holding her breath. Now she could exhale. "That was close," she said, shivering over the memory of the minister"s piercing stare.
The young woman took her hands from the wheel and looked at the warrior.
"Before we leave, I want you to know that I"m going north with you." "It"s too dangerous." "You need me," she replied. "I saved your neck on the street outside of your apartment building." The Executioner had to admit that she had reacted quickly.
"Don"t you have to show up for work?" "I can take a sick day." "Call me tomorrow," he said, knowing he"d be driving north to meet the fishing boat captain before she was awake.
The young woman backed out of the parking s.p.a.ce, then spun the steering wheel and drove onto the roadway.
A tall, dark-faced man dressed in fatigues came out of the shadows. He stopped and stared into the emba.s.sy car, then continued his journey across the road to a waiting van.
Bolan saw the puzzled expression on his companion"s face.
"Something wrong?" "The man who came from behind Bandaran"s house was Rajiv Thamby, the leader of the Tigers, or his double," she said, still looking confused.
The chattering of a dozen automatic weapons startled them. For a moment Bolan thought he was the target. Then he saw uniformed STF troops charge across the lawn toward the van. Bolan recognized them as mercenaries, and at their head was Allan Ban daran.
The Executioner unleathered the silenced Beretta 93-R and exited the car, followed by Sirindikha. "Let"s take cover," he stated, leading the way to a stand of trees between the house and the roadway.
As they crouched and watched, a dozen rebels appeared magically from behind trees and bushes.
Returning the STF gunfire with bursts of lead from a battery of AK-47"S, the guerrilla fighters had the advantage of not having to shoot while in motion.
With deadly accuracy they found their targets.
Eight of the STF soldiers fell, shredded by the unending storm of lead.
A whistle blew, and six more STF"-UNIFORMED troops rushed across the roadway to aid their comrades. Brandishing submachine guns, they emptied their weapons at the group of fighters bordering the stopped van.
Four of the Tamils fell to the ground, bleeding. Another spun as a hail of lead chiseled into his body, pushing him back into a tree, where he died.
Undaunted by the surprise a.s.sault, the Tamil fighters stood their ground, emptying their weapons at the ever-diminishing number of attackers.
One by one the government soldiers surrendered their lives to the barrage of 7.62 mm rounds.
"Turn slowly." The voice behind Bolan surprised him. He turned and saw the stout government official pointing a SIG-SAUER pistol at him and his companion.
Bandaran grabbed the young woman by the arm and yanked her away.
"You come with me," he said, his voice filled with panic.
"I"m with the United States government," she protested.
"Right now you"re my shield." He backed away from Bolan, keeping his hostage between them.
"Drop your gun," Bandaran ordered, glaring at the big American.
The Executioner let the Beretta fall to his side, then moved backward and seemed to trip. As he fell, the minister moved his hand to aim the weapon in the soldier"s direction.
Bolan rolled to his right as Bandaran fired twice.
With a swift movement the Executioner spit a continuous spray of lead at his adversary. The rounds tore Bandaran into shreds of splintered bone and tissue. Blood spurted from ten cavities, tinting the green lawn with a layer of red.
Across the road the Tamil leader stared at Bolan for a brief moment, then got into the van and drove out of there.
Bolan shoved the Beretta back into its holster.
Glancing at the tattered corpse near him, he felt only relief that another cannibal had been laid to rest.
As he helped Sirindikha to her feet and led her back to the car, he had only one regret. He had wanted to corner the Tamil chief and force him to reveal where John Vu was being held. But there"d be another time for that confrontation.
Perhaps as soon as tomorrow.
The drive north had been long and dull. As he pa.s.sed the still-dark huts that lined Highway 3, he thought about the emba.s.sy clerk. She was a strange mixture of naivete and shrewdness. Without any apparent training, she seemed to know how to handle herself in tense situations.
Abruptly switching focus, he considered his course of action. He would drop his carryall near the beach, then drive to the tourist facilities in Whelped and leave his car there. He had called the administration office for the national park from Colombo and asked if someone could drive him to the beach.
The reaction was one of surprise.
"This is the rainy season, the wrong time to come here," the woman on the other end had replied. "In a few days the beach will be six inches under water, and you"ll drown." "I know. But my editor wants me to photograph how the monsoon affects wildlife in Whelped," Bolan told her.
Reluctantly she agreed to store his car and drive him to the sh.o.r.e.
Waiting in the jungle that bordered the beach, Bolan watched as the clouds gathered and became a solid thickness in the sky. In a few days all of this area would become a marshlands. unnavigable.
He opened his bag, took out the Beretta 93-R and slid it into the shoulder holster hidden under the oversize rain slicker he"d just bought in Colombo. The.44-caliber Desert Eagle slipped easily into the rigid leather holster on his belt. The Applegate-Fairbairn combat knife sat in the sheath strapped to his left arm.
The combat vest under the knee-high raincoat held various weapons of war: full clips for the two handguns, for the M-16 and M-203 combo, and the silenced Uzi submachine gun. M-40 delay fragmentation and incendiary grenades were attached to metal clips. He had chosen the M-16 as his main piece.
The big American carefully peered into the jungle that surrounded him and listened for sounds of an enemy.
The dense growth was alive with noises of living creatures. He could hear the sounds of the birds, and small animals scurrying along the ground, searching for food.
A profusion of trees, shrubs, wildflowers and exotic plants competed with one another for s.p.a.ce in the thickly populated wilderness. Bright, almost-electrified blotches of color from the different tropical plants vied for Bolan"s attention.
He knewa"not guesseda"knew that somebody was waiting for the right moment to strike.
A slight sound became audible, coming from behind the nearby trees.
