Perilous Cargo - Don Pendleton

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we’re seeing here, I’d say it’s been confirmed,” Brognola said.

      The President stood and paced while Brognola gathered his thoughts.

      “Sir, if China finds out...” he started.

      “Then any hope we have for Tibet is lost,” he finished. “Worse, if that damn nuke gets launched into China...”

      “Then we could be looking at World War III.”

      “Exactly,” the President said. “That seems like a pretty good reason to kick you out of bed, wouldn’t you agree?”

      “No complaints, Mr. President.”

      “All right, so what do you recommend?” he asked.

      “Have we had any contact with the thief? Any ransom or other demands?”

      “No, and I think that’s more troubling than anything. Someone after money and power we can negotiate with, but a true believer of some kind or another...”

      “In Nepal or Tibet?” Brognola asked. “Is there anything happening with the Chinese that might have motivated this from inside either country?”

      “Not that we’re aware of, but I’ll dig a little deeper into that and see if they’ve managed to keep something from us. We don’t know yet what we’re dealing with. If the person who stole it has an agenda, then we’ve got nothing to give them and no room to negotiate. So I’ll ask again, Hal—what are your recommendations?”

      “We go in fast and quiet. Striker’s the best man for this kind of job—hell, he’s the only man for this kind of job.”

      The President nodded. “Fast and quiet it is, then,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and we can put a lid on this before we’ve got every warlord and criminal in the region going after the warhead, let alone China.”

      “It’s possible,” Brognola said. “Anything else, sir?”

      “I want to add one to your team,” the President replied. “An expert on the region and in the field. Two is better than one on this hunt in case something goes wrong.”

      “Sir, Striker doesn’t always work and play well with others. It’s just his nature.”

      “He will this time, Hal,” the President said. “And that’s not nature—it’s an order.”

      “Yes, sir.” Brognola got to his feet.

      “Oh, and Hal?”

      “Sir?”

      “Let’s not drop the ball on this one, okay? I’d hate to have to be the first President since Truman to be responsible for a nuclear holocaust.” The President was staring at him very intently, his eyes clear and focused.

      “You know that Striker has never dropped the ball, sir,” Brognola said. “And he won’t now.”

       CHAPTER TWO

      Mack Bolan had been to the National Mall on a number of occasions, but it was almost never to revel in the monuments to the people and values that had built this country, let alone enjoy the park space. Not that he wanted to play the tourist, but he wouldn’t mind coming here once or twice for reasons less imperative than the end of the civilized world. Still, when Hal Brognola had called him early that morning and said they needed to meet immediately, he knew from experience that somewhere in the world his skills were needed.

      As he approached the bench where Brognola had suggested they meet, he was surprised to see a woman seated next to the big Fed. The sun had only recently come up, and they appeared to be the only people out on the Mall at the moment. The pair was deep in conversation, and Bolan cleared his throat to announce his arrival.

      The woman turned around slowly. “Colonel Stone, I presume?” she said, rising to her feet. “I feared we’d be waiting on you all morning.” She shook Bolan’s hand and then turned back to Brognola. The action offered an alluring glimpse of her slender neck hidden by long, black hair that fell almost to the small of her back. “I was just running out of stories to tell to fill the time.”

      “I rather doubt that,” Bolan said. “Hal.”

      “Colonel Stone,” Brognola said, also rising to stand. “Thank you for coming. Let me introduce you to Alina Nischal. She’s vital to the mission we’re about to discuss.”

      “Pleasure,” Bolan said.

      Brognola handed Bolan a foam cup of coffee. “Let’s walk.”

      As they crossed the Mall in the cool morning air, Brognola filled them in on the situation. “Approximately forty-eight hours ago, a small nuclear missile, an RT-2PM, on a mobile launching platform was stolen from a secret Russian holding facility in Kathmandu, Nepal. Based on satellite images, it appears to be a complete system, ready for service. The last image we picked up tracked it leaving the city and heading north, toward the border with Tibet.”

      “Is there any chance it’s the Russians stealing one of their own weapons?” Bolan asked. “The black market in that part of the world sells pretty much anything and everything.”

      “We don’t think so,” Brognola said. “But we can’t discount that possibility.”

      “Do we know who might have access to that base outside of the Russians?” Nischal asked.

      “If we did, this mission would be a whole lot simpler,” Brognola told her. “It seems likely that there’s been plenty of money thrown around to keep this facility off the radar, but as of right now we don’t know who has it and what their intent may be.”

      “So, you want me to go and recover it?” Bolan asked.

      “It’s a little more politically complicated than that,” Brognola replied. “It’s crucial, yes, to recover the weapon, but there’s more at play than just the danger this rogue weapon represents. If we can get our hands on it before the Russians do, we can prove that they haven’t lived up to the treaties we’ve signed. Which means a lot of concessions from them at the bargaining table, especially in regard to places like North Korea and Pakistan.”

      “And if the Russians recover it first?” Nischal asked.

      “Then they’ll have complete deniability and we’ll lose our advantage. There are other considerations, too. It’s only a matter of time until the Chinese learn something’s going on. Depending on how this plays out, they could decide to launch a military action in Tibet. Worse, if that weapon is launched, then we could be looking at the beginning of World War III.”

      Bolan nodded thoughtfully. “That’s an eight-hundred kiloton weapon with a range of over six thousand miles. Whoever stole it could blow a pretty big hole in a lot of places...India, China, the Middle East.”

      “Great Britain, America,” Nischal added. “Not to mention that a weapon like this violates the very sanctity of what many in the area believe. It could divide the region, sending many into prayer and others off to war. This weapon could cause huge upheaval even if it doesn’t blow anything up.”

      “Hal, how do you want to play this?” Bolan asked.

      “It’s straightforward enough. We’re going to send you in fast and quiet. Retake the weapon and deliver it to Delhi, where we’ll have a transport waiting to get it to the United States. After, you’ll go back and ensure that we’ve got on-the-ground intelligence on the facility to confirm our claims.”

      “How are we going in?” Nischal asked.

      “We?” Bolan said. “Who said anything about ‘we’? I assumed you were here because you had some kind of intelligence on the situation.”

      “Colonel Stone, Alina is an expert on the region and she speaks all the languages, including the dialects. Both of you

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