Shadow Search - Don Pendleton

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      “There is a great deal to do, Mr. Belasko. Now it is all under threat from these reb—” Karima turned abruptly. “On second thought, I believe your description is more suitable. Terrorists. They are putting the future of the country at risk.”

      “These people will use anything to have their demands met. Which is why we can’t let them get away with it.”

      “I feel the same. I refuse to bend to their demands. But then I look at the other side of the coin. How can I risk the lives of my children? Which way do I go? Hold on to my promise to the nation at the risk of losing my children?”

      “Not an enviable position to be in, sir, but we’re not going to allow it to happen, are we?”

      “Are we not, Mr. Belasko?” Karima asked, more in hope than conviction. “God, how I want it to be so.”

      “Then let’s see what we can do to put things right,” Bolan said.

      “Tell me what you need to know.”

      “First, who knows why I’m here apart from yourself, McReady and his superior?”

      “To the rest of my staff you are simply here as an addition to Cartwright’s team. You are a security advisor. I have tried to keep the children’s disappearance as low key as possible. But I don’t know how long I can keep on doing that.”

      “What about vice-president Nkoya? Your military commander, Colonel Chakra? Do they know the real reason I’m here? And are they aware of the kidnapping?”

      “They know nothing more than that you are part of the ambassador’s team. In answer to the second part of your question, yes they know about the kidnapping. But they are both under strict orders not to act until I make a decision one way or the other.”

      “Okay, so let’s go back to my earlier question. Who knew enough about your children’s movements to be able to furnish the rebels with information?”

      Karima considered his answer. He was troubled. Finally he pulled up a pad and picked up a pen. He scribbled across the pad, tore off the sheet and slid it across the desk. Bolan picked it up along with the file Karima had prepared for him.

      “If anyone else knew they didn’t get the information from me, Mr. Belasko.”

      “Thank you, sir. I’ll start from here.”

      “If you need me, day or night, use the number I’ve written down. It’s my personal cell phone. I don’t give it out very often.”

      Bolan stood, slipping the sheet of paper into his pocket. As he leaned forward his jacket fell open, exposing the holstered Beretta. Karima saw it, staring for a moment, then glanced at Bolan’s face.

      “This really is your line of work, isn’t it, Mr. Belasko?” he asked.

      Bolan closed his jacket. “We’re a long way from living in a peaceful world, Mr. President.”

      “Meet the savage with his own image?”

      Bolan smiled. “Something along those lines, sir.”

      Reaching the door, Bolan turned the handle, then paused to look back over his shoulder. “One thing, sir. How did the terrorists contact you about your children?”

      “I received a call on my—” Karima hesitated, the significance only then becoming a reality “—on my cell phone.”

      2

      Back in his hotel room Bolan tossed his jacket on a chair. He crossed to the small refrigerator and took a look inside. There were some bottles of water. He took one and opened it, taking a drink as he settled on the bed to read the file Karima had given him.

      The information was scant, direct, and it only took a few minutes to digest. Karima’s children had been picked up from his home on the outskirts of the city to be driven to meet Karima. The drive should have taken no more than twenty minutes, but when an hour had gone by, the president received the phone call telling him that the children had been taken. He had ten days in which to carry out the terrorists’ demands. If he failed to do so the children would be killed and their bodies returned to him. The terrorists also demanded that news of the kidnap be kept from the media. As proof the kidnappers were serious, Karima was given instructions to check his garage at home. When he did he found his car had been returned, minus the children and with the driver’s body in the trunk. The man had been brutally knifed to death, his throat cut in a final gesture.

      That had been two days ago. Enough time for the terrorists to travel a good distance from the scene of the kidnapping. Bolan considered the facts, and the more he thought about it the more he became convinced there was an inside connection. He opened the slip of paper Karima had given. There were only three names written on it. Karima had identified one of them as the driver of the car carrying the children. The second was Simon Chakra, whom Karima listed as his military commander. The last name, and Bolan had anticipated this, was Raymond Nkoya.

      Vice-president or military commander?

      It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that either of them might be involved. Given the restless nature of African politics, Bolan was aware of the way matters could evolve. There were still undercurrents of tribal loyalties endemic to the African makeup. Civil wars, the struggles between filial groups and the eternal fight against an often harsh land, these were large issues facing the continent. Some countries had weathered the transitions and were growing into stable, forward-looking regimes. Others were still making their way through the troubled times, and in some instances solid regimes crumbled under attacks from within that weakened their power base, sometimes toppling the elected government and allowing an opposition party to gain control.

      Joseph Karima looked to be slipping into that kind of maelstrom. It was far from his own making, but he would have little choice if the rebel threat wasn’t reversed. They could continue to chip away at his hold on the country, destabilizing everything he was trying to create. Attacks on the infrastructure, the terrorizing of the populace, the slow wearing down of confidence and security, these were the tools of the terrorist. Karima on his own might have weathered all of these things—but now there was an added element. His children. They were being used to coerce him into meeting the rebel demands.

      Bolan set aside the file. He found his bag and reached inside for the tri-band cell phone Aaron Kurtzman had furnished him with. Bolan switched it on and waited until it had located the satellite receiver. He tapped the key that speed-dialed the Stony Man number that would connect him directly with Kurtzman’s cyber complex.

      Kurtzman’s gruff tones came through loud and clear.

      “Bear, I need you to check out two people for me,” Bolan said. “Simon Chakra. He’s the military commander here. Then vice-president Raymond Nkoya. Everything you can find out about them. Political leanings. Family backgrounds. As far back as you can go.”

      “Okay. Anything else?”

      Bolan quoted Karima’s cell phone number.

      “The names I gave you are the only people who should have access to that number. Gives them a direct connection through to Karima. There was a third name. The driver of Karima’s car. He was delivered back to Karima’s house in the kidnapped car. But he was dead.”

      “And Karima was told about the kidnapping over this phone?”

      “You got it. We may be way off but it’s all we have at the moment.”

      “I’ll get back to you.”

      Bolan picked up the room phone and rang the number McReady had given him. “I may need transport,” Bolan told him when the man answered.

      “City use, or something to take you farther?”

      “Better make it the latter. I might need to go outside the city limits.”

      “Nice way of putting it. Leave it to me. I’ll have something

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