Katrina turned around, too. She reached around to touch her lifeless lover in the back seat but she shed no tears.
"They will pay," she said quietly, not to Bolan, as if voicing a thought to the universe.
Bolan recognized the three words with a clarity that made his knuckles tighten around the steering wheel.
He had spoken those same words moments after April Rose had died in his arms; the declaration of his one-man outlaw war against the KGB.
"I know how you feel, Katrina," he told the woman. "I feel the same way. But you've got to think cool and precise right now. We both do or we're dead." He eased into what he wanted to know, not wanting to blow it at a delicate moment like this.
"You're pretty good with that M-16."
She accepted the fresh magazine he handed her and fed it into the rifle. "The military gave defensive weapons training before sending me here, was she replied vaguely. "There... is no turning back for me now, is there?"
"They already knew about you. Lansdale and I were going to warn you. That was good timing, you showing up back there."
"You told me what you would do. When I left his home, I chanced the drive to wait near the base. You attempted impossible odds but... there is something about you that inspires confidence. There should be more people like you in the world to do what needs to be done. Now... there is one less." She reached across and gently lifted one of Lansdale's hands, pressed it to her cheek for one brief moment and kissed her lover's soul goodbye for the last time, then Katrina Mozzhechkov turned in the front seat to stare out the windshield.
"They'll have the city corked tight in no time, if they haven't already," said Bolan. "A description of you and this car will be going out on the air right now. We'll have to find other transportation. You should come with me, Katrina. They'll kill you if you stay in Kabul." He braked the Tatra along a dark stretch in the suburbs where clusters of trees provided a good enough hiding spot for the car at least until dawn.
"You are right, of course." She nodded and Bolan could see she was grappling with inner demons.
But he had to know.
"Before we go any further, Katrina, you've got to tell me. Lansdale spoke to you when you helped him into the back seat right before he died, didn't he? I've got to know what he said."
She turned to eye him with open speculation.
"You ask me to trust you, Mack Bolan. Do you trust me?"
"Countless lives are at stake, Katrina. Every second counts. I trust you, yes."
"He spoke the name of a town. Parachinar."
Bolan nodded, his mental intel file clicking up the essentials. "On the Pakistan border. A militia garrison is stationed there. That would be the place, all right. It would do them fine."
"Is it... the Devil's Rain?" she asked quietly.
"What do you know about that?" Bolan asked quickly, reaching forward to grab her by the shoulders.
"Only that you asked me about those words when we first met... and I know in my heart it is the reason my man is dead." She made a decision and changed the way she looked at him. "We have been through too much together this night, you and I, for us not to trust each other."
"We'll travel to Charikar," he told her.
"But we'll have to find another vehicle first. Our biggest problem will be Soviet patrols."
"There are several ways to get from Kabul to Charikar," the Russian woman told him. "I know them all. There is one way; it will be several hours longer but the patrols will overlook it."
Soviet patrols have attempted to secure it in the past and have never been seen or heard from again. Bolan considered.
Tarik Khan's force would pull away from their position in the foothills near Kabul the instant they received word of the Executioner's blitz on the Soviet high command. The mujahedeen would wait in Charikar, as Tarik Khan had promised, for word from Bolan on the site where a target named Voukelitch prepared a mass horror called the Devil's Rain.
Parachinar.
That is where the big hit would go down.
If Bolan could trust Katrina Mozzhechkov, a person he wanted to trust, a human being he liked already, probably too much.
A lot of what would happen from here on in depended on Lansdale's dying word as relayed by this woman.
Lansdale had trusted her, true, but one fact could not be denied no matter how positively Bolan reacted to the woman.
Lansdale was dead.
Bolan would trust Katrina, sure.
Up to a point.
Far more, though, he would trust his own instincts and combat prowess to keep him alive to the payoff of this mission.
He would shake this hell to its very foundations.
9
"I say we do not trust the woman," Alja Malikyar opined when asked. Bolan crouched with Alja and Tarik Khan around the smoldering embers of the morning cooking fire.
The three men sipped coffee sweetened with peppermint from tin cups. Bolan and Katrina had reached Charikar an hour before dawn in the third hotwired vehicle Bolan had "appropriated" to get them there following Katrina's directions.
Tarik Khan and his men had welcomed Bolan warmly but they had viewed the woman with undisguised suspicion from the beginning. Bolan had grabbed a ninety-minute catnap once he made sure Katrina was safely ensconced in the temporary mujahedeen camp. Tarik Khan arranged for her accommodation out of deference to Bolan.
The catnap proved more than sufficient to recharge Bolan's batteries and now, at 09.00 hours, he was discussing what he had learned last night and what they must do next if they had any hope at all of stopping the Devil's Rain before it began.
Tarik Khan had changed from his gaudy embroidered vest into garb that matched that of his men, the patu, a thin wool blanket that serves Afghans as shawl, coat, bed cover and prayer mat.
The mujahedeen malik had asked his second-incommand for input after hearing Bolan's precise account of last night's events in Kabul and of agent Lansdale's dying message via the woman.
Bolan could see malik Tarik Khan weighing Alja's thoughts on the matter. He spoke to counter them.
"If the Russians are developing the Devil's Rain at Parachinar and if we get there in time to stop them, then Katrina Mozzhechkov is responsible for saving the lives of untold thousands of your people, Tarik Khan."
"And if she is a Soviet spy?" Alja asked. "If she relays only information the Russians wished the man, Lansdale, and us, to have? The woman could be leading us to a massacre!"
Bolan played the card that had swayed his decision. "And what choice do we have?" he asked both men. "I say we hit Parachinar. I will bear full responsibility for the woman until she is vindicated or condemned by what happens when we reach the fort."
The malik nodded, absorbing both points of view. At last the guerrilla leader spoke.
"Very well, kuvii Bolan, the woman shall accompany us. We begin the march at dusk. But you must realize the Russian woman is our mortal enemy and will be considered as such by my men. And by myself until she has proved herself. It can be no other way."
"As long as she isn't harmed," Bolan said, trying not to make it sound like a threat, only a statement of fact and condition, out of respect to the mujahedeen leader.
Tarik Khan nodded.
"So it shall be, kuvii Bolan. You have my word." The village consisted of a motley collection of weathered-wood houses propped up by long poles.