Bolan turned to see where the sound originated and saw a half-dozen black-clad men running toward him, screaming guttural curses in Tamil as they did. He could see the blood l.u.s.t in their expressions as they recklessly charged through the jungle from a hundred yards away, their AK-47"S spraying a wall of lead in his direction.
These weren"t trained fighters, or they would have held their fire until they were close enough for the rounds to hit their target.
Him.
Bolan raced into the forest behind him. It was a poor shield. The trees offered little protection against high-powered ammunition, but at least they provided him with temporary cover until he could calculate his next move.
The soldier tried to decide who had sent them, Sirindikha? Not unless he"d totally misjudged her. Perhaps the woman at the Whelped tourist facility?
The answer was suddenly obvious.
The fishing-boat captain. He was a mercenary, and mercenaries sold information to anyone willing to pay them.
Bolan decided he would deal with the man after he was delivered to Jaffna, but before the informer could notify his other customers where the soldier was heading.
The Executioner was grateful that he said he"d give the captain his destination after they got under way.
Meanwhile he"d have to make his stand here.
Like a wraith Bolan streaked toward the startled guerrillas, throwing an M-40 frag grenade, then switching to a two-handed grip on the M-16.
As the bomb ripped the center flank of the enemy, shrill cries of agony shattered the stillness of the night. The handful of shadows started to vanish behind trees.
Someone hollered something in a strange tongue, which Bolan a.s.sumed was Tamil. The guerrillas stopped and turned back.
Six remained alive. Clad in a mixture of peasant and combat attire, they wore crude straw hats and elephant-ear leaves across their shoulders to protect them from the rain.
Obedience rather than combat skill seemed to spark their willingness to risk their lives for the Tigers.
The first of the group charged in a burst of bravado, accompanied by loud shouting, and he raised his a.s.sault rifle.
Bolan set his M-16 on burst mode, tracked the movement of the lead attacker and fired.
The volley of bullets drilled into the guerrilla and punched him to the jungle floor. The Executioner turned to face another charging gunner.
Firing on the move, the hardman emptied the clip of his a.s.sault rifle.
Bolan rolled away, firing as he did.
His first shot carved a path through his enemy"s side, while the second severed the large artery in his neck.
The would-be a.s.sa.s.sin fell to the ground, the rain diluting his life fluid and forming a thin red pool around the body.
The four surviving terrorists fled back into the forest, but not for long. He could hear the shouts of the remaining guerrillas as they challenged one another to lead another attack on the American.
Finally the quartet moved closer together, then forward, spraying a path of 7.62 mm death as they advanced.
Bolan hurried to the right and hunched down to wait until the four came closer, then jumped to his feet, gripping the M-16 combo in both hands. He didn"t waste time sighting the rifle, setting the weapon on automatic and firing the powerhouse rounds from the hip. The four black-clad fighters stayed vertical for a moment, held in place by the impact of several rounds.
Then they dropped lifeless to the ground.
Carefully approaching then, kicking the weapons away from the bodies, Bolan crouched and felt the neck artery of each before being satisfied that they were truly dead. This guerrilla hit squad would never ambush anyone again.
Behind him in the bush, the Executioner heard the sounds of a coughing engine. Stealthily moving through the undergrowth, he saw a surplus military jeep and two fatigue-clad soldiers. They were studying the bodies of the first two terrorists he"d killed.
The tall man in the pa.s.senger seat reached for a radio mike mounted on the dashboard, and Bolan suspected he was going to call for backup.
In an easy motion the Executioner raised the M-16 combo to his shoulder and carefully looked through the sight.
Fifty yards separated him from the vehicle. In a matter of minutes, help would be on the way. Releasing the frag grenade, Bolan dropped to the ground, let the combo fall from his hands and covered his head with his hands.
He could hear the ear-shattering explosion as grenade met jeep and consumed it in a hurricane-force hail of shredded metal. Waiting to let the fragments settle to the ground, Bolan finally got to his feet and looked toward where the surplus vehicle had been standing.
Only the car frame was intact. The other parts had scattered in different directions. Bolan doubted the terrorist had had time to contact his command center before he was chewed up by the hurtling metal shards.
The Executioner picked up his canvas carryall and walked toward the beach.
He waved a hand above his head and waited for a raft to come to get him.
Only the sound of an occasional fish rising to the surface to jump at some resting bug broke the silence.
Bolan leaned on the ship"s rail and stared at the water, dark and running swiftly, pushed by a breeze.
Under the fatigues he was wearing his one-piece blacksuit and his weapons. He hardly felt the weight and bulk of the Beretta 93-R, the ma.s.sive Desert Eagle or the Applegate-Fairbairn combat knife.
As it had before, the vessel reeked of dead fish and garbage. There was no pretense of keeping the craft clean. Heavy ropes that usually tethered fishing nets hung loosely from heavy metal rings mounted beneath the railing.
Bolan glanced briefly at them, then returned to more pressing thoughts.
The mission was far from being finished. But at least now he had some idea where to find the American diplomat.
Chandra Sirindikha had finally talked to her contact up north, who"d heard that Vu was being held in a small village just outside of Jaffna.
Bolan would be met at the dock by the contact, who would be able to supply him with further details.
"My contact said he was willing to get involved.
He"ll be waiting on the dock, and he"ll know your name." Bolan felt a pair of eyes drilling into his back. Turning, he caught the fishing-boat captain staring at him.
"Something wrong?" "No, no," the captain replied hastily. "I was just wondering how long you planned to stay in Jaffna." "I believe that"s my business," Bolan stated bluntly.
"Of course, of course," the captain said, and hurried away.
The big American studied the first mate and the other two members of the crew. All three looked more like hit men than sailors.
The crew sensed his attention and moved out of sight.