He grunted, then dragged the body toward the Jeep to dump it in the rear seat. Crossing behind the Jeep a second time, he pushed the driver into the passenger seat.
Reaching into the rear again, he tugged a large piece of canvas from the back seat and dragged it across the snow toward the fence. He rushed back to the Jeep and swung it around, aiming its headlights toward the fence. Using the canvas, he quickly obscured any signs of a confrontation, kicking loose snow from the base of the fence onto the bloodstain that stood out in the bright lights from the Jeep.
Out in the open, the newcomer had his back to the trees. Bolan raised his Beretta and moved forward. The running engine would cover his approach.
He reached his initial firing position just as the man finished. Bolan drew a bead on the man's back. And waited.
When he turned back to the Jeep, the man's features sprang into bold relief for the first time since his arrival. The Executioner inhaled sharply.
The man was Eli Cohen.
Mack Bolan watched while Cohen got into the Jeep and swung it around. He headed into the trees just as Bolan had done with the patrol he had taken out earlier. But this time there was a difference.
Cohen had his own Jeep. As the vehicle disappeared into the trees, Bolan walked toward the area where Cohen had concealed his own Jeep earlier.
Bolan heard the engine die, and the lights went out. In a few moments, he heard Cohen floundering through the snow. Placing the Jeep between himself and the approaching man, Bolan dropped to one knee. As Cohen broke into the clear, Bolan bent to conceal himself behind the rear of the Jeep.
Eli Cohen was nearly out of breath from his exertions. He trudged heavily toward the Jeep.
With twenty-five feet remaining, he stopped and scanned the trees. In a loud whisper, he called, "Bolan? Bolan, are you here?"
"Who wants to know?" Bolan answered.
"Thank God!" Cohen sighed, turning toward the sound of Bolan's voice. "We better get a move on. We don't have much time."
Bolan stood up, still holding the Beretta.
"Where's Rachel?" he demanded.
Cohen hopped into the Jeep and cranked it up. "Get in," he said over the roar of the engine. "I'll tell you everything I know. But we have to hurry."
Bolan knew he had no choice but to trust the man. He wasn't sure he should, but unless he missed his guess he couldn't win if he didn't. Bolan climbed into the Jeep, keeping the Beretta in his lap. Cohen saw the pistol and smiled.
"Nice gun," he said.
20
The main control room of Thunder Mountain's Unit 1 reactor was crowded. The chaos was getting to Malcolm Parsons. He wasn't used to such a commotion unless he was at its center. He felt like a bystander, and knew that, in fact, that was all he was. Glinkov's men had just returned with the last group of hostages. The Russian was huddled with one of the raiders, stopping occasionally to issue orders. Parsons had had enough. He charged over to Glinkov with his arms waving. "Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?" Parsons demanded.
"Hold your water, pal," the man with Glinkov snarled.
The Russian placed a hand on his companion's arm. "Give me a moment with Malcolm, would you, Steven?"
Grudgingly the man withdrew a few steps, turning his back to watch the disposition of the hostages.
"Malcolm," Glinkov said, trying to soothe the older man's irritation. "I'm very busy. Why don't you wait in that office over there. I'll be with you as soon as I can."
"What's happening here? Who are all these people?"
"In a minute, Mr. Parsons. Kindly wait in the office."
Parsons wasn't happy, but he did as he was told.
Glinkov watched him go, a thoughtful expression dulling the forced smile. When Parsons had closed the office door, Glinkov returned to his lieutenant. "Do you have them all now?"
"Yeah. We checked the time cards. Everybody's here. Thirty-two of 'em."
"Not as many as I would have thought," Glinkov said.
"Well, only one reactor's operating, and these damn things practically run themselves. So much automation, computers and all that shit. All that power, and hardly anybody watching it."
"A good thing, too. Our task would have been much more difficult otherwise. It's time for the next phase, Steven. Get all the hostages into one location. Use that backup control room. It will be easy to secure."
"Right."
"All except Ms Peres. I want her separated from the rest. Keep her someplace downstairs that's more difficult to get to. And I want her watched by two men at all times. If Bolan shows up, which I fervently hope, I want some warning. He'll be after the woman first. Put two men on her — expendable men. And let me know where you're keeping her."
"Okay. Anything else?"
"No. Have you seen Eli?"
"He left a half hour ago. Said he wanted to check on the security patrols. You want him?"
"No hurry. Tell him to see me when he returns. I have to see our Mr. Parsons. He's upset, it seems."
Steven orchestrated the confinement of the hostages.
The terrified workers were milling about, anxiously watching their captors. Prodded with weapons, they moved quickly into a concrete room with a heavy steel door. When they had all been herded into the bunkerlike holding pen, Steven stood in the doorway.
Grabbing two men, he pointed to Rachel Peres.
Glinkov watched as Rachel left with the three men.
When they had gone, Glinkov walked toward the office where Parsons could be seen pacing nervously.
Glinkov entered, and Parsons charged forward.
"When are we going to get the media in on this?" he demanded. "This can get us some major coverage. It proves how poorly defended these nuclear plants are. I mean, hell, we just charged right in. If a bunch of amateurs like us can do it, just think what trained guerrillas could do. Washington will be made to look the fool over this."
"Slow down, Malcolm. Everything in due course. You must be very careful about what you say, don't you think? It won't do to meet the press unprepared. I think you ought to prepare a few carefully chosen remarks for the morning press conference. I'll make arrangements for that in a while."
"But you don't have to. I have all the contacts we need. There are several journalists sympathetic to our cause. They'll be here as soon as I call them."
"That won't be necessary."
"But..."
"Never mind, Malcolm. Just do what you do best. Get your statement ready. Let me handle the rest of it. I'll call you when it's time."
Glinkov didn't wait for a reply. He closed the door, leaving Parsons staring at a blank sheet of stainless steel. Out in the main control room, the crowd had diminished. A few armed men sat in small groups, smoking and talking quietly. Two guards stood at the door to the backup control room.
Glinkov had no intention of using Parsons any further. There would be no communique. He had different plans for Thunder Mountain. And for everyone here. But he wanted Parsons out of his hair for a while. When more important matters were out of the way, Mr. Parsons could be dealt with. The Russian looked up at the massive banks of dials and gauges on the control boards that were arranged in an oblique U, all visible from the two swivel-based control chairs. A distant hum was the only evidence of the massive power that could be unleashed from the room. A console swept away from the chairs in an arc on either side. The most important work of the power station could be directed, or misdirected, by walking no more than twenty feet to either side of the swivel chairs.
Glinkov sat in one of the two chairs, scanning the wall of gauges and dials, instinctively reaching out for the controls. He didn't even realize that Steven had returned to the room.