"Would he be able to tell you were there? Is there an alarm or something that indicates that the card is being used?"
"No, no alarm. But there is a set of lights on the console. If he sees them, and if he knows what they mean, it's all over."
"Then we have to keep him busy," Eli said.
"How?" Rachel demanded.
"I'm supposed to be dead, right?"
"So what if he finds out I'm alive and well? Matt, is there any way I can call attention to myself someplace in the plant?"
"How much attention?" Stevens asked.
"Lots of attention."
"Hell, the easiest thing is just call him on the intercom."
"No good. Too obvious."
"The TV security monitors," Stevens suggested. "You could take a few of them out. He'd have to notice the blank screens."
"Listen," Mack Bolan said. "We have to know what we're up against before we try anything. We make one mistake, and we lose it all. Everything."
"You got any ideas, then, Mack?"
"Look, we know there's a guard on the control room. We also know there's another guard in the backup control room. That means there are at least ten men someplace in this plant. They have guns, and Glinkov needs them."
"But how do we find them?"
"We don't. They find us."
"But the hostages. As long as Glinkov has them, we can't take any chances. We can't jeopardize their lives."
"Their lives are already in jeopardy. And Glinkov wants us to worry about them. He also wants to get out of here alive. He can't afford to get caught here. If he kills the hostages before he gets us, he has no leverage at all. None. I think we should hit him head on. Go right to the control room."
"Then what?"
"If he knows we're coming, we smoke out the other gunners. We take them down, and our problem gets a whole lot easier to solve."
"Mack's right," Eli Cohen said. He stood and picked up his Ingram.
"I don't like it. Those people are friends of mine," Matt Stevens said.
"You have any other ideas, Matt?"
"No... I don't."
"Let's do it."
Matt Stevens found the group anticontamination suits, which they put on before sprinting for the elevators. Rachel had recovered most of her strength, but she still lagged behind the others. It was beginning. Mack Bolan felt the juices flowing. For the first time since getting into the plant, he felt like a soldier instead of a bag man. Head on, that was the way to deal with slime like Glinkov.
Glinkov was going to meet a warrior. Bolan knew men like the Russian always counted on caution.
They used it against you, and then they laughed all the way to their sanctuaries. But this time it would be different.
Mack Bolan was nobody's victim.
It was time to play hardball.
And Mack Bolan knew the rules.
Back on the main floor, the four soldiers had a quick conference.
"Look, keep this in mind," Bolan whispered. "Either way, we win. If we get inside the control room before he notices, we've got him. If we don't we smoke out the other goons. Matt, you said there's a second set of doors into the control room, right?"
"Yeah, but I only have one card."
"It doesn't matter. Eli, you and Rachel get to that other entrance. Make a little noise. Let him know you're there, but watch your back. If he tries to run, he'll come our way. Otherwise we get to him."
As they made ready to leave, two of Stevens's men slipped in through the main entrance.
"Find anything?" Stevens whispered.
"Nothing. The place is deserted."
"We'll have our hands full here," Bolan interrupted. "One of the guys go with Eli, the other come with Matt and me."
"What's going on?"
"You'll see soon enough."
"Matt, how long will it take to get to the other door?" Bolan asked.
"Two or three minutes. Adam knows the way. And now we've got another security card. Adam can get in the other door."
One of the new men nodded.
"Okay. Eli, we'll wait five minutes. Then we'll make our move. Make sure he knows you're there. If there's a guard, you'll have to take him down. But don't take any foolish chances."
Bolan looked at Rachel. She avoided his gaze. The steel in those hard blue eyes frightened her.
"Right."
The three moved out, working their way along the darkened corridor to the opposite approach to the control room. While they waited, Bolan and the others were silent. The Executioner was zeroing in on the job ahead. Glinkov was a pro. And he was good. He wouldn't have gotten this far if he wasn't. He was also unpredictable. Despite his calm exterior, Bolan knew he was risking lives, lives that weren't his to risk. But he had no choice.
To hesitate was to lose. And Mack Bolan hadn't come this far to lose it all at the wire.
Too much had to be accounted for. Hanley's kids were fatherless. That counted. An innocent guard at the plant was dead. That counted.
Bolan wasn't going to rest until he could cancel the debt. Completely. Paid in full was the only settlement he would accept.
There was a guard on the door. He was pacing back and forth in front of it, smoking a cigarette. A pile of butts lay against the wall. The man was either bored or nervous. Cohen smiled grimly. In a minute he'd be neither. In a minute he'd be dead.
The distance was too great to cover without being seen.
On the other hand, they were supposed to create a diversion. Well, here it comes, Cohen thought.
The guard continued his pacing. He was heading toward them. At about fifteen feet past the door, he would pivot and move back the way he had come. Pivot, strut. Pivot, strut.
Cohen timed it perfectly. He had one minute.
The guard paced, and Cohen watched. And waited.
Pivot, strut. Cohen didn't want to shoot him in the back. He wasn't a grandstander, but he wasn't a backshooter, either. If he didn't have to be.
The guard turned again, his AK-47 slung carelessly over his shoulder. The man stopped to light a new cigarette from the stub of his last one. He dropped the butt to the floor and ground it under his heel, then kicked it into the pile. Cohen made his move.
"That's littering, pal." He stepped into view, his Ingram held waist high. "You should be more careful."
The moron didn't know any better. He reached for his Kalashnikov, and Cohen squeezed the trigger. The Ingram belched one short burst. It caught the guy just above the belt line, nearly cutting him in two and slamming him backward.
Blood gushed over his belt, cascading down over his pants. He had been so surprised, he hadn't said a word.
Quickly Adam and Eli dragged the lifeless body against the wall, dropping it over the heap of cigarettes. The SMG's suppressor was a good one. Eli doubted Glinkov even heard them.
Cohen looked through the small glass panel in the door, but he couldn't see anyone in the control room. Rachel walked back to the intersection to keep watch. Adam slipped his card into the first security lock and began punching in the code number to release the lock. None of them heard the approaching footsteps.
The every five minutes were up.
Mack Bolan stepped around the corner and made for the guard. Facing away from him, the man didn't notice Bolan's approach. Bolan's Ingram was ready to spit fire. Bolan narrowed the gap.
He could hear Stevens and the other plant guard right behind him. Their footsteps sounded like thunder in Bolan's ears, and still the guard didn't turn. With twenty yards still to go, at last the guard looked at them. His face, behind a bright red beard, froze.
Bolan fired.
The deadly rain of .45 caliber slugs chewed into the guy from the neck up. The man's skull shattered, and he struck the floor. As they reached the still spastic figure on the concrete, Bolan tugged the dead man's Kalashnikov free and slung it over his shoulder. The ruptured skull oozed blood and brain tissue. The man's face was gone, as if it had never been there at all. One eye lolled over a shattered cheekbone, like a cherry on its stem.