Contagion Option - Don Pendleton Gold Eagle Superbolan

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off the computer, then pulled out his combat knife to open its main casing.

      The hard drive sat like a silver brick in the center of the motherboard, and Bolan cut its IDE cables and wrenched it off the silicone-and-plastic board. The drive itself was as solid and strong as steel, so he stuffed it in an empty magazine pouch on his harness. Though the captain had been deleting all of its files, Stony Man Farm had data recovery software that could bring back any information that had been erased. It wouldn’t be difficult, and it would give Bolan a better understanding of why the Koreans were smuggling human beings and cattle into their country.

      “Sarge?” Grimaldi asked over the radio.

      “Still here,” Bolan answered.

      “It got quiet,” the pilot explained.

      Bolan looked at his watch. “I’ve got eight minutes before the carrier arrives. Lower the crane and I’ll be topside.”

      “Gotcha.”

      “We’ll head back to our airfield and process what’s on this hard drive,” Bolan told him. “Looks like I uncovered a lot more than people smuggling.”

      “A black market submarine and cattle? I don’t doubt it,” the pilot quipped. “’Round and ’round we go, where we stop, nobody knows.”

      Bolan left the captain’s quarters, wary for remaining defenders. But even as he did, he knew that Grimaldi was right. What started as a simple smuggling intervention had just turned into the potential for a nightmare.

      Business as usual for the Executioner.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      Salt Lake City, Utah

      Kirby Graham handed Rachel Marrick a cup of coffee as they waited at the perimeter of the bank standoff. Rachel took a sip and looked at Stan Reader, who was riffling through his luggage.

      “So, who’s he?” Marrick asked.

      “A friend from college,” Graham replied. “Actually, best buddies. We even went into the service at the same time. We worked together a few times there.”

      Marrick smiled. “So why did he want to come to a bank robbery on his vacation?”

      Graham handed her Reader’s temporary badge. “He’s a contracted asset to the FBI.”

      “Contracted asset? Like a consultant?” Marrick asked.

      “Yeah,” Graham stated. “Technical adviser on cases involving high technology. He used to be an engineer on a nuclear submarine. When he got out, he had a position as a professor of nuclear physics, but that got way too boring for him. He applied for a private investigator’s license and signed on as a civilian contractor for several federal agencies.”

      “Private eye?” Marrick mused. “Still sounds kind of nerdy.”

      “Well, he uses a lot of big words when little ones will do, but only around people who understand that kind of stuff,” Graham explained.

      “I noticed that he’s packing, too,” Marrick mentioned, seeing the butt of a revolver poking out from under Reader’s jacket. “I hope he knows how to shoot.”

      “Part of the U.S. Navy Marksmanship team for a year,” Graham replied. “And he’s taken courses at Gunsite, Thunder Ranch and the Lethal Force Institute.”

      Marrick raised an eyebrow. “Impressive. So, why is he hanging out with us?”

      “He’s scouting for people to work in his new company,” Graham answered. “He needs field assistants.”

      Marrick nodded. “Assistants.”

      “As in, he’s looking to hire you, too.”

      Marrick shrugged. “You told him about the federal pension plan, right?”

      Graham smiled. “You’d be surprised what Stretch has put aside for his retirement.”

      Marrick looked at the lean scientist. “If he can make it worth giving up a federal pension, then why the hell aren’t we on the plane out of here with him?”

      “He’s checking out the Dugway incidents,” Graham responded. “Because he knows I’m not going to let that case lay down and die.”

      “He’s gonna put up with your stubborn ass until this is finished?” Marrick asked.

      “He’s used to it,” Graham replied.

      Reader returned with a small object that looked like a digital camcorder. “All right, this might help.”

      Marrick looked at the device as Reader handed it to her. “What is it?”

      “Take a look at the bank,” the scientist told her.

      Marrick held up the device and blinked a couple of times as she saw the world cast in green. Walls and the ground appeared as misty, indistinct shapes, while people resembled yellow and red columns of flame. “Infrared?”

      “I’ve miniaturized the components of the device. Take a look through that squad car,” Reader directed her.

      Marrick turned to look at the trio of cops on the other side of the vehicle before putting the infrared imager to her eyes. The car disappeared into the same translucent, smoky outline on the green screen, and she was looking at the cops. She could see their guns as distinct outlines, breaking up their red and yellow images. She lowered the transmitter and looked back at Reader.

      “I modulated it so that you could see concealed weaponry on their persons,” Reader answered. “The resolution’s not good enough to make out what brand, but you can make a general outline guess.”

      Marrick nodded in approval. “You put this together?”

      Reader shrugged. “I looked into others’ research and modified it for better portability. Relatively.”

      Marrick handed Reader back the infrared scope. “Yeah. It feels like it weighs ten pounds.”

      “Nine point six, without the power supply cables and belt battery,” Reader informed her. “Could be useful in a squad car trunk once I get it to the point where it can be cheaply mass produced.”

      “How much did you put into it, Stretch?” Graham asked.

      “Three million or so,” Reader replied, blushing sheepishly.

      “For an advanced mathematician, you suck as an accountant,” Graham muttered.

      Reader chuckled and adjusted his infrared scope. He turned it toward the bank and zoomed in on the upper floors. “Two snipers up there.”

      “We figured three,” Marrick responded. “We should report this to Special Agent Lieber.”

      Reader lowered the camera and swept the lobby. “Four men with assault rifles in the main lobby, and looks like about twenty hostages. Kirby, you know rifles better than I do.”

      The Fed took the camera from his friend and looked at the lobby. “Kalashnikov design, basically. You’re right, though. The resolution sucks on these.”

      “Magazines look off,” Reader stated.

      Graham focused the lens, frowning. “Yeah. AK-47s have deeply curved magazines, but these are straighter, like AK-74s, or a similar 5.45 mm design.”

      “You said that the Korean street gangs are utilizing top-of-the-line Soviet equipment?” Reader asked, accepting the scope from Graham.

      “That’s what I figured. Here…I have samples of some of the bullets they took out of a wounded cop,” Marrick replied.

      Reader handed off his scope and pulled out a pair of glasses with multiple lenses hinged against them. “Is the officer all right?”

      “Yeah. He’ll be in surgery

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