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Graham had graduated with honors and repaid his college education in the United States Marine Corps. Reader, by contrast, had joined the military simply because he’d thought it would be a challenge. Both men had served on the same carrier, which cemented their friendship.
Now, Special Agent Graham was on station for the FBI in Salt Lake City, and Reader had officially come to Park City to engage in the Nordic Games. Reader had a job to offer his friend, something that could challenge the brawny pilot and get them working together.
The ski weekend was a time to play catch-up, and a chance to engage in friendly competition. Graham might not have been a multidisciplined scientist, but he was one of the few people who could push Reader, not only in discussion, but in physical competition. By all rights, Reader considered Graham his brother, and the big FBI agent felt the same way.
Graham eventually came to a halt beside his friend. His skin was wind-burned and red, but a wide smile split his face. “Fantastic.”
“Weren’t nothing.”
“You’re really starting up your own company?” Graham asked.
Reader nodded. “Just a little something to make good use of my talents.”
Graham pursed his lips. “So what do you need a dumb ex-fighter jock like me for?”
“We need a pilot and a head of security, and I need my brother by my side,” Reader explained.
“You just want someone to keep you out of trouble, Stretch.”
“My aim is to get into trouble, a lot,” Reader retorted. “And then to fix a few problems on my way back out of it.”
Graham took a deep breath. “I’d love to help, but I’ve got a case going on.”
“Maybe I can help?”
“The FBI doesn’t look kindly on agents calling in non-contracted experts,” Graham responded.
Reader grinned and reached under his parka.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Graham responded.
“Since when have you known me to have much of a sense of humor?” Reader replied.
“So you know about the case?” Graham asked.
“There’ve been sightings around Dugway Proving Grounds. There’s nothing solid, but it could be attempts by foreign governments to penetrate security,” Reader said. “By the same token, Chinese military technology is showing up in the hands of local Korean street gangs.”
Graham nodded. “Weapons and communications equipment, yeah. And the government wanted you to take part?”
“Dugway Proving Grounds is one of the nation’s major storage facilities for biological and chemical weaponry, and the sightings of unknown aircraft suggests a potential for enemy stealth capacity. The FBI and the military have both been concerned, but any full-fledged response would garner too much attention,” Reader explained.
“And how did you hear about this?” Graham asked.
“Dugway UFO watchers have their own BBS, and their sightings came to my attention,” Reader replied. “It took only a little bit of digging through the Defense Department’s mainframe to verify these sightings and put the high command on alert, but you know how the Pentagon moves.”
“Yeah. By the time they come up with a security or tactical solution, the war’s been over for twenty years,” Graham grumbled. “You embarrassed the Pentagon into putting you on this case?”
Reader nodded. “I also noticed that you were handed this investigation because you and your partner are on the Department of Justice shit list.”
“Yeah. We embarrassed the DEA into giving up one of their witnesses who was responsible for the murder of an FBI agent. So, we’re stuck looking into the crap cases, working the phones for the Secret Service for when the Man comes around,” Graham answered. “Hell, we’ve even been assigned to try to find a way to get undercover into the Amish Mafia.”
Reader raised an eyebrow. “The Amish are in Pennsylvania.”
“That last bit was a joke, Stretch.”
Reader shrugged. “I’m here to take you away from all this. I can even hire your partner, Rachel.”
“We wouldn’t want to give up our pension,” Graham replied.
Reader chuckled. “Graham, if it’s a pension or health benefits you’re worried about, don’t worry. I’ve got it all covered.”
Graham frowned. “And you think this isn’t just some UFO case?”
“There have been enough rumbles out in the whisper stream that there is something deep and dark. All it takes is to scratch the surface,” Reader replied. He held out his hand. “I want you on my team, Graham.”
The big FBI agent took his friend’s hand. “All right.”
Stan Reader and his friend headed back to the Park City lodge. As they turned, Reader caught the flash of light on glass out of the corner of his eye. A shadow disappeared behind a pine tree, clumps of snow crashing onto the unmarked powder.
He wondered who would be so interested in a scientist and an FBI agent having a ski weekend.
Gulf of Thailand.
IT TOOK BOLAN SEVERAL minutes to convince the people in the cargo containers to stay put. There were too many armed killers on the upper decks, and if they started exploring, they might discover Pham and take out some revenge on the pirate. As far as the Executioner was concerned, being terrified and battered was sufficient punishment for the Vietnamese smuggler. Besides, Pham would be his messenger to the Thai underworld.
Finally, the former slaves were convinced to stay in the hold. The pile of dead smugglers exuded a wave of dread that the young Asians wouldn’t want to pass by. Some even stood back as puddles of blood continued to seep from the bodies.
Bolan liberated a shotgun from one of the dead guards, then filled his pockets with spare shells. Their AK-47s were fairly effective weapons, but in the confined spaces of the ship, a single blast of buckshot would prove more effective. The 12-gauge was made for up-close and dirty work.
The sounds of the blazing battle had drawn attention. As soon as Bolan had snapped Pham’s ankle, he heard the ship’s phone ring, trying to reach the guards in the hold. Bolan let the phone ring, knowing that the response would attract enemy forces.
As he headed to the hallway, he spotted furtive movements at the end and tucked against a bulkhead. Shielded by a steel girder, he leveled the 12-gauge around the corner. As soon as he spotted a solid shape, Bolan triggered the shotgun and a savage storm of buckshot ripped into the enemy.
Screams of panic and horror filled the corridor, and Bolan racked the pump on his gun and looked at the attacking force. The first man was down, his chest ripped apart by the shotgun blast. Two more behind him were pinned by the corpse. One screamed, covered in blood, clutching his chest in pain. The other tried to push his dead and injured partners aside, cursing them angrily. The Executioner fired again. The thug’s skull burst apart under the brutal blast, and his corpse flopped to the floor.
The injured sailor wailed even more loudly in horror, covering his head with his arms as if to preserve his life. Bolan ignored him and pumped the shotgun again, aiming at another gunman who had sprayed the bulkhead with rifle fire. The girder Bolan had hidden behind protected him, the heavy steel bouncing bullets away. With a pull of the trigger, the soldier launched another wave of shot, and the rifle fire stopped for a moment. The muzzle poked out again and erupted, spraying wildly before he ducked back.
The wounded sailor suddenly fell silent. His scalp had flipped forward like a wind-blown toupee, brains and blood splashed across the wall. Bolan heard a cry of dismay as the remaining hardmen realized that they’d just killed one of their own. The Executioner took the time to reload,