"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.
The three warriors covered the remaining distance to the first door without opposition. While Stevens worked on the lock, Bolan peered through the large window into the control room. Glinkov was absorbed at the control console. He was intently watching the array of gauges and dials. The inner guard was seated casually before the secondary control room. Its door was closed. Neither man seemed to have heard anything. If luck were with them, Cohen and his team would be working on their doors by now. The eerie silence was broken by a sudden burst of gunfire from the opposite side of the control room.
"That's at the other door!" Stevens shouted.
Bolan knew Eli was in trouble. And Rachel was with him.
"Matt, keep at it. I'll be back as soon as I can. If you get it open, go in. And watch yourself." He sprinted across the floor, heading for the corridor leading to the other doorway.
The gunfire continued. It sounded like a small war. Cohen must still be alive, or the shooting would have stopped. At the mouth of the passage, Bolan paused. A security mirror high on the wall showed him the full length of the corridor. Adam lay in a pool of blood, sprawled in front of the unopened security door.
Three of Glinkov's men were at the other end of the passage. Cohen peered from the scant cover of an open office door farther down the hall. As Bolan watched, Eli sprayed hellfire along the corridor without aiming. He was holding the Ingram in his left hand, extending it just enough to hold off the attackers with blind fire.
Rachel was nowhere in sight.
Checking his own SMG, Bolan put in a fresh clip and waited. There was a time to plant, and a time to reap. The Executioner was going to plant some lead.
The Grim Reaper would bring in the crop.
The passage intersected another at right angles. Bolan could fire down the hall and cross to the opposite side while the gunners dived for cover. With a little luck, he might nail one of them. Watching the mirror closely, he waited. Eli pulled his weapon back to reload. The three men charged. Bolan made his move.
With the Ingram held at waist level, he began firing as he stepped into the intersection. The lead man was chewed up; the deadly spray from Bolan's SMG had punched through his chest wall. Wild return fire ricocheted off the concrete walls as the remaining two men dived for the floor. Eli rejoined the firefight with a short burst, and Bolan was across the hall.
If he remembered his quick lesson in the layout, he could work his way around behind. He fired another quick burst and sprinted for the next intersection. The gun battle continued behind him, its echoes resounding along the maze of concrete passages.
He skidded to a halt at the next passageway, checked it for opposition and rushed on. The noise died abruptly. Bolan increased his pace. The next passage was just ahead. As he ran, he changed clips in the Ingram, slipping the half-empty one back into his coat. At the corner he stopped. There was another mirror, and he scanned it quickly. He knew they could see him as well as he could see them in it. But the hallway was empty except for Adam's body and that of the man he had nailed in crossing the hall.
All right.
He changed back to the half-empty clip, wasted the mirror, then reloaded. He'd rather fight blind than give them the advantage of the glass. He tossed the empty magazine into the corridor. It bounced once, twice, then disappeared in a hail of bullets and concrete chips. So they were still there.
But where was Eli? And Rachel?
The architecture of the damn building was an obstacle. All right angles, there was no way to get from A to B without exposing oneself. It hadn't been planned as a hell zone.
And while he waited, the clock ticked. If Stevens managed to get the door open, he'd need all the help he could get. Things had to be wrapped up on this end. Now